30

From the Depths

"For there are strange objects in the great abyss, and the seeker of dreams must take care not to stir up or meet the wrong ones." – H. P. Lovecraft, "The Strange High House in the Mist"

The horizon was fog and shadow. But as far as his vision could reach, Kido Jou saw nothing but tombstones. They all seemed to be identical, and vaguely familiar. A word was written on each in English letters – EDONCANTOE – but it meant nothing to him. He had the feeling he had seen it somewhere before, but couldn't attach any significance to it. It was unsettling, to have a cemetery full of identical nonsense epitaphs.

Jou stepped hesitantly forward. He wondered just how far the graveyard stretched. He had been here before once, hadn't he? In the night, in fog…

Overdell. That was it. Overdell Cemetery, on File Island. Here, but for the intervention of Ikkakumon and Birdramon, he and Sora would have been a meal for Bakemon. There was no sign of the church, though. Only the gravestones and the occasional leafless tree. He continued walking forward. The graveyard hadn't been this large the last time. He had walked double the distance of what should have been its diameter before there was any noticeable change in surroundings.

The change was so subtle that for several moments he couldn't identify it. Then he noticed that the ubiquitous EDONCANTOE had been replaced by Japanese text. This was an odd discovery in a place where no one should actually be buried, and Jou crouched down to read what it said. What he saw was not reassuring.

Tachikawa Mimi

1989 – 2003

Limited to one style for eternity.

With a growing weight in his stomach, Jou turned to another of the tombstones.

Kido Shin

1985 – 2003

Hell can always use another doctor.

It had to be some form of sick joke. If they had died, he would have heard about it. What was he doing here, anyway? It was like a dream, but it couldn't be. He could feel the cold damp of the fog clinging to his skin, and could run his fingers over the rough surface of the headstones.

He resumed his walk, moving a little faster now. The tombstones were still readable, but he didn't stop to examine them. Jou was not a coward. He admitted to himself that he may have been, at one time, but his experience in 1999 had helped him become confident as well as cautious. On the other hand, this was a very strange situation, and he didn't think anyone else in his position would have remained completely calm. He even considered breaking into a run, but the tombstones loomed so suddenly out of the fog that he worried he might run into one.

The monuments got gradually taller the farther he went, so that eventually he could read the epitaphs without bending down. He did his best to avoid looking at them, but the fog seemed to be drawing closer about him, and they would appear with grisly suddenness just in front of him.

Hida Iori

1993 – 2003

Murdered by curiosity. It honestly hurt.

Takenouchi Sora

1988 – 2003

Went great with soy sauce.

Yagami Taichi

1988 – 2003

Born to lead: died first.

He was tired of walking by the time he finally came upon what he had expected to find for some time. It was clichéd, yes, but real life was full of clichés. Another tombstone stood in front of him, larger than the others, and more ornate. On its marble surface was written:

Kido Jou

1987 – 2003

Welcome home!

He tried to go around it, as he had the others, but was not really surprised to find that he couldn't lift his feet off the ground. Looking down, he saw that the earth beneath him had begun to roil and liquefy. Already his shoes were sucked halfway into the muck. He pulled harder, but one foot rose only as the other sank. The tips of sharp blue rocks had risen to the surface, and he hoped there weren't any more that might cut him as he sank.

Then he saw them move, and realized that they were not rocks but claws – a Bakemon's claws; he could now see the fingers rising out of the ooze. He struggled harder, fighting a rising panic. Makes you wish you were running from Pukamon again, doesn't it? said a voice in his head – one that didn't sound like his own. The thought died away suddenly as the entire dead hand rose out of the earth and fastened itself on his lower leg, hooking its claws through his pants and piercing his skin.

The shock of the pain caused Jou to lose his balance, and he fell to the side with a scream. From what medical knowledge he had, he knew that the leg would be mangled beyond repair. The entire graveyard seemed to have liquefied, though the tombstones were not sinking. His right arm was mired from the elbow down, and the rest of him was sinking quickly.

The zombified hand was still working at his leg, but what concerned him more now was his inevitable suffocation. The headstone – his headstone – had shrunk as he sank, and the epitaph was still plainly visible. All he could do was keep his left arm above the surface. Perhaps at the last minute someone would take his hand…

But they didn't. Jou's head sank into the airless dark, and his last contact with the world of light was the trailing of his hand along the engraved surface of the now horizontal grave marker, Welcome Home!

SkullSatamon was in Shibuya, and was quite obviously enjoying himself, chuckling mindlessly as he went about crushing photo booths, flipping cars with the hook on the end of the Claw Bone, and blasting the glass-fronted buildings. He had dropped out of the sky and laid waste to an entire street, scattering crowds of screaming Tokyoites in all directions. He was hoping the police or somebody would arrive soon; it had been a while since his last good battle.

