THE BENCH

by Chuck Allen

A faint smile passed over Trevor Jones' face as he neared his destination. The park bench was empty, as usual. The pre-dawn breeze came in from the sea and over the quay wall, feeling cool and refreshing against his wrinkled features. The tang of salt and fish, the distinctive smell of the ocean, wafted by him. Off in the distance, a few birds began to chirp merrily, eagerly anticipating the new day. Trevor could feel his own excitement beginning to rise at today's prospects. It was going to be a good day.

He had only slept a few hours this morning. His hobbies had kept him up most of the night, and then he had to make sure he was presentable for the day. He had hummed little ditties while he carefully showered, shaved and combed his nearly white hair. Then he meticulously picked out the day's wardrobe of khaki trousers, brown loafers, thick wool socks and favorite brown sweater. He thought briefly that he should pick out a hat for his day at the park but decided against it. Instead, he picked up a light brown sport jacket with comfortable pockets and soft lining. Afterwards, he combed his hair again to put every hair in place. It was very important, he strongly felt, to show one's best side to the world.

He had placed some items in an ice-filled Igloo cooler, and then he finished up at home. The garbage still needed to be put out, he realized as he locked up the house. No matter. In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn't matter whether he had taken out the trash or not. He was certain he would enjoy this special day.

Holding the cooler's handle in an easy grip, Trevor had made his way from his home and down Miller Street. His load was not heavy, and despite his 84 years, he made excellent progress down the tree-lined street. Because of the earliness of the day, he had the sidewalk all to himself. Traffic was
sparse as well, but after he had turned on Knodenns, two roaring firetrucks rounded the corner in front of him and blazed past him. He was enjoying his outing so much that he scarcely gave them a second glance.

Armitage Park was only a few miles away from his home. Nonetheless, he took longer than expected to reach it. Oh, he mumbled to himself, even thirty years ago he could have made such trips at a jog. He only spent a
moment lamenting his withering body. Today was a new day, filled with the promises of the ages. He had lived a long time, and, though some would disagree, he was sure that he had many years in front of him.

In the old man's opinion, the Park was perhaps the city's finest and yet most remote location. It was over a thousand acres of sprawling forests and twisting creeks, located on the westernmost peninsula jutting out into the Pacific. The city, while seemingly neglectful of other parts of itself, spent large sums of money to maintain the tens of miles of walking, biking, and hiking trails. Some areas of the park catered to those tourists interested in art galleries, aquariums, and such nonsense, but other parts contained sections of woods practically untouched by human hands for decades. Some areas, he had discovered, still held parts of the primordial forest, dark and wild. It was in those areas that Trevor Jones liked to
travel.

Today he was looking for his favorite bench along the wide winding walkway that ran around the entire periphery of Armitage Park. The path ran just between the northern temperate forests of the park and the immense northern Pacific. The ocean lapped and surged against the small quay wall built alongside the walkway, and quaint wooden park benches had been placed every hundred feet or so along the blacktop. Trevor had enjoyed his foray, but by the time he reached the bench, the Igloo had become quite heavy, and he was happy to place it on the bench and sit down beside it.

His bones creaked as he adjusted himself to a more comfortable position. He had to admit that his morning trek had taken a lot out of him. He hadn't been to the park in months. He sighed, thinking to himself that he should have kept up on his exercise even while he spent the days reading and studying. Then Trevor saw a definite lightening of the sky. While the deep woods at his back would hide his view of sunrise, he already knew it would happen at three minutes before 6:00 AM. Checking his watch, he found that he had just two minutes left until then. He hissed a sigh of relief, realizing that he almost began the day missing sunrise. That wouldn't do.

No, that wouldn't do at all.

Trevor got to his feet and fumbled for a few seconds in his jacket's pockets. He walked from the bench over to the waist-high wall, and then he removed a carefully wrapped parcel about as big as an index finger from his pocket. He stared at the small package, neatly tied together with some black string. Waiting a minute, he mumbled to himself as he dropped the item into the sea, where it dropped out of sight immediately. Right on time, he thought.

Perhaps it was his imagination or possibly even a mild stroke, but as he walked back to the bench, he saw the sky seem to get momentarily darker and the sea breeze get momentarily ice-cold. The birds even stopped singing. It only lasted for an instant; by the time the old man sat back down, the breeze was pleasant, the sky was rapidly brightening, and the birds sang their warbling songs. If it was a stroke, it was a...curious...sensation.

