Chapter 8: Entities
Field Station Delta: A paranormal military thriller.
Welcome to Field Station Delta. This novella is a paranormal military thriller that I am releasing as a serial for my readers on Substack.
Day 3, 00:15
Colonel Nolan hastily convened an all-hands-on-deck debriefing. The cramped conference room in the command building was filled to capacity. The Airmen were joined by the Blue Shirts, who looked bleary-eyed and tired, not used to such dramatic emergency meetings in the small hours of the morning. Dr. Bradford was there, and also Violet Olstead, who stood in a corner, looking ill at ease. Dr. Cartwright was conspicuous by her absence from the proceedings. She apparently had the unenviable task of “informing Washington” of the situation.
Cathy Doyle plugged the recovered cell phone into an adaptor for the widescreen display monitor, while Nolan swept his gaze across the room.
“One of the missing civilians managed to record some video of the Van Cleef incident,” he said. “And I won’t mince words—It’s disturbing. But I want you all to have a clear idea of what we’re up against.” He nodded for Cathy to roll the footage.
The video was chaotic and shaky. A young woman’s voice could be heard screaming desperately for help.
Valdes, who was sitting beside Metzger, nearly leapt out of his chair. “That’s Mary!”
The recording abruptly became murky and dark. Mary Bonds seemed to be huddled in a closet. She was sobbing hysterically. The sounds of frenzied rending and crashing were audible in the background. Suddenly, something heavy slammed against the closet door like a battering ram. Mary shrieked. The door was ripped violently off its hinges, and a blurry figure rushed into the frame.
“Pause it,” Nolan ordered.
The video froze on a horrifying face. Metzger felt her stomach turn a somersault. It was like the Pale Man from Afghanistan… and yet also unlike. The creature’s head was pale and bulbous. Its eyes were unnaturally large and almond-shaped, completely black like bottomless pools of ink. There was no visible nose or ears that Metzger could discern. It looked almost like one of those little gray aliens on the covers of books about Roswell, except that its wide fishlike mouth was pulled open in a leering rictus, revealing at least three rows of pointed teeth like steel needles. Violet gasped. Metzger turned towards Valdes; he looked visibly sick.
“Awwakkulé,” said a voice from the back of the room. They all turned; it was Dr. Bradford. At a sign from Colonel Nolan, she stepped towards the monitor.
“The Awwakkulé — the so-called Little People,” Bradford continued “are prominent trickster imps in the ancestral lore of many local Native American tribes.. The Little People are mercurial and capricious. Sometimes they assist humans, but they are notorious for playing outrageous pranks whenever it suits them. If offended or provoked, they can become very dangerous and even malevolent. That’s where the Medicine Wheel comes into play.”
“What do you mean?” asked Sergeant Phan
“According to some Native elders I interviewed, the Awwakkulé built the Medicine Wheel millennia ago. Warriors and chieftains would often make pilgrimage to the Wheel, seeking visions or prophetic dreams from the spirit world. Each year the tribes would leave simple offerings at the site specifically for the Little People—beads, cloth, arrowheads, pigments, food, and even tobacco. In return, the imps would sometimes use their magic to heal the sick. But if they weren’t placated in this way, the Awwakkulé were known to become violent, even abducting children. Anyone who tried to play a trick on the Little People or otherwise harass them would incur their wrath, usually resulting in the abduction or gruesome death of the offender and their entire family.”
The room was silent for several long seconds. “I’m going to guess nobody in Van Cleef has kept up the offerings,” Sergeant Phan said.
Bradford nodded. “Perhaps if we were to bring some traditional gifts to the Medicine Wheel, the Awwakkulé will return the townspeople.”
If they’re still alive, Metzger thought.
Violet Olstead exhaled sharply. “If we’re lucky, that will be the end of it,” she said.
Metzger turned and glared at her. What did she mean by that anyway? Violet and Cathy knew something crucial about what was going on, that was certain. If they didn’t come clean about whatever this Key Master was, Metzger would hound it out of them. Not just now, though.
“How ‘bout it, Vi?” Sergeant Berg piped in. “Can’t you do your psychic thing and find out what happened to those people?”
Violet looked apprehensive. Everyone was now staring at her.
“Can you or can’t you?” barked Valdes. Metzger realized now that he was worried about Mary Bonds, but he seriously needed to dial it back.
“I—I can try,” Violet said. “Like, that’s not really how this works. To home in on a specific person I need, like, some kind of connection to the target.”
“How about this?” Cathy Doyle handed over Mary’s cell phone. Jacob Groenke was about to protest, but at a sign from Colonel Nolan, he shut his mouth and sulked in his chair.
Violet held the phone in both hands and closed her eyes. She stood there silently for several minutes. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips moved soundlessly. No one spoke. The atmosphere in the room became tense. Several of the Blue Shirts fidgeted.