But when they did appear, it wasn't long before he lost interest. If I want a real challenge, he thought, I'm going to have to get the attention of those kids and their Digimon buddies.

Yamato had been wandering through the cave for what may have been hours. In places the cavern was a claustrophobic fissure in the rock of inner earth, while in others it was a spacious subterranean arena. Water dripped from black stalactites onto floors worn smooth over untold ages. This was the only sound to be heard other than Yamato's own footfalls. But he was sure there was someone else here, waiting to be found.

There was no reason for his belief, but he didn't question it. It was a dream, of course, and the logic of the dream told him that someone was waiting for him. All his focus was on finding this person, and he gave no thought to the strangeness of his situation and surroundings. He was just passing through a stalagmite gallery when he heard the voice. It was a distant, lonely sound, high-pitched and echoing through unknown cracks and tunnels and chambers before reaching him.

Yamato picked up the pace, trying not to slip on the damp rock floor. The sound could have been coming from any distance, and almost any direction, but he felt confident that he would stumble upon the caller eventually. Then at last the stony walls fell away on either side, and he was standing in the largest enclosed space he had ever seen. The cave stretched farther than his vision could reach to the right and left, and a chasm, almost a subterranean canyon, ran the length of it. He could just barely make out the opposite side in the shadows. It was here that the voice oriented itself, and he suddenly recognized it.

"Help! Onii-chan!"

Yamato rushed over to the edge of the chasm and looked down over the side. Takeru was several feet below, clutching protrusions of the rock wall in a white-knuckled death grip. He couldn't have been more than eight years old, though for some reason Yamato did not find that strange. The little boy was dressed in green, as he had been when he first arrived on File Island. Even the traditional dome-like hat sat atop his head.

"Takeru!"

Yamato crouched at the side of the abyss. All his focus was on his brother, but he knew that the canyon walls faded into shadow farther down, and that there was no bottom visible, just gray distance. He stretched out an arm.

"Takeru, grab my hand."

The boy looked upwards and saw him. Yamato felt a small chill run through him – something wasn't right with his little brother. Then Takeru smiled in relief, and the impression passed.

"Onii-chan!" Then his face fell. "What if I can't hold on?"

"Just grab hold. I'll make sure you don't fall."

Takeru lowered his face, as if gathering courage, then glanced up again and released the wall with one hand, shooting it upward and catching hold of Yamato's own. There was a moment of terror when Yamato thought, He's too far down! I won't be able to reach! But then everything was fine. Yamato did still think that he had misjudged the distance somewhat. He needed to fully extend his arm in order to reach. Earlier it had seemed that Takeru was just below the canyon's rim.

"Can you pull me up?" Takeru asked. His small, regular teeth gritted in the stress of the situation.

"I'll try." And he did, heaving upward with all the strength he could gather. Takeru rose several inches higher, but Yamato soon realized that one arm would not be enough to lift his brother back over the cliff edge. "Wait…" He paused to rest, looking down again at his brother. Takeru's teeth were still visible, but – was he smiling? The boy wore an expression Yamato couldn't remember seeing before.

"Are you… alright, Takeru?"

Takeru nodded emphatically.

"I'm just great."

Was the voice a little different now? It sounded more like – like the older Takeru. The older Takeru? Yes…Takeru wasn't eight anymore. He hadn't been for some time. Yamato felt a rising unease.

"What happened to you, Takeru?" he asked. "You –"

"You're acting funny, Onii-chan! Aren't you glad to see me?" Not anymore. Yamato blinked. Takeru's eyes were supposed to be bright blue, like a perfect sky. But now his eyes were dark, almost black, though at the same time they seemed to shine softly in the cave's darkness. The young boy hadn't moved, but there was a pull now on Yamato's arm. Takeru was getting heavier.

"You're funny, Onii-chan! Welcome to my new house! Mommy missed you, but I helped her forget."

Yamato was certain now. Whatever he was holding, it wasn't his brother. As subtly as he could, he tried to disengage himself. But Takeru's other hand left the wall, and clasped Yamato's wrist. The boy's entire weight hung from Yamato's one arm. Yamato's feet slid closer to the brink, and his free hand gripped an outcropping, but he wasn't sure how long he could maintain his hold.

"Come on, Onii-chan! I want to show you my room!"

"Takeru – please –"

The boy-thing let go with one hand and stretched it out to indicate the gulf. His grin was stretched wide across a face that had nothing in common with Takeru's at any age. The voice was a man's voice, a dark voice.

"I'm down there! I'm down there! Come meet the rest of me!"

So heavy, too heavy, and getting heavier. The body was elongating. Now it was the size of Takeru's at his current age. Yamato's hand was bleeding where the stone outcropping ground against the skin of his palm. Then the pain ended. The rock slipped from his sweaty grasp and Yamato was pulled irresistibly over the cliff. He was rushing through the dark in the grip of some growing, melting thing, and soon there was only black, the whistle of displaced air, and laughter.