It’s the morning and Monica and I are partaking in a most interesting and unusual breakfast. I don’t know how, but Monica manages to dig out a loaf of bread way back in what I’m calling the pantry cabinet. It’s the gift that keeps on giving: it seems new delights and delicacies are discovered every day from within its wooden walls; I’m starting to wonder if it might be magically enchanted in some way. Yet another special place in Ostium that seems to bend the rules of physics and reality. Or perhaps Steve did a really great job of stocking up. The bread is the whitest of the white, a blanched cardboard essentially, but it fills a hole . . . sort of. I’m impressed it hasn’t gone moldy yet. That cabinet has to be moisture free and practically airtight. Using a little propane, we also cook up a can of corned beef hash. For some tasty fruit, we enjoy a can of pineapple and one of peaches.

I feel . . . closer to Monica now. My sole intention yesterday in taking her into my arms when she was distraught and tearful was purely consolation. But after everything that happened, when she was pushed over the edge, I was also brought close to it. I felt for the man named Steve who I’ve never met. It was . . . wrenching. So it felt good to be some help to Monica.

After breakfast I clear things away, and then prepare for our next trip to door number 5. Monica gets ready in her own way, getting together a few things, and I realize with a thrill of excitement that it’s our first time going into action together. Indulge me to be a geek for a little bit, but here we are in a secret town that no one else really knows about that leads you to different places in time, and here we are ‘suiting up’ so to speak and getting ready to pass through another one of these special doors.

Okay, done geeking out . . . For now!

Monica has the door open and I’m out in the fresh morning air before she can say Ostium and after about five steps I stop dead in my tracks with an elongated “Errrrrrrrr.” My caped crusader walks by and says “follow me.”

I dutifully follow behind. Someone forgot to check the location of door number five. And that’s why there’s two of us.

And that’s why there’s no “I” in team!

And that’s why I’m really happy to have Monica here with me.

Because . . . she’s a lot smarter than me.

[Music break]

We turn down streets right and left and I get quickly turned around. Was Monica doing it deliberately just to confuse me? To make me feel stupid? Because it’s working. Just as I’m starting to wonder if we’re heading towards the front gate she takes a hard left, goes four doors down and stops.

There’s the door with the five on it.

We stand before it, all ready to go.

I reach out for the handle and Monica stops me. She turns to me and put her hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes.

I wonder what’s going on, but I’m certainly enjoying the physical contact.

“Before we go in, I want you to acknowledge real quick your connections with the doors we’ve gone through.”

“Connections?” I haven’t forgotten what she told me yesterday. Not by a long shot. But at the same time, I’ve forced myself not to think about it. Because it’s intimidating. And scary.

“Look, it’s okay to be scared.”

Dammit, she’s sees right through me.

“I’m a little scared too. We both are because we don’t understand this. But if we’re going to start understanding it at all, we need to talk about it. You need to admit it.”

“Okay,”

“Roanoke?”

“In a college history class I got kind of obsessed with it when I wrote a paper about it.”

“The Mary Celeste?”

“Similar story. It’s another event with a mysterious disappearance of people. I first heard about it researching Roanoke. It was one of those Wiki black hole things.”

“What?”

“When you’re looking something up on Wikipedia? And then you link to another thing and to another and to another. And then like two hours go by and your fifty Wiki pages down the hole from where you started.”

“Oh, okay. Mars?”

“I’m a scifi geek. Love the literature. Kim Stanley Robinson’s Red Mars trilogy is my favorite. And I luuurrvve Total Recall.”

“Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No. So why is it all connected to me?”

“Fuck knows. Okay, let’s go.”

She opens the door and walks through and I quickly follow behind.

Stepping through the doorway and across the blackness that could be a quick step across time or a mighty leap across a chasm where one could easily be lost forever, I look out at another clear and beautiful day. Breathtaking blue skies, bright sunshine and at first I see a lot of water and think we’re on a boat again, but the ground is solid and stable. There’s no tilting motion.

We’re . . . At the beach. Sort of. It’s actually a small harbor and we’re on a promenade looking over a body of water.

“Wow, it’s beautiful here. I wonder where and when it is?”

“Yeah,” I say making a slow panoramic pan of the landscape. Halfway through I see a structure. A building. It’s distinct. A big round shape that angles up to a point. It looks like the top half of a cupcake. The rest of the building is cylindrical and sculptured. The general shape is the bottom half of a cupcake but beautifully ornate with a viewing terrace wrapping around it like a layer of frosting.

“I know where we are.”

“What?”

“We’re on Catalina.”

“What?”

“It’s an island off the coast of Los Angeles . . .”

“I know what Catalina is. How do you know?”

“That,” I say, pointing at the distinctive building, “is the casino building. We’re in the town of Avalon. I know this because when I was five I came here with my parents for a vacation trip. We spent three days here and I loved every second of it. The following week I to school and the Loma Prieta earthquake happened. They couldn’t find the bodies, either of them. I thought it was . . . Fucking stupid, but we had a funeral and buried two empty coffins.”

“That . . . Really fucking sucks. I’m really sorry, Jake.”

“Thanks, Monica. It’s been a long time and I’ve managed to get over it to the best of my ability.”

“My folks are dead too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Same deal. Long time ago. Just a sad memory now. So what are we standing on?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s solid. This is the Avalon Pier. A nice promenading spot for tourists. Over there,” I say, pointing east. “Is the ferry terminal which goes to and from Long Beach.”

“I notice it is visibly absent of ferries.”

“Yeah. Noted. Downtown is along there.” I make a sweeping gesture along the south to the south west. “And that is the Catalina casino building, though it has a movie theater in it now. Built in 1929. Though I’ll wait until we get inside before I give you the full history lesson.”

“Did you take a sociology class on Catalina or something?”

“Avalon, Catalina and the casino building is technically another one of my obsessions. While I was here I learned everything I could. I was a sponge for information and history.”

“Why technically?”

“Because I was five and I didn’t realize it was an obsession at the time. I figured I was more obsessed with . . . Normal five-year-old boy obsessions. Also over the years I’ve kept up on my research.”

“Well, it sure fits the Ostium modus operandi.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. I find it . . . Unsettling.”

“You and me both. Now, this being a tourist town, do you happen to see any tourists?”

I feel it pretty redundant, but I make a scan of every part of Avalon I can see. There’s a light breeze. The lapping water sounds right. I think that was a seagull. But there’s absolutely no sign of movement.

“Nope. No hide nor hair.”

“I guess that’s one way of putting it. Okay, so we’ve got a place you know well, a historical building you’re obsessed with, no sign of people. Just running down the old Ostium checklist here. Which leads us to the blackness.”

I turn and look out to sea, finding Monica doing the same thing.

A silence passes between us.

“Okay. I don’t see no blackness. It’s clear open sea out here.”

“I think that’s because . . . I’ve been . . . Concentrating. As soon as I stepped through I made part of my mind focus on the blackness. Focus on keeping it at bay. Away from here. And I think it’s working. Somehow.”

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” I say with an impressed smile on my face. “I don’t know long it’s going to work or hold or whatever. But we’ve got some time. More than usual.”

“Okay. Good. So where do we go from here? Do we partake of some sightseeing?”

“In a way. We’re going to head down through town just to be sure we’re all alone, and then we’re going to the casino building.”

“Because you haven’t seen it since you were a kid and you wanna get your kicks?”

“No,” I say, sounding a little peeved. “Because I can feel that’s where the artifact is.”

[Music break]

We make the quarter-mile walk along the promenade, following the curve of the bay. On the right is an inviting beach and cool blue waters, on the left store fronts, restaurants and streets. It’s downright eerie with not a single person around. That’s when my brain starts cogitating. Analyzing the situation. What’s different here? We’ve established my connection to this place. It was glaringly obvious, really. And there’s no people, no one in sight anywhere. Still following the pattern. The blackness hasn’t started yet, but I can feel it. Like the build-up of an oncoming storm. As it gets stronger, I dedicate more of my focus, my concentration to it. I know it’s going to hit a breaking point, not too long from now, and then will start doing its thing. I’m quite amazed I’m able to do it. It really isn’t that hard to necessarily do, but the pressure’s building and it’ll start coming for me soon.

And yet . . . Something’s not right. I can’t quite put my mental finger on it. The fact that my brain is churning over what I’m seeing, what things look like, tells me something’s amiss. Off kilter. But what the hell is it? And then my brain reaches its thinking destination and I get it.

I stop in my tracks. Monica keeps going for a few steps – she’s been focused on the beautiful casino building – and then realizes I’m not with her, stops and looks, and comes back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s really wrong with this place.”

“Other than the usual? No people? Eerily quiet? What else?”

“What day is it? No, what year is it?”

“You mean in Ostium or here?”

“Here. Avalon.”

“No fucking clue. You tell me?”

“Okay, that’s warranted. How about: what year does it feel like it is here?”

“I dunno. When was the casino building built?”

“It opened its doors on May 29, 1929.”

“So . . . nope. It’s definitely not 1929.”

“Right. The buildings. The few cars we can see. By the way, FYI, cars are very limited on the island. Golf carts are way more common. Like there and there,” I say, pointing. “So what year is it here?”

She stares at me. Then she crosses the road – no traffic to worry about – and stops in front of a store window. I soon join her. It’s a clothing boutique called Seashore Angels. There are mannequins in the window: one in a vibrant green dress, the other an elegant maroon gown. Behind are racks of different types of clothes: tops, shirts, pants, skirts, dresses. In the back corner I can see a section dedicated to shoes.

“It’s modern.”

I nod. “Yep. Contemporary. I’d even go so far to say it’s the current year here. I could imagine anyone wearing just about any of those clothes and not feeling out of style or old fashioned.”

“Or looking like they’re in Back to the Future II.”

That brings a smile to my face. She makes great references. It’s definitely something I really like about Monica.

“Though they’d need some serious moola or deep credit cards to afford most of this shit.”

“Indeed. So if it’s this year, why is there a door leading to it from Ostium? We’ve only gone deep into the past or the future so far.”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

I nod, take my time, parsing her words.

“True, but the places we’ve visited so far. The ones in the past. They actually happened. There’s historical evidence and sources. The one on Mars obviously is a different can of fish.”

“I think you mean a different spot on the map.” She winks at me when she says this.

I don’t miss that it was on Mars she’d given me that same saucy wink before she went through the door back to Ostium.

Is she flirting with me?

Okay, focus Jake.

“Yeah,” I say, smirking back. “So if this is Avalon, Catalina, in the current year of our lord, has this actually happened? Have the people of Avalon, the people of Catalina disappeared?”

She stares at me. Eyes widening.

“Holy shit.”

She’s looking into the boutique again and takes a deep breath.

“Why couldn’t you have just said that to begin with? Instead of asking me the year and all that shit?”

“That’s not really the way I work.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Then she turns around and starts walking back to the promenade.

“Come on, Hitchcock.”

I follow, with a smile on my face.

[Music break]

Fifteen minutes later we reach the foot of the casino building. I’m sweating heavily. It’s relatively hot here, but not too toasty, so I shouldn’t be perspiring this much. That’s because my defenses against the blackness were dropped a couple minutes ago. For the last ten minutes we’ve been walking in silence as I focus all my energy and will power on keeping whatever the hell that onyx doom actually is at bay. And then I can’t hold it back any more. It feels like an overflowing vessel of water and I just let it go and it all came tumbling out like a burst damn.

Monica stops just as I did. I can tell she feels it and looks out to sea. I see the distant line of blackness now. It’s growing, just like it usually does.

We walk faster after that.

For a millisecond I wonder what we’re going to do if all the doors are locked, but it pulls open easily enough. As we step inside I turn on my tour guide voice, even though I’ve never had an aspiration to be one.

“The Catalina Casino opened its doors for the first time on May 29, 1929. Designed by Sumner A. Spaulding and Walter Weber, it was built under the direction of William Wrigley, Jr. with a price tag amounting to two million dollars. It was one of the first completely circular buildings of its kind. The styles are a combined Art Deco and Mediterranean Revival. The building is 12 stories high. On the lower level is a museum. On the main floor, where we are now, is a movie theater that still has a working organ, back from when music was a big part of going to the movies, or the pictures. I came here with my parents. Can’t remember what movie, but I do remember the organist totally rocking the Phantom of the Opera theme. On the upper floor is a promenade and twenty thousand square-foot ballroom that can accommodate fifteen hundred dancers and is the largest ballroom in the world without supporting pillars.”

“You remember all that bullshit from when you were a kid?”

Sort of,” I answer nervously.

“You are such a nerd.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say proudly.

She laughs. “No worries, nerd bro, I’m one too.”

We’re now in the concessions area of the movie theater. There’s a stale smell of popcorn and greasy butter in the air. I believe it’s an odor that will never leave this place, much like its mystique and history.

“You still tracking that artifact?”

“Yep,” you say, leading the way into the main theater.

It’s a grand, sweeping auditorium with a surprising number of seats. The floor is angled downward, giving each row full view of the stage and the screen. On the walls are breathtaking frescoes bursting with color, detail and life. The ceiling is painted white. There’s an ornate, curving arch around the stage with golden decoration. At the apex is a golden woman with red hair standing on a shell. The movie screen is currently retracted and behind it is another beautiful piece of art: a man surfing on blue waves with a golden background.

I can tell Monica is taken aback by this place. It has that effect on you.

Then I feel that magnetic pull start to focus. We’re getting close now. I lead the way down the main aisle, passing the rows of red velvet seating. Well, probably not velvet, but definitely red. Blood red. Fresh blood red. Given the circumstances, I feel a twitching down my back. The red seems too bright for the lighting. Also there’s lighting?

“The lights are on.”

“Yeah, I noticed that as soon as we walked in. Like they had it all going and then everyone just up and left.”

“That’s . . . Creepy.”

We reach the front row, the wide stage before us. The man surfing the wave without a surfboard looking like a mighty Hawaiian god. I make myself look to the right, even though I’ve been feeling the ethereal tug from the left side. But I just caught a glimpse of something before I looked in the opposite direction and I’m telling myself it isn’t in any conceivable way what I think it is.

I take a breath, staring at the empty row, then look to the left.

Shit.

It’s exactly that.

In the tenth seat of the front row is a body.

A dead body.

I take a few steps towards the body and stop. This is the first person we’ve seen in one of the worlds Ostium has sent us to. Now, I’m not certain that the man is dead, but there is no indication of life or movement. That’s when Monica starts running to the man.

“No. Oh no! No. No. No. No. No.”

A heavy stone drops in my chest, pulling me down.

I think it’s Steve. The guy she had some sort of thing for and the main reason she came to Ostium in the first place.

I slowly walk to her, giving her the time she needs. When I reach her she’s kneeling, her hand over her mouth staring at him.

Before I can say anything she gets up and puts a pair of fingers to the pulse on his neck, waiting twenty seconds. Then she leans in and puts her ear close to his mouth, waiting for a breath. After another twenty seconds she goes lower and leans her head against his chest, searching for any sort of quivering heartbeat.

She gets back up. Her body language tells me everything I need to know.

“Is it Steve?”

She looks at me. Complete confusion. Then it clears, but there’s still a deep sadness in her eyes.

“No. It’s not Steve. His name’s Richard. Richard Kahling. Another private from . . . My former base.”

“Really? Was he in that group that walked into Ostium yesterday?”

She stares at me and it feels like her eyes are piercing into my very soul. That sadness in her eyes goes away, hardens into something, though I don’t know what.

She gives me a small nod in admission. I don’t think she thought of this when she saw his body in the chair.

It changes a lot of things. It poses a whole new set of questions.

How the hell did the guy from Monica’s secret base who came to Ostium yesterday and then left through the front gate end up on a chair at the Catalina Casino movie theater . . . dead?

What happened to the rest of the team?

Are they lost too to Ostium?

Are they all dead?

And how did Richard die?

Monica’s looking at him again. I’m guessing she’s got similar questions running through her head. We’ll have to discuss it, but that’s a conversation best left on our return to Ostium.

“Where’s the artifact?”

I stare at the back of her head.

There’s an uncomfortably pregnant moment of silence that stretches out like a long dark highway.

I see her shoulders rise as she takes a breath and finally she turns to look at me. I’m just staring back at her, still not saying anything.

“Fuck no. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

I slowly shake my head. “I can pinpoint it right to here.”

“Fuck.” Then gets up and heads to the entrance door to the theater.

I stare at the body, not envying my task in the slightest.

There’s no clear or apparent cause of death. No bullet wounds. No body parts at strange angles. No marks on his neck. I touch the top of his hand. It’s gravestone cold. Sorry, poor choice of words. He’s been dead for a long time.

In my head I have a blurry image of the artifact, like a vague dream. There’s enough definition that I’m able to hesitate a guess at what it is. I start going through the guy’s pockets. It doesn’t take me long to find the movie ticket stub. That’s it. When I hold it in my hand, it feels warm. The magnetic pull in my head disappears and it calms me.

The movie listed on the stub is Armageddon. That crappy action flick with Bruce Willis from the late nineties. But it can’t be that old? Then I see the date on the stub: it’s today’s.

I got what I needed, so I quickly walk back to the front of theater and find Monica waiting there for me.

“What should we do about . . . Richard?”

Monica looks over to where the body is and just shakes her head.

“Leave him there. We don’t have time to do the honorable or correct thing.”

Then we’re out the door and into the lobby. The loud crackling is instantly noticeable. Outside the windows the afternoon is coming to a close and twilight is fast approaching. We make it out of the door we came through. It looks like the end of the world and it’s all being swallowed up by a giant black hole. As stuff is consumed by the blackness, it doesn’t make a sound, just goes into the maw and is gone. Though the now deafening crackling sure makes up for it.

The reality is painfully obvious: we don’t have enough time to make it back to the pier and the door we came through to take us back to Ostium.

We’re out of time.

We’re out of leeway.

We’re royally up shit creek, and the paddle drifted downstream a long time ago.

“Fuck!”

I’m thinking. I’m listening to my thoughts. My feelings. Getting in touch with myself.

“Follow me!”

And then I start running away from the casino building, headed for the group of moored boats in front of us. I clatter down this tiny quay that starts wobbling as soon as I land on it. It’s on pontoons and none too stable. The water is all choppy and alive as the blackness guzzles its incredible volume. I reach the penultimate boat on the left, take a look back and see Monica just a few steps behind.

I leap onto the boat and head for the cockpit. Monica is on board in seconds, fully trusting me. It feels good to know she trusts me as much as I trust her now. We’re in this together. All the way. In the cockpit is a hatchway leading into the boat. There’s a padlock hanging from the latch. It’s unlocked. I also notice its hexagonal. Then I’m ripping it off and throwing open the hatchway.

Beneath it is darkness. Much like the darkness getting very close to us now. The boats have started pulling tight on their mooring lines, as the sea and everything within and upon it is drawn into the blackness.

I reach for and grab Monica’s hand. I look into her eyes. She is with me and her life is now in my hands. I turn and dive into the hole, pulling her in behind me.

[Music Break]

We crash land onto the street in Ostium. The door closes by itself behind us, sealing the darkness behind the fifth door forever. We gingerly get up, check to make sure we’re each okay, then make our way back to the clock tower.

Back inside I’m standing by the map table. I’m looking at Monica and she comes up beside me. I know she wants to rest. To chill out. To make a real strong cup of tea and probably have something to eat. But I want to get this out of the way first.

It’s important.

Because I think something is going to happen.

Something big.

I scrutinize the map for thirty seconds and feel Monica become impatient with me. I look up at her.

“There’s no number six.”

She stares at me, not getting it at first, then her eyes widen.

She makes a more thorough search, only needing to skip past the few golden numbers, the rest she checks over individually.

“You’re fucking right. What the hell?”

I shrug. “Ready?”

The nod is all I need.

I pull the ticket stub from my pocket and place it on the number five.

The light instantly appears, enshrouds the stub and sucks it in like a hungry carnivorous plant. Then there’s a pristine looking gold five sitting there.

Seconds click by. I start to think maybe that’s it and we can have a snack and some tea after all.

Then a low rumbling begins and builds. It seems to be coming from beneath the map table, welling upwards like a volcanic eruption. Then we watch as the table itself starts vibrating, swaying a little from side to side. I hadn’t checked before, but I was pretty sure the table was solidly bolted to the floor. It makes me think of the movie Jumanji. The crescendo builds, coming up and up and then reaches the table.

Before our very eyes, we watch the five golden numbers light up with a more brilliant golden color, then a white line . . . A jagged crack forms between the numbers linking the five together across a significant portion of the map. The white crack widens, emitting more light, forcing us to squint at it. First a half inch, then a full inch, then two inches, and finally stops at three. The light weakens, dims, then disappears. The golden numbers return to their normal, unbrilliant selves.

The chasm that has opened up on the map table is clear and abrupt, almost vicious looking. An angry, wooden scar. At the bisecting point of that crack is a small number. I lean in.

“It’s a six. No, an eight. Wait, I think it’s an infinity symbol.”

Monica doesn’t care what’s on the door.

“And how the hell are we supposed to get to it? Dig our fucking way into the ground?”

That makes me snort with laugher as I contemplate this next mystery.

That’s when I both hear and feel another rumbling. Similar but at the same time different to the one on the map table. This one’s much stronger and bigger.

Monica looks at me, the smile diminishing from her face like someone who’s forgotten how to smile.

That’s when the ground starts to shake.

I reach out to Monica, wanting to pull her close . . .

[End Credit Music]

I’ve got the place to myself again. For a little while. Jake’s on a joyride back to his home. Collecting a few last valuables and necessities and then he’ll be back up here for good. I’m cool with it. So far we’ve been getting along pretty well, even in the recent crisis situation with my old buddies showing up. He trusts me. That’s what’s important. And I like him. That’s important too. We haven’t had any super weird moments yet. No lengthy silences. And I’m sure once we get to know each other better, I’ll just start feeling normal around him. Hopefully we’ll have some stuff in common. Hopefully he’s not a secret neo-Nazi or KKK member. That would be . . . Beyond fucked up. I’d have to end him.

Maybe he likes to read like I do? Hopefully he’ll bring back a book or two. There’s nothing to read in this place except for lots and lots and lots of numbers. I bet when he gets back he’ll have a bunch of questions to ask me, once he’s got some distance from me and Ostium.

Oh, and I’m not bothering with the date and the “oh-six-hundred-hours” bullshit anymore. In Ostium time really doesn’t matter. Plus Jake had mentioned something about the last time he went home the time was off or he was missing time or some shit. It wasn’t really clear. But I guess if something is happening out there versus in here, he’ll have to say something about it when he gets back.