With a sudden piercing shriek, Violet dropped the phone and staggered forward. Metzger and Valdes caught her as she stumbled. Violet’s face had the look of a hunted animal; eyes wide and pupils dilated. Her breath came in labored gasps. She was trembling.
“Hey! Hey, it’s okay Ms. Olstead. You’re safe,” said Metzger.
“What happened?” pressed Valdes. “Did you find Mary?”
Violet subsided and she was silent for a while. Her gaze seemed to be focused on something far away. Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
“I… I couldn’t see the girl or the others. But I felt their fear… and pain. They were in some place that I couldn’t make any sense of. Not a place, really. It was like—No! No, I can’t say. And then They came.”
“Who came?” asked Nolan.
“The Awwakkulé,” muttered Bradford.
Violet nodded. “They didn’t speak, not with audible voices, anyway. They just looked at me, tried to make me understand… Their eyes—Oh, it was horrible!”
Metzger tried to soothe the poor woman as best she could. She felt a chill fear settle in her chest. This was not exactly the same as the entity she’d met on the Afghan-Pak border. The callous indifference to human life was the same, but the Pale Man had gleefully ripped apart her squadmates like paper dolls. These Awwakkulé seemed to be fueled more by spite and an almost childish rage, throwing deranged tantrums like superpowered toddlers.
Metzger shuddered. What else was watching them from the dark corners of the universe?
With an effort, Violet managed to compose herself again. “I had the distinct impression of words… Release them. They repeated that over and over.”
“Release them?” said Sergeant Harper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Groenke. "The entities want something from us. Bradford and Phan were on the right track. Once we’ve satisfied them with a traditional offering, the Awwakkulé will release the townies.”
Metzger frowned. Something about all this didn’t smell right. But her train of thought was interrupted as Colonel Nolan rose to his feet.
“It would seem that we’re no longer dealing with a paranormal kidnapping. The situation has evolved into a paranormal hostage crisis,” he said.
“Who ya gonna call?” said Whittaker. He was leaning against a wall and smirking sheepishly.
“Shut the hell up, Whitts!” snapped Metzger and Valdes in unison.
But Sergeant Phan gave them a sharp look, and they all fell silent straightaway.
Day 3, 01:07
After the briefing adjourned, Cathy and Violet remained behind for a discreet meeting of their own. Violet was hunched over in a chair, still exhausted after her psychic encounter with the Awwakkulé entities. Cathy stood nearby, her arms crossed, her expression grave.
“Our time’s up, Violet. We need to go to the Colonel and brief him on Project: Key Master. Now.”
“It’s too late for that,” groaned Violet, putting her head in her hands. “What freaking good will it do? Those poor people have been taken and it's our fault.” She suppressed a sob. “We should never have agreed to be involved in this.”
Cathy knelt by her friend’s side and tried to comfort her. “If we hadn’t cooperated, Dr. Cartwright would have simply found someone else. Groenke would have been on board in any case. He doesn’t consider the ethical implications of his work; he’s too wrapped up in testing his latest gadgets. What’s done is done. But you and I still have a chance to make things right.”
“Like, how?”
“The Awwakkulé have told us how—Release them.”
“No,” said Violet, with a firm shake of her head. “Even if we got Nolan on board, the Boss would just overrule him. She’s got Washington’s sanction on this whole freaking scheme.”
“Then we do it ourselves.”
“What!? You don’t even know what could happen! If we abort containment, we could end up just like the people of Van Cleef… or worse.” Violet shuddered.
“We might end up like them anyway, if this goes on for much longer. Bradford’s little offering ceremony is just a smokescreen. She was briefed on the basics of Key Master too.”
Violet sighed heavily. She looked like she might break down again. “I’m so tired. Like, it’s one o’clock in the morning and I want to hit the sack and forget that this whole gross, awful day ever happened.”
“No time for it,” said Cathy. “If we don’t make our move now, we’ll lose any chance to save Mary Bonds and the others. I’m willing to accept the risks. It’s better than doing nothing…” She paused for a moment in silent thought. “I’m also willing to take the fallout for whatever happens. Are you?”
Violet sat up. There was a new determination in her eyes that surprised Cathy. “You bet! Like, I may have a rep around here as the shallow Valley Girl type, but I have standards, ya know.”
“Violet—”
“Oh, please! I know what people say about me. I’m not that dense.”
“All right then,” said Cathy. “So, what’s our first move?”
“I say that we let Alicia’s mumbo jumbo offering play itself out. If there’s any chance at all it’ll appease the Awwakkulé…”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Well, at least it might buy us some time to come up with a real plan. Like, we can’t just break containment on-site! There’s way too many unknowns.”
Cathy nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Still,” Violet said, “I wish we had someone we could loop in on our little conspiracy. Ya know, an ally or something.”
“You’ve got one,” said a voice by the door.
Cathy was so startled that she almost jumped. “I—uh—Airman Metzger! How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough. Now, are you gonna fill me in on this Project: Key Master, or what?”