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The Old Monastery

Mel Waldman

    For years, I’ve heard rumors about the old monastery hidden in an antediluvian forest. The kids in my neighborhood know I’m a writer and collector of weird stories. Well, the tale about the old abandoned monastery is strange and creepy. It belongs in Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Trust me.
    Ensconced in a bleak, barren forest, the monastery is an invisible sanctuary, hidden from the outside world. Yet thrill seekers, especially teenagers, and other adventurers have found it throughout the past century.
    Above the sinister forest, a bell tower looms. And sometimes perspicacious eyes find vultures sitting on the fragile structure.

    Some pundits state the monastery exists in one of the five boroughs of New York City. Others argue it’s located outside New York and possibly, in another dimension.
    Poets describe the monastery as vast but minuscule. It soars to the heavens and vanishes within a dark magical forest. It stretches across an infinite whirling wilderness, but spirals into a finite physical universe. The first few stories contain 30-50 sprawling and tiny claustrophobic rooms. Beneath the decrepit floor of its crumbling basement, a narrow staircase descends 30-60 stories underground.
    At the turn of the 20^th century, a group of monks lived in the monastery. They didn’t speak, for they had taken vows of silence. At night, they descended the creaking stairs that led to the bowels of the earth. They slept in small underground spaces.
    Then suddenly, one night, a monk went berserk and butchered all the other monks. After the massacre, he hauled the corpses to a lower underground level.
    Thrill seekers, who found and entered the old sanctuary and descended the dark stairs, have reported seeing ghosts in the underground stories beneath the monastery. I’ve often wondered if any of these tall tales are true.

    This morning, when I woke up from a deep sleep, I found an ancient map on the night table next to my bed. Now, as I study the map, my body shakes uncontrollably. You see, I’m clenching a map of the old monastery. It also reveals a direct route to the sanctuary starting at Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn where I live.
    What shall I do? Who left this map? How did the person enter my home? Is the map genuine?
    I’m compelled to search for the old monastery. I must discover the truth.

    Clutching a machete in my left hand and a flashlight in my right, I enter the dark forest. In the distance, the bell tower looms. I trudge toward the monastery.
    Inside the ancient sanctuary, I descend the stairs and search for the remains of the dead monks.
    As I climb down the stairs, my hands tremble and I almost drop my machete. My face twitches and my body jerks. But I continue on.
    I descend five stories and stop. Trapped in an ominous labyrinth, I take a few deep breaths and descend farther into the darkness.
    I stagger down the stairs and almost plummet into the abyss. Miraculously, I regain my balance. I descend ten stories, twenty stories, and stop. I’m suffering from vertigo. Perhaps, I should turn back. But I can’t. An alien voice commands me to find the monks’ remains.
    I reel down the stairs, lurching violently into the monstrous Void. I descend thirty stories, forty stories. How much farther can I go?
    I’ve stopped counting. I’m in Hell. Don’t see their remains. Yet I feel their presence.
    My body shudders. I retch. I vomit.
    Can’t find their bones. I slip and plunge into the abyss.
    I’m still alive inside a tomblike room. And now, I see them-the monks’ ghosts surrounding me. It can’t be! These creatures look like me, especially the one in the far corner with a machete. He is me!
    He stands up and kills his brothers. I watch. I wait. Almost time to die.

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