Speaking of which, I’ve got a plan for what I’m going to do with my free time here while he’s gone.

First off, Jake is never going to hear this voice recording. I’ll get it up online somewhere, like he has all of his recordings. I’ll do all of that for my recordings. It just makes sense. Backup. Covering our asses in a way. What far, who the fuck really knows. I just feel . . . Calmer doing it.

But he’s never going to hear this recording. Because my plan is dangerous.

Whoever’s listening to this, if you’ve heard all the stuff before, you’ve probably noticed that neither of us brought anything back from Mars. Yeah, we both just plain forgot. I shoulda. I shoulda known better. Anyway, I don’t think we can keep going on unless we keep turning the numbers on the map table gold. Maybe the next door’ll open for us, but that’ll be it. It’s just how Ostium works.

So I need to go back through door 4.

And I’m doing it without Jake.

I’m going to do it right now.

~ ~ ~

Okay. I’m outside door number 4. I have no idea what to expect. Will it even fucking open for me?

Only one way to find out.

I turn the handle and push. The door moves. A little. But it’s like there’s something stuck on the other side.

Yes, I do remember the blackness and the moans and the fucking creepy skull from the last time I was here. Don’t worry.

But the door is moving. So I push hard. I give a little. Push harder still. It moves in more each time I try. Then it just lets go and swings wide open. I almost fall through it, but stop myself.

The darkness is there, but it’s different. Thicker. Like it’s sorta alive. It’s moving. Tendrils. Fingers reaching out. A whiteness and that motherfucking skull face shows itself again, moaning like a banshee.

I don’t need to be told I’m not welcome.

I grab the handle and wrench it back closed.

Now it’s like there’s a weight holding it open. Some force pulling on the other side.

Fuckin let go, banshee!

I yank as hard as I can, feeling my feet beginning to slip in the dirt.

Then the door moves and slams shut.

Just fell on my ass and let out a chuckle.

Well that didn’t go so well.

[Music Break]

He’s back and he’s moving in! The amount of stuff he’s dragging in is kinda freaky. He even asked me to give him a hand, carrying his stuff. He’s real excited. I can hear it in his voice. Like one of those guys on House Hunters and he just go the perfect place. But I gotta admit. I kinda like it here. Nah. Scratch that. I really like it here. I never ever saw my life ending up at a place like this. A place that could take you anywhere. I’m also happy to have Jake back. Surprisingly happy. Guess I don’t mind having the guy around.

He starts setting his shit up. He attaches the little pump to his brand spanking new inflatable mattress. The machine sound is kinda weird in here. In Ostium. Like it doesn’t belong. While he’s “moving in” – arranging his suitcases and duffel bags (I guess he forgot to bring a dresser); and adding his toiletries to the bathroom, he starts asking questions. This time, I don’t hold back and give him the answers.

He brings up the weird lock that was on the gate when he first arrived. I wonder what the hell he’s talking about.

Huh. I flip through the files in my head on Jake and find the one on his first time seeing Ostium. Oh yeah, the weird hexagonal lock. The one I’d never seen before. I tell him, as he should recall, I saw it too when I first came to Ostium. And when I came back the second time, like he did, it was gone. It’s just as much a mystery to me. Apparently Ostium only lets certain people in. We passed whatever weird-ass test there was and were allowed in.

He asks about my military friends. They got in easy enough.

I say I don’t know again. It’s something that gets said a lot when talking about Ostium. They probably broke the lock. Maybe Ostium let them in.

Why? he asks.

I say because it knew what I was going to do. What I had planned. Ostium knew they would be more likely to go away and not come back if things went my way, instead of keeping them locked out. They would’ve tried a lot harder to get in. Now, not so much.

I ask him if he’s got any more on that missing time stuff. What day is it supposed to be now?

His says Sunday. I say okay. Then he tells me the date, and I say what the fuck?

He explains what he knows. Time moves differently in Ostium. I gotta say, I’m not surprised. But that’s just the way it’s gonna be now. Since I got no ties to the “real” world anymore, I’m not that bothered about it. Jake kinda says the same thing, though I can tell he’s not fully convinced yet. In time I’m sure he’ll come around.

I ask if he’s tried using our Ostium mind thingy on the outside. He said he did. Right outside Ostium it starts to get kinda fuzzy, little hazy. The further away he goes, the worse it gets until it just shuts off. No longer working. Huh is my response. Again, not surprised.

Then he gets this serious look in his eyes. They sharpen on me. Like he’s just looking through me. Something big is coming.

He says he thinks I haven’t told him everything I know about Ostium. That there’s more. And then he just stares. He’s angry. Kinda angry. It’s also kinda cute.

I think. Then decide.

Yes, I say. There is some more. I told him in my recordings what I experienced. How Ostium was found. What the military did about it. What I was ordered to do. How it was all handled. How I got away. How I got here. I’ve never really told him what I think about Ostium.

This is something I’m still working on. Answers are hard to come by when it comes to this place. So you have to come up with ideas. Theories. I’ve done research. On my own time. When I was with . . . them. And on my own now. I look back at him with that same hard look.

I tell him I don’t think Ostium’s one of a kind.

[Music Break]

What? He practically yells at me.

I repeat and rephrase. I say I don’t think there’s just one Ostium. Ostium is unique, but it’s also a type of place. There are other places like it. Over time. Over history. Throughout the world. Some’ve been documented. Others talked and thought about. And some stay shrouded in mystery.

Okay, he says. Like what? Gimme some examples.

Atlantis, I say. Not saying anything else about it. The one word covers it all really.

He gives me a nod. He understands. He wants more.

Avalon. A mysterious place out of King Arthur. Stonehenge. The Bermuda Triangle. The Devil’s Sea or Dragon’s Triangle. The Bermuda Triangle equivalent near Japan. Each of these places has history. Multiple instances of people disappearing. Accidents happening. Problem spots. Places you kinda want to stay away from.

His eyes are wide now.

I also found obscure references to towns like Ostium. I know nothing about them. Just their names. And how they’re impossible to find. People who found them may have disappeared. It’s all just conjecture. Hearsay. But it’s there.

Night Vale is one.

Tanis is another.

Limetown is the last one.

It appears these three are likely located within the United States. But there’s nothing to prove that.

Jake has nothing to say. His look has softened. He also looks kinda shocked. Well, I had to tell him at some point. Better sooner than later I guess.

I continue. What this tells me is there’re more places like Ostium. Not the same. Just like. These other towns could have doors to other places, or they could be something completely different. I just don’t know. No one appears to. There may be more around the world.

So what does this mean? I ask him.

He closes his mouth finally. But he’s got nothing to offer. I didn’t really expect him to say anything.

This is the part I’m still working on, I say. Cogitating I say, smirking at him. That’s one of your words right? What I know for sure is this place is important. Really important. And at the moment we’re the only two people Ostium seems happy with. So we gotta take advantage of it. Use whatever leverage we can get. We do that by going through doors. Lots of doors. Learning more. Experiencing more. Trying to figure it out. We bring back pieces of those times and fill in the map. We try to find out what Ostium is trying to tell us. What Ostium wants.

Goddamn, that’s brilliant he says.

I smile.

Thanks, I say.

So you know what’s next? I ask.

What? He says. We go through door number five?

Nope, I say. Not that door.

He stares at me. Frowning. Then it clears. The eyes are as big a billiard balls again.

We need to go through door four because we didn’t bring anything back.

Damn fucking right, I say.

So how do we do that? He asks. We already went through and came back. Isn’t the door locked now?

I look at him. Thinking. Weighing options. He needs to know. Even though I really didn’t wanna tell him.

I tried earlier, I say.

Stop looking at me so freaked, I yell at him. Deal with it.

I tried earlier. While you were gone. I tried the door. It opened. But there was blackness and that skull face on the other side.

Shiiiit, he says, drawing the word out like taffy.

I got the door closed before anything could come out.

So what are we going to do? He asks

He still doesn’t get it. It’s going to have to slap him in the face before he does.

I say: you and I go back there. You open the door and we see what happens. We go from there.

[Music Break]

It’s the next day, whichever one or date that might be outside the walls of Ostium.

Inside the walls, no one gives a shit.

So what exactly did you do? He asks. We’re standing in front of the door to the outhouse.

I just turned the handle and slowly opened it, like normal, I say.

And you think it’ll be different with me? He says.

I bring up something specific I said when I first went through this door and was waiting for him. How that crunching, crackling blackness wasn’t there on the other side. I wasn’t seeing it or hearing it until he came through. That’s what started it.

Oh yeah, I forgot about that. You’re right, he says.

I say: I think you might have some control over it. Somehow. I dunno. Just give it a try.

He sucks in his chest. Puts on a brave face. I smile at him, so he can relax . Then turns the handle and opens the door as if he doesn’t really care what’s on the other side.

That gusto’s impressive.

It seems like for just one little second I hear that crackling blackness. Then there’s silence. The door is open and all is dark inside like usual. But there’s no sound. No creepy floating skull.

He looks back at me to make sure I’m watching and that I’ll be right behind him and steps through.

I quickly do the same and just like that we’re on Mars again.

It’s like the whole thing has reset. It’s all clean and shiny. A gentle humming. The windows are big and clear like before. Outside I can see the rocket ships. The red and orange sand and hills. The grayish sky. Jake starts walking. He has a direction in mind. I follow.

It definitely feels weird to kinda have our roles switched. Me following him now. But . . . He has some sort of control here. Maybe a power. There’s no blackness out there right now. And I can’t hear anything.

He’s stopped at one the terminals. I come up beside him, looking over his shoulder. The screen is turned on now. It’s different from before. Jake looks at me and mentions this. I nod. He starts to touch the keyboard then stops. Instead he taps the screen with his index finger. The screen changes. Shows a small thumb-sized square. Above it it says FINGERPRINT ID. He raises his thumb, hesitates. Takes a deep breath, then puts his thumb on the screen. There’s a series of beeps. When Jake takes his thumb away and I can see his thumbprint clearly in red.

The screen clears and two words come up: WELCOME JAKE. HOW CAN WE SERVE YOU?

Er . . . Jake says: I’d like to see the footage from when I was last here.

The screen changes immediately to playing a video, showing Jake coming through the doorway. Camera angles switch as he walks along, giving the viewer the best viewpoint to see him. Along the bottom the screen is a line with a little progress square. Intuitively, Jake puts his finger on it and drags it towards the end, but stops it just before.

We watch as I give him a wink, go through and close the door.

Sorry for doing that, I whisper in his ear, that was mean.

Then we see Jake running up to the door, clearly panicked, and then pulling it open. The blackness shows at the edge of the screen, coming for him. It’s moving incredibly fast. It’s hungry. He turns back and looks at it before diving through. From this angle it’s possible to see moving forms in the blackness.

Turn it off he says, then starts running. I chase after him, yelling What the hell?

Can’t you hear it? He says. The blackness is coming back. A lot faster this time.

I hear it now. And he’s right. It’s getting louder, real quick.

I chase after him. Where the hell is he going? He knows as much about this place as I do? He’s looking for something, but what?

We pass through rooms and then he stops at a bed and picks up the datapad.

Oh, that! He knew exactly what he wanted all along. Knew it probably before he went through the door. And why is that, exactly? Because Jake knows more than he’s been telling. Someone’s been a naughty boy. Now it’s my turn to get some answers.

But not right now. When I have fucking time.

The light’s starting to fade. Whatever the hell that blackness is it’s not just blocking out the sunlight, but sucking the energy from this place. The lights are starting to dim.

Shit.

While I’m woolgathering, Jake is long gone. Good thing I know the way. I’m after him in a flash.

He’s at the door and now he’s through. I’m not far behind.

The blackness is passing through the windows and walls now, like they’re whispery spiderwebs. There are screams along with the loud crackling. It – I t sounds like a raging fire. The screams and wails are horrors I’d like to never hear again. But I’m sure Ostium has a different plan for us.

My guts have turned to jelly. It’s been a while since I was this fucking scared.

I hate it.

Fortunately, I’m at the door now.

As I pass through I hear my name called amongst all the screaming and crackling.

It’s Steve’s voice.

[Music Break]

Back in Ostium, Jake is ready. He’s grabbing the door handle as I come through and slamming it shut.

The grassy ground of this familiar town never felt so good.

Ohh, I just need a moment to catch my breath. Jake is watching me, concerned. How sweet. I sit-up and tell him the one word I heard before I came through.

His eyebrows rise up and I wonder if they’re going to slide off his forehead.

Then I tell him who’s voice it was.

He gasps, choking on something. Emotional spit?

I tell him he was right, the blackness got him.

I have nothing more to say now. I get up and head back to the place we call home these days. Jake quietly follows.

We’re rested. Had some nosh. Collected our senses a little.

Jake hasn’t let go of the tablet. He hasn’t done shit with it yet, but he’s keeping it close. Like a good luck charm. I think of that little fat figurine from Roanoke. Yeah, it meant a lot to me. I get it.

He sees me staring at him. He holds it up, showing me the white back. It looks a lot like an iPad mini. So that would make it what, the iPad mini 200? 2000? He flips it over and I see the blank screen. At the very top above the screen, on the material of whatever it’s made of is a little number four.

Huh. I ask him how the hell he knew that that was what he needed?

He says it’s a feeling he has inside him now. A drive. He probably had it in Roanoke, but didn’t know what it was. There was too much going on. He could sort of feel it on the Mary Celeste. A strange pulling. That’s how he knew the dining table was important. And on Mars he recognized it, but then he heard the noise and got distracted.

How comes it wasn’t in any of your audio broadcasts? I ask.

He says he didn’t really know what the feeling was until Mars. He didn’t understand.

Jake, I say. I’m going to take some time with what I have to say to him next. They’re going to pack a wallop. Jake, have you noticed you’ve had a strong connection so far with what’s behind the doors?

He’s silent. Looking at me like I just grew another head. He’s never looked at me like this before. And I can’t say I like it. I prefer when he’s smiling, or questioning, or looking at me in that confused, adorable way.

But now he’s looking at me with a mixture of emotions. Shock, but not exactly scared, more like me telling him something he already knows. And there’s a dose of anger there too. I get it. But he needs to know. He deserves to know.

And if we’re going to keep getting along and start actually liking each other, we need to be honest.

Look, I say, we don’t have to talk about it now. You just go ahead. Think about it. So you wanna go stick that thing on the map table and see what happens?

There’s the cutie look. I actually missed the goddamn thing.

First, he says, I want to see if it works and what it can tell me.

No shit, I say.

He searches around the edge for a button. Finds nothing. So he presses his thumb on the screen. It lights up, showing the familiar small square and FINGERPRINT ID.

Here goes nothing he says and touches it with his thumb.

Two words flash up on the screen for a second and then disappear: WELCOME JAKE.

I’m watching, just as hooked to the screen as he is.

Two icons are showing. There’s nothing else on the screen. I can’t see any buttons, anything that looks like it would make something happen. The two icons are images. Jake presses the first one. A video starts and we see Jake coming through the door and do his walking around on Mars routine we were watching just a little while ago. I almost tell Jake to try and stop it, since this is nothing new to us, but don’t. He watches, not moving. Just in case there’s anything new.

There isn’t.

The screen clears and we’re staring at the two icons again.

And last but let’s hope not least, Jake says, and presses the second one.

Another video loads up. It’s Steve leaning against the map table.

I try, but I can’t stop myself from whispering his name.

Jake looks up at me for a split second, then back down at the video.

Looks like he’s using some sort of handheld camera or maybe a phone.

He’s smiling. He looks good. Hale and healthy. Damn, I miss him.

Hi Monica, he says to the camera. To me. I feel tears form in my eyes. If I know you at all, Steve continues, I know somehow you’re watching this video. I’ve been inside this strange town for a few days. It’s pretty wack. Fucking weirdness at every turn. I found a place to camp out. It was like walking into a new house. Clean floors, empty cabinets, a bed ready for sheets. There was hot and cold running water, the damn toilet even flushed. Whoever installed the plumbing here did a kickass job. There’s a number one on the door here. And I’m leaning against a mindfuck of a map that’s carved into the wood. The detail is shit-crazy. I got my bigass order of supplies this morning. I didn’t expect anyone in command to approve it, so I’m gobsmacked. I don’t how long I’m spending here, but I got supplies for a long time. In a little while I’m going to go check out the door with a number two on it. See if it opens for me. After that I’ll come back and do a report for HQ. And if that door opens, it’ll be cool to talk about what’s on the other side. Well, I think that’s it for now. You know, Monica. Since I’ve been here. Off base and away from you. I’ve . . . I’ve kinda missed you. A lot. I didn’t think I would really, but. Shit. I don’t know. When I get back, maybe we can’t talk about it. Okay. See you soon, babe.

The screen goes black, and then clears to show the two icons again.

It’s all blurry.

Nope, that’s just me crying.

I turn away, trying to keep it together. I wipe my eyes, but somehow touching my face with my hands triggers something. I start sobbing and cover my face. My shoulders shake and I do the whole song and dance routine, sobbing all over I’ve been keeping a lot together, a lot inside. This video just cracked it open. I need some release.

I feel something touching my shoulder. It’s kinda heavy, really warm. It’s Jake. His hand.

I need this too.

I turn and lean into him. His arms coming around me and holding me tight are the best things I’ve felt in a while. I can smell him, his scent and deodorant. So clean and welcoming. I’m sure there’s something oedipal, reminding me of my dad. But it’s really helping.

Less than a minute later I’ve got myself together. I pull away and his arms immediately let go.

I take a few steps back, wipe my face and start to feel a whole lot better. I look up at Jake with thankfullness and see his eyes are teary too. The waterworks almost start again. I’m just fucking brimming with feels. This guy wasn’t just copping one, not that I’d ever think Jake would be capable of that. But he’s a guy after all. Nope, the damn son of a bitch gives a damn.

Okay, we got this together now.

Jake offers to make me some tea. I mention something about him being a life-saver.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs I’m standing by the map table. In my had is the datapad.

I trade Jake the datapad for my tea. I take a sip of the scalding liquid and it helps a lot.

I ask Jake if he’s ready to put the datapad on the four. He watches me for a while. Just before it starts to get awkward, he says: You know you won’t be able to watch the video again.

I take a breath. I know this. It’s what I’ve been thinking about while waiting for Jake to come back.

Yes, I say. If he’s gone . . . Permanently gone, I need a way to put him to rest. This is a way.

He nods, not offering any empty words. There’s nothing that can be said here. I wonder if he wonders if I’m still thinking that Steve isn’t gone. Because I’m not sure. We know nothing about the blackness. Other than Jake has some sort of control over it. And I heard Steve’s voice in it.

Jake picks up the datapad and puts it on the four. A few seconds pass and the light I’ve seen a couple times envelops the tablet and then it’s gone. Underneath is a golden four.

That’s when I feel the exhaustion. Like a cartoon character who just got hit on the head by a grand piano. I tell Jake I’m heading to bed. I’m beyond beat. He just nods again. I’m thankful for that. I walk away, go into the room and close the door. I don’t know what time it is, but sunset can’t be too far away. I curl up in my sleeping bag, feeling the tears coming again, starting to leak from my closed eyelids. I wonder if I’m going to be able to sleep and them I drift off into slumber land.

[End Credit Music]

That shaky, terrified feeling was back, in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t missed it. But just seeing those strangers come into Ostium. In my place . . . No, into our place. We just stood there, staring at the wall, but our minds were linked to Ostium. It was kind of like a digitized security map meets Pacman: the whole town was laid out inside my head and at one end where there was a broken line was an amorphous red blob. I was able to zoom in on the gate.

“Monica! I think I can lock the gate somehow . . . With my mind.”

“No. Don’t do it. We want them to come in.”

“What the hell? Really? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Just trust me on this. These are my people. I know how they act. I know what they’re going to do.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. I might’ve even been shaking my head. Then I focused back on the action.

The gate was now open. No surprise there: that strange padlock was long gone to wherever. I made a mental note to ask Monica if she knew anything about that. The soldiers – I presumed they were soldiers and everything Monica had been telling me so far was right and true – were streaming in now. The amorphous blob had separated into twelve smaller, more distinct blobs.

“Good. It’s just one squad.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because for all I know, they could’ve sent a whole fucking battalion to come charging down our door.”

“Good point. So what do we do?”

“Wait. And do nothing. It’ll work out fine. Trust me.”

We continued watching the squad hold a tight formation and begin their search. You could tell when they tried opening doors. They would stop, then start moving again. Stop at the next door, try it, then move on down. It got pretty repetitive, and if it’d been anyone other than armed military bearing down on us, I probably would’ve got pretty bored. As it was, we just stood there, stock still. Focused.

[Music Break]

It took them awhile, but they eventually made it to the clock tower. It was separate from the rows of buildings and looked significantly different, so they were inevitably going to notice it. Plus they had intel on this place, as lacking as it might be. When they started coming in range, I peeked through the window. I was being careful not to be seen. Monica noticed me, but said nothing. So either I was doing it right or there was something else going on I didn’t know about.

They were coming now. Their guns were raised, pointed right at this building. I think they were M-16s. A few years ago a friend of mine – Brandon, the guy who I used to go to Giants games with . . . Man, the idea of going to a sports game right now seems as foreign as . . . facing a squad of soldiers with machine guns pointed right at your head. Anyway, as a birthday present Brandon took me to a shooting range. I’d never fired an actual gun before. It was something that’d never really been high on my bucket list. I got to try out the Sig Sauer. Damned if I remember what specific model it was. It was a gun, and it was deadly. They showed us how to load it. To keep the barrel pointed down at all times until you’re about to fire it at the target. Now, I’d seen cops and mobsters load clips into their handguns hundreds of times on TV and in the movies. Popping in the bullets like they were magnetic; slamming the clip home for dramatic effect. And of course: loading that first round, with sinister intention. Doing it for real is pretty damn hard. The gun is heavy. Noticeably metallic. The first time I tried to force a bullet into the clip, it slipped, and I got a nice gash on my index finger, while the shell tinkled to the floor. I had to have Brandon load it for me.

When I fired the gun it was pretty devastating. So powerfully lethal it made me quiver. It put it all in perspective. That someone or a number of someone’s had invented this weapon, whose sole purpose was to kill, and kill it could. Easily. I couldn’t make it through the whole clip. On the eighth shot, I had to put it down. I was done. And I hadn’t come close hitting to the target.

