Enervation is a horror novella. A group of scientists are joining other expedition teams to a remote, abandoned ecological facility somewhere near Whistler, BC. But when they arrive, they find the other teams gone. Priya Khatri is the team's botanist. Like everyone else in her group, she is dealing with a tragedy in her past that the facility seems to amplify in strange ways.
I wandered the floor, trying to assess a suitable area to lay my mat. There were generous lanes of space on the far sides of the pillars, with entrances to corridors and offices lining the walls. Defunct drinking fountains, a leftover janitorial cart, and deep sills for bright, opaque windows. Within glass offices, chairs and tables were pushed up against the window walls, blinds lopsided and kinked. Down a long hallway, there was a vending machine with its door open, cans scattered on the ground and hanging out of their coiled rows.
I stopped at a vine-covered windowsill near the front corner and took out my notebook and pen to examine one leaf. With the pen tip, I tilted the little triangle up and down. I named the specimen in my notebook, categorized in my own system of numbers. Hadn’t done much with English ivy in the past, aside from dreaming up future homes straight out of PBS Masterpiece shows. If we had time to explore The Labs later, I was sure I would find that one of the other botanists had already done all this. I still plucked the leaf and put it in my press.
The opaque window turned into the bright sliding glass door in my parents’ kitchen. I was standing there in the early morning. A shadow falling onto the floor severed the light. I stared at the ground, seeing myself shake his immovable body, calling out, crying.
My throat tightened and I inhaled stiffly. The bright kitchen had turned into a dinner night yellowed by our old stained glass hanging light. The smell of garlic chapati rushed up my nose. Laughter and the feeling of playing cards roughed by use. There was wetness under my eyes. I wiped it away and looked back to check if anyone had seen me.
“Here’s good,” I said to myself.
I rolled out my mat in the corner and began blowing it up. Feeling slightly light-headed afterward, I smoothed my sleeping bag on top of the mat and retrieved my little hand-sewn pillow—turquoise blue, with an intricate golden flower design adorned by arcing lines and a vibrant orange framework. I heard Mom’s voice for the thousandth time, pleading with me not to leave. I turned the pillow over so that the smooth side faced up. Instead of her chapati, I resigned to snack on a fruit granola bar.
I checked my eyes in my phone’s camera, then walked back to the fountain, chewing. Ben was sitting on a camp stool, holding a calculator-like device in one hand. A tube went from the device to a cylindrical instrument that he held with his other hand and dipped in the stagnant water.
“Hi,” I said.
He remained glued to the device’s small screen. “Hey.”
“You’re Ben, right?”
“Benjamin,” he said, looking at me. “Priya?”
“Mm-hmm. What are you doing?”
“Just getting a quick reading.”
“And?”
He smirked. “Well . . . to be honest, this one’s stumped me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, sitting on the lip of the fountain.
“This water . . . it’s . . . well, it’s the most basic liquid I’ve ever encountered on a job like this. It’s maxing out my scale.”
“As in, the water needs to get a personality?”
He snorted. “Yes. Exactly that.”
I looked up. “I was going to ask you . . . see those vines up there? Where do you think they’re getting the water to subsist?”
He looked, squinting. “Follow the climb, I guess.”
“I have, to some degree. Yes, some begin at the ground here, but even then . . . I just find it odd how you can clearly see some climbers start high. Higher than anywhere they’d get nutrients. Unless there’s rainwater in an adjacent room or something. None of the skylights are cracked. There’s no standing water anywhere inside the lobby, aside from this fountain. I know it’s early observations.”
He withdrew the device and let the drips fall. “For now, all I can say is, don’t drink the water. At least in this building.”
“Really? I was just about to take a few gulps of this refreshing, leaf-ridden soup that’s been stagnating for eighteen years.”
“What do you do again?”
“I’m the botanist.”
“Ah. Makes sense now.”
“I guess we both can’t help putting ourselves to work. I just didn’t have one of those cool instruments.”
“Priya,” he said again, ensuring he’d remember. He reached out to offer his hand.
“Benjamin,” I mimicked, and shook.
We shared a quick smile before I feared my anxieties would overtake me. He started wrapping up his device, and I turned to look at Jaala. Instead, I found Lewman on the bench where she had been sitting. He was digging through a small, orange plastic case. I approached, trying to locate Jaala in the lobby.
“What’s that?” I asked, suddenly feeling like an annoying kid.
He didn’t look up. “Flare gun. Just making sure it’s serviced.”
“Did you see Jaala? I thought she was sitting right here.”
“Ms. Okoro? Not sure. Didn’t see her after we settled in.”
“Okay, thanks. I’m Priya, by the way.”
“I know,” he said, loading the flare and snapping the receiver back in place. He checked me with his drooping eyes, and I got the hell out of there before it could get any more awkward.
I should’ve just let Jaala be, but if I was going to be living and working with a bunch of people I didn’t know, I wanted to at least gauge their temperament. There was nothing I hated more than a dysfunctional working relationship.
