Snails on Fire

A snail shell, larger than the very house on which it sat, was sprawled halfway across the crushed domicile. The snail itself was coiled around the front of the cottage. Its glistening skin shivered as my flashlight danced across it, casting thick ropes of mucus across the ground.

My mouth agape, I took a nervous step forward. The response of the snail at my intrusion was swift. It sucked itself into its shell, retreating as if I were a living manifestation of salt. I traced around the massive shell, discovering a cracked section that I could easily pass through. I had come too far, I thought.

With a mighty crack from my fireaxe, I shattered the shell and peered inside. I came face-to-face with the snail, but instead of attacking me, it spoke in human words.

It did not seem offended at my intrusion. It was merely confused. A misshapen skull was lodged in its face, and gradually, I began to realize that this unfortunate creature was once human. Then, the snail stated that it was trapped. By what, it could not say. It said to follow the trail of the roots that ensnared it. If I freed it, the snail promised, I could enter its home and live there if I so chose. Wearily, I agreed. The snail thanked me, and from its slimy body, a hand appeared bearing a gooey key. The key to the shed outside.

The snail lamented my appearence as I left.

It said I was hideous.

I barked with laughter as I left the shell.

The roots the snail spoke of were not difficult to find. Indeed, they had grown thick around its shell and traced back into a dark region of the cottage's property. I followed the trail and came to a Cyclops's eye that blocked my path.

I opened the door to the destroyed shed with the key and shined my light on the eye. It burrowed into the earth, removing its growth from my path. I went on unhindered until I came to a wide glen that was utterly drenched in white goo and tightly bound coils of roots. At the far corner, I spotted a large organ-like object that pulsed with life. Wasting no time, I drove my axe into the organ, spilling its entrails across the dirt. The roots withered instantly. The snail had been freed.

Night was quickly falling now. I had no time to search the house. I went back to the snail to deliver the news of his emancipation. The snail thanked me again, and said that upon my return the following day, it would be gone. With that final exchange, I left the grove and set out for the safehouse.

True to the mollusk's word, the cottage was barren the next morning. I entered through the crushed exterior and discovered a second, disturbing ritual.

A dead man with snails in his eyes and mouth was wrapped in a veritable cocoon of roots. It was like the man was reincarnated into that snail. Beside his bed, I found a marauder's map of the junkyard, indicating specific locations of valuable gear.

I couldn't believe my fortune. One of the items listed was a stash of compressor parts. I immediately set out for the junkyard and found the indicated location. With the use of a shovel, I unearthed the scrap and then returned to the safehouse. After a couple hours, I had repaired the compressor and filled the Elephant's tank with breathable air.

This was it.

I returned to the Swamp village and entered the basement beneath the Living Tree. I could hear its cries as I descended the steps into the dark, but my salvation was so close, I paid the voices no heed. Upon reaching the deep water, I tucked the tank into the crook of my arm and then plunged into the icy water. The blackness of the water engulfed me like tomb, and as I swam, I felt a curious sensation overtake me. I suddenly found myself in a well-kept storage room beneath the surface.

I could smell the acrid stink of gasoline, but something felt wrong. I moved to the door opposite from me and entered a dark corridor. After walking several steps, I emerged into the same room as before, yet something had changed. It felt like time had passed. An incredible amount of time. Years, perhaps decades. Again, I exited the room and found myself back again. I was caught in some temporal loop, passing through time with each trip through the corridor. This time, there was a dead cow in the corner. It stunk of the plague.

I ran then, moving through each room, watching as time decayed all around me. The corpse of the cow rotted more and more with each trip, and the containers of gasoline disintegrated into rot. At last, the corridor became a stairwell that was blocked with rubble. I picked up a nearby axe, along with a torch, and began smashing the debris. I could hear screaming. When I cleared the stairwell, a shadow emerged from the darkness and lunged at me in anger. I turned and fled back into the storage room, closing the door behind me to trap the phantom. I spotted a crack in the wall that was just large enough for me to slip through.

I did not stop running, not even as the ground beneath me slowly transformed into corpses of dissolving people. I could hear monstrous cries behind me, and the violent shaking of some terrible force. It felt like the tunnel would collapse on me, burying me with the dead and dying victims of the tree. I came to a dead end, and I felt certain that my doom had at last caught me. A blood-red wave of energy flowed across me, and vision faded from my eyes.

I then burst from the water, gasping and heaving with screaming lungs. I had been caught in some hallucination, a defense mechanism of the Living Tree. It was desperate now. I entered the storage one one final time and found a rusted tank of gasoline. I twisted the spigot open, draining the tank of its contents across the entire room. With a flick of my hand, I tossed a torch onto the gas trail and watched the room erupt into a glowing theatre of furious damnation.

Distorted screams filled the air. Even as I swam beneath the water, the pain in the Tree's cries penetrated my mind, forcing some modicum of guilt in me. When I emerged onto the surface, the sky itself seemed to be on fire. A thousand voices called out for mercy as the blackest smoke reached up to the heavens.

I watched with a demure amusement the tower of smoke as it climbed. It appeared to point with a deliberate finger, as if accusing God for all of its suffering.

The fires raged with an unending thirst. I decided then that I would rest and return the next day. As I passed the Old Man, I opened my mouth to acknowledge him, yet his expression caught my tongue. The cripple's blind stare lay hypnotized onto the the burning tree. It's as if the old man could see everything that was happening. Although he said he detested the tree, I could see pain and longing in his eyes.