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Chamberlain doesn't give his home address to anyone. Stopping by the Post Office to collect his mail, he sees in his P.O. Box a letter from a wayward, wandering friend of his, Aydin O'connor. "Where was Aydin this time?", Chamberlain asked himself. The post mark on the letter was stamped Michigan. "Oh yeah, he wanted to see the Great Lakes again. The big lake they call Gitchigoomie." Aydin and Chamberlain had been bosom companions in school. Aydin's grandmother died and left him a small inheritance, so after graduation when Chamberlain returned to his summer job of delivering Jello trays at the hospital, Aydin set off to see the entire country and had been rambling for the last 30 years never staying longer than 6 months in any one location. Aydin was always inviting Chamberlain to join him in his ceaseless journeys, but Chamberlain was a home town boy and just couldn't pull himself away from Panama City except for short excursions to investigate some paranormal phenomenon which had been reported in the news. A propagandist cover~up was another trip worth taking for Chamberlain but not far from Panama City and not for more than a week at most. It was an agreeable sunshine day and the April breeze was gently blowing. Sitting in his Bug in the Post Office parking lot, Chamberlain tore open Aydin's letter and began reading. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dear B.F., (Aydin's letters always began the same way and never had he called Chamberlain any name other than by his first two initials.) I trust my letter finds you well. You are my oldest and most faithful friend so I must rely on your discretion with what I am about to tell you. I have to share this with someone or I shall surely end up in the looney bin. I had a strange, or terrifying I should say, experience in the Upper Peninsula. The Maples are wonderful and so is the Juniper and Hawthorne, but something went wrong in the woods near Whitefish Point. I think I saw what you had been cautioning me about. The thing you are always telling me to watch out for and I'm not sure, but, I think it infected me with something. I think it got inside me some way. I haven't been feeling myself and that recurring nightmare of yours has become my burden as well. The only difference is, in my bad dreams, I keep seeing my death. I keep seeing myself die over and over and always in the same way. It happens when I'm in a cave or a mine shaft or a basement or something. I don't know exactly. Anyway, it doesn't really matter I suppose. I'm gonna have a visit with your Dr. Rosenkrantz when I get back to P.C. but first I have to go out West. To the desert Southwest to be exact. The Hopi, Zuni, Ute and Navajo all speak of a tribe of truly ancient origin. The Anasazi. The Ancient Ones. Nobody knows their beginnings exactly. According to the archeological record they simply appeared one day, as if from out of thin air. Then, a number of generations later and just as suddenly they disappeared. From where did the come? To where did they go? Contemporary scholars have no clear answer to this ancient enigma, but the desert dwelling tribes have legends which tell of another world that can be reached through ceremonial religious sites known as Kivas. They are found throughout the ancient cliff dweller ruins. Inside the round Kiva is a smaller circle known as a Sipapu. This is, according to the Navajo and other desert tribes, the portal through which the Anasazi passed. I've been told of a Shaman who lives on the Reservation in Southern Utah. A place called Four Corners. Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico. The only location in the entire United States where four states converge at a single point. This Shaman, this Medicine Man, he knows all about the Ancient Pueblo Peoples. He claims that he can contact the Anasazi; says he communes with them. I've got to try, B.F. I'm going out of my mind for answers which will at least shed some light on, if not entirely cure, my spiritual affliction. Something supernatural is alive inside me. I can feel evil. I see it in nightmares. I have a favor to ask and I know this is probably a hopeless effort, but, will you go with me? I'm scared, B.F. I don't know what is happening to me and I can't explain why I am so powerfully drawn to the Four Corners region. Something dark and mysterious inside me is pulling me there. I could really use your help on this one, B.F. And, as I mentioned, I'll be coming home finally. We can go fishing like when we were kids. I know you are busy especially since you just moved into that haunted house. I know how important it is to you to prove that the Spirit Realm is real. I know how determined you are to obtain physical evidence that ghosts are real and that the paranormal universe exists along side our own physical universe and even interacts on our plane of existence, but I got a bad feeling on this one, B.F. Please understand that I want to live to come home. I think death is waiting for me in the desert and yet I can't fight back against this ominous force which works its evil inside me, drawing me irreversibly to whatever awaits me there. There's a little place called Mexican Hat near Sombrero Rock. A few miles further along the San Juan river is No Man's Mesa. It was in a Louis L'Amour novel. That's where I'm headed. That is the desert location to which I am being mystically summoned. A bad omen, but I've got to do it. I am depending on the Shaman to accompany me out into the sparse and lonely desert, but it would be so much the better if I had a known friend with me. How about it, B.F.? I'll be finished packing by tonight, then I'll start driving at first light. I can leave a message for you at that little diner where you always eat. I'll leave a message with, what's her name, that waitress you helped out that time with that little problem of hers.....what's her name? Molly? Anyway, I know you hate phones so I can't call you at home but I'll leave a message at the diner when I reach my sister's place in Louisville. I want to see her one last time in case, well, in case the desert......I can't say it. If you start driving when I leave my sister's, we can meet at about the same time at Mexican Hat. Please, B.F. I'm really counting on you. I really need you this time. As always, I remain faithfully yours, Aydin ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chamberlain sat for a moment staring out across the parking lot with the light, April breeze fluttering the corner of Aydin's letter where it lay shining brightly in the afternoon sun between his thumb and the steering wheel. "A Sasquatch isn't what people think it is.", he mumbled to himself. A mumble which echoed through the deep mental canyons of a mind far away in distant thought. Presently, he folded Aydin's letter back into the envelope. Reaching to the ignition, he cranked the '78 VW Bug, placed the gear shift in reverse, checked behind him for traffic, backed out of the parking space, rocked the gear shift into drive and headed for Oriville's Diner. |
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| Aydin's Death Letter is written and illustrated by Sean Terrence Best ~* |
| original date of Publication Thursday April 15 2010 ~* |
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