I started walking down the northern hallway off the lobby. The corridor was tall and lit by a large window at the end where the stairwell rose. I was stepping on brittle leaves and a pile of old newspapers and magazines. I knelt down and sifted through a few covers, wiping grime and turning crinkled pages; a lot of National Geographic, Popular Science, The Smithsonian—standard lobby fare. When I turned the corner, I found the staircase in a tall shaft that went up in a mirage of stories.
“Oh, Jaala,” I exclaimed, bracing my sternum.
Jaala stood at the top of the first landing, her back toward me, staring into the corner. She turned around and smiled down at me.
I laughed a little. “Sorry, I’m Priya. The botanist. Just making the rounds, saying ‘hi.’”
Jaala continued smiling. “Hello, Priya.”
“What’re you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just exploring?”
“You’re the botanist?”
“Er, yeah. And you’re gonna tell me there’s no harmful amount of radiation here. Right?” I waited for her to react to my horrible joke.
“I am. Jaala Okoro.”
I tried not to pause too much, but couldn’t help blinking in response. “I, uh, would love to chat about your field sometime. I think all that stuff is super fascinating.”
She was smiling with bright white teeth that cut through the shade of the landing. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
She walked down the stairs and passed me, her head turning with me until she got far enough away.
I stood slightly perplexed, wondering if I’d done something wrong since we left Vancouver. I sighed and looked up through the tall shaft. Well, at least there were Benjamin and Renée.
When sunset came, neither the Alpha nor Beta Teams had shown up. I had been smiling too wide, over-explaining my job. I helped Lewman lift supplies, blew up Jaala’s sleeping mat, and even indulged Val for a few minutes as he railed about the Geological Society of America and all its faults. As the light from the opaque windows faded, my mouth dried, and I kept rubbing my forearm.
“We need to contact EverRain,” Val said as we all gathered by the fountain.
“We’ll check the rest of the building first,” Renée said. “Then The Spire.”
“Renée, give us a little more credit,” Val argued. “We were told two other teams were already here, robustly gathering information. And we haven’t seen a single person. They’ve clearly left already. I would just like to know why EverRain told us otherwise. Frankly, I’m a little relieved because ‘how many geologists does it take to look at a rock,’ and all that.”
She folded her arms. “EverRain has their reasons. Maybe they decided to keep each team’s research separate.”
“Y’know, there probably shouldn’t be any ‘maybes’ in this whole thing,” Val said, then he threw up his hands. “But, like you said, they’ve got their reasons. It’s not my problem.”
“You weren’t told beforehand about any of this?” Benjamin asked Renée.
“Look, I know it’s frustrating, but I trust EverRain,” she said.
“Should we at least wait ‘til morning to search the rest of The Site?” I suggested, glancing at the dark blue tint of the front windows.
“We should hike back to the MARV and radio EverRain,” Benjamin said. “We need confirmation. I mean, what if something’s happened?”
“Ms. Auclair’s been with the company a long time,” Lewman said, sitting on a camp stool and whittling a small stick. “If anyone could guess the answer, it’s her. There’s no evidence anything’s gone amiss; the other MARVs were gone.”
“That’s great and all, but I’d like to hear it from EverRain,” Benjamin said. “Hey, I’m fine if we’re the replacements, but we need to eliminate the possibility of injury or worse.”
“Understood,” Renée said. “Tomorrow, you and I will hike back to the MARV and radio them. The rest of you will search upstairs.” She scanned the room. No one had any objections. “At the end of the day, the other teams were never our responsibility. Lewman’s right; the other MARVs were not here. We have no reason to believe anything’s gone wrong. So let’s get a good night’s sleep and wrap this up so we can get to work.”
I looked outside again as Benjamin and Lewman got the propane lights up and running. EverRain had also provided us with handball-shaped lamps that ran on highly efficient batteries we could charge under the sun. With a tap under the base, the little lamps glowed with a dim yellow hue, providing enough light to get around; we wouldn’t be doing much at night anyway.
As everyone was settling in for the night, the sound of sleeping bags rustled throughout the lobby. I was sitting against the corner wall, legs in my bag, positioned so I could see the entire room. I opened my phone and swiped across my home screen, a habitual movement. With no cell service, I opened my photos app, smirking as I flipped through a dozen images of my mom and me just two weeks ago. My hair looked atrocious. Mom was so beautiful for her age. I hoped time would find me similarly. When I swiped to the next photo, my chest deflated. It was a picture of my dad, a grainy, color-faded, and warm-toned relic of the 70s. He stood in a navy blue suit, hands on the back of a kitchen chair, leaning down so his face wouldn’t be obscured by the hanging stained glass light. He was making a rare gasping face, a photo Mom always called a “glimpse into his soul.”
The photo was the one we blew up to stand next to his casket.