Woah, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to wax poetic on gun control or lack thereof for so long. Watching these soldiers approaching us with those machine guns. This was the memory that came back to me so suddenly. Real strong.

“It’s okay.”

I looked at her, confused.

“You can look through the window. You don’t have hide.”

I raised my eyebrows. Really confused. And surprised.

“Just. Trust. Me.”

I could see all 12 of them now clearly. In their camo uniforms and all that gear weighing them down. They looked ready for anything. I knew they could never be ready for Ostium.

“They can’t hear us either,” Monica said.

I kept watching them come closer. The fear in me wanting to break free. I was barely holding it together.

“That little guy hanging a little behind everyone is Sergeant Harris. I don’t recognize anybody else in the squad. That’s intentional. In case they find me. I’d be court martialed. And they don’t want anyone who knows me getting cold feet for what needs to be done. Now. Watch this.”

One of the men in front had broken away and approached the door. He turned the handle.

It was both surreal and petrifying to watch the handle on the inside turn also. I held a breath and what I thought might be the start of a scream.

Then he pushed. The door didn’t move. At all.

He pushed with his whole body. Then threw his shoulder into it. He stepped back and started kicking. Another man joined him and they charged the door. It still didn’t move.

The sergeant walked up to one of the windows. The one I was looking out of. I watched him come up close. Then just as I’d done days ago upon first entering Ostium, he put his hands up to cup his eyes and then leaned against the glass, looking in.

He was looking right at me, and I was looking right back at him.

It was beyond surreal.

I could see right into him. His eyes were green.

“Can’t see a fuckin’ thing!” came a gravely drawl, muffled by the glass.

I gasped.

The sergeant turned to the men at the door.

“Put a few rounds in it.”

The soldier who’d tried the door first received the honor. He pulled something on his M-16, took aim at the door handle, and opened fire.

This time I jumped back, falling over, my hands over my ears. It was loud. I expected there to be smoke and splinters and the door to come swinging open. I slowly opened my eyes. Monica was still standing there. She hadn’t moved.

The door meanwhile was . . . Perfectly fine. Not a scratch on it from the inside. And judging by their reaction, unblemished on the outside too. There was a lot of yelling and cursing. The soldier took aim again, looking to perhaps empty his entire clip into the door.

“That’s enough, private,” said the sergeant. “We’re done here.”

There was no hesitation in any of the other eleven men. They’d been given an order. They were going to follow it without question.

They all turned and started walking back. I watched them until they were gone from view, then switched to the mental Ostium map. Once they were past the gate, the red amorphous blob was back once again and quickly began to grow fainter until it was gone entirely.

That’s when Monica finally relaxed.

I found myself on the floor once again, not really sure how I got there, but happy to have the support of solid wooden boards.

“How did you know?” I asked Monica over some strong tea and hot grub a short while later.

“The windows.” She offered nothing else, drinking her tea. Typical.

Then it fell into place . . . Like a window sliding closed.

Sorry. That simile was terrible, especially given the circumstances.

“The windows were black. Just like all the other buildings?”

“Yep.”

“They couldn’t see in. Couldn’t see anything. Of course! I never thought of that. When I first came to the clock tower I was all focused on wishing the door would open for me and didn’t even glance at the windows. You checked them out, right?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I was going on a really strong hunch. All the other buildings had the same windows. This one had too. Like you, I forgot to check.”

“Woah. Well, you told me to trust you. I did. And we’re alive and well now.”

“And drinking tea.”

“Is that it? Will they leave us alone?”

She was quiet for a while. Thinking. Deciding.

“I don’t really know. I wanna say yes, but it’s not certain. They could come back, but it’s unlikely.”

“Well, with our handy dandy Ostium alert system we’ll know when we’re having visitors again.”

[Music Break]

I’m driving home, and I’m pretty sure it’s for the last time. No, I know it’s for the last time. I think it’s a necessary separation. The Ostium train has gotten rolling. It’s left the station and it’s gotten up to a good cruising speed. Unless there’s a wreck on the rails, it’s not stopping anytime soon. I think my apartment and my connections with the real world are part of the potential wreck. I need to make sure the rails stay clear as far as the eye can see.

Wow, I’m already into the deep allegorical shit and I haven’t even put on Pink Floyd yet.

That’s when I find the album I want on my phone and press play. Division Bell. Like the previous album, A Momentary Lapse of Reason, it opens with an instrumental track. I haven’t heard it in a while. The beginning sound slowly builds. It’s a crunching, crackling, wrenching sort of sound. As it builds, the image of popping popcorn pops into my head. I then realize it’s the sound. I pull over to the side of the road. I’m not too far from Ostium and the road is still plenty quiet. I sit there listening. It’s the sound of the blackness coming towards me. Increasing in volume. I heard and saw it on the Mary Celeste. And on Mars. And now it scares the shit out of me. The music is finally starting, but I can still hear that horrible, haunting sound in the background. I skip to the next track. It begins with drums and some light guitar, then David Gilmour explodes with his unique sound. That gets me back on track. I start the car and get back on the road.

My brain is doing that thing it does when I’m driving. Working on automatic. Sifting through the events of the days. Percolating like Mr. Coffee.

The first thing it keeps repeating at me which I’m not going to deny is that Monica is a stunning woman. She’s beautiful. I know it’s been a few days since I’ve been around people, and it’s been . . . Let’s see . . . 11 months and 12 days since the fraught end of my last relationship – not that I’m counting or anything . . . But still. Of all the people to have shown          up in Ostium . . . Monica sure is . . . Something.

So let’s take a look at this. Jackpot winning luck aside. How did Monica end up finding Ostium? And then running into me?

Her series of audio recordings explained the steps she took, though I have a feeling there’s more to be told on her part. A lot more. Like any good, complex character – looks aside – I need the back story. The history. I was actually going to kind of confront her about it today and then the goddamn military showed up and threw everything out of whack.

But I’m heading home now, and like I said, it’s for the last time. I’m severing that tie with this world and becoming a permanent resident of Ostium. When I told Monica that this was what I wanted to do, what I needed to do; she wasn’t just understanding but encouraging. The one bed might have something to do with that.

As much as I’d like to share it with her . . .

Okay, I’m sorry. I’m going to stop being a crass asshole.

I’m going to dig out my sleeping bag. Buy myself an inflatable mattress and that’ll solve the sleeping arrangements at the Clock Tower Ritz. I’ll also need blankets and a pillow or two for comfort.

So . . . Getting back to Monica.

I’m not really well versed in military etiquette, other than the conglomeration of inaccurate stuff from movies, so I don’t really know if her story checks out 100%. I don’t know how hard they come after you if you go AWOL. It seems like one of the worst things you could. Desertion. Other than like treason. So you’d think it’d be a lot bigger deal. But she didn’t make it sound like it was. Our country isn’t at war right now with any big mean nation, so maybe that has something to do with it.

The story rings true. And if you take a look from a distance at my discovery of Ostium, it certainly sounds somewhat fantastic, bordering on wizards and dragons craziness. But I know it to be completely true. So why couldn’t Monica’s be? And we found each other in a strange and somewhat scary place, so it’s natural we would want to work together to get through it and try to understand what Ostium is trying to tell us. To join forces. An alliance of comprehension.

But what about the lock?

That weird-looking padlock that was on the gates the first time I came to Ostium. And then was mysteriously gone the next day. I needed to ask Monica about that. See if she had a specific answer for it. Or find out if it was just one of the weirdnesses of Ostium. Or . . . Discover if Monica hesitated before giving me an answer, like she was making something up, or just feeding me something, indicating she was holding back. Keeping secrets from me.

Ostium was still doing its best at keeping most of the secrets from us, or at least from me. The last thing I needed was my one and only ally keeping her own secrets.

No. When I got back we were going to have a heart to heart of sorts. A state of the union. With me moving in full time, we needed to be on the same page about everything. Discuss and link up our hopes and goals.

My favorite song – the last track on the album – was starting. So that’s when I told my brain to shut up, cranked up the volume and enjoyed the music.

About halfway home the pervasive invisible fog that was that weird mental map of Ostium cleared. Was that the extent of its reach? Was it something specific to me as a honorary member of the Ostium club? Currently at a grand two members.

But that was when my mind cleared or perhaps reconnected with the world and I remembered my previous trip heading out to Ostium and how I’d been wrestling with the fact that Ostium had stolen time from me, in a way. I sucked in a breath and turned on the screen on my phone. I actually gasped when I saw it was a little after two pm, on Sunday. Not the Sunday I thought it was at the start of today, when I’d gotten that email from Robert. Was it really the same day? Apparently not. No, not by a long shot. It was the following Sunday. As in a week later. As in seven whole days. So basically what had been less than the passage of two days to me was a entire week.

Holy shit.

They say time flies, but this is ridiculous.

But I need to focus on getting home right now, don’t want to run myself off the road here with outright panic.

But . . . Holy shit.

[Music Break]

I arrive at my home a week later than I expected. I’m not happy about this, but there’s nothing I can really do about it now. I select my key from the small selection hanging from my key-chain. It looks foreign to me. Strange. Like it doesn’t belong. As if it’s somebody else’s. I turn the lock and step inside.

I know I’ve got doors on the brain, and that’s to be expected when traveling around in Ostium, but stepping through that door honestly feels like stepping into another world. On an esoteric level, it is. It’s something else now. Not really belonging to me. Legally that’s just not true, but I have no real physical or emotional connection to it. Even though I’ve lived here for over three years. Hell, I’ve had sex here, even if it was way too goddamn long ago. Thanks brain, for reminding me about that.

I close the door behind me. It has a dull, unnatural sound. Not like a door should sound. Not like a door in Ostium.

My apartment smells stale. Old. Disused. Even though it’s only been a day or two . . . Oh wait. No. It hasn’t. It’s been a whole fucking week.

I REALLY don’t like this time dilation thing. I always thought being involved or able to participate in any particular way with time travel would be the most awesomest thing I could ever experience.

I was wrong.

It fucking sucks.

But I need to move on.

I start thinking about what I’m going to take. What’s going to stay. If I should call anyone; let anyone know what’s going on. Or just disappear off the face of the earth. It’s not like anyone has really missed me since I’ve been gone. I guess Robert at work noticed, and my boss once I didn’t show up enough for him to decide to fire me. But otherwise . . . A few emails and posts on Facebook, but nothing really says: Where the hell have you been? Is everything okay?

And that’s when there’s a loud booming on my door. It not just knocking, and it’s a long step beyond hammering. Whoever’s on the other side has made a fist and is slamming it against the door as hard as he or she can, though by this point I’m pretty sure it’s a definitive he.

I’m just a few feet from the door and it scares the crap out of me. I actually jump in the air, and feel that wave of shock and fear wash over me like someone just upended a bucket of icy water. This is an ice bucket challenge I didn’t want to participate in.

But I guess at the end of the day (or is that the end of the week?) someone does apparently care.

I turn around and open the door.

Brandon is on the other side. My baseball buddy. The one guy who I’ve regularly hung out with over the last few years. The one guy out of everyone should at least give a damn about me. He does. That’s why he’s here. Obviously.

He strides in. Pushes me back. Slams the door behind him.

I wince at the sound, reflexively blinking.

“You!” he says, pointing his finger right at me. “Where the fuck have you been?”

He sounds really angry.

I just stare at him, the proverbial deer in the headlights. I can feel the blood draining from my head. I can feel my face turning white, a numbness setting in, as well as a growing light-headedness

“Siddown.”

He goes into my kitchen and grabs two clinking bottles from the fridge. He comes back with two Wyder’s Pear Ciders.

If I haven’t mentioned it, I’m a cider guy. Not a beer guy. Wyder’s is my favorite, especially the pear. Brandon isn’t really a cider guy; he’s most definitely a beer guy. But he’ll drink a cider occasionally. Especially if it’s all a friend’s fridge has. That’s what friends do.

Now I have a heavy feeling in my stomach. It’s guilt, with a healthy dose of shame.

He comes back and hands me a bottle and sits down opposite me on the long couch, where we’ve watched a number of movies together. Tough guy action flicks and had a great time.

Now I’m really starting to feel bad.

“Okay man, tell me what’s going on.”

I’m just staring at him. Trying to think of words. Any words. I drink some cider. It’s delicious, as always.

“You’ve been gone for a long time. I Facebook messaged you’ve. I texted. I called a bunch of times. I’ve even fucking Tweeted your ass. I called your work. Found out you’ve not been there for over a week. And got fired. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” Even though I’ve been imbibing a liquid, my voice is dry and croaky.

“I was getting really worried . . . I am really worried. I’ve been coming to your house for the last three days. Then I just camped out yesterday and waited and waited and waited. And then today I see you pull in. Go up the stairs, unlock your door and go inside like no biggie. Like everything’s okay.”

He takes a breath. I keep staring, speechless.

“Well, it’s not okay. I . . . I just want to know what’s going on. And . . . if you need any help.”

It’s that last part that hits home. That cuts deep. This guy really does care. And now I have a raw, weeping wound in my emotional nerve. I’m going to have to say something. I don’t know what.

So I just open my mouth and start talking.

“I found something. Well, more of a somewhere. It’s a place not on any map. It’s a secret. A . . . Hidden town.”

Brandon stares at me. A frown forming a grooved-V in his forehead.

“And . . .”

“It . . .” I put down my bottle and rub my face with my hands “It’s a place that didn’t want to be discovered. Only I found it. And inside are all these buildings and doors with numbers on them.”

“Okay . . . Okay, I get it. You found a cool old ruin of a town. Like those ghost towns they have all over California from the old west.”

“Sort of. But not really.”

“Then explain it to me. Put it in plain fucking English. Please.”

“The doors are numbered. It’s part of a code. You have to open each door in order. And these doors . . .” I unavoidably pause again. It’s getting hard to spit out the words. To make my vocal chords comply.

Is that me? Or is that the reaching, controlling fingers of Ostium . . . Clasping around my throat?

“Doors. Numbers. Sure. Why does that mean you have to drop off the face of the earth for a week?”

“Because . . . Because the doors lead to other places. Other places in time. Other dimensions. Other . . . Worlds.”

The disbelief is as clear on his face as a black and white newspaper with a half-page-sized headline.

“It’s real.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s . . . Real.”

“I don’t fucking believe you, man. That just sounds . . . Ehhh, fucking insane! Doors to other times? Like the past? The future? Seriously!”

“Yes. Both actually. I’ve been . . .”

I know at this point I’ve lost him. I’m also pretty sure whatever friendship we had has been irrevocably severed. This made-up story is just too much, even for a friend. I would’ve done better saying I’d won the lottery or met someone on the other side of the country.

I just keep going, because at this point I can’t stop. I may not be convincing Brandon, but I’m definitely helping to convince myself that this home, this friendship, this life, this world is over.

Now there’s only Ostium.

“I’ve been to Roanoke in the sixteenth century, and an old ship in the nineteenth century. I’ve also been to Mars, and it was incredible.”

That’s when he just looks at me with fury.

“Fuck you, man. Fuck you and fuck your stupid made-up town. Jeez, I thought there was more to you. But you’re nothing but a sack o’ shit.”

“It’s fucking real!” I yell right back at him.

He gets up to leave. The half-drunk bottle of cider long ignored.

“There’s also someone else there. In the town. Working with me. A woman.”

This stops him. He sits back down.

“So all this is about a chick?”

“No . . .”

And that’s when I decide to just give in. The friendship is over, no matter what. Let’s just try send Brandon on his way without completely hating my guts.

He’s looking at me now with raised eyebrows. I choose the path less taken and begin my lie.

“Well, yes. I met her last Friday. On the street on my way to work. We kind of ran into each other. But I picked up her things and I was real nice about it. I wanted to avoid being the asshole guy who just wants to connect with anyone of the opposite sex. She was reading the new Song of Ice and Fire book.”

“The Game of Thrones books?”

“Yeah. The new one just came out. I finished it the day I got it. So we started talking about it. She was almost done with it. And then that led to blowing off our respective employers and having coffee and really connecting. We went out that night.”

“Damn, nice job, man! It’s been a while since . . . Kristin wasn’t  it?”

“Yeah. We hung out all day Saturday. And that night we slept together and it was amazing.”

“I bet it was. Fucking kinky Game of Thrones sex. Am I right?”

“Yeah. And we just wanted to spend all of our time together. We got our stuff and went driving around Mendocino county for most of the week. Went all the way up to Eureka. Hung out in Fort Bragg. And just enjoyed each other.”

“Yeah,” he said with a disturbing emphatic wink. “In every way possible I bet. You randy. Mother. Fucker. So what was all that shit about doors and hidden towns and traveling through time?”

I was starting to remember pretty clearly now why I didn’t hang out with Brandon all the time.

“It was a sort of LARP thing we were doing.”

He just stares at me, dumbfounded.

“Live action role-playing. We were acting out a fantasy together.”

Kinky. Mother. Fucker.”

“So anyways, I literally just got back. Still got all my shit in the car. I just dropped Monica off at her place.”

“Wow. That’s awesome. Monica huh? Sounds sexy. She white?”

“No, she’s black.”

“Hot damn! Crossing over the . . .”

“Please! Anything you’re about to say, just don’t. I really don’t want to hear it.”

He mimes zipping his lips.

“And now I’m really fucking wiped and was just about to crash for like twenty hours.”

He knew his cue and stood up again. I joined him.

“I hear you man. You’re must be fucking wiped. In every way possible. Six fucking ways from fucking Sunday. Am I right? Am I right?”

“Yeah.” I practically moaned in abhorrence, trying not to cringe.

“Alright. I’ll get out of your hair then.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, but what about your job?”

“Oh . . . That. Well, I was pretty sick of it anyway. I’ve been looking around for something else. Even sent out a couple resumes a few weeks ago.”

The lies were just pouring out, but I knew the end was near.

“Good on ya. Well, when you’re ready to rejoin the world drop me a line. I’d like to meet this . . . Lovely Monica.”

“Yeah, sounds good, man. See ya around.”

He opens the door and walks himself out.

I close it behind him and deadbolt it.

I lean my back against the door and let out a long shaky breath.

I feel sick.

[Music Break]

I drag out my suitcases and duffel bags and fill them with everything I think I’ll ever need, and anything I deem important. I don’t worry about taking too much. There’s plenty of room in Ostium for all my stuff. I’m leaving a lot of books behind and that’s tough. I do grab my rare first edition hardcover of Game of Thrones. Yes, the first one in the series, AND it’s in mint condition. I also grab my leather-bound Lord of the Rings and Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. I also grab my Kindle and Kobo ereader. On each of those devices are about ten thousand books. Have I mentioned I’m kind of insane about books and collecting them? Ebooks make it a lot more reasonable of an addiction, and feasible too.

My laptop goes in the bag, along with a couple of chargers.

When I decide I’m ready, I check outside to make sure Brandon’s still not spying on me. He’s long gone. I fill up my car with everything and get on the road. I hit an ATM and take out as much cash as I can. I’ll have to work out how to get the rest of my money from my account later. Today’s Sunday and of course, no banks are open. And I’m sure once my rent becomes long overdue my landlord’s going to be looking for me.

I get on the road with plenty of drinks and snacks. The sun is making its swift way down to the Pacific and the light is starting to fade. By the time I make it to Ostium it’ll be pitch black. Should be fun.

And as I’m heading up the familiar highway I have this warm, swelling feeling inside of me. It’s not food or drink related. I wonder what it is for a few seconds and realize it’s elation.

I’m really damn excited to be heading back to Ostium.

My new home.

I’m also really looking forward to seeing Monica again.

And seeing what’s in our future with regards to Ostium and its many mysterious doors.

[End Credit Music]

[Knocking sound]

JAKE: Come in. Hi.

MONICA: Hi. Did you get enough sleep?

JAKE: Er . . . Yeah. I think so. What time is it?

MONICA: It’s Sunday, October 7th. Ten-twenty hours.

JAKE: Ten-twenty?

MONICA: Oh, sorry. Slipped into my military speak there. It’s twenty after ten. You’ve been asleep for over 21 hours.

JAKE: Holy shit?! Really?

MONICA: Yep. Guess you needed some shut-eye.

JAKE: Ahh, yeah. It’s been a . . . Tough couple of days.

MONICA: I’m Monica.

JAKE: Good to meet you. I’m Jake. Hey, how do you know about this place? About . . . Ostium?

MONICA: Look. Jake. Here’s what I think we should do. Why don’t you take some time to get fully awake. I’ve made voice recording entries for the last six days on everything that’s happened to me. From where I was before to here. Ostium. You give that a listen and I’ll round up some grub and strong hot tea. How would that treat ya?

JAKE: That sounds . . . amazing. I . . . I also keep a voice recording thingy. I use my phone. Actually, in the interests of full disclosure: I’m recording our conversation right now with said phone. But it might be easier just to get it from my iPad. I’ve uploaded everything online. We get wifi here, you know?

MONICA: Yeah, I noticed. The good old Ostium network, always dependable. Better than Comcast.

JAKE: Yeah. Plus, you’ll help my hit count.

MONICA: What?

JAKE: Er . . . It was a joke. I meant the number of people listening to my voice posts. It’s called a hit count. Here’s my iPad.

MONICA: Okay. You start listening. I’ll work on our sustenance and give your site a listen.

JAKE: Deal.

 [Music Break]

 MONICA: Tea and grub is up. I haven’t heard my yakking in a while, so I figure you’re done. Or maybe it put you to sleep? Let’s eat in the main room. There’s more floor space.

JAKE: Okay.

MONICA: You gonna record us eating too?

JAKE: Oh. Heh. No. Sorry.

~ ~ ~

JAKE: Wow, that was good. A meal fit for a king.

MONICA: Don’t get used to it, buster. I’m not the stay at home wife type.

JAKE: Er . . . Yeah. I didn’t mean. You see . . . It was really good. I feel a lot better now. And I’m not much of a tea drinker, but this brew is really hitting the spot. Hot and strong, with a good dose of caffeine. I’ve been on intravenous coffee for the last few days, in vast amounts. It’s a . . . Welcome change.

MONICA: Good. So that was pretty smart. How you discovered Ostium.

JAKE: Thanks. It was kind of an accident. But once I saw it . . . It was like it wouldn’t let go. Like someone had cast a fishing line and the hook had sunk in deep. Fortunately it was a metaphorical hook.

MONICA: What?

JAKE: Sorry. I was just being a little weird. I was just being . . . Me.

