The Last Great Adventure (pt. 3)
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During the night, the temperature dropped to be unseasonably cool, and thick fog settled over the woods. Upon awakening, Teddy felt the heart-stopping moment of panic that comes with transitioning from a familiar dream into unfamiliar surroundings. The thick mist shrouded the world in shades of gloom, and he felt completely alone. Even Wes’ slumbering body, no more than six feet away, was difficult to make out in the heavy fog.
Teddy stretched and propped himself on his elbow. His tongue stuck to his hard palate, and he could feel the characteristic fuzziness of an unclean and thirsty mouth. Swallowing proved difficult, so he wandered to the creek to fetch water.
As Teddy held his canteen down in the struggling flow, he noticed strange markings on a large rock that sat near the edge of the creek’s current level. Had the summer been wetter, cooler, or both, the rock would likely be submerged. Teddy’s tired brain, still slightly mired by the last vestiges of unconsciousness, took an inordinate amount of time to decipher the markings; they were just English, but the letters were upside-down from his perspective. Once-jagged words had been weathered down. They were still legible despite erosion, so deeply had they been carved into the gargantuan rock with a sturdy but fine tipped instrument.
May this serve as a kind of last will and testament, though I doubt that any should ever find it. I’ve discovered an amazing treasure. I have been unable to procure the means to fully explore the location where this treasure was lost, and now my lifeblood will all have spilled before I can reach a physician. I’ve tucked away further instructions and a map. Assuming this rock still stands where I have inscribed it, two miles north there is a hollowed out tree-stump. I bequeath this treasure to you, reader. May it bear you better fortune than it has borne to me.
Bartholomew Hephaestus Conklin, 1804–1837
Teddy’s eyes went wide and he ran his fingers over the grooves etched in stone. Stumbling over himself, he ran back to the clearing.
“Wes! Wes wake up!”
“Mmmf—wha…?” Wes rubbed his eyes and scowled as he tried to locate Teddy from his shouting. “Wha’siiaaah?” His barely conscious mind slurred before a yawn cut him off. He stretched and blinked. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You gotta come see this dude!” Teddy grabbed Wes’ hand and began to tug him toward the creek.
“Easy, easy man. You’re gonna yank my arm off. What the hell man?” Wes protested, but offered no real resistance as he plodded after his friend.
“Look!” Teddy pointed at the rock.
“That’s uh… that’s a big rock.” Confusion permeated Wes’ tone. He scratched the small bit of scraggly whiskers that had begun growing on his cheeks.
“Dude, come around to this side.” Teddy pulled on Wes again.
Wes furrowed his brow when he saw the writing. He dropped to his knees and began to trace the last words of Bartholomew Conklin with his right index finger. “What is this?”
“I don’t know. I just found it here.”
“Who’s Bartholomew Hephaestus Conklin?” Wes looked at Teddy with searching eyes.
Teddy shrugged emphatically, “How would I know?!”
“I don’t know. You know more history than I do. Was he some kind of explorer or something?”
“Wes, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of him. Whoever he was, he didn’t make it into history books… at least none that I’ve ever read.”
“It’s gotta be a hoax,” Wes said. He looked at Teddy for confirmation. “Right?”
Teddy shrugged again, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess probably, yeah… but…”
“But what if it’s not.” Wes whispered so low, it could have been the wind.
“What if it’s not,” Teddy repeated the words. No further discussion was needed. The boys returned to their little clearing, quickly broke camp, and began to head north in search of the tree stump.
Neither Teddy nor Wes had brought a phone with them, so they didn’t have a reliable way to calculate how far they’d hiked, but their pace was quick, and after 30 minutes, they began paying close attention to every stump they found. Unfortunately, in an old wooded area, there were more than just a few to check.
Stump after stump, they came away disappointed.
“What are the chances the stump, if it even existed, is still around? Wouldn’t it have rotted away?” Wes asked.
“I guess maybe,” Teddy replied, “but maybe not.” A tiny shred of optimism still clung to him. It was enough for them to search on.
As they reached an hour, they still hadn’t found a hollow stump. Ahead of them, the land rose gently to the top of a small hill before dipping into a shallow gully. As they crested the hill and looked down, they saw the remnants of an old tree that had long ago fallen over; its twisted roots clawed at the sky, and the trunk had snapped near the base despite its girth.
“That’s kind of a stump, right?” Wes suggested.
Teddy approached it, hope glimmering in his soul. Wes stood aways back, afraid to let himself really believe the etched rock could be real. Slowly, Teddy peered around the bulk of the tree to peek at the broken face. Would it contain the map? Would it even be hollow?
Teddy’s shoulders tensed, then slumped. The tree, while it had started to rot away, leaving a space inside, hid no secrets.
Wes cursed loudly. He stomped and kicked the dirt. He cursed again, but this time, Teddy heard and edge of surprise.
“Teddy, come quick!”
Teddy rushed over to see the corner of a small rust covered box that had been jerked from the earth when Wes had kicked it. Teddy lifted the box gently, his hands shaking like the last December leaf in a breeze. The remnants of an iron latch had corroded away, but the lid was sealed shut by the layers of oxidation. Teddy pulled his knife from the sheath at his belt and began to wiggle the point into the crease where the box and lid were once two pieces. Wes handed him a stone, and Teddy used it as a hammer to knock against the handle, wedging the blade into the box.
CLACK
CLACK
CLACK
CLACK
CLACK.
Teddy then pried at the box till the brittle metal gave way. Inside, well preserved, was a leather pouch with a small glass bead with a gold filament inside, similar to a cat’s eye marble. Folded in the pouch was a bit of stiff paper—or maybe parchment. On the folio a lilting script, vaguely reminiscent of the rough hewn letters from the creek bed boulder, stood in neat rows.
Reader, if you have found this, I am leaving you the greatest trove of lost knowledge in the history of mankind. An ancient city, the likes of which have never been dreamed of before, lays hidden beneath this very land. Though now in ruins, the evidence suggests a civilization that would shame the Mayans, Egyptians, Babylonians, Persians, Mongols and every early empire of man, even should they have combined their architectural, technological and agricultural achievements. A few miles west-southwest of here exists a small sinkhole, barely larger than the width of a man. By chance, I stumbled into it, nearly breaking my ankle. Upon dropping a stone into the hole, I heard no report. Curiosity got the better of me, and I dropped my lantern into the pit. Hundreds of feet below, I saw the small burst of flame when the lantern shattered against the floor. In that briefest flash of light, I saw the remains of this glorious lost empire. The fates have dealt me a cruel and ironic hand by revealing to me a discovery I can never claim. There isn’t space here to relate my tale entire, but it is enough to know that another may succeed where I have failed.
-BHC