I let the phone drop onto my chest, and I closed my eyes. My fists balled up beside me. I was still getting those stinging shocks that pulsed out from my chest, crippling the will to move my limbs. Then I furrowed my brow because behind the razor sensations, I had seen something odd in that photo. Whether it was tiredness or mental breakdown, I should’ve just gone to sleep. But I lifted the phone again, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the brightness.
I wasn’t losing it. We had an arched threshold that led into our living room from the kitchen. The archway was in the picture, behind Dad and to the left, dark and red-tinted. I don’t know how I’d missed it before, but there was a weird smudge-like blob in the threshold. The longer I stared, I swear I was looking at the outline of a figure. Now it seemed so distinct, almost unmistakable. My mom was the one who took the picture. They never mentioned anyone there with them at the time. I zoomed in on it, my screen dimming as the dark pixels consumed everything.
I clicked the lock button, letting the phone rest again. In my mind, I saw him fall, and heard the corporeal thud. My eyes needed rubbing; I held the fingertips at the corners and tried to turn those thoughts into bubbles and push them away. My therapist had told me sometimes people conjured visual “artifacts” due to trauma—a funny little word for hallucinations. God, I was certain this trip would start the exorcism I needed. My fingertips went cold, and my breathing turned rapid.
It’s just the first night, Priya, for God’s sake. Calm down. Stop sensationalizing.
I lay for a while, transforming more thoughts into bubbles, finding the present. Finally, I put my phone back into my backpack and zipped hard. I wouldn’t touch it again. Tomorrow I’d hit The Labs and discover what the other Teams had analyzed, with or without a trace of their presence here. I burrowed into my bag and tried to get the sound of Mom screaming out of my brain.
Sometime later, I woke slowly to darkness. The silence of the empty, decrepit lobby. Shadows made shapes and masses seem closer and sentient. Why the hell had I put my mat and bag all the way over here? I looked around, staying as still as possible, listening. I could hear soft snoring coming from the fountain. The occasional creak of the building. A louder thump from above. I turned on my back, and looked up, waiting.
As my senses settled, I had the urge to check my phone for the time but recommitted myself. I had to pee, but the idea of getting out of my warm bag and venturing outside filled me with dread. I closed my eyes, brought my knees up, and lay for a while. A pointless effort. I sat up and began slipping on my hiking boots, then rummaged for some toilet paper.
As I was pulling on my parka and walking across the lobby floor, I stopped. Someone was sitting upright on the camp stool near the supply crate. All I could see was his large-framed silhouette from some of the faint moonlight coming down from the skylights. He lifted his head.
“What are you doing?” he asked, soft-spoken and echoing. It was Lewman.
I relaxed and lifted the roll of toilet paper. “Peeing.”
He didn’t respond. I smiled awkwardly, not that he could see it, and went for the doors.
Outside, the night air gusted across the field and courtyard, chilling my face. I stood on the front steps, admiring the untainted sky above, not even the faintest glow from any light pollution along the crests of dark mountain ranges. I inhaled graciously and couldn’t believe how clear the Milky Way looked, the long arm of faint splattered white. It was hard to focus my eyes on a singular twinkle.
I could hear the echoing rustles of distant trees, and a tapping of metal siding, but otherwise, the valley was all wind. God, was that really how loudly I breathed? I closed my mouth. The magic of the sky melted into the mysteries of manmade shadows.
The door opened behind me, making me jump. Lewman joined me on the steps.
“Just doing my job, don’t worry,” he said. He moved over to the stair railing, a flat marble structure, and sat on it.
I nodded. “Listen. There are no crickets. Or anything.”
He lifted his head. “Hm. Do crickets live this far north? In the mountains?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Better hurry; it’s cold. Don’t go far.”
I walked down the steps and made for the corner. I had to admit, a nightly walk by myself did not thrill me. But I was a goddamn scientist. I went to Stanford for hell’s sake. Unfortunately, none of those affirmations did much for me as I crouched between two bushes and pulled my pants down. A breeze soared through the valley, making the darkened meadow hiss. I saw the single tree on the knoll across the meadow, certainly a hemlock now that I had gotten a proper look. Something in the distance crooned softly. I hiked up my pants before I dried myself and crunched back to the stairs, arms folded.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm,” Lewman said.
I turned around and looked up at the black sheet that was the mountain range. We listened in silence for a minute.
Like a man struggling to get out of bed, the groan returned, distant, hollow, and echoing across the valley.
I swallowed. “You don’t think—”
“It’s a bear,” he said.
“Oh . . .” I felt my body shrink, then quickly jogged up to the landing. “That makes sense.”
There was another moan, shorter than before, like a huff.
Lewman stood.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“It sounds upset with something.”
“Would it come down here in the valley?”
Lewman eventually looked at me. “Not unless it smells food.”
With that, he turned and opened the door for me.
After I got back in my sleeping bag, I heard the bear once more, and it seemed to be getting closer.
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