MONICA: O-kay. So anyway, you’ve seen a lot. Experienced a lot. Gone through a lot.

JAKE: Yeah . . . It’s been overwhelming, to say the least. I’m still processing it all. I think if I were to go back home right now and just slot back into my normal life for a week, I still wouldn’t be able to process anything.

MONICA: So you’re thinking of leaving Ostium?

JAKE: What? No! Absolutely not. Remember the fishing hook? I can’t leave. I won’t leave. I don’t want to leave. There’s so much here. I’ve seen so much, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg. I know there’s so much more.

MONICA: There sure is. So what did you think of my side of the story?

JAKE: So . . . You really think I’m cute?

MONICA: Really?

JAKE: Why are you laughing?

MONICA: You’re such a fucking typical guy. Homo erectus right there.

JAKE: Wait. What?

MONICA: You discover a secret, hidden, abandoned town that has doors that transport you to different points in time. Then you find another person who knows about the town and has been going through the same thing. And you hear my story. And the point you fixate on is the one time I mentioned your cute.

JAKE: Huh. Yeah. Well . . . I’ve been very much on my own the last few days. And you suddenly show up and you’re . . . Well, you’re beautiful. And you did say I was “damn cute.”. And . . . I’m not really helping myself here, am I?

MONICA: Oh no. You go on. Dig yourself deeper. Confirm what every girl thinks every guy commenter online is really thinking.

JAKE: Er . . . I’m sorry. I’ve been alone. Inside my head for too long. How about we start this over.

MONICA: Sounds good. What did you think of my story?

JAKE: It was fascinating.

MONICA: Much better.

JAKE: You’re really military?

MONICA: Ex-military now.

JAKE: Oh yeah. With the whole AWOL thing.

MONICA: Yeah. Thanks for rubbing it in.

JAKE: Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean . . .

MONICA: I’m just fucking with ya, Jake. I’m done with that place. Moving on to bigger and better things, right?

JAKE: Ostium.

MONICA: Ahuh.

JAKE: I feel like I only got part of your story. With your voice recordings. You covered the last few days. But you only really hinted at how you found out about Ostium. What led you here? How did you discover Ostium?

MONICA: Very astute Jake. I’m impressed. My estimation of your intelligence is going up.

JAKE: Thank you. I try.

MONICA: How are you for tea? This is going to be a longish story. You want some more?

JAKE: I’m okay for now. How about you get started and then we’ll take a break when we need one.

MONICA: Sounds like a plan. Look at that. We’re already working together so well.

JAKE: I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

MONICA: What?

JAKE: It’s . . . It’s a quote from . . .

MONICA: I got it Jake. I’m just fucking with you again. You’re going to have to keep an eye out for it. It’s kinda my schtick. People have hated me for it.

JAKE: Okay. I’ll . . . I’ll be on my guard.

MONICA: Now you’re getting it. So . . . I guess I’ll start at the beginning. The beginning for Ostium. My beginning you’ll have to hear about another day. And I’ll want to hear about your turbulent history then too.

JAKE: Yeah. We’ll do that. I’ll talk about all the skeletons in my closet.

MONICA: Ooooh. Intriguing. So Ostium began for me about six months ago.

[Music Break]

MONICA: Ostium first got picked up on a satellite image. According to the records, this very spot had been photographed a couple of times since the satellites up there started looking at us down here. It was just some random imaging. Nothing specifically being searched for. I was just scanning through them. It was sorta part of my assignment, and sorta me just messing around. Eating up work time until it was the next guy’s turn.

JAKE: Where was this? On a base? A secret compound?

MONICA: I’m sorry Jake. That’s classified.

JAKE: But you said you were done . . . Wait. Is this you fucking with me again?

MONICA: You’re catching on real fast, Jake. I like that. It’s a base. Kinda secret. Not a lot of people know it’s there. I could give you the coordinates, but I don’t think that would do much for you?

JAKE: No. Not really.

MONICA: So let’s just say it’s kinda in the middle of Mendocino County. Kinda far from here, but not too much. A decent distance so that say someone leaving that base could make it here in time before they totally lost their fucking mind.

JAKE: Gotcha.

MONICA: So up to this point the imaging was just showing lots of forest. Trees as far as the eye could see. Inland Southern California is all deserts and flatlands. Inland Northern California is all trees and hills. And then I saw Ostium. Just like you did. It was during an overnight shift. Like one or two in the AM. I stopped on an image and saw this entire town. And I was like: what the fuck? I tagged it and put it aside, and moved on. Looking at other images. But there was only the one that had Ostium on it. It was an aerial view, overlooking the entire town. I could tell right away it was different. And that wall.

JAKE: Yeah?

MONICA: It goes all around in one big circle.

JAKE: Like a medieval fortified village.

MONICA: Yessiree, Bob.

JAKE: Name’s Jake.

MONICA: Hah-hah.

JAKE: So what was so different about it?

MONICA: It looked so planned. Like someone picked this spot for a town, drew up the design, along with the high wall, and then built the fucking thing. The streets. The buildings. The space in the northern half of the town. It all looks set up. Unnatural. No sense of the fluid growth of a town.

JAKE: Like it was strategically orchestrated for a specific purpose.

MONICA: Yep. The question is had this place always been deadsville or is that a more recent event?

JAKE: Huh.

MONICA: Population. Zero.

JAKE: Oh. Right.

MONICA: It has the feel of one of those factory towns. Or commuter towns. There for one job. An exact population to serve whatever industry is nearby.

JAKE: But there’s nothing near here. It’s the middle of nowhere.

MONICA: Exactly. Which is why I think we’re the first two residents of Ostium.

JAKE: But then who stocked the kitchen with all those canned goods.

MONICA: Oh that. I can explain that. Let me get back to my story. But first I need a refill on my tea.

MONICA: I gave my superior a full report on what I’d discovered. I put the request in for a series of images over a number of days. That way we could tell if there was any activity going on down there or here, rather. As I’m sure you know, there wasn’t a sign of anything. My boss had a lot on his plate – like he always does – and decided on some initial aerial reconnaissance and then one person dispatched to check it out.

JAKE: I bet you really wanted to be that person.

MONICA: You betcha. But my boss is a boss. Which means he’s an asshole. Especially when it comes to women in the military. Add to that his dislike for anyone who’s skin color is different from his. You kinda get the picture. He ordered me to keep my eyes glued to the screen. And keep my delectable hiney in the chair. So I got to watch everything happening. Aerial reconnaissance picked up some fancier photos. More details. High-res. Lots of glossy color. But that was about it. Nothing really useful. I sure did enjoy poring over them though. Got a pretty damn good mental map of the town now. My memory’s sharp . . . Not as good as you’re photographic one.

MONICA: So I got to watch the whole game from the sidelines. The lucky man got dropped within five miles of Ostium. He was picked up three days later from the same L-Z. He gave his report to my boss. And I got no trickle-down info. Fortunately, we’re good friends – he’s cute too, you know – and gave me the lowdown. For those three days he never set foot in Ostium. It was all about checking the scene from the outside. Observing. Noting any activity.

JAKE: Of which there was none.

MONICA: Bingo. He said he was pretty fucking bored. Especially since the gate was unlocked and just waiting for someone to come in. He made it clear that as dullsville as the place seemed, he needed to go into Ostium just to be sure. He planned to go for another three days and then get back in contact after that and assess. When I said goodbye to him before he left, it was the last time I ever saw him.

JAKE: What was his name?

MONICA: Steve. We all started getting real busy with other projects. But since nothing had happened in Ostium yet, and Steve hadn’t seen a thing to be concerned about, everything just went along normally. I got moved onto other things and had to get my info third and fourth hand. He’d gotten in touch after three days, said he found something, wasn’t sure what but needed more time. He also put in an order for a specific list of supplies. Whoever was overseeing Steve’s project gave the okay without a second thought. His mind must’ve been on other projects. And because Steve hadn’t said anything was going south, no one batted an eye. I didn’t find this out until after the fact. But he got his supplies in a few days.

JAKE: The canned goods? All the stuff in the kitchen?

MONICA: You have Steve to thank for that.

JAKE: And I bet his hair was smooth and silky?

MONICA: I don’t know about that. But I know he cared about his dandruff, which is why it had to be Head & Shoulders.

JAKE: It all makes sense now.

MONICA: No! It doesn’t.

JAKE: What do you mean?

MONICA: Let me finish the story.

JAKE: Okay.

MONICA: After getting the supplies, he was due to check in a week later. The supplies were obviously for much longer, but it was expected after that week, unless he found out something worth investigating, he’d be brought back and that’d be the end of it. Well, that day came and went. There was no further communication with Steve. Days passed and still nothing. My boss heard about it all and finally decided to pay attention. He sent a team of five out there to investigate. The rumors were that he’d gone AWOL. I really wanted to be part of that team, but once again my boss wanted to keep my boots at the base and nowhere near Ostium. I did get put in charge of helping facilitate the planned rescue mission and handled all the communications. Like Steve, the team was dropped a few miles from Ostium. Early in the AM. They spent the day first doing reconnaissance, then the rest of the day inside the town. They didn’t find a single sign of Steve or any sign of anything going on in Ostium. That night the team was pulled out and brought back. In the debriefing when each member was asked what they thought had happened to Steve, they all said he went AWOL. But I didn’t believe it for a second.

JAKE: He wasn’t the running away type?

MONICA: He went inside Ostium. And then he ran away? How much sense do you think that makes?

JAKE: None.

MONICA: He obviously found this place and stocked everything. He had the map table to work with. But we each made one of those numbers turn gold by bringing something back from those times. But he didn’t. Still. He was a smart guy. He must’ve worked it out. Maybe something happened when he went through that door to Roanoke?

JAKE: Maybe . . . Maybe that blackness came and he didn’t make it back in time. It got him.

MONICA: Well I’m not going to sleep tonight. Thanks for that. I need more tea.

[Music Break]

MONICA: So they dropped it. Kind of forgot about him, which really pissed me off. They notified a bunch of people to be on the lookout for him. But as far as they were concerned he was out of sight, out of mind. Moving on now.

JAKE: You cared a lot about him. Didn’t you?

MONICA: I did. I didn’t realize how much until he was gone. But we hung out a lot and got along really well. If we hadn’t met on base, but somewhere else, we mighta had something. I was now somewhere I didn’t want to be. And I had somewhere I needed to be. I made my plan. Looked for the right moment. Got a few supplies. Snuck off base. And made my way here.

JAKE: And you found it pretty easily?

MONICA: Negative. It did take me a while. My recordings offer a shortened version. But I’d been studying the location since they put me on the project and finding shit in the middle of nowhere is part of my training.

JAKE: Do you think he’s here. Somewhere in Ostium?

MONICA: I don’t know. Where else can he be?

JAKE: Your boss is probably looking for you too, huh?

MONICA: By my estimate, they could be coming through the gate at any moment. I’ve been comforting myself that they’re thinking I’m following in Steve’s footsteps. Which I am, but if I’m AWOL too, I could be anywhere. So it’s going to require searching a lot of areas. Ostium is definitely going to be one of them.

JAKE: Okay. That means we need to be prepared.

MONICA: And other than keeping our eyes peeled, keeping a constant watch, what’re you thinking?

JAKE: Wait a second. If I was sleeping on your bed for all those hours, where were you sleeping?

MONICA: I have this uncanny, superhero ability to be able to sleep on anything. Even if it’s the hard cold floor. Doesn’t bother me.

JAKE: You slept on the floor . . . All night?

MONICA: Nah. I caught a few hours of shut-eye. But I was walking around. Reconning. Bivouacking. Circumventing. Military shit like that. I’ve been waiting for the sound of marching boots coming through the gate since yesterday. I’m a little on edge. Hence all that damn tea.

JAKE: Cheers. I need to stretch my legs. And think. Did it freak you out when you put the figurine on the map table?

MONICA: Kinda. It also felt right. And that was immediately comforting, so I wasn’t that affected by it. Like things were lining up like they’re supposed to. I’ve felt that way since I set foot in this place. Like it’s a place I was always destined to reach. And now I’m here and it all feels right.

JAKE: Oooh, mystical.

MONICA: Fuck you.

JAKE: No, I’m sorry. I know exactly what you mean. It’s felt the same for me too. It’s why I keep coming back. It’s got this magnetic pull. Because we’re supposed to be here . . .

MONICA: Now who’s being mystical? You’re even talking all new-agey.

JAKE: Number one. Door number one.

MONICA: What about it?

JAKE: It’s black on the map.

MONICA. Yes . . . All the numbers on the map are black.

JAKE: Except two and three. Because of what we did.

MONICA: Spit it out braniac.

JAKE: We each brought something back from Roanoke and the Mary Celeste. So we still need to do something for number one to turn it gold like the other two.

MONICA: Oh shit.

MONICA: So what the hell do we do?

JAKE: Fuck if I know.

MONICA: We could try coins? Each put a coin on the number.

JAKE: I don’t think so. It’s not right.

MONICA: Why?

JAKE: Because that’s something from the outside. This needs to be from us in here. From Ostium. How do we do that?

MONICA: Well . . . Why don’t we just touch it. Together. At the same time.

JAKE: Sounds good to me.

JAKE: You know, I don’t think it’s . . . Wait.

MONICA: Holy shit.

JAKE: It’s working. I can feel it. And I can see . . . Oh my god.

MONICA: The number’s gold now. I think we can take our fingers off it.

JAKE: Yeah. Okay. Did . . . Did you see something. In your head.

MONICA: Yes.

JAKE: It was Ostium. Wasn’t it.

MONICA: Yes.

JAKE: I saw it all. There was so much detail. Like watching an HD movie. Ultra HD. And I could zoom in and see the doors and the numbers. Like an awesome computer game.

MONICA: Did you zoom in to the gates?

JAKE: No. I didn’t.

MONICA: Do it.

JAKE: What?

MONICA: Do it now. You still have the ability.

JAKE: I do? I do! What is that.

MONICA: That my friend is the cavalry. They’ve arrived. And they’re coming in.

[End Credit Music]

October 1. 07:10.

Finally got the intel I needed. It’s taken time. A lotta time. Time I didn’t really have. But it paid off. Big time. No free rides. You gotta earn it. I went AWOL at 04:22. Hiked the fence. Waited in the bushes for any signs. No one saw me. I turned tail and headed for the hills. Figured I had anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes of leeway. I didn’t take my time. I kept a pace any drill instructor woulda been proud of. I had one fall. Banged my knee up pretty bad. But didn’t think. Didn’t react. Just ran. When I reached my resting point I’d take inventory. The darkness worked to my advantage. Keeping me hidden. But it was also a hindrance. These eyes don’t work well in the black. I got a flashlight. Didn’t want to risk it. There were a few dead ends. A few walls I couldn’t get over. It happens. I’m not going to beat myself up about it. I made it to an abandoned cabin by 07:00 and made myself at home. Plan to make the next audio report in vicinity of the target.

October 1. 18:35

I’m here. It weren’t no easy ride. Lotta grinding and beating the dirt. Plenty of sweat shed. Probably lost a few. Will be great for my figure. Even though I’m 100% pure muscle and look fuckin’ awesome. I got to the bivouac point at 17:00 and reconnoitered. Okay, I’ve had it with the jargon. Nobody cares. I certainly fuckin’ don’t. So I’m going to can it. Though a fubar or two may show up. So don’t be surprised.

I approached the town from the northwest. I had a feeling I was getting close when things started to change. I was already deep in the middle of nowhere, so no people, no vehicles, nothing to write home about. But the trees kept getting denser. It felt like they were starting to move. Getting closer together. Closing off my routes. Doing some wicked Ent shit. I didn’t like it one bit. So I clawed my way through. Scratching myself up royally. Probably have poison ivy making itself known when I bed down tonight.

Then the wildlife just disappeared. The birds stop chirping. The crickets stopped making that racket. Soon it was just the sound of me and my own. My breathing. My movements. The sandpapery sounds of my clothes brushing the foliage. It was eerie. Fuck it. It was downright scary. Then I broke through. I was relieved. But seeing that stone wall . . . I got scared in a whole new way. It was domineering. It was solid. It was impending.

It was . . . Real.

Ostium.

After all that watching and waiting. All that time. To finally be here.

I was trying not to lose it.

There was no point of visible ingress from where I was standing. I headed east, following the wall, until I got to a corner. The wall continued south. I headed back the way I’d come. The wall took me west for a while, then another corner, and more south wall. I followed it in that direction for over a mile. I found another corner and turned east. The light was starting to fade. I didn’t have much time. I already knew I was going to be spending tonight outside, under the stars and with nature. I found the gate next. It was all rusty and old. There was a shiny padlock on it. That didn’t make sense. It also looked weird. Hexagonal. I’d never seen anything like it.

Getting in was tomorrow’s problem. I made myself scarce in the foliage. Found a good spot to bed down. Grabbed some grub. More delicious and nutritious MREs.

Time for some shut-eye.

October 2. 11:21.

My goal with these recordings was to keep as much of me out of them as possible, and just record the events. I know when I made that promise it wouldn’t be long before I broke it.

This is me. Breaking it.

I am someone who needs to be in control. Always. It’s who I am. It’s my makeup and my DNA. So when I got up at 0600 this morning and approached the gate, seeing that padlock gone was . . . Kinda destroying. More so than the lack of the sounds of fauna or anything else that’s happened to me so far. It was just so fucking wrong. Someone or something higher up had played a hand. Was in control. And at the moment there was nothing I could do about it.

I would go inside Ostium and perhaps play into that very hand.

So that’s what I did, opening the rusty gates and entering the place that more than a year ago I thought was something reserved for stories about Atlantis and Avalon.

You may have noticed I’m a little more . . . Loquacious in this particular report. Well, let me say that breaking that first promise was a significant break in the dam of my stringent and restrictive training. I want these reports to be useful and informative. Not just terse, step-by-step operations that are dry and lifeless. Whether it’s me listening to them or someone else, I’m going to make them something of substance.

The satellite imagery was correct. If there’s one thing you can’t fault for being wrong, it’s those eyes in the sky; those little blinking lights traveling overhead at night, watching you 24/7. A grid-work of simple streets with individual one-story buildings streaming along like the epitome of suburbia: everything looking just like the other. On each door was a number. There was no apparent sequence or connection between the buildings and the numbers.

Using some basic logic, I seek out the building that’s not like the others, with a nice broken clock at its apex. I checked my watch to be sure. I opened the door with full confidence and found a cozy pad inside. The kitchen was stocked with canned goods. The bathroom had toilet paper. Charmin soft. There was even a goddamn bottle of Head & Shoulders in the shower stall. For smooth and silky hair. Steve got it all organized the way he wanted.

The first thing I’d been told by the covert cell of the secret group of the clandestine wing of the United States government about Ostium was that nothing was known about it. It was a complete mystery. There were two pervading theories: either it was something from a parallel world. Or it was something created by aliens.

October 2. 19:43.

I’ve just gotten back from conducting a thorough search of the limits of Ostium. There are doors everywhere and in every sense of that word. I mean every sense. Doors on buildings; doors in underground passageways; doors literally just flat on the ground; multiple doors in the walls bordering the town; doors hovering off the ground; doors lying horizontally in the air, four feet off the ground; doors just standing there like silent sentinels; one door at the top of a ladder under the water tower. There are doors fucking everywhere here. Behind a few of them there were moans. I shit you not. Fucking creepy, man.

Fortunately, while every door had a number on it, I didn’t need to record them all and where they were in relation to each other. Whoever or whatever created this place left a handy dandy wooden table with a handy dandy map carved into it. With this sucker, I can’t get lost. At least not physically. Mentally? That’s a whole different can of fish to fry.

Okay, I might be having a little too much fun with this, but what the hell.

There appears to be absolutely not one fucking iota of logic with the numbering of the doors. So tomorrow at the crack of dawn I’m going to pay door number two a visit and see if it grants me access.

For now, I’m going to have me some delicious canned tomato soup and enjoy the confines of my new home.

I sure hope there’s hot water in the morning.

October 3. 15:44.

So the parallel dimension mumbo jumbo dealio wasn’t too far off. But first off, there was plenty of glorious, scalding hot water. It was one of the best showers I’ve had in a long time. The shampoo was okay, and thank god it was the two-in-one kind with conditioner. Here’s a fun personal fact: I can get through anything; anything, so long as there’s running hot water.

The door opened and I went through. Somehow I was in Roanoke, Virginia in the sixteenth century. It was incredible. I took my time. Looked through all the houses and cabins. There wasn’t another soul there. Just like the legend said. The details were almost unbelievable. Breathtaking. The smell of it all. The sights. The sounds. It all felt so real.

Was it real?

I don’t know. Is it possible to have a door lead to a pocket in time? According to some of the rumors going around the base, sure.

I got a kick out of it.

I decided I didn’t want to spend too long here, just in case I had issues getting back. But I wasn’t going to leave without a keepsake.

In one of the old wooden houses I found a carved wooden figurine and headed back double-time.

The doorway was there, waiting for me and I zipped through.

On the other side I headed home. Swaggered in like I’d been living there for years. Once I got settled and opened up a can of cocktail weenies and some minestrone, I took a look at my trinket.

It was a woman. Carved from some wood. A cross between a Venus of Willendorf and a heavyset nun. The detail was simple but powerful. The statuette was worn smooth. Not from carving, but from a palm: four fingers and a thumb. Endlessly rubbing it. Was it a talisman for someone? A religious keepsake? Something greater?

I took the rest of the day off. Decided I’d earned myself some rack time. I was my own boss now, anyway. Settled down that night, after a nutritious meal of pot roast. The meat was bland, but the potatoes were pretty tasty. Whenever I get done here, I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to look at a canned good again without puking my guts out. I kept the figurine beside me, and went to sleep snug as bug in a sleeping bag.

October 4. 03:32.

