BY: DB BOYD
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Dedicated to: Vernon Lee Smith 12/18/01
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For untold ages it has sat in isolation upon the bank of the James River. In a hidden valley of ancient myth, surrounded by mountains of unknown antiquity, the once prosperous town of Lord’s Vista sits silently slumbering.
To the west is the unused and overly cracked road leading out of town: to the east are the coarse broken woods that extend unnaturally toward the Atlantic. Southward are the ever-climbing hills that form the town’s southern barrier and to the north is the mountain…
The desolate town has become overgrown with tall thin brown grasses and small but wide skeletal shrubs for some time. But exactly how long I doubt anyone could tell. The railways toward the south have since oxidized and deteriorated to nothing more than useless beams of coppery mush. The businesses and denizens have long since vacated, but exactly why is still unknown. Some say it was due to the continuous flooding: the James was infamous for submerging the surrounding area rapidly. Some say it was the poor agricultural productivity. But some say it was due to the mountain. The mountain and the perverse images carved into its ancient stone face.
If one were to climb the dark ridge that looms over that damnable city, one may still view the strange images etched into the exposed stone surface. What the images are of no one can readily say. Whomever or whatever that had carved them into the convex stone has long since passed into the ever-fading winds of history and they’re detailed etchings of unknown importance forever remain a mystery.
Although…none dare to venture upon the mountain in search of the inscriptions. Many have gone mad upon that looming hilltop. Over the years, one may even notice that quite a few have vanished. The ones that return act as if they had been witness to something beyond human conception: they’re hair’s gray and they’re stuttering voices become harsh and cracked. What could cause such a change no one could say? But the people that return from atop that forsaken mountain always mumble and choke strange references to something they call “The One Before”. The one who “gestates within the view”.
The few people who still dwell in Lords Vista are afflicted similarly. They stare blankly into the air and go about their daily lives in a strange sort of unreal confusion. Most of the denizens spend their time wandering through the eastern woods searching for something that is referred to as “the path”. But the few who meander around town periodically glance toward the black mountain that rises high against the squat deteriorating buildings, as if they were watching or waiting for something.
Some say that on dark winter nights, when the small valley is unnaturally warm, a few people have seen the citizens of that dying town dancing in a most impure manner at the base of the mountain. Around low burning fires of an indescribable hue, they blasphemously undulate in bizarre fashions while croaking obscene chants into the late night sky. One boy, who managed to return from such an event, stated that he even felt the ground rumble as the Vistian’s chant came to a climactic frenzy. And that as he turned to run from the unholy gathering, he caught a glimpse of something…“LARGE” shifting upon the gray rock face of the mountain. For quite some time he even had the idea that it was the rock face itself that had shifted.
But as farfetched as some of the stories may get, none compare to what one man said upon returning from the foot of that stygian peak. Arthur Blair’s statement of what happened that winter night was beyond anything anyone had heard. The fantastic story was surely born of one who has visited the top of the mountain itself. Of one who has turned white with indescribable fear. But his hair was not white. And his insistent rambling had an awkward type of sense and stability. So his story is still held somewhat “credible” by some.
Upon hearing of the odd occurrences and people of the area, Blair couldn’t stop himself from investigating the unusual tales. He set out for Lord’s Vista on that freezing night in hopes that the valley would be warm and that the denizens would be performing they’re detestable esoteric rituals. But upon arriving he was witness to what he called “the viewing”.
There the citizens were, dancing profanely around that peculiarly colored fire while some screamed inhumanly into the pitch-black air. Arthur’s curiosity grew quickly as the ritual progressed. He eventually found himself creeping closer for a better view when two of the dazed participants stopped dancing and stood still with arms raised in front of the fire. How they did it or what they did he still doesn’t know. He says they just reached out they’re hands, cupped them, and raised them to cover they’re faces. For only a moment did they stay covered, but for that moment they wailed in such a manner that Arthur says he doesn’t know how he managed to hold on to his already taut sanity. When the screaming citizens lowered they’re shaking arms, Arthur said that the empty bleeding sockets of their eyes radiated that same alien color produced by the fire below and the mountain above. They’re blood-covered hands reached out to him as he too let out a horrific cry. He turned to flee, but slipped on the unstable debris of the forest floor, injuring his knee, as the very ground he stood upon began to tremble.
He let out another cry as he lifted himself from the scarlet spattered rocks and leaves. Ready to run, he turned around and could see that almost all of the ritual’s participants were now dazedly moving toward him. Arms outstretched and inhuman voices chanting an abominable utterance, they came at him slowly. He began to run but glanced toward the top of the mountain when a sudden movement caught his eye. But from there on… he can remember nothing.
The only thing he can say about what happened after that is, “IT SAW ME!” When asked about what he meant by the color of the fire below and the “mountain” above, he only repeats the same thing. “IT SAW ME! MY GOD…IT SAW ME!”
Some still consider investigating the story themselves, but most find that with the previous evidence, its doubtful that anyone will ever know what it is that is on that mountain. Or what it is about those unusual citizens in that dying dilapidated town that make them glance periodically toward the blasphemous peak. The peak which sends men screaming in untold madness if they dare venture it’s ancient and impure soil.
But some believe that one-day someone will unravel that enigma that stays hidden within the vista. That someone will return from that unhallowed peak with the answers to the all questions so many generations have asked. But until then...the dark nefarious town of Lord’s Vista sits silently slumbering. Watching and waiting…
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