Sean and Wormwood, Canto II, Part iv

Weekly serial, updates Mondays

In the most isolated, untamed corner of Santa Monica there is a cave. A cave so remote that it’s only accessible by a two-lane road, so unreachable that there are only three spaces in the designated parking lot, and so obscure that the sign in front of it reading “CAVE OF TRIALS HISTORICAL LANDMARK” has a couple branches from a nearby laurel sumac partially obscuring it. 

In front of this cave loomed, stood, and floated Sean, Wormwood, and the intern respectively.

“Okay, how does this work?” asked the intern.

Sean’s voice was like nightmare fading from memory. “The soul is scourged, the body tested. One emerges altered, or not at all.”

“So it’s a cave full of puberty, got it.”

Wormwood explained. “Each Cave of Trials tests three things. For instance, the one in Taos tests ‘The Hand, The Heart, and the Head.’”

“I don’t think I even have most of those,” said the intern.

“Not a prob. I’m the one claiming the artifact, so I’m the one who has to face the trials. Sean’s here for guidance and moral support, and you’re here in case I need a blunt object.”

“Hilarious. I’m sure the tall guy is as good at moral support as he is at motivational speaking,” said the intern.

“Our souls,” intoned Sean, “are mere motes of pollen tumbling from the corbiculae of a bee…called mortality.”

“Or writing birthday cards,” added the intern.

“Anyway,” said Wormwood, “This cave tests a different trio of body parts. ‘The Legs, The Lungs, and the Liver.’”

“That sounds like the answer to the question, ‘What parts of the sheep will a Scotsman eat?’”

Wormwood strode into the mouth of the cave. Sean paced after him. The intern followed.

The cave was nearly pitch black, only illuminated by the light from the cave mouth, and even then only enough that the intern could pick out rough shapes on the ground and walls, but not enough to tell if they were rocks or something with fangs and a taste for ectoplasm. In life, he had not been particularly afraid of the dark, but then again in life he had working limbs.

To calm himself, he tried making small talk with Sean. “So what’s the story with you, Lurch? Are you the little maniac’s indentured servant, too?”

Sean’s voice was like a guttural rumble echoing off the walls of a lightless cave. “Servant I am, but I serve a more malignant and eternal power than any in this world.”

“Huh. Well, sounds like job security at least. Got any hobbies?”

“I make crocheted ducks to sell on Etsy.”

Outside the cave, a creature crouched behind the laurel sumac, its serpentine body and tail curled around it. Once the voices of those within had faded into the depths, the creature slinked to the entrance and peered in. It sniffed, then ran its tongue along its powerful, sharp canines. After only a moment’s more hesitation, it slipped into the cave, winding among the stones and stalagmites in a sinister glissade.

After a moment, two more creatures followed.