I just had a really fucked up dream. It was one of those ones where you know you’re in a dream but there’s nothing you can do about it and just have to ride it through. It was trippin’ balls. A Clockwork Orange meets Ziggy Stardust hanging out with Tommy. Maybe passing through that door scrambled my circuits in some way. Traveling across dimensions to another time can’t be good for the noggin’, right? I was all floaty, flying around like I didn’t have a leg to stand on. I don’t think I ever touched the ground. I kept switching back between Ostium and Roanoke. Dream versions that is. Everything was a little tweaked and blurry. It all looked off. Different. Like it does in dreams, but you know where it is even so. I think I only passed through . . . Well, flew through the door to Roanoke once and then I was just flipping back and forth. There were doors flying around me, turning and revolving like a Pink Floyd music video, but they never touched me. They were all crazy colors, bright pinks and yellows and oranges and blues. And there was all these numbers spinning in between them, really fast, but I could still tell what numbers they were. Single digit. Double digit. Even a few triple digit. My stomach was churning and I was hoping I’d be waking up soon before I puked. Is a puke dream like a wet dream? What happens on the inside happens on the outside too? I didn’t want to find out. And then this giant wooden Venus of Willendorf appeared, frowning, looking down at me. Real pissed for some reason. Like all this was my fault. And then she had the map table in her hands. I didn’t even blink. It was just there, all giant like. She started shaking it and moaning at me. All the numbers on all the little houses spilled off like cookies being dumped out of a cookie jar. It made me feel terrible. Sad. Like suicidal. I ran to them but was stuck in my tracks, dredging through molasses. I couldn’t move. I felt tears hitting my cheeks as the numbers plummeted to the ground. They exploded into millions of pieces and it felt like my parents had died and everything good in my life was gone.

That’s when I woke up. I wasn’t covered in puke. A good thing. I instantly remembered my parents were both dead, but it’s not so bad since they’ve been gone for a long time. Then I felt that same dread from the dream. Like my heart was falling down a black hole.

My arm shot out and snagged the little wooden figurine. The feeling instantly melted away and I felt right better. I clutched it to my chest, between my breasts, like a favorite childhood doll. It felt warm. I don’t know if it was giving off the heat or if it was from my hands, but I didn’t care. I just felt so happy to have it. To have it held against me. I remembered the dream. I saw all those numbers in my head. It made me think. I looked at the doll. I turned it over. On the base was the number two.

It couldn’t be a coinkydink.

October 4 11:14.

So I’ve been up for a number of hours. Had an MRE with some canned peaches. Not too bad. Though canned food aside, the MREs are starting to taste like ass. Good job I don’t have many left. I found a box of sealed Tetley teabags. Boiled some water in a pot, no-kettle-ghetto-style, and had a great cup of strong tea. I feel like I can tackle anything, even after last night’s weird ass dream.

I kept my little carved effigy with me the whole time. As I was eating, I kept looking at the number two. It was downright significant. I knew it.  Once I’d cleaned up I went to the map table and put the little figurine on top it. It matched the style. The table and the little woman looked like they belonged together. And then the damn thing started to glow white. Holy shit! I wondered what the hell this could mean. Two. That was it. I grabbed it and put it on top of the number two on the map. It got brighter. I could feel heat coming off it now. The glow expanded until it was all white. I shielded my eyes. Then it all disappeared. The figurine was gone. The number had turned from black to gold. I touched it. It was warm.

I spent the last couple hours going over this place in detail. Made a complete mental inventory. So I know what I’m working with here. Turns out if you look hard enough, life gets better. It’s not just canned goods, but found some pasta and rice, even some animal crackers. Pretty good supply in fact. So things are certainly looking up. Thanks Steve. And I think I’ve made the call: this morning was my last MRE. Hopefully ever. Barring a starving emergency situation or someone making off with all the cans. Yeah, like I’d ever let that happen. No one’s touching my canned peaches!

What the hell is that? Is someone coming?

Shit! He’s coming this way. I gotta get outta this room.

I’m hiding out in the bedroom. If he comes in here, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I . . .

Okay. Sounds like he’s gone. Who is he? Why is he here? How the hell did he find Ostium? I gotta follow him.

October 4. 17:22.

I followed him like a motherfucker. I was trained for this. And with all the buildings and streets, it was like walking through the easy level training grounds. I may have deliberately made some noise. A few times. To freak the guy out a little. He kept looking back, and I was gone around a corner or behind a wall. It was damn fun. Who was this guy coming into my house, checking out my stuff? What was he here for anyway?

The guy knew where he was going. He was locked in and determined. I started to wonder what was up and then got it once I recognized myself. I was peaking around a corner when he stopped in front of door number 2. It shouldn’t have taken me that long, but this place is one big maze. Pretty spacey. That made me think of my dream, which I wanted to keep outta my head for the time being.

Then he knocked.

He goddamn knocked on the fucking door.

I gagged myself stopping a laugh.

The guy had a sense of humor.

Or maybe when he didn’t get an answer he was just going to walk away?

It gave me a chance to look at the guy. Look at his features. He was around six feet. Broad shoulders. Short black hair. Kind of messy. Large dark eyes. Full lips. His skin tone wasn’t a pasty white, but no tan or golden either. Sort of in between. The guy did go out and get some sun. Sometimes. His build was toned but not overly. He probably hit the gym a couple times a week, but wasn’t ripped.

Overall he wasn’t a bad package. He was cute.

Damn cute actually.

Then he opened the door to blackness on the other side. I’d had my first taste of this yesterday. It was still pretty shit-your-pants scary. The guy got this deer-in-the-headlights look and just stared at it. I could tell inside his head a war of choice and decision was raging.

He actually started shaking. Poor guy. I figured he’d turn chicken and get the hell out of dodge. But he surprised me.

“Fuck it,” he said quietly to himself and stepped through.

I’m not gonna lie. I was pretty fucking impressed.

The guy had balls.

So now what?

It was kinda cool seeing what it looked like.  That rectangle of blackness just staying there, not giving anything out or taking anything in. It was kinda hypnotizing. I had to stop myself from walking to it.

That’s crazy.

I made the call: I was gonna wait it out.

It was just shy of a half hour later when the guy blasted through the doorway, slamming the door behind him. He was on his knees, laughing hysterically. Like a guy losing his mind. Or someone who’s just experienced the biggest fright of his life.

I knew how he felt.

But his laughing echoes were fucking creepy.

Once he got his shit together again, he headed back to where I was calling home these days.

I followed and waited outside.

He hesitated at the door. Like he wasn’t sure it was gonna open for him.

He went in.

I was still able to see him though the doorway. He stared at the map table for a few moments, then came to a decision.

I ducked back as he shot out, shutting the door behind him.

I kept up and watched him close the gate and get in his old German junker.

He drove away.

I closed the gate and relaxed.

But I knew he’d be back.

You can’t stay away from Ostium.

The town won’t let you.

October 5. 12:03

Shit got real today.

For breakfast I had me a can of pork and beans. That’s right. I’m an adult. I can have what the fuck I want for breakfast.

Using the propane I heated it up in a pot and it tasted goddamned delicious. I washed everything up and even found a towel to dry things up all nice like.

I checked the map and then legged it to mystery door number three. Let’s see what this fucked up place has in store for me today.

I pushed the door open, whispered “hello darkness, my old friend,” and stepped through.

On the other side I was surrounded by wood and creaking. Plus I was seesawing side to side. I’m on a fucking boat. The song plays in my head and I start singing along.

With the movement of the boat, the door behind me slams shut.

Shit.

I yell a whole dumpster-load of cussing at the closed door. This is it. I’m fucking stuck on a boat in who knows what year of our lord.

I slowly wrap my fingers around the handle, lift my eyes to the ceiling, and utter my first prayer since I was a kid and really wanted that Janet Jackson CD for my birthday.

I never got the CD, which is why I gave up on the whole praying for shit deal.

The handle turns. I take a breath . . . And pull.

The door opens and I see Ostium on the other side.

The tears hit my cheeks in seconds and I let out my breath.

Goddamn am I relieved.

I wipe my face. Close the door and open. Still there. I do it a few more times. Ostium greets me each time.

I let the door close. I’m gonna leave it like that. My stomach is still a little squirmy. So I check one last time. Yep, still there.

I see above the door is a wooden sign saying OSTIUM. Pretty cool. Now I won’t get lost.

I go from room to room, angling myself with the way the boat’s moving. Some of it’s fancy and all done up nice. Some looks old and disused. The room with the dining table is real nice. Everything laid out just so. Ready for a fancy ass meal. ‘Cept there’s no one here to enjoy it. Just like on Roanoke.

I’m all alone on a boat probably in the middle of nowhere, and I’m kinda not surprised.

I find the stairs leading up. Up on deck I go. As I get both feet on the stairs I hear a low moan from somewhere. It scares the shit out of me.

I get up on deck and look around me.

It’s gorgeous.

I hear another moan. I shiver.

Then I hear . . . Someone walking on the fucking stairs I was just on?

I dart over and behind the mast, watching and waiting.

The cute guy pops up on deck.

What the fuck is he doing . . . here?!

I knew he’d be back, just not that quick. And now he’s on the same damn boat as me.

He starts walking around. I keep watching. Moving around to keep hidden. He’s acting like he’s all alone, so I don’t worry too much.

He starts staring out to sea. Like he’s seen something. I follow his gaze and don’t see anything. He keeps staring, so I do the same thing. Then I see a blackness. My eyes follow it around on the horizon.

It’s all around us.

And there’s a weird crackling. Like seed husks being crushed. It’s getting louder.

I watch the guy go back downstairs, looking pretty freaked. I wait a bit then go to the edge and peak down. He’s nowhere in sight. I step down each step silently, using my training.

I can see into the next room with the dining table.  He’s in there looking around, like he’s searching for something.

What?

The moaning is back. Sounds like it’s getting louder. And the crunchiness. It’s getting real crazy in here.

I want to get moving, but not to be seen.

I get down to the bottom of the stairs and watch as he takes something out of one of the glasses. Then I think he sorta sees me, but he doesn’t turn to me. He starts running away.

With the moans and crazy sounds, I don’t blame him. I’d be right behind him if I didn’t mind him finding out about me.

But I do follow him. He’s got his full freak on, so I kick it up a notch, not worrying that he’s going to see me. He’s acting like he’s got a Balrog chasing his ass.

He gets to the door which I can see is tied open and dives through. He grabs the door on his way, ripping the string and slamming it behind him.

Great.

Let’s hope that didn’t break the inter-dimensional connection or unbalance the ethereal or . . . Disrupt the space-time continuum.

I make it to the door and grab the handle, but don’t turn it. He’s probably flat on his face in Ostium on the other side. Catching his breath.

I have to wait.

But the moaning and crackling makes me want to get the fuck outta here.

I look around and see something. Something whitish. A sort of glowing, floaty thing a few yards away from me. It looks like something . . . Materializing.

It lets out a moan.

Then I can see a sort of face. It’s a skull.

Fuck it.

I whip open the door and fall through, slamming it behind me.

On the other side I’m lying on the ground. I wait. If he’s nearby, he’s seen me. He’s gonna say something.

But there’s just silence.

He’s already gone.

I double back to the main building, but hide nearby, waiting for him.

It doesn’t take long. He’s bolting through the door, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s got a nasty cut on his forehead. His face still a little bloody.

Poor guy.

He’s headed back to the gate and his car.

I head inside and crash in my rack.

I’m wiped.

October 6. 13:14.

I went through the fourth door prepared for that guy to show up again. He must know there was someone else in Ostium. I could tell a few things were slightly off. He’d checked out the place. He knew he wasn’t alone. I’d decided when I woke up that this was the day we were going to meet. On my terms.

I was taken from Ostium to another planet. It was all red and shit, so Mars I was thinking. I took my time looking around at stuff. There were rockets and launch pads outside. Lots of futuristic looking stuff inside. I focused on taking in the details, while inside my mind was going batshit crazy. I was on another fucking planet for crying out loud.

Ostium could take you anywhere.

It was kinda . . . awesome. I was mainly waiting for the guy to show up, as I knew he would. So it gave me a chance to just hang in station, checking out the Martian scenery. Wondering what happened to everyone. Wondering what the point of all this was. Wondering if that black band was going to show up again. I hadn’t seen anything like it on Roanoke.

I was pretty far from the door, but situated so I could see it clearly. I was looking at the window when the guy showed up. I knew he’d arrived because that spooky blackness on the horizon just appeared.

So whatever it was it was tied to that guy somehow.

O-kay.

I kept hidden and secretly followed him as he checked out the place. He geeked out more than I did. I’d kept my shit together; he didn’t. Typical fucking guy. He kept touching and grabbing stuff. He didn’t know what it was. Didn’t he know it could maybe hurt him? The guy wasn’t cautious at all. I sure hoped he didn’t find the goddamn armory. If this place had one.

I decided the time was at hand. That blackness was getting closer. The clock was ticking. And we didn’t have very long. I snuck on ahead, made some noise, and showed myself a few times, letting him chase me, and then hung out at the door, waiting for him.

Finally he made his entrance. What the hell took him so long? He saw me right away. That look on his face was priceless. His mouth actually hung open. I took it as a compliment. If I was going to be stuck in Ostium with one other person, maybe it wasn’t so bad it was this guy.

I gave him a wink and stepped through and closed the door.

I knew his oh-shit-o-meter would be going through the roof and just waited on the other side.

That blackness had been coming on fast.

I started to wonder if it had got him. Consumed him. And that moment in time of nothingness was gone.

The the door opened and he flew through.

He crashed to the ground headfirst.

I grabbed the door to close it. I looked through at the blackness that was reaching for the open doorway. Tendrils breaking off of it, wanting to get through. Midnight fingers. Trying to get across. I saw that ghostly skull again. A white in the blackness.

I slammed the door closed.

The guy was out cold.

No surprise there. As usual, it’s up to the woman to do all the heavy lifting.

I picked him up, grunted, threw him over my shoulder and headed back to my pad.

I dropped him on my bed. Made him snug. Found his blanket. Thought for half a second of taking his pants off . . . To make him comfortable. Of course. But thought better.

And when the young prince finally gets enough beauty sleep, we’ll see what he has to say and what he thinks of yours truly.

[End Credit Music]

Something’s not right.

The problem is I don’t know if it’s me, or the rest of the world. Could it be Ostium? Something to do with Ostium? Something that Ostium has done? Everything is out of sync. Somehow.

It all started when I got up this morning, took a shower, made myself some oatmeal and strong coffee, and sat down at my laptop. In my head I was thinking it was Sunday, should be a nice, quiet relaxing day for most of the world; no work for those who don’t work retail or food industry. I opened up my email and saw right away that my first email was from Wednesday . . . three days from now. Sometimes there’s weird spam like that that’s sent from somewhere in the world and it shows a future date and time according to the stamp. Only it’s usually at most a day ahead, if you figure it’s getting sent from Australia or something.

Except this was from my coworker, Robert, a guy I considered a decent acquaintance. He was the one who’d been checking in with me on Facebook; we’d hung out a couple of times. I could see his email address, the date of Wednesday, 8:26am – if that was correct, the email had been sent just five minutes ago – and the subject line.

It was three words in bit block capitals:

YOU’VE BEEN FIRED

[Music Break]

My first feeling at seeing this wasn’t anger, or shock, or fear. It was . . . Indifference. That made me stop and consider my thoughts and how I felt about it. I wasn’t exactly well off and able to live comfortably with what I had in the bank at this moment. I had some savings, enough to get me by for a while. But being fired for just not showing up to work was . . . A reasonable reason, and would make getting another job certainly a little tricky. But the scary thing was my mind was so far beyond that it didn’t even register.

It was like the front part of my brain was reading this and reacting to it in a minor way, while the rest of my mind was thinking about one thing and one thing only.

Yeah.

Ostium.

Ostium had changed me. Whether for the better or the worse, I didn’t know. I didn’t really think I was ever going to definitively know, either. I was just different now. Like discovering incontrovertible proof of the existence of extraterrestrials, or an archaeological find that conclusively proves that human beings at one point had wings and flew in the sky with the birds. It made everything else just fall by the wayside.

It made me not care anymore about the mundanities of normal life. I was beyond that now and wouldn’t be coming back to it. Perhaps ever.

So let’s focus on the other part of that email: the apparent fact that today was three days in the future of what I thought it was.

Did I sleep for three days? No, that didn’t seem right, plus I wasn’t hungry enough for that. So then I thought back to how many times I’d checked the date and time recently. Not much was the answer. In my head it was the weekend. I could tell if it was night or day and that was all I really cared about. The date and time just hadn’t been important. So basically I’d completely lost track. In a major way.

I started hitting newspaper websites, then just general news pages and blogs, then some stock exchange pages. They all confirmed that it was indeed Wednesday.

What the fuck?

And then it came to me, like those scary, terrifying thoughts always do, a cold, thin sharp blade slipping in between the ribs.

It was Ostium. Ostium was a unique place that took me to other places through doors. Doors that went to other times. Times in the past. I didn’t know yet if any of those doors led to times in the future. But time seemed to be the salient parameter here. It meant, logically, that Ostium was somehow a place out of time. And what happens when you’re in a place out of time? The place you just left continues on its own time stream, regardless of you.

Apparently Ostium was a very special place. Because when I went there, time for the rest of the world went – from my perspective in Ostium – at a faster rate. Kind of like if you’re in a rocket ship traveling close to light speed away from the Earth, and then you return and everyone is significantly older than you. Einstein’s paradox, isn’t it?

The world and everything in it was now three days older than me. Technically speaking I was living in the future.

Woah, this is heavy.

As I focused on trying to stop my hands from shaking, I grasped my mug of coffee and took a long drink. I thought it might help me focus and perhaps calm my nerves. And that was when I realized something else I’d missed and turned back to the screen.

While I’d been checking the date on those various news sites, I’d barely glanced at the top headlines on the screen. I did so now and found my left hand covering up my mouth while my right hand scrolled and clicked.

Something terrible had happened.

A nuclear power plant in the Ukraine had blown and two of its reactors were in meltdown. The radioactive cloud was still expanding and was currently being blown in a westerly, south-westerly, and southern direction covering a wide scope. Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania and Moldova were currently suffering the effects of the cloud that was traveling fast. Germany, Austria and Croatia were next. The death toll so far was in the tens of thousands and increasing daily. No teams could get close enough to the nuclear plant to do anything because it was all so radioactive. They’d just be walking to their deaths. There was little end in sight for the mounting death toll, as for the long-term deaths and effects from radioactivity, it was impossible to predict at this point. It made Chernobyl look like a little fire.

I took a few deep breaths. I walked over to my window giving me a view onto Broadway. I watched the many cars going and coming from somewhere. It seemed like a normal piece of the planet here, things going along like they did every day, whereas in Eastern Europe.

So I wasn’t that indifferent to the world.

And speaking of normal, there was a place to the north of here that didn’t belong. That was anything and everything but normal. No scientist would be able to quantify it; no philosopher able to qualify it.

It was Ostium. And it was calling to me like a foghorn you can’t get far enough away from not to hear; like the strong smell of burnt toast that won’t go away, and you’re hoping it’s not a stroke.

It had me and it wasn’t going to let me go.

I also realized I wasn’t going to let it get away either.

I pulled my large duffel bag from under my bed and packed a few days’ worth of clothes, grabbed necessary toiletries and anything else I thought I might need. I made myself a lunch for the trip, locked my door and stared at it for thirty seconds, wondering when I’d be coming back. Then I got in my car and started driving.

For the whole drive up all my mind would let me think about was the golden number two on the wooden map table and the fact that when I went to sleep tonight in a bed in Ostium, I might have an unexpected roommate.

[Music Break]

The first thing I noticed when I pulled into my familiar covert parking spot was that the gate was now closed. When I made my quick exit yesterday I distinctly remember leaving the gate noticeably open and not giving a damn. So someone had closed it.

Great.

I wanted to address my humor for a moment. Or at least my attempt at humor. Heheh. It may seem a little strange that at tense moments in my experiences in Ostium I use levity and crack with the wise-ass jokes. There are two reasons I do this. One is, so far, I am recording these diary-like recollections and experiences ex post facto or after they take place. They’ve already happened, and if I’m able to recount to you – whoever you, dear listener, might be – it means I survived and am alive and, presumably, relatively well and able to provide my experiences with some distance and some added humor to lighten the mood and hopefully keep you – dear, faithful listener – entertained.

The other reason is . . . Because I’m human. And even when I’m recording this usually way after it happened, it’s still powerful and emotional for me, as I’m living through it again, and the jokes make it a little easier to process and absorb.

And now we return to our regularly scheduled broadcast.

Once I’m inside the gate of Ostium, I make my way towards Ye Olde Clock Tower, with the heavy duffel containing my worldly possessions thrown over one shoulder. About halfway there I have a thought. A disturbing, scary thought. I walk faster, then I start to jog.

I’m soon there, throwing the door with the number one wide open. I drop my duffel to the ground, hearing a loud thud and wince, hoping my iPad survived the fall. I’m looking at the wooden map table, my hands on either side, looking for number four. I find it over in an area of what looks to be grassland not too far from the clock tower.

I have two immediate thoughts. One is: huh, interesting. The other is relief. My worrying thought that had made me outright running here is what if the four on the map table were already gold? What if whoever was also visiting Ostium had already checked out what was behind door four and brought back a trinket?

But it’s just the wooden carving, no gold shininess.

And right behind all this is a new and refreshing scary thought: is this mysterious person here now?

I’m frozen on the spot for a moment, feeling like Wile E. Coyote hovering over a yawning chasm, then I suck in a breath and head for the doors. I go through them all real quick, looking for any movement with no clue what I’ll do if there is some movement.

The small bedroom is the same; the sleeping bag and pillow with the daffodil pillowcase is still there. It looks a little more rumpled than yesterday, but that could just be my imagination. I open the door and find the bathroom as it was yesterday: empty.

I check the kitchen. Nothing but lots of cans of different kinds of foods and goods.

I’m alone in the clock tower, like last time; but I also know I’m not really alone.

I grab one of the PB&J’s and a bottle of water from the bag and leave the rest in the kitchen for when I return. I know in my mind I’m also leaving plenty of clear evidence for whoever else has been hanging out here that they’re not alone. I know it’s kind of the equivalent of a dog marking its territory, but I’m making a point here. It’s not just their home, but mine too. We’re going to share or we’re going to have a fight on our hands.

Whatever that means.

Another way of thinking on this is I’m laying some metaphorical cheese for a metaphorical mouse to come eat it . . . Metaphorically. Though I don’t have a metaphorical trap in place really, it’s more to see if anyone . . . Or anything will eat said metaphorical cheese.

I think that’s got you plenty confused. I know my brains are feeling pretty scrambled . . . or is that cheese whipped?

That’s enough.

I head back to the wooden map and whip out my iPhone. I don’t really know why I haven’t done this before. I proceed to take a number of photos of the map, making some close up shots of each area in a grid going from left to right and working my way down until I’m at the bottom right quadrant. I’ve got a bunch of good references now when I’m not here with the map right in front of me.

