Crickets chirped as sunset poured dimmed rose-gold light over the back yard. I stood in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher as the summer-night lullaby entered through open windows. Dmitri sat on the couch in the living room to watch the History Channel. If it concerned the Marines, it got his attention. Tonight's fare happened to be the beach landings made during World War II. He held in his hand a pint of amber ale he crafted about six months back. This was how he tested the quality of his beer – it had to be good with both food and on its own during television.
A final wipe of the counter top and I knew I was ready for tonight's adventure. "I'm gonna head off to bed."
His eyes never left the screen. "Sweet dreams, babe. I'll try not to wake you up when I'm done watching this."
After a cool shower I dressed in a cotton camisole and boxers. I lay upon the bed and stared up at the canopy Dmitri requested I leave hanging. He was quite impressed with my improvisational use of tools and crafting supplies.
Music from the CD player washed over me. Willow had slipped the disk into my hand when she and I dined on lunch after my visit with Neilsinhaur. I almost choked on my Nobby Burger when I read what she had emblazoned in sharpie on it. Celtic Trance. Imagine, if you will, Enya with a mellow techno beat minus half the warbling vocals.
I fetched my eye mask out of the nightstand drawer and put it on before nestling into bed. Black silk satin blocked out all possible light. A few deep breaths and I began doing my homework. In through nose. Hold for a count of three. Out through mouth. Inside my body, my mind began to sink down into a place of utter relaxation.
Dawn illuminated the coniferous forest. Uneven red-brown earth smelled of pine and dew. No sound reverberated from my footfalls upon feathery ferns. I walked forward into the dense growth of fir and redwood trees bereft of any fauna. Past manzanita bushes and volcanic boulders wearing mossy coats. Behind the stone sentinels were the Stairs.
They were steep, constructed of slippery rock and narrow. One must walk sideways down them since the width of the staircase's entryway was slightly narrower than my shoulders. Above, the forest suddenly dimmed with an ambush of dusk. No sound but my breathing reached my ears. I stood at the top of the staircase and looked down into the darkened bowels of the earth.
Six steps.
That's tonight's goal.
Back and booty against one wall, palms against the other for balance, head down to watch my feet placement. It was real enough in my mind that I didn't want to slip and fall. One step. Two steps. I looked down as I paused before inching my toe down to the third step.
Was it going to ripple like a pond after the drop of a pebble? Half in exhilaration, half in trepidation, my foot made contact with the third stair. The mottled gray and green stone undulated beneath me. Solid like the rock it looked, yet moved like water. A deep breath. Down another step to stable, unmoving rock.
Okay. Two more steps then I could scamper back towards the surface. I never considered myself claustrophobic, but my mental staircase definitely possessed an undeniably creepy vibe that Vincent Price probably would have appreciated.
The smooth-packed earthen walls with tiny, hairy roots seemed much colder where they met my palms when I stepped down to the fifth stair. It was almost pitch-black. A sense of isolation washed over me before sound waded through the dark to haunt my ears.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heart raced as adrenaline exploded through my extremities. Tingling scalp, goosebump-covered arms... I was on full alert. The sound came echoing from the blackness of the stair's bottom with a menacing cadence. Hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. I remained still, positive that my heart would burst through my ribcage and make it topside before me. I tried peering down the stairs, to where Neilsinhaur claimed the door to my past life was located. I couldn't see the hand in front of my face, let alone where the sound came from. Dread soaked me to the bones.
What was down there?
Six steps, five completed.
I can do this.
I don't want to do this.
Ominous thumping from the dark was creepy in a Blair Witch sort of way. I didn't like it. Not one bit. A never-ending tempo of fist against mud, heels against floor, bodies hitting the ground, fans thrown against the wall, punches to a closed door... thumping.
I can do this.
I can do this... quickly.
Coaxing myself was harder than I anticipated. Did both feet have to touch the stair for it to count? Or could I just stand with one foot on step number six and then make a hurried escape from the unsettling recesses of my mind?
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Dread soaked deeper into my bones, to the quivering masses of marrow hidden inside.
What was it down there? What pounded against that door, rattling it on its hinges? I knew I wanted out from the cold earthen walls that suddenly seemed bereft of oxygen.
I stepped down to the sixth stair with courage I scraped up from a hidden reserve somewhere deep inside. Both feet made contact with the step.
Cool.
I did it.
Thump.
Thump.
Thu--
Heart pounded harder as the thumping got cut off and something faint took its place.
My ears sharpened. I tried to discern what exactly it was polluting the air with foulness.
A sickening lurch to my stomach shook my innards as the sound registered in my mind.
It was a combination of wailing and deep, mournful moaning. The sound of physical and emotional pain of the deepest kind. Soul-deep anguish. Heartbreak.