As he made himself more comfortable on the bench, a few early morning bicyclists began to make their daily rounds around the Park. Soon the joggers and rollerbladers would come, and from then on the walkway would be filled with all sorts of people. Trevor had planned on just relaxing and watching the masses of humanity pass on front of him. His bench was at the ideal spot: towering pines cast long shadows over the path here, leaving the area cool all day. While he enjoyed being out of the direct sun, he discovered over the course of the years that others didn't seem to stay on his bench for long. Newcomers to the Park would come and sit with him for a few moments, and then they would complain of the coolness of the shadows and excuse themselves. City residents, save himself, of course, seemed to avoid sitting in the area at all. So over time he had come to consider this particular bench his.

His bench afforded an excellent view of Indian Father Rock, a large natural obelisk jutting like a spike 40 feet up from sea level and 250 feet out from the quay wall. The small placard nearby detailed the popular legend behind the rock. Having been amused by the story many times over the years, Trevor Jones knew the placard by heart. The story went that a small Indian boy was swimming out in the ocean and got a little too far out for his own good. As he began to drown, his dear father rushed to his aid. It turns out the boy was not only drowning but under attack from a ferocious sea monster. The brave Indian father used only his hands and a stone hatchet to beat back the monster and save his son, but the man suffered mortal wounds in the process.

The Spirits were so impresses with the brave's courage that they turned him into a towering rock to protect everyone from the vicious sea monster's return.

The old man had to giggle every time he heard that ridiculous tale. People would not be so quick to "ooh" and "ahh" at the monolith if they knew what true purpose the stone once had or how the stone had come to be placed there. People, he had discovered, liked to live their lives only skimming across the true reality of the Cosmos. To dive deeper into the great mysteries and terrible secrets that surrounded all Creation would drive most of those seekers of wisdom mad. No, mankind was content with their "science" and contrived "religions" to explain the unexplainable and leave it at that. Only a few dare peek beyond that fragile veil. But the rewards.... the rewards!

Slowly the sun came up behind Trevor, and he began to see a few sailboats coming out of the harbor. The sun glistened off their shimmering white sails as they cruised out to sea for the day. He sighed again and
relaxed. The day still had a long way to go, and he was in no hurry. More men and women began to pass him on his bench. The sheer variety of people coming and going always staggered him. There were fat people, skinny people, ugly people, beautiful people, and all ranges and sizes therein. The sheer diversity was never dull, though few, he thought, ever realized their true potential. He would smile and nod to those glancing his way, giving an occasional friendly wave to pretty girls as they jogged or walked by. And he had to admit that when one of those pretty girls smiled or waved in return, it would give him the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Certainly in his day the girls never wore so little clothing! In more ways than that the world was changing, and he had worked so hard to change with it. Soon he would no longer have to worry about that.

Time passed, and the old man continued to people watch, occasionally glancing at his battered wristwatch or fumbling in his jacket pockets. He felt the side of his cooler and smiled pleasantly at its chilliness. Past a few young women pushing baby strollers, he saw a naval warship traveling out to sea. The image of the dull gray hull pushing out of the harbor waters made Trevor think of his own seagoing days so long ago. What was it now? Fifty-plus years? Yet the images of what he had seen and done back then still burned in his memory as if they had happened last week.

It was during the Second World War, and he, a poor young man from Ohio, had been drafted into the United States Navy. After a whirlwind of propaganda and quartermaster training, he had been assigned to the infamous USS Indianapolis to fight in the War of the Pacific. Of the actual sinking of the ship, he remembered very little. He must have been blown free from the force of the explosion to land near some floating debris. Flames of the dying ship intertwined with the screams of his dying shipmates as he fought to stay conscious. Already the sharks were coming to feed. Wounded and battered, he climbed upon the pieces and passed out, thinking that he may never wake up again.

Surprised to be alive, he awoke much later. His floating wreckage, his makeshift lifeboat, had beached itself on a sandy island cove. He painfully raised his head and saw a completely deserted beach, with no sign of the
remains of his ship or comrades. Sunburned and dehydrated, he managed to lurch to his feet and stagger inland, only to collapse several feet inside the jungle.

What followed next forever changed the man he was. The island was in fact inