There’s nothing funny about being lost in a maze. Especially on a moonless night that was darker than a Raven’s wing. The cold monolithic walls of giant blocks carved from black tourmaline were damp to my touch. They were so high they disappeared in the stygian sky.
I cursed myself for being an idiot for the thousandth time.
I should have just ignored the guy’s challenge, but they kept calling me a spoil sport. The beer flowed freely and George and Freddy kept buying rounds for all of us at the Lucky Bar last Friday night. I have to admit that it doesn’t take a lot of alcohol to get me drunk. My senses slow down and my speech slurs after my sixth beer. But I’m always game. The guys at the bar know this. When I show up on Friday nights the betting money flows like a green stream as people place their wagers on the results of a challenge, I accept that evening.
Most of the challenges were laughably easy for a fit guy like me. 100 pushups in three minutes? No problem. I could do a one-armed headstand on the bar while clutching a mug of beer in the other hand. I’m not just all about brawn, however. I still hold the record for eating the most pickled eggs in five minutes. Even when my brain is pickled with alcohol, I still have a semantic memory involving general facts and knowledge.
So why expose myself to the risks involved with endless challenges coming from drunken co-workers? The attention is nice. But it’s something else that’s harder to explain. Recognition? Maybe. A shallow victory in a life of drudgery. A way to transcend my daily mediocracy. All of them and more.
It was Bob who brought up the maze challenge. I heard him and Freddy talking about a maze deep into the country that was ancient and explorers were always disappearing while attempting to navigate the snake-like corridors. George said it was an old wife’s tale and then gulped the rest of his beer down like he was making a point. One of the younger guys, Lewis, bragged he could find his way with a compass. I couldn’t help myself and casually asked if anyone wanted to bet that I wouldn’t get lost and in fact could map out the maze for future visitors. Joey the bartender could barely keep up with all the bets that poured in that night. It was agreed we’d all hike out to the maze that weekend.
None of us could believe something that gigantic existed so near to where we lived. There were legends. I think National Geographic did a piece on the mysterious maze a couple of years ago, but the details were sketchy. At least that’s what Freddy said. We all walked up to the entrance and could see the light from the sunshine fighting to illuminate the black tourmaline walls that echoed with age.
We all agreed that if I didn’t come back in 24 hours the rest would seek help. We passed a bottle of good scotch around to take the chill off of the morning. I checked out my watch, compass, flashlight, and cell phone. Bob offered me a canteen of water which I appreciated. At that moment I felt alive. I was rising above my meaningless existence to go on an adventure.
The compass worked great at first, and I was able to tell that I was going in a southerly direction. Then something strange happened. The compass started spinning and wouldn’t stop.
I looked at my watch with its fluorescent hands and discovered only an hour had passed. The lighting above shifted as I followed the endless corridors that twisted sharply at times. I finally got the urge to call Freddy and whipped out my trusty cell phone. No signal. At first, it didn’t register in my brain. How could that be? Then my flashlight fluttered like a wounded bird as its glow danced erratically on the rough black walls. No, I muttered. This is not happening.
Then I saw a light at the end of a long corridor and walked towards it and saw long dead family and friends who greeted me happily.
From the Universal Travel Headquarters:
Alpha Centurian Sector Monthly Report
“Another male human has passed through the portal,” the chief operator wrote in the thick travelog.
“The relocation seems to be slowing down lately,” he sighed while checking the control panel for new activity.
-30-
The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 