The sound triggered something far inside and tears welled. My heart felt leaden.
I wanted out of this black pit of despair.
Fingers dug into the dirt walls as leaden legs propelled me up towards freedom.
I made my escape.
Up the steps and finally past the moss-covered boulders shadowed with dusk, I was safe from what lurked in the dark of my mind.
The forest was gone, replaced by black silk satin.
Satin eye mask got tore off, flung back into the nightstand drawer. Shaken like Bond's martini and queasy to boot... I never anticipated it being hard. I possess a fertile imagination. Retreating into a semi-lucid daydream state wasn't difficult in the least for me. But exploring the dark recesses of my mind and possible past life, now that was hard.
I arose from the bed and went into the bathroom. After I relieved myself, I washed hands and splashed cold water on my face. The compulsive urge to wash and rewash my hands to remove invisible imaginary dirt from beneath my nails lurked. Made my way back to the bedroom, sinking into the ultra-plush white carpet with each step. I sat cross-legged in the bed's center, elbows on knees while I contemplated the unsettling sensation washing around my brain pan.
It's all in my imagination, right?
I'm just psyching myself out.
It's not real.
Isn't it?
Bit my lip and heaved a sigh. Then I did the unthinkable.
I picked up my cell and called Willow.
Her voice echoed into my ear.
"Hello?"
"Willow?" My nervous, twitching foot put Thumper to shame.
"Kaylis, you ok? You sound upset."
Uh, yeah. My mind is creeping me out, Mom. Thanks for noticing.
"I have a question about the past life regression stuff..." My voice didn't want to leave my throat. Awkward is a mild way to describe how I felt. I swear upon my happy thoughts, the bonding with Willow comment I made to Dmitri was facetious in nature. There wasn't any real intention to ever actually have a conversation of this nature with her.
Yet here I am.
My delightfully spacey maternal unit's voice changed from concerned to giddy. "Oh, yes? Ask away. I'm so thrilled you're exploring this, I really am, Kaylis. You are doing a great job of channeling your inner Klingon."
I squeezed my eyes shut and stifled a sigh in hopes she'd manage to get back on tangent. Willow was not making this easy. And just one conversation without mention of Star Trek and its clan of ridged-brow warriors would be just nifty.
"Umm, the first time you did the uh, homework for the regression... did you have anything kinda, um, weird happen?"
"Weird? What's your definition of weird?"
"Weird as in watery steps or mysterious, ominous sounds?" My other foot twitched as I recalled the banshee-like keening. I made those dancing feet obey my dictate of never showing fear.
"Ominous?"
I felt self-conscious. "Yes, ominous. Neilsinhaur is having me do a meditation of walking down stairs, and at the bottom is the door to my past life... well tonight there was thumping and the sound of wailing. And moaning. Really creeped me out."
She heaved an impatient sigh. "You're intelligent. Did it not occur to you that if you had experienced a trauma that got etched onto your soul it'd be a festering wound... do you really think it'd be pleasant to explore?" She sighed again, more quiet and patient. "It will get worse before it gets better. Just be aware of that, hun. It can't hurt you already more than it already has, whatever it is... but if you're like me, you'll be feeling icky for a few days before you start processing it all. You will never forget the moment of clarity when all the pieces come together."
That was an excellent point. Trauma is bad. Bad trauma leaves wounds, and not taken care of, wounds fester. Whatever was behind the door would be guaranteed to not be something all happy-happy-joy-joy. While her words helped me gain perspective, the sinking feeling in my gut did not abate much. "Thanks for the insight. So I can expect things to get all horror-show. Super."
"You're thinking too much, Kaylis. So, what did you think of Dmitri's surprise paint-job?"
I appreciated the irony in her thought pattern. "What?" Playing with paint was my gig, not his. He builds, I color. That's the deal.
"Ohh, he must not have done it yet! Oh, damn it. I ruined another surprise. I still feel bad for telling you about him asking my blessing before he proposed. I have no sense of timing, although six weeks is enough time for him to grow his stones to pop the question."
Curiosity prickled my brain. Neurons and synapses were firing as to what this new surprise happened to be. "Just tell me."
"He wrote something sweet somewhere with stuff you can't see by light. That's all I'm saying about it. Pull my fingernails off with red-hot pliers, but that is all I'm telling you."
"There's a mystery afoot. I think I might channel my inner Nancy Drew to match the Klingon and solve this interesting quandary."
She laughed. "Distraction is just one of the many services I provide."
"Indeed. Goodnight, Willow. And thanks."
"I love you too, Kaylis."
As much as she irked me with her singular point of view, I love my mother, crazy as she happened to be.
And I'm starting to believe I'm proof that crazy is genetic.