I pour over it again, honing in on door number four, then looking at the best route to take from where I’m standing, I make my mental course and head out the door.

It feels weird walking away from the buildings and streets I’d become used to. It’s not long before I’m surrounded by grassland, lots of it that stretches far. I can see in the distance the wall surrounding Ostium. At this point I don’t think I’d realized how truly large Ostium was. While I’d thought I’d walked through over half the town, from this vista, it’s more like barely a third, with two thirds of it being wide open land. There are various structures and shapes around that are too far away to make out or recognize. I assume they’re more doors. I’m a lot closer to the water tower now, the large letters clear and black against the white round shape. I wonder if it’s actually used for water. The door is in the underside, at the top of the ladder. If it’s full of water, opening that door will lead to a wet awakening, won’t it? Maybe I’ll be somewhere else . . . Underwater?

That’s the thing with Ostium. You really don’t know. Nothing is predictable.

I pass a door on the ground and stop.

It’s literally that. A door horizontally on the ground. Number twenty-three. How the physics and mechanics work for opening it and passing through I don’t know. I suppose if I make it to that door, I’ll eventually find out.

I see something in the distance.

I keep going.

I check my phone, referencing the map to make sure I’m on the right course. I see the structure getting bigger and clearer.

It’s an outhouse.

Just sitting out there, in the middle of nowhere.

But this is Ostium after all, so go figure.

I soon notice that the handle is different from the other doors. Just a curve of old rusty metal, completing the image of a small place where one can relieve oneself. I grab it and pull.

The door opens quick and easy, again not like other doors. It feels like opening a cabinet or closet. Or . . . an outhouse.

I don’t really know what I expect. A grimy, stinky, soiled old toilet that I would never consider putting my nether regions in the vicinity of?

Nope, just the ever-inviting darkness of Ostium. I take a deep breath and prepare myself. I wonder if there will ever be a time when I might have an inkling of what might be on the other side of that darkness.

I don’t think so.

I step through the black and into . . .

[Music Break]

. . . Space

Well, not actual space.

But wherever I am it’s big. Even though I haven’t taken in any details yet I get the sense of size around me. My eyes are closed, like the last couple times I went through. I think it helps me deal with the astonishing surprise I am about to experience, by letting my eyes relax and the rest of my senses acclimate, so to speak.

Then I open them. And my mouth. Wide.

The eyes are incredible organs. They can take in so much within the blink of themselves.

The first thing I fully understand is that I’m not just in Ostium anymore, I’m not on Earth. I’m on another planet somewhere.

It’s a giant room. All the surfaces shiny and metal. Burnished. Immaculate. It feels like looking down a long hallway, because the metal walls and ceiling stretch out for hundreds of yards. The ceiling looks to be at least five stories tall. I’m sure I’m getting a wall-eye effect making this room feel like it’s stretching on to infinity. Like looking at your reflection in a mirror, and seeing a reflection of that reflection of that reflection of that reflection and so on and so on and so on… and I’ll stop there. You get the picture.

There are occasional banks of buttons and colorful lights and various screens. Computer terminals I guess, and all of a sudden this is starting to feel a lot like an episode of Star Trek.

About twenty feet down on the left wall is a long rectangle of window stretching many tens of feet in length. The effect makes it feel like a strip of glass. I jog over to it, wanting to see everything that is on the other side. I push my face up to the long window, touch my nose, cheeks and forehead to it. It is icy cold to the touch and I wonder if I’m going to have trouble peeling my face off of it, if I ever want to that is.

On the other side of the window is an alien landscape.

There are reds, and oranges, and ochres, and a whole palette of those colors blending together in various tints and shades. It’s barren. Harsh. Hills of varying sizes. In the distance I think I see the hazy mirage of mountains. Lots of red rocks; some mighty boulders that look like they’d be fun to roll down a hill and see how far they’d roll. What’s gravity like here?

Now you might be thinking, well, this doesn’t sound that alien to me. It could easily be the Badlands, somewhere in New Mexico, or that hot place known as Death Valley. And I would be with you on that, except for the fact that there’s a rocket ship out there on a launch pad. It looks a lot like those imagined in the sixties from the minds of Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke. Yeah, I’m a scifi geek. And that’s hard scifi in case you’re wondering.

It’s your basic big phallic spaceship, tapering to a resistance reducing point. There’s no obvious markings on the fuselage to tell me whether it’s NASA or perhaps another space-traveling constituent. But it’s big. Massive. It’s about half a mile away and still stretches high into the gray sky.

I look off to the right and see some sort of vehicle. It looks like a giant buggy with a white canopy over the top. There’s a front windshield, but I can’t see any other windows in the vehicle from where I am. What I can see on the side of the vehicle are words.

Words I can read.

Holy shit!

The top one in big block letters is NASA.

My heart rate speeds up.

The two words below it are “Martian Colony #4.”

My heart goes even faster and I start panting.

A million questions invade my mind.

What year is this?

How may colonies have there been?

How did the first three turn out?

How is this fourth colony doing?

Where is everyone?

Why is it dead quiet here?

Why is the door to the buggy hanging open?

The iciness of fear trickles into my body.

I do at least have one answer.

I’m on Mars.

[Music Break]

I start walking along the floor of metal, constantly switching from looking ahead to the window and back again, as I don’t believe it. I really don’t. But I also know what Ostium has done and the potential for what it can do now seems limitless.

I glance at the terminals as I pass them, but the screens are all blank. The buttons laid out in your usual QWERTY way, but there’s a host of extra buttons with strange symbols on them that mean nothing to me. They don’t look Greek or Cyrillic. They look alien. I might try playing around on one of these terminals, but not yet. I want to find out more about this place.

The giant hallway starts to curve around and as I make the bend it continues straight for a long ways and then curves to the right again. I have the idea I might be in some sort of circular habitat and I’m on the outside walkway. Before I continue down the walkway I turn back real quick and make sure I can see the Ostium door I came through in the distance.

It’s still there. Door wide open. Interestingly the whole door is like a thick metal airlock door. I can’t see what’s on the other side of the doorway from here, but I’m fairly certain Ostium is there, waiting for me.

Letting out a breath I keep going.

It’s not long before I find a door on my right. At least I think it’s a door. It’s a vertical rectangle of metal in the wall with a quarter inch gap around it. I think it’s a gap. It’s like a separation, indicating that this rectangle is different from the rest of the wall. That’s why I’m thinking it’s some sort of door. But there’s no handle. No blemish or scratch or marking of any sort on its surface.

Not sure what the hell I’m supposed to do, I try just pushing on the left side of the presumed door where I think a handle should be. And I’m shocked when it opens inwards. I push it open further and step inside. The door seems to be attached to the wall with one long hinge, though I can’t really see it. I close the door and it joins with the wall silently.

I turn and see I’m in some sort of medical room. Everything in the room is white and feels sterile. Finding a mote of dust in this room would be next to impossible. There’s a bed in the center of the room. Counters along the walls with cabinets above and below. Again, there’s an absence of handles . . . Anywhere. I could spend more time trying to figure out what people in this time and on this planet had against opening doors and cabinets easily, but I remember that strange oncoming blackness with the crackling sound on the Mary Celeste. I haven’t heard anything so far, and I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground or the wall so to speak. Didn’t see anything when I was studying the rocket ship through the window either. Nevertheless, I can feel the imaginary clock running down and I need to get a sense of what happened here and discover whatever relic I need to bring back to Ostium.

There’s another door on the opposite wall. I go through it and find myself in another curving hallway. The curve is more pronounced here as I’m moving more towards the center. Once again there’s not another person in sight. What’s an awesome colony station on the planet Mars doing sitting abandoned like this? What happened? Did everyone up and leave? There’s that one rocket ship I’ve seen, but for all I know, there should be five out there normally.

I just don’t know.

What the hell happened here?

That’s when I hear a sound.

I freeze on the spot. I’m instantly terrified, but also curious. It’s something. It’s a potential answer.

I remain still, listening for more. It sounded like something accidentally dropped, though muffled within a room somewhere. It couldn’t be too far away or I wouldn’t have heard it.

There it is again. Definitely a metallic sound.

I jog down the hallway and open a door from where I think the sound emanated. It looks to be living quarters. Three sets of bunk beds and some closets. On one of the beds is a device that looks kind of like an iPad; probably some sort of tablet or datapad. It’s the size of a mass market book. I see the opposite door is slightly ajar. That’s all I need. I follow.

I’m in a massive round room with an unbelievably high ceiling. It feels like being in a concert hall or auditorium. There are some displays encased in what looks to be glass. I run up to one of them, my excitement growing. I don’t need to check the display tag on the ground to know this is the Martian Lander. I run over to another display and recognize Pathfinder. Next is Spirit Rover. Opportunity.

They’re all here. The unmanned craft that helped teach us everything we know about the planet Mars. This is a . . . Museum.

That’s when I catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. It’s a person! Running away!

I immediately take up the chase, not really thinking about my safety; just wanting to get some answers.

I fly through doors, following, pausing at times and listening, then following again. I’m not really paying attention to where I’m going and before I know it I’m in the outer ring, looking out the window again at that intoxicating Martian landscape. This time I’m stopped dead in my tracks and it’s not good.

I can’t hear anything, probably because of the thickness of the glass and the wall, but I can see that blackness getting closer and closer by the second. It encapsulates everything: stretching high up and sideways into space and beyond my visible horizon. Where there’s blackness there are no stars anymore.

I watch that absence of light reach the rocket ship. It doesn’t consume it bit by bit. I don’t get the sense there are any breaking, crushing or destructive sounds. It seems quiet, almost peaceful. One second the ship is there, the next it’s just gone.

I peel my eyes from the window and look down the hallway at the open door of this colony station that leads back to Ostium.

There’s a woman standing in the doorway. She’s looking back at me. She’s black. She’s beautiful. She gives me a wink and steps through the portal, closing the door behind her.

Shit I whisper to myself, then run for my life.

When I reach the closed door, I don’t know how close that blackness is to eating me up. When it reaches me, I wonder for a split second, will it hurt? Will it be quick and painless? I have a feeling I’ll just cease to exist and that will be it.

I wrench open the door, not taking in any details of what’s on the other side. I basically fall through, managing to throw the door closed behind me.

My eyes are firmly shut, like usual.

I’m falling.

I hit my head and the blackness remains.

[Music Break]

I wake up in bed in the room of the clock tower. My blanket is thrown over me. My head really hurts.

That’s when I record this. I notice my phone is showing me a strong wifi connection. Somehow I’m getting Internet in Ostium.

So I go ahead and upload this recording like I’ve done with the others so far.

If you’re listening to this it means it worked and was successfully uploaded and posted.

Who knows what day or time it is when you’re listening to this.

Now I need to get some sleep. I can’t keep my eyes open. And I hope when I wake many hours from now my head won’t feel like someone sank a cleaver into it.

I also hope my fellow Ostium neighbor doesn’t do anything to me while I’m asleep.

See you on the other side.

[End Credit Music]

I plan my third trip to Ostium a little better than the previous two. I dig out my cooler from a pile of dust and forgotten things in my tiny attic space. It takes some scouring and cleaning out, then I fill it with sandwiches, snack bars, protein bars, candy bars, whatever I can find really. And lots of water. Yesterday, with my heart running faster than my brain and lungs for pretty much the whole day, with everything that happened, I knew at the time if I’d had a sugary and/or salty pick-me-up, it would’ve done wonders for my constitution and confidence.

So, anyways . . .

Other than a venti coffee, I avoid stopping at any coffee-serving or fast food locales. I also spend most of the trip thinking about the Facebook messages and email I read last night while enjoying a nightcap of some port I forgot I had; it really hit the spot. The Facebook IMs were just from a couple of coworkers checking in on me, making sure I was okay and whatever plague I was suffering from wasn’t too bad, and if I needed anything. The girl and guy both knew I lived alone and didn’t have any family support to speak of, and not that many friends.

Okay, time for some more personal info. I’m . . . an orphan. My parents both died in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. They were in their car on the Bay Bridge when the quake struck, heading out of the city. If you know the bridge at all, you know that traffic leaving the city drives on the underside level, while traffic coming into the city drives on the top level. Yeah. The upper level collapsed into the bottom level. It was pretty horrific. But the one positive of the whole thing was that they were killed instantly. I was staying with my grandfather at the point and from then on that’s who I lived with until he died while I was going to UC Berkeley. I know there’s other family out there, spread around the country, but there aren’t any aunts or uncles and my parents never had any interest in reconnecting with anyone.

So now it’s just me. I got some inheritance from my grandfather. And my dad did have a life insurance policy. So that helped.

Okay, that’s enough about me.

Going back to those coworkers messaging me: I didn’t think we were that close, but it was nice that someone was concerned. And the email was from a friend. We’re big on the San Francisco Giants and have gone to a number of games together. He was just checking to see if I wanted to pick the next game for us to go to together.

I felt a distance with these people that wasn’t there before.

It’s starting to feel kind of like my job and going to Giants games with Brandon is part of a past life, and my current life isn’t really linked with that in any way. I feel there’s a deep chasm dividing me between the time before Ostium, and the time after Ostium. I’m not going to lie. I’m kind of scared.

[Music Break]

I park in my usual spot, trying to hide the vehicle under the tree.

As I grab my cooler and head for the gate I wonder what I’ll do if that padlock has both mysteriously and miraculously returned. I think I’ve still got those bolt cutters in the trunk. I also have the crowbar with the spare that will work in a pinch. But then I reach the gate and find it sans padlock, just like yesterday.

Walking through the empty town, there’s an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. I feel an intangible connection to this place; a connection that seems to be growing by the minutes and hours that I spend within its walls.

There’s definitely something going on here.

Something powerful.

And I think it’s beyond my control. It’s a lot bigger and stronger than me. I know that much.

Part of me is definitely scared, terrified in fact.

But another part of me is excited and thrilled in a way I’ve never been in my life.

It’s a big wave of serotonin that I’m going to keep riding.

I reach the door with the first number on it. I wonder for a split second if it will open again or everything could be over. Just like that.

It opens.

I go in and close the door behind me.

It’s exactly as I left it: four bare walls with three doors. The wooden map table is in the center of the room, untouched and clear of dust like someone came in a few hours ago, dusted it down and polished it. It’s gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the two windows either side of the doorway. It’s beautiful.

Then I see that one of the doors isn’t fully closed. It’s in that in between state where it’s not fully closed and not exactly ajar. It’s on the edge of becoming one or the other. Schrodinger’s door.

I cast my mind back to yesterday, searching through the pictures of my memory. I’m almost a hundred percent sure both doors were solidly closed. Yeah, 99.9%. If one of the doors had been like this yesterday I would’ve seen it. It would’ve grabbed my attention like flies on . . . well, you know what. It would’ve stopped me from checking out what was behind door number two.

So what does that mean?

Well, my dear Watson, whatever solution presents itself, no matter how preposterous or unbelievable, if it’s the only one that remains, then that’s it. Or something to that effect.

Someone has been here and gone through that door.

That someone might be here now?

That momentarily paralyzes me and gets my heart racing. Faster than before.

I have two options. Two doors to choose from. But there’s only one really.

I suck in a breath, stride across the room, and rip open the door.

Nothing attacks. Nothing jumps out at me. Nothing even moves.

I wait a few more seconds, to see if there’s some delayed reaction, but no.

It’s a small room where everything is pretty obvious. There’s a twin bed along one wall. A bed frame. A bare mattress. And on top of the bed is a dark blue sleeping bag and a pillow. The pillowcase has a daffodil design on it. The sleeping bag is opened up. Like someone was sleeping in it recently.

There’s a door on one wall. Like quickly ripping off a band aid, I jog over and throw it open.

It’s a bathroom. There’s a sink and mirror. A toilet. A small shower stall with a sliding glass door. The door is open but I still stick my head in the cubicle to be sure. There’s a bottle of Head & Shoulders on the floor of the shower stall. It’s the 2-in-1 with conditioner for smooth and silky hair.

The mirror on the wall is just a normal mirror, no medicine cabinet behind. I look in it, wondering if there’s some hidden recess I’m missing where something’s going to jump out at me. I turn on the cold water faucet. Water comes streaming out. I turn on the hot water faucet. I can tell the water is hot. Really hot. Steams starts billowing up. On top of the simple toilet is a roll of toilet paper. It’s almost a full roll. On a hunch I look behind the toilet on the ground and see a package with five extra rolls.

Well, that’s that, I think. Can’t do anything about it right now. I head back into the main room, closing the door to how it was before: not quite ajar, not quite closed. Then I head over to the other mystery door and pull it open.

It’s a kitchen. There’s a simple one-burner stove. There are cabinets around it and above it. There’s a sink and a faucet. I don’t bother checking the water in here. I’m pretty certain it works. I start looking through the cabinets. Canned goods. Lots of canned goods. Lots of different types. Meats. Vegetables. Fruits. Soups. I don’t see my ideal meal here, but it’s the sort of thing I’d expect to find in an air raid shelter or a nuclear bunker.

Or somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

This is survival food.

In the cabinet next to the stove I find a bottle of propane attached with a hose.

In another cabinet I find pots and lids. Another has paper plates and cups and sporks. Lots of sporks. Whoever stocked this kitchen likes to simplify and economize. In the final cabinet on the other side of the sink I find plastic gallon-bottles of water. All the labels have been removed. These bottles have been reused. There’s also an industrial-sized bottle of dish soap – with added grease remover! – and a brush.

I touch the bristles.

They’re damp.

I step back into the main room, closing the door behind me; I walk over to the wooden map that never seems to age and try to think.

[Music Break]

Someone has been here.

Someone was here recently.

They’re very likely doing what I’m doing.

Right?

That’s the only thing that makes sense.

Going through doors.

Are they traveling to other places, other times like I am?

Gotta be.

They’re likely staying here, maybe even living here. There were no signs of a vehicle outside. Not that I thoroughly checked, but I would’ve noticed something obvious. Probably . . . hopefully. I make a mental note to check when I get back to my car later. However much later that might be.

Okay then.

That’s that.

I put my cooler on the counter in the kitchen. Grab a couple snack bars that disappear in one of the deep pockets of my jacket. Grab one of the PB&J sandwiches and a big bottle of water. As I start eating the sandwich I check the map for where door number three is. It’s down a street on the far side from here, on the other side of the entrance. I map my route looking at the streets then head out.

By the time I make it to the door with the number three on it the sandwich is gone as is half the water. The snack bars are staying in a pocket until I get hungry again. I put the half full (or is that half empty?) bottle of water in another deep pocket. I rub my hands on my jeans and then turn the handle on the door.

It opens like any unlocked door. I close my eyes and step through.

[Music Break]

I keep my eyes closed on the other side, wanting to take things in with my other senses.

It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m rocking side to side. I open my eyes and look down. My feet are solidly planted on the ground . . . a wooden ground.

Okay.

That’s different.

I’m on a boat.

Cue the song.

I can see interlocking planking around my feet. But it’s kind of slipshod, not exactly high craftsmanship. There’s no fancy varnish or finish to it as I would expect on a luxury yacht, or even just an ordinary, modern, everyday yacht. You know; the one we all have for fun?

So what does that tell me? This is something older. I’m on a boat that’s . . . old.

I take a few steps on the deck and automatically look back at the open doorway to Ostium. Even though this is only time number two, I’m pretty certain now that special portal across time and space will remain open and unhindered. Okay, maybe my previous experience is riding on the creative minds of some science fiction writers, but I’m still fairly confident. It’s then that I notice above the doorway the thin curve of wood before it becomes the roof – or is that the bottom of the upper deck. I don’t know. Anyway, what’s interesting is that across that piece of wood over the portal is a wooden placard with a word burned into it in clear, defined capital letters. Yep, you guessed it. OSTIUM.

I guess that way I won’t have any problems finding my way back. Not that I can’t look through and see a street and a couple of opposing doorways bearing numbers that clearly tell me it can only be one place that I might be starting to call home. And the fact that I have absolutely no reason to close the door. I check it, the door, moving it back and forth a little to see how loose it is. With the swaying and movement of the boat it’s conceivable the door could swing shut. That’s when I discover a piece of string attached to the handle; on the cabin wall the door leans against when fully open is a jutting piece of wood. I tie the string to it, securing the door. This is a boat after all where things like doors need to be secured during high seas.

This isn’t my first time on a big boat. Living in the Bay Area, you want to avoid having to drive from place to place as much as possible because you can never really predict what traffic is going to be like, which means public transit. There are three options: the BART train system, MUNI buses, or taking the ferry. Whenever I have the chance, I elect to take the ferry. You get some great views and while you might not get to where you’re going as fast as BART, it’s a very low-key and laid-back way to commute.

And now I was on a boat again. A boat from another time. An old boat; maybe ancient. For all I knew I could stick my head up out of the hold – I think that’s what it’s called – and be looking at ancient Rome or something. Then again I could be in some throwback vessel in 2016.

There was only one way to find out, and it would go a long way to answering a number of questions.

I headed from room to room looking for some stairs leading up. I passed through what looked like a dining room with a big empty table, though I wasn’t really taking in the details right now. I just wanted to get above decks.

I should’ve paid more attention to what I was walking past, but I’ll get to that in due course.

I found the stairs and put my foot on the first one and then stopped.

I listened.

Hard.

I didn’t expect there to be anyone on this boat, because there hadn’t been anyone behind door number two, so it was merely logical the world behind door number three would be just as lonely. But I wasn’t certain.

There were just ordinary boat sounds, insofar as what I imagined ordinary boat sounds to sound like. A constant creaking and groaning as the boat seesawed in the water. And the sound of my own breathing. That was it.

Wait! What was that?

It sounded like a long, drawn-out moan.

Echoey and distant.

Was that something on the boat?

Something in the water?

Or just an ordinary sound of the sea I didn’t know about?

I sucked in a breath and started going up the stairs.

There weren’t that many, less than fifteen. The hatch was open at the top and I could see out to blue sky and bright sunshine. I made it to the top, stepped out on deck and released my pent up breath in a gasp.

The sun was warm, hot on my skin. The sky was clear as far as the eye could see. I was surrounded by ocean, a deep dark blue ocean, like the Pacific. That meant it was deep, real deep. I made a slow circle, searching the horizon all around me but couldn’t see anything on the water. No other vessels. No sign whatsoever of land.

I was all alone out here.

I walked around deck, going first to the front of the boat – the bow – then to the rear – the stern. I’d come out from below somewhere in the middle of the vessels, amidships I think they call it. Whoever they are.

It was your ordinary big old ocean-going vessel from the nineteenth century. Lots of wood and ropes and shackles. Nothing electronic or automated. I thought of the Pequod from Moby-Dick. Yeah, this was kind of like one of those old whaling vessels, though not as big.

That was when I started to hear the small sound. Incredibly distant. A crackling, like someone microwaving popcorn in the house across the street on a quiet day. Or the sound of rice grains being shaken in a can. Only really far away. But as I kept listening I heard it getting a little louder.

Whatever it was it was coming closer.

I scanned the horizon once more and didn’t see it at first. There was nothing out there to see. But I kept watching, scrutinizing; trying to focus my sight for anything. I caught something from the edge of my vision. Like when you stare at a painting at a museum, then you walk on to the next one, but you catch a different image of the first painting out of the corner of your eye. I was catching that image now and it was very unsettling.

Once I knew to look for it, it was easy to spot: a black band running along the entire horizon. I made a complete circle again and saw it was everywhere, three hundred and sixty degrees. It hadn’t been there before when I first looked around. As I watched it I saw it get bigger, coming closer. That sound getting just a little louder. It was bordering on insignificant at the moment, but the message it was sending was ominous: I’m coming for you.

I had no clue what it was, but I knew it couldn’t be good. With the creepy sounds and that absorbing black. No way, Jose.

Was this something unique to this place? To this specific door I went through? Was it something about Ostium? When you went through a door, whatever was on this other side, did this start to happen? I hadn’t heard or seen anything in Roanoke, but then there were trees and palisades all around me, so I couldn’t have seen anything. And I hadn’t really been listening for anything. I hadn’t even been there that long.

These thoughts fluttered through my mind like a deck of cards, one thought following the other.

Was this a ticking clock? Was this approaching blackness signaling the end of this place I was in? When the blackness reached this ship, would it swallow it up? Like an enormous black hole, and that would be the end of it? The end of everything? The end of me?

It seemed as reasonable idea as any. Meaning I only had so much time to spend on this ship. Only so much time to do what I needed to do. Which was what exactly? No clue. Maybe I needed to find something? That sounded like the start of a potentially good idea.

As I took another glance at the growing blackness which had started to rise up like a growing, all-encircling tidal wave of night, the sound was clearly audible. I ducked down below, sliding down the stairs to get into the bowels of the ship as quick as possible. I figured inside it was where I would find whatever I needed to find. Plus I also needed to be close to that doorway back to Ostium. I could peep through the portholes along either side of the boat – port and starboard – to see how much time I had left.

My heart was racing, my breath coming fast, but I had a sense of direction for once and started looking.

I took the stairs quickly, familiar with them now. A machine gun fire of footsteps and I was back below decks once more. I immediately heard that haunting moan again. It was still unfamiliar, but this time I was certain it was coming from somewhere inside the boat. Its echoing nature made it seem like it was coming from down a long concrete hallway, but there was nothing like that on this ship of sound-deadening wood.

I was already a number of steps beyond unsettled; that sound added a mile. I could feel myself shaking.

To take my mind off the sound, which came again now, just as loud and clear, I started looking around. I was in the room that had that big dining table. There were wooden chairs around it, about fifteen of them. The table was solid, thick wood, attached to the floor so it wouldn’t move during turbulent sees. The chairs weren’t affixed. There were place settings for fifteen people. Utensils for multiple courses. A large plate for the main course, a smaller place for the first course. A bread plate. One wine glass. A precisely folded napkin.

In the center of the table was a raised wooden platform for the showcase, the main dish. That prize-winning turkey, or succulent ham, or impressive side of beef, or whatever went for good food back in this time. Carved into the surface of the platform, ornately done, were two words.

This was obviously the name of the ship.

I was on board the Mary Celeste.

[Music Break]

Those words may mean nothing to you. Or they may mean something. They may mean a lot.

Time for a brief history lesson.

On November 7th, 1872, the Mary Celeste left New York harbor bound for Genoa via Gibraltar. She never made it to her destination. Meanwhile in nearby Hoboken, New Jersey, the shipping vessel Del Gratia left port on November 15, also bound for Genoa via Gibraltar. At about 1pm on Wednesday, December 4th the Del Gratia was midway between the Azores and the coast of Portugal, at the coordinates 38°20’N, 17°15’W. This was land time mind you; Thursday, December 5th sea time. Apparently “sea time” in the 19th century was 12 hours ahead of land time, for some reason, with the new day starting at noon. I know, weird. Anyway, as Captain Morehouse of the Del Gratia came on deck, the helmsman reported a vessel about six miles away, moving erratically. As they got closer, they noticed a strange set to her sails, not logical for the current wind conditions. The vessel was lazily moving towards the Del Gratia. Captain Morehouse began to suspect something was wrong. When they were in sight of the deck of the vessel, he could see no one about, and there was no reply to signals that were sent. He sent two men in a boat to investigate. They discovered the name of the vessel to be the Mary Celeste. They discovered no one aboard, with some of the sails in poor condition or missing altogether; rigging damaged; ropes hanging loosely over the side. The ship’s single lifeboat was missing.

One supposed fact about the Mary Celeste is that there was a full meal left steaming and untouched on the dining table. But after doing some more research, I discovered it to be more of an urban legend to add more mystery and intrigue to the story. D-rama!

And now here I was, apparently, on the very intriguing and mysterious vessel known as the Mary Celeste. There was no meal laid out, but from what I could see, there were plenty of stores, and things seemed mostly untouched. It felt like the sort of setting where people would be coming through a door any minute to have a snack, or sit down to read, or start making preparations for dinner.

The moan came again. Louder now. It felt like it was coming closer.

I could feel myself physically shaking now. Like when you’re cold . . . with terror.

And to make matters that much more peachy, I could now hear that strange popcorny crunching sound. That black tsunami of doom was getting a lot closer.

I didn’t have much time.

What was I supposed to do?

I put my hands on the dining table, spread apart, and started looking at each place setting, moving from one to the other. I’d felt drawn to this particular cabin, to this specific place. Why? Was there something I was missing?

The simple answer, I soon discovered, was yes.

There was something in the wine glass, right under my nose. I got to it after studying all the other place settings. It looked metal and heavy. I stuck my index and middle finger in the glass and scissored it out. It was a heavy ring. It looked to be made of gold, a little tarnished, though I could’ve been totally wrong.

It was a signet ring. I’m not going to kid myself or you. When I saw it was a big heavy O I was shocked. It reminded me a bit of the Obama “O” logo. A little elongated. But it was clearly the letter O. I turned the ring over to see if there was anything stamped on the inside to indicate its owner, where it was made, perhaps how old it was.

There was a single number stamped on the underside of the signet.

It was the number 3.

A number of things happened simultaneously when I saw this.

I felt an icy shiver run up and down my spine, as I felt goose pimples rise up over, like, every inch of my body.

The crackling sound from outside noticeably increased in volume, as if it had taken a logarithmic jump.

The moan started again, loud now, and turned to an anguished shriek.

I also saw something white and transparent out of the corner of my eye, off to my left.

I could’ve turned and investigated, but I’m not insane. At least I don’t think so. Yet. I also value my life and sanity, and had had enough of this ghost ship to last a life time.

I turned to the right (starboard) and ran.

The shriek seemed to follow me, so I ran faster, headed for that special doorway.

I soon reached my top speed and because this was a ship, it didn’t take me long at all to reach the open door.

I wasn’t taking any chance. If it was a ghost, I knew what happened when you pissed them off.

Thanks Ghostbusters.

I dove through the doorway.

Even though I hadn’t grabbed for or even touched the door – which was still presumably secured to the cabin wall by that strong – I heard it slam closed behind me a split second before I crash landed on to the street of Ostium.

[Music Break]

I stayed lying down, with my face in the dirt for some time. It was one of those falls that makes your whole body hurt, and then you stay there, not moving, taking inventory. I gingerly stood up and spat pebbles and dust out of my mouth. I felt a warm trickle running down the side of my face; knew it was blood; figured it was just a minor scratch. Nothing to worry about right now. I brushed my shirt and pants off with my hands and then realized that my fingers were empty.

The ring!

I fell to my knees and started scrambling around on the ground like someone who’s just lost a priceless heirloom, or a small key that leads to a small door that leads to a dragon’s hoard of gold and jewels.

I don’t know how, but I knew that ring was important.

Really important.

Then it was in my hand again, and I clutched it tightly to my chest, feeling that knot inside me loosen, my heart rate begin to slow.

I put the ring safely in my pants pocket and headed to the clock tower, munching on some much needed salt and sugar. I walked fast, almost a jog. It didn’t take long.

The hands of the clock still pointed together, skyward.

I opened doors like I’d always lived here, going straight to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I could see my graze was more of a severe cut. The right side of my forehead had found the jagged edge of a stone. There was a surprising amount of blood.

I turned on the water; it was icy cool. I wiped it away as best I could. Then washed my face and hands. Found some paper towels nearby and dried myself off. Then I took the ring out of my pocket and headed to the main room.

The time had come.

I stood before the wooden map table. Feeling its importance. Feeling its power now.

I put my hands on the table, feeling it take my weight; the ring trapped between my right palm and the glossy wood. I looked at the building I was standing in with the number one on it, then I moved over to the building with the number three, where I’d just been.

My right hand was starting to feel warm. Hot in fact. Not like my left.

Something wasn’t right.

I looked down at it and saw a glowing red through the skin, like when you wrap your palm around a flashlight and turn it on.

It was the ring!

I ripped my hand away, feeling it cool immediately, and saw the ring was glowing.

The heavy, gold signet ring that was an O. With a three on the back of it.

I looked at the little carved box with the three on it. Bolstered my courage. Gritted my teeth and picked up the ring and quickly placed it on top of the number three. Then I waited.

At first nothing happened, except for the glowing that is. Then the wooden square beneath it also started to glow a bright white. The glow expanded, seeming to reach up and envelop the ring. It drew the ring into itself, and then the piece of jewelry just wasn’t there anymore. The glow weakened, then disappeared. The number that had once been black was now a solid gold. I ran my finger over it. It was warm to the touch, a different temperature to the wood surrounding it.

Whatever was supposed to happen was done. Finished.

Level. Complete were the words I heard in my head. Along with that sound on Super Mario Brothers when he jumps on an escaping mushroom.

I looked at the number one. It was still black. Then I looked over at the number two and gasped.

It was solid gold. Just like the number three.

It hadn’t been that way before. I was almost certain of it. I’d looked at this wooden map a number of times today and yesterday. I would’ve noticed a shiny gold number two.

So what did that mean?

That something had come back from . . . Roanoke?

A trinket?

A talisman?

A relic?

And been placed on the number and it had turned to gold.

Seemed logical enough. In this crazy place.

But the problem was, as far as I was aware, I hadn’t brought back anything from Roanoke. And even if I had, I definitely hadn’t placed it on this map table.

Which meant that someone else had.

Someone who had been here.

Someone. Had been here.

I jumped into action, going quickly into all the rooms again, searching. It didn’t take long.

There was no one here.

Right now.

This was too much.

I needed to leave.

I grabbed my backpack and left, not bothering to close the door behind me. I didn’t care. I went through the gate, not bothering to close it this time. I got in my car and got out of there as fast as I could.

It was another long, quiet drive home. This time I didn’t think much, just collected my thoughts.

When I got home, I made myself another calorie-heavy meal, gorged, and recorded this next thrilling installment about Ostium.

I’ll decide what I’m going to do next tomorrow.

Now I’m going to bed.

[End Credit Music]

Hello. My name is Jake Fisher. As I record this, I want to make it clear I am of sound mind and judgment, and that the events and happenings I am about to tell you are as close to the truth as I believe them to be. It is now . . . 10:28pm. On October the 4th. The events that I am about to recount took place about seven hours ago.

I’m not sure who I’m making these recordings for . . . Maybe just myself? No. What’s happened to me so far validates my reason for recording this story. And for whoever – or is it whomever? I never know – whatever – for whomever listens to this, I want to reaffirm I’m recording this in my own words, step by step, as it happened to me. To the best of my recollection.

I have no reason to make this shit up.

And at this point, I’m too fucking terrified to make anything up.

I’m sorry about the swearing. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

Okay, let’s start at the beginning.

[Music Break]

This morning over breakfast, I went to those sites again and . . . somehow . . . they’re all different now. They’re not the same as they were the day before. I’d almost believe I was just wrong or confused when I first looked them up and I have no actual proof of this except for that first recording.

Did someone change those sites? Update them? . . . Because of me? Because of what I found? Because of Ostium?

After spending a lot of time yesterday getting to Ostium, today was a much quicker and easier trip. I called in sick early this morning, and because today is Friday, they’ll just think I had some nasty bug and will be suffering all weekend and be back fresh and healthy on Monday.

I wonder if I’ll be coming back to work on Monday?

I stocked up on sugary goods and one massive cup of coffee that gave a Starbucks venti a run for its money, gassed up, and got on the road.

Oh, and I almost forgot, a set of bolt cutters.

Even though I knew exactly where I was going it still took me almost four hours of heavy driving, and numerous bio breaks. That’s pee breaks for those not up on the jargon. Because of the coffee. Yeah.

Just as the caffeine was starting to wear off and I started getting real antsy, the foliage closed in and I knew I was getting close.

And then I reached Ostium again.

The excitement rose in me like a growing wave and it felt like I was going to catch it just right.

I parked the car in a sort of shady spot. Out of the way. It’s a Volkswagen Mini, so we’re not talking about a lot of car to begin with, plus it’s dark forest green, blending in with the aforementioned foliage.

I’m not really sure why I wanted to hide the car. I guess I was thinking if anyone else showed up, I didn’t want to be spotted, or something. But no one had paid this place a visit since the missionaries were making their first pilgrimages across the state that wasn’t a state yet.

I snagged the last donette and grabbed the bolt cutters, making my way over to the rusty gates, all ready to tackle that shiny new and unusual padlock, and stopped in my tracks. It felt like a long time since I’d been here, but it was less than twenty-four hours at this point. Everything looked the same . . . Except . . . the padlock . . . was gone.

I walked back to my car with an unsettling feeling erupting in my chest, put the bolt cutters inside, locked up and came back.

There was now nothing at all holding the two iron gates in place. Wondering how tough it would be to open these rusty relics, I gave a sturdy push where they touched.

They swung open without a sound, like a pair of welcoming hands.

I sucked in a breath and took my first step into Ostium

[Music Break]

It was like any ordinary town and unlike any town anywhere.

I walked slowly down the main street I’d peaked at yesterday, looking at the different store fronts. I knew they were stores because most of them had signs hanging out front advertising their wares within. I hadn’t been able to see them from behind the gate yesterday. Now, when I say signs, I mean the simplest, most archaic form of the noun. It was a plank of wood with a product name engraved into the wood and painted black, though I could hardly tell it was black, because it was so faded looking and old. One said BUTCHER. Another TAILOR. Another COBBLER. One was in French and said PATISSERIE. Then there was BOULANGERIE.

Now I’m not really up on my French, but I thought patisserie and boulangerie were kind of the same thing. I couldn’t actually tell because while each store had either one big rectangular window or a small square one on each side of the door, they were all opaque. Black like it was night inside and I couldn’t see a single thing. I tried peeking through. I even put my face right up to the glass, touching it with my nose. It was cold. Colder than the outside. Colder than it should’ve been. Cold like not following the laws of thermodynamics. Cold like something on the inside was keeping it that cold. Somehow.

There were more stores, as I continued up the street, in more languages. FARMACIA. My Spanish is better than my French and I knew that was a pharmacy. Though just to makes things a little more wacko, on the opposite side of the street was a store with the sign CHEMIST. Yeah, if you don’t know, that’s the British term for a pharmacy.

Ahuh. Wacko.

At this point there was a cross street with more stores to the left and to the right. And there were more languages now. I recognized German and I think Dutch. There were some Scandinavian ones, Swedish, Danish or Norwegian. I heard once they’re all pretty similar.

If you grow up in the Bay Area, you’re exposed to a lot of diversity and a number of different languages from around the globe. So while I didn’t know what they meant, I recognized Vietnamese, Chinese and Japanese. And then there were some Cyrillic ones and a bunch of others that I had no clue about.

I decided to stick to the street I was on, what I thought of as “Main Street,” and continued heading up it. That was when I studied one of the doors for the first time.

I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed earlier, but I did now.

There was a number on the door. It said 24. So I looked at the other doors around me and saw the same thing. Numbers on every one of them. I even started backtracking a bit on the doors I’d missed. The strange thing about them was that they were all random. A 36 here, 42 over there, 82, 65, 99, 4, 104. It made no sense.

I tried to open one of the doors.

I pulled on the handle. It turned down, but unsurprisingly the door didn’t open. This was number 17. I tried pushing, then pulling. I threw my shoulder into it; then gave it a sturdy kick. There was no movement. What. So. Ever.

I knew Ostium wasn’t going to make it that easy for me.

I tried a few others just to be sure it wasn’t just this one door.

They were all the same.

Locked up tight.

So I moved on, crossing a few more streets. I’d moved into what I presumed was a residential area now, as the store signs were gone. Every house was a door in the center with two square windows on either side. The number on the door. That was it. They all looked identical. Some were joined together, others with a small gap. I could probably squeeze myself in between that gap, but I didn’t really want to try it.

I did look up at one point and discover I was drawing closer to the water tower with its rickety looking ladder reaching down to the ground. I could see a small door in its underside, though I couldn’t read the number.

Interesting.

Everything here seemed to have a door.

Given the name of this place, it made sense.

A short while later the houses became more widely separated and grassland opened up before me, still with the street running through it. It led to that town hall-looking building I mentioned from yesterday. There was the clock tower stretching out of it like your cliché phallic object reaching to the heavens, pointing at noon. Or midnight. The witching hour.

But it was a bright, sunshiny day.

I headed up that street and when I reached the door I realized why it had its own street and was separated from everything else.

On the door was the number one.

So I reached out, feeling myself catching that rising surfer’s wave fully now, turned the handle and pushed.

This time the door opened.

[Music Break]

The room was bare bones. Four walls. Three doors in addition to the one I’d just opened. The others were all closed. But I didn’t expect much else from a long abandoned town like this. As I’d been walking up the street, part of my mind had been thinking how long this place had been abandoned. Except for the shiny new padlock that had mysteriously disappeared, everything looked downright ancient in Ostium.

And then there was the thing standing in the center of the room.

It was a rectangular wooden table and on its surface was a detailed map of the town, carved into the wood. I walked up to it and actually gasped at the detail. It was a work of art with all the tiny streets, all the individual stores and homes, the grasslands and contours of the town. It was astonishing. The water tower was a little wooden piece sticking out of the table like a thick splinter. But unlike the rest of the room, the carving was spotless and clean, as if it had been carved and freshly varnished just yesterday.

The map carving was also a key: there were numbers on every single building. I cast my eyes up the street I’d come and saw the familiar numbers I’d passed. I found numeral 1 where I was currently standing. I also learned the water tower was 69.

Nice.

I poured over the whole table, taking in the reaches of the town. There were a lot of buildings here, a lot of numbers. Over a hundred, as I already knew. But there were also open patches of ground with a number in the center. There was no building. So either it was a door standing on its own, or a hole in the ground with a number carved into the earth, or a hidden trapdoor or something. Whatever it was, I was getting excited just imagining what it could be like.

What was the deal with this place?

I started searching on the map and it took me a little while and then I found number 2. I’d passed it on my sojourn over here.

I looked at the three closed doors in the room, one on each wall, just asking to be opened.

I had two choices.

Two BIG choices.

I made my decision and headed out the door, closing it behind me.

As much as my curiosity was begging me to find out what was behind those three mystery doors, I felt the bigger question to answer was whether every door in this place led to the same thing or was it something different? Was it the inside of a store or house? Was it a door that just didn’t open? Was it a door to heaven? Or to hell? To my imagination?

I had to know.

More than what was behind those three doors in the room with the wooden map.

So all my money and hope was on number two.

Okay.

Sorry.

That sounded wrong.

Alright, I’ve got it.

Monty, let’s have a look at what’s behind door number two?

How’s that?

Yeah, that’s better.

I retraced my steps, heading back down the street that appeared to have no name according to “ye olde wooden map,” just like all the streets in this town.

And then I was staring at a wooden door that looked like every other wooden door in town, except three quarters of the way up was a carving of the number two, paint flaking black like the signs.

I felt myself smirk as I reached out and tried knocking.

No one answered. No surprise there. Figured it was worth a shot.

So I turned the handle and pushed.

The door . . . opened.

Unlike opening the first door where I could see inside, with the walls and the doors and the table in the center, here I was greeted by blackness. A dense blackness that had no give, no depth. It was like when I peeked in one of the windows: a night to end all nights, as they say.

Shit.

I was pretty terrified at this point, and it still gives me goosebumps now, thinking about it.

I had another choice then: to either go through and risk facing whatever was on the other side, or close the door and go back to my job and normal life, and say goodbye to everything Ostium.

My life didn’t exactly flash before my eyes, but I thought about a lot of things in quick succession: past events in my life, memories, highs and lows, and the immense risk I was currently facing.

I was at the edge of the precipice, and I couldn’t see if there was a sturdy, stable bridge to cross, or a rickety wooden one, or just a drop into darkness. I didn’t know if I stepped off the edge I wouldn’t just fall . . . forever.

Not a single soul on the planet knew I was here. I could disappear and that would be it. No one would ever know.

And that was when I said fuck it and stepped through.

[Music Break]

The first thing I knew for sure was that I wasn’t in Ostium anymore.

I was surrounded by big trees and lots of hanging branches. It was colder than where I’d been. A lot colder. But I could tell they were different trees to what I’d seen driving to Ostium. They were actually unlike any kind of tree I’d seen before. So I was definitely in a different place.

I took two steps forward and the ground felt mulchy and squishy beneath my feet. I think they call it loam: that spongy layer of dirt and leaves and twigs and whatever else.

I turned around and looked back at the doorway.

The way back wasn’t black, but showed the street in Ostium where I’d just stepped through.

Interesting.

The door was hanging open into this place, wherever this was.

But there was no door frame, no wall that the door was attached to.

It was just a door shape with the open door, standing there on the ground, on its own, attached to nothing.

It was really freaky.

I stepped around it and from behind I was able to look through the open doorway, not seeing anything of Ostium.

I was pretty relieved I hadn’t been killed in some horrific way passing through the doorway, but I was still terrified.

Where the hell was I?

I walked back to the doorway, wanting to be able to see Ostium and be comforted knowing it was still there. Then I looked around me and saw a hundred yards ahead a wooden palisade forming the wall of a settlement. It looked like something out of a history book.

That was when I started to wonder if I wasn’t just in a different place . . .

But a different time.

I sucked in a brave breath and headed towards the wooden wall made of solid tree logs all lined and lashed together. I saw there was an opening a little further along. I looked back at the open door, still in plain view. I could still see the opposite side of the street in Ostium with another door and another number, though I couldn’t make it out from where I was standing. It was comforting.

A necessary comfort.

I headed over to that opening in the wall, wanting to see what was on the other side of it. Was it another place like Ostium?

There was a big tree standing just outside the wall. It looked like some kind of oak, real thick and probably hundreds and hundreds of years old. Someone had carved something into it. Three letters: C – R – O. CRO

Something lit up my mind. A minute spark way back in there. This meant something to me, but at that moment I had no idea what.

I needed to learn more to find out.

I stepped into the opening and surveyed a small town from centuries ago. It looked early American, like before the United States was an established country. In the colony days, maybe even before that. Simple wooden houses of varying sizes. A fire pit between two of the houses with just ashes. Nothing had burned there in some time.

I took a few more steps into the hamlet, doing a full 180 and looking from the wall on my right to the wall on my left.

I saw another carving, this time on one of the logs forming the sturdy wall.

I walked up to it and read the single word.

It wasn’t English.

I ran my fingers along the letters.

Suddenly, I knew exactly where I was.

For the first time in my life I slapped my hand over my mouth, stifling a scream.

The eight letters were carved clearly.

C-R-O-A-T-O-A-N.

CROATOAN.

I was on an island in North Carolina.

The year was sometime between 1587 and 1590.

And I was looking at the settlement of the abandoned, lost colony of Roanoke.

[Music Break]

That was when my heart leapt into my throat, and I turned and ran as fast as I could.

I was half convinced the door was going to be gone and I was just going to find an empty grove of trees and be trapped in the sixteenth century.

But it was there and my heart fell back down into my chest.

I ran through, grabbing the handle on my way in and slamming the door behind me.

On the other side I felt the familiar and now very comforting buildings of Ostium surrounding me.

The roughshod road.

I started giggling which turned into a raucous laughter that wracked my body, tortured my lungs and throat, and left me crying and dizzy.

My dying echoes of laughter were pretty creepy.

I fell to the ground, trying to get a hold of myself.

I know now it was shock and fear.

It was either laugh or cry.

After I’d caught my breath and regained what I could of any sanity, I headed back to the building with door number one.

I pulled on the handle, wondering for a half second if it was a one-use deal and now it was sealed forever from me.

But it turned and the door pushed inward.

I stared at the table with the map carving. Then at the three mysterious doors.

The yearning curiosity wasn’t there anymore.

I was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Drained.

The town and its many doors and secrets held within had been here for years, probably decades. Possibly centuries.

A millennium?

That was a thought for another day.

But they would keep another night and tomorrow I would return.

Right now I needed to get away from Ostium for a bit. I needed to recharge and recover.

Harrowing. That was the word for today. The whole experience from opening the gate to now had been harrowing.

I closed the door and walked back down the street.

The gate was still ajar as I’d left it. I closed it behind me, saw my car was undisturbed.

I got in and headed home, not listening to any music, not stopping a single time until I made it to my assigned parking spot and then went in through my front door.

I thought a lot on my drive home.

I’d never be able to look at an ordinary door the same way again. I was pretty sure of that.

I collapsed on the couch and then crashed and slept for three hours.

I woke up groggy. Made some coffee and dinner. It woke me up and satisfied my raging hunger.

I felt like I’d done something strenuous today like a heavy gym workout, or played basketball for hours, or run a marathon. But I was doing better.

That’s when I sat down and recorded all this.

What does it all mean?

What is Ostium?

Why did I find it?

Why did I find it?

Did I find it?

Was I chosen to find it?

What’s special about it?

What do the numbers mean?

Is there a significance to each one? To each door?

That first door is obviously some kind of home base and I have a feeling I might know what’s behind one or more of those doors inside the room. My spidey-sense is telling me living quarters.

For me?

I don’t know.

Was I really in Roanoke?

Was it really 1587?

Thinking back on it now, it seems like a very far away thing, a hazy memory. I’m sure if I were never to return to Ostium, doubt would begin to sow itself within me and I’d eventually think it all some strange dream.

I know. It could’ve been something else too. A recreated settlement to show tourists the way things were.

Sure.

But see, the thing is I know something about Roanoke. I did a paper on it in a college US history class. I was fascinated by it. You might even say obsessed. The paper ended up being over ten pages long and for a lower division course, that’s pretty darn good. I laid everything out: how it was all started by Sir Walter Raleigh. How the first settlement began. How John White who was a friend of Raleigh’s help set up the colony of 115 souls, including White’s granddaughter, Virginia Dare, who was the first English child born in North America.

How White had had to travel back to England in 1587, leaving the 115 colonists on Roanoke Island. He’d wanted to come back sooner with supplies, but bad weather had prevented him from going. Then the Spanish Armada attacked England and he wasn’t able to get a ship. In 1588 he’d hired two vessels to bring supplies but they’d been captured, the valuable cargo seized.

In 1590 he was able to hitch a ride on a privateering expedition that agreed to drop him off at Roanoke on the way. He arrived on August 18, what would’ve been his granddaughter’s third birthday.

When he got to the settlement he found not a single person there. 90 men, 17 women and 11 children vanished without a trace.

The only clues were the carving of CRO in a tree outside the settlement and the word CROATOAN on a fence post inside the settlement.

I know they’ve recreated fortifications and reproductions of what the settlement of the lost colony was like.

But this hadn’t felt like that at all. This had looked too real. The details in the buildings and fire pit and other things I’d seen around the settlement.

Just the smell of the place. It smelled . . . Authentic.

No. The more I think on it, the more unsettled yet certain I am I was in Roanoke in 1587.

Somehow.

I feel it to be true.

So then I have to ask myself: if Ostium sent me there, through this door . . . Why? What was I supposed to get out of it? Was I supposed to stay there longer, look for clues, a possible solution to what happened to the colonists?

There’s never been any conclusive evidence.

Since Ostium has suffered a similar fate to Roanoke – at least that is what it appears to be – am I to try to solve this mystery and therefore come a step closer to solving the bigger mystery of Ostium?

I simply don’t know at this point.

It’s all too much. And a lot of it is too fantastic to accept.

But I know what happened to me today. I know it was real.

And what will I find behind door number 3?

Another mystery?

Another empty town?

What I do know is this: tomorrow I’m going back to Ostium again.

I can’t stop now.

I won’t stop now.

I’m going to see what’s behind those doors in the clock tower, and then I’m going to see what’s waiting for me behind door number 3.

[End Credit Music]

I discovered the secret town of Ostium by playing GeoGuessr. It’s an online game using Google Maps that drops you somewhere in the world. You navigate around, go up and down the street, look at cars and signs and buildings, and try to guess where you are. Then you’re told how far your guess is from where you actually are, and you’re awarded points on that distance. It’s one of those games that’s real simple and the first time you play it, you think: It’s nothing special. I’ll play it once, then I’ll get bored and that’ll be it. Then . . . two hours later, you’re working on your 50th game, because this time you’re sure you’re going to be able to guess, or geoguess within less than 50 miles.  What’s worse is you’re probably at work and you just wasted a lot of company time, and here comes your boss to check on those reports you were supposed to have ready for him an hour ago . . .

Sorry, got carried away there a little. I need to stay on topic. It’s just, this is sort of my first time doing this sort of audio journal type thing and I don’t know exactly what I want to say yet, or how I want to say it . . . I’m still processing everything that’s happened.

That’s what I need to focus on.

What I found.

Ostium. 

So I was playing GeoGuessr for like the billionth time. I know, I’m addicted, but as far as addictions go, this is a pretty harmless one . . .

I guess I should introduce myself too.

My name’s Jake Fisher. I’m a software engineer for a video game company in San Francisco which will remain nameless, and because I don’t want to live in a studio the size of a cardboard box, my home is in the great city of Oakland which I truly love, though I am a Giants fan.

Okay, that’s all I’m going to say about me . . . for now.

Ostium.

I didn’t discover that name until I found the hidden town. But that one and only time I saw it on GeoGuessr I was completely entranced. So much so I haven’t played the game since . . . because I’ve been on my own quest, and I’m not talking about the kind you play on a screen.

[Music Break]

Like just about every game of GeoGuessr, this particular one began with a road. It started as a normal piece of asphalt highway: two lanes with a divider strip down the middle. Not a car in sight from either direction. And since I usually use license plates as clues to guess where I am, I knew this was going to be a hard one. I didn’t know which way to go, so I chose north according to the compass, and kept going for about four minutes. I usually give myself half that time before I give up and decide to make a guess, but something made me keep going. I don’t know what. I just kept clicking the arrow button, and the screen kept refreshing me a little further north.

Then the road changed.

The color of the surface began to get lighter, going from dark black to a lighter black, then through a series of shades of gray, getting lighter and lighter as I continued clicking with the mouse, which I attribute to disuse. It started curving in a northeasterly direction, and I dutifully followed it, my interest piqued.

The foliage on either side of the road had remained a lush and healthy green, but, like the road, was also changing, though not in such an obvious way. It was still that vibrant, alive green of growth and vitality, but it became more dense, crowding the edges of the image until it seemed to form a solid wall on either side, like the walls of the thick hedge maze in the Yerba Buena Gardens.

A feeling of claustrophobia stole over me.

I know. It sounds weird to say something like that; since I’m talking about staring at a screen in a crowded workplace, but trust me, being the one actually saying it, it really sounds weird.

But it’s also the absolute truth.

Even though I was just messing around on my computer at work, I felt a compressing chill enveloping me, as if I was physically walking along that alien gray road, trapped and alone, forced to continue in the same direction because of the encroaching walls of greenery.

I reminded myself I was safe and sound in my cubicle, ignoring my growing, unfinished work, even though I felt completely spellbound by that foreign road.

In the warm office environment of my cubicle I shivered in fear.

I stopped myself. Looked away from the screen for a second, stared at the side of my cubicle, where I’d pinned lots of pointless ephemera over the years: drawings, statements, cartoons that meant nothing to someone just looking at it en masse, but told me a complete collection of memories.

That did it. My mind cleared, my fear abated, and I felt myself flush with embarrassment.

It didn’t last long.

I turned back to the screen and watched the road now transform from asphalt to gravel. Wherever this was, it had just run out of state funds.  The direction kept changing too, curling towards the south and even towards the southwest at one point, and then back up to the north, then east, then northeast again.

I’d now been playing this game of GeoGuessr for over seven minutes. Not only that, I was still on this one road without having guessed the location and confirmed where I was yet. I was sorely tempted to just click and pick somewhere in the middle of the US and find out exactly where I was, but another part of me – the one that was in charge – said no, said to keep going, the end would be worth it.

So I did. I kept clicking, even though the pad on my index finger was starting to hurt.

And that’s when I saw the sign.

I’d clicked by it, whooshing with the speed of the next loading image, before I realized I’d seen something. Everything had looked the same for so long, and then all of a sudden there had been that snapshot of white against the green.

The beauty of GeoGuessr is you can always go back.

I turned around and went back, then turned the image around again to face the sign I’d missed.

When I saw it, I just stared at it; confused, but also growing curious with wonder.

It was your ordinary sign for a town: green with a white border; a solid rectangle that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

On it was beveled the name of this particular town.

OSTIUM.

O-S-T-I-U-M.

No clue what that means, but it was definitely an interesting name.

Below the name of the town was the elevation and the population.

Elevation was 282 feet.

Population was . . . zero.

Yep, that’s right.

Population nobody.

It said it right there on the sign: P-O-P. Period. And then the number zero.

[Music Break]

Firstly, if a town really had no population, why would it be listed on the sign? What would be the point of it?

Secondly, what the hell?

I knew I had to keep going and kept clicking.

It didn’t take me long: less than half a mile and a couple handfuls of clicks, I reached the edge of the town.

I knew that because I could see that the gravel road had ended.

I knew that because the dense green bushes and trees on each side of the road suddenly ended.

I knew that because I could see the ten-foot high stone wall spreading out in opposite directions from the dead end of the road, which I assumed surrounded the entire town, like some medieval fortified village.

 I could see the road ended at a big rusty iron gate that had to be at least ten feet high. It was pretty plain, no fancy ironwork or ornate curlicues, just a regular iron gate that had seen its share of heavy weather and was now a ruddy golden-brown rust color. It also looked firmly locked, and I couldn’t really see anything on the other side.

By this point my fear seemed like a hazy memory that I wasn’t even sure I’d felt, but my curiosity was making me shake with excitement. I could feel hot sweat on my brow, as well as a heat in my armpits and crotch.

Maybe a little TMI there. But I want you to experience this as close to how I experienced it.

I needed to find where this place was.

I wanted to go there.

I wanted to see this Ostium.

And I knew the moment had finally arrived.

I turned to the world map on the right of the screen, zoomed in on the US and contemplated on where to place the digital push-pin.

I settled on the middle of North Dakota. It seemed remote and unusual enough for this undiscovered town of population zero.

The game did its thinking and calculated me to be 1545 miles away and the formerly unknown town of Ostium was in fact located in Northern California.

It took me way too long to realize I was in Northern California.

It was a clear strong thought, like a shot of tequila: I had to find this town and see exactly where this was.

I studied the map, trying to see if I could zoom in on it and get a definitive location.

And that was when GeoGuessr did something it has never done before.

The image grew blurry, as if there was some sort of interference, then the screen cleared and a message popped up:

GOOGLE MAPS GPS ERROR.

LOCATION HAS BEEN LOST.

The words were so definite and final. They said that Ostium was gone. Gone from GeoGuessr, and gone from my screen.

Fortunately, I’ve always had a good memory. A very good memory. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s photographic. So it was easy to bring that map up once more, on the screen in my mind, to zoom in on where it showed the push-pin pinpointing Ostium. I saw it in my head and calculated the distance. It would take two to three hours to get to that approximate area, and then I’d have to start looking for that road, wait for it to change, then look for that sign, and finally reach that rusty iron gate.

I stood up suddenly, feeling a cramping in my legs. I’d been locked in the same, tense position for too long.

I looked at the time: 11:22. Perfect. It wasn’t too late.

I thought for a whole long second about telling . . . Robert in the next cubicle that I was leaving and for him to cover for me, if he could, but then thought to hell with it.

That driving excitement was still in the center of my chest, blossoming and taking over.

I had to get on the road.

I had to find Ostium.

I think Robert might’ve seen me walk past his cubicle, head straight for the doors, then out to the elevator.

It was taking too long, so I hit the stairwell and sprinted down twelve flights of stairs.

It was thrilling. I was too excited to feel tired from it.

I made it to my Volkswagen Mini with my heart racing. I’d hit the McDonald’s on the way out and load up on grease, carbs and a heavy dose of caffeine. I had a long drive ahead of me, but when I eventually found Ostium – and I was fully confident I would – it would be well worth it.

[Music Break]

It didn’t take me long to realize Ostium didn’t want to be found.

But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

It took me over four hours to get into the approximate zone of that part of Northern California that I remembered from the GeoGuessr map. It was a long drive, but I had my trusty iPhone to keep me musically entertained with The Beatles. The Beatles can get me through anything. Siri also guided me. I’d picked a town I’d given as an end point that was in the rough vicinity of where I thought Ostium was. I had of course tried asking Siri to guide me to Ostium first, but she’d said: “I’m sorry Jake, I’m not sure where that is.”

A couple food and drink stops along the way had recharged me. It was while I was waiting for my venti white mocha with an extra shot that I decided to look up what Ostium actually meant.

An ostium is defined as a small opening or orifice. According to Merriam Webster, the etymology of the word is from the Latin, meaning door or mouth of a river.

Interesting.

Next I tried some websites. Ostium.com gave me nothing. Ostium.net ominously told me: “Nothing to see. Move along . . .” Ostium.co.uk seemed to be about to load a site, but then just stayed a white screen. And on a hunch, playing the Latin angle, I tried Ostium.it for Italy and was taken to an Italian legal firm named Mannucci.

So one big zilcho. Fortunately, that’s when I heard my name called out. Then it was back to the freeway and the long road north.

I made my last stop at the town I’d told Siri to take me to, grabbing a bottle of water this time to give my over-stimulated head and brain a break. I was kind of at a standstill, a “roadblock” if you will.

Sorry, that was uncalled for.

I simply wasn’t sure where to head next; whichever way I went could be the right direction, or completely wrong one.

I pulled up a map of the area on my phone and tried zooming out a bit to get a feel for the area and see if I could hone in on where I thought Ostium might be, but no such luck. It all felt foreign and alien to me, much like it’d felt when I saw that rusty gate and that strange sign on the screen.

Back at my cubicle.

Which seemed like a million miles away at this point.

And now for something completely different.

I tossed my phone and water onto the passenger seat then stepped in front of my car, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and turned in a complete circle, fast. Got myself pretty dizzy. Then I did it much slower. I was waiting for . . . I don’t know what, a sound, some indicator, something.

And I got it.

It was a feeling, like someone had just put the slightest pressure on my temples with their fingertips. Just for a moment, an external force.

I felt that shivering fear come back, but I was ignoring it for the time being.

I opened my eyes to a house across the street. The house didn’t mean anything, but I now had some extrasensory feeling that this was the direction I needed to go.

I got back in my car, had another swig of icy water, and pulled the map up again on my phone, calculating the route from freeway to smaller roads that would take me in that specific direction.

I left the town, getting on the on ramp, wondering if whatever force I’d experienced could in fact be Ostium pulling me in some way towards it, perhaps calling to me.

I know, sounds crazy, but . . .

[Music Break]

The shiver was still there, cold and small, wrapped around my spine like a frozen coil of barbed wire, waiting to make itself known.

I followed my chosen route and before I knew it there were no more cars on the road. I didn’t know how long it’d been since I’d seen the last vehicle, but it left me with a pretty eerie feeling. And that was when I noticed the road.

It was that same road from the GeoGuessr map.

I know. From how I’d described it before, it sounds like any road on the planet, but I had that feeling inside me letting me know, telling me that this was the right road.

I slowed down to 45, wanting to take it slow so I didn’t miss anything.

I watched the greenery on both sides grow denser and thicker, just like it had on the monitor. Then I got that tunnel vision for real this time, seeing the wall of green to the left and right of me and just that narrow two-lane road reaching ahead.

And then I saw the sign.

It stood there to the side of the road, harmless and unimportant, but meaning so much to me.

I stopped the car, not bothering to pull over as there was no traffic coming in either direction. There also wasn’t really any room to pull over.

I got out and walked up to the sign, touching each of the letters of Ostium, then the zero next to POP. It was real alright. I took a photo with my phone just to make sure. Just in case this all turned out to be some weird hallucination. At the end of this strange trip, I would at least have that photo to confirm or deny what I’d seen.

I checked the map again, this time confirming to memory where exactly I was. Then I got back in the car and started driving again.

I got to Ostium quicker than I expected. The wall, the gates. Ostium stood before me. I got out of my car and stared in wonder. It hit me then, like a strong gust of wind: everything I’d done today from playing the game, seeing this place on the screen, then making the long journey up here and actually finding it.

It was incredible.

It was thrilling.

And also a little bit scary.

Because it was real. And the rust on the gate had been there for years. A lot of years. It seemed like a gate this old and rusted would be easy to open, the lock long broken.

When I got to the gate I reached out, touching a rusty bar, feeling it cold and biting on my skin, then I pushed. It didn’t budge; there was no movement at all in fact. I looked to where the two sides of the gate met and saw a strange, small padlock in place there. It wasn’t your usual padlock. This one was a unique style and shape; a type of lock I was pretty sure I’d never seen before.

It also looked shiny and new. Brand new. Like it could’ve been put there just hours ago.

Which was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

That shiver was coursing through me now, even though there wasn’t a breath of wind.

The small padlock locked each side of the gate in place so that there would be very little movement. I tried lifting the end of the lock where the key would be inserted and then pushed on one of the iron bars again, and this time there was a little give.

I wasn’t getting past this gate, not today at least. I’d have to come back with a heavy-duty bolt cutter.

Which I fully intended to do.

Perhaps there was a tiny voice inside of me saying no; that I’d already gone too far. That I needed to turn back and leave now.

I ignored it, convinced myself it wasn’t even really there.

I’d come back tomorrow, break that lock and take my first step into Ostium.

For now, I had to make do with what I could see.

I put my face between the bars of the gate.

The first thing I noticed was a water tower in the far distance with OSTIUM printed on the side. I’m pretty sure I smirked at it. I could also see there was a ladder leading up to it from the ground, and stopping at what seemed to be a little door. Weird.

I then focused on the town proper, staring down what was probably Main Street framed by buildings leading to a small square and a large building that was likely a town hall with a clock high up on it. It listed the time as noon, or midnight.

I wondered how long ago that clock had stopped working.

I could see the façades of some of the stores along the main street, but they were all clear and plain, telling me nothing of what goods or items they held within. However, each possessed a dominant doorway. I know that’s a strange way of putting it, but that’s how it felt to me, in my head. As if the store were the body and the door a strong, domineering face. Commanding.

There was neither a person nor soul in sight anywhere. I thought about calling out, but knew it would be futile. There wasn’t anyone here. Not anymore, at least. The sign had said so. But those powerful doorways gave me a strange feeling, as if there were . . . presences here , staring at me. Ghosts in those doorways, of lives that had once lived, of the people that had once inhabited Ostium.

Whether I would ever be meeting any of them, I would discover in time.

[Music Break]

 I turned around, got back in my car and drove home, and when I got settled I recorded this experience.

It’s now three in the morning and I’m very tired; I need to sleep. When I wake in the morning I’ll prepare myself, bring those bolt cutters and return to that town and that gate. I will get it open and find out just what this strange place called Ostium is all about and why it called to me.

Because I now know this to be true, as true as knowing real estate in San Francisco is ridiculous and it may be a long time before the Giants win a World Series again. And that my cooking sucks.

Tomorrow I will go through one of those doors, one of those faces of Ostium, and find out what the hell is going on in that strange town.

Now, I need to end this recording and try to stop myself shivering.

Until tomorrow then.

[End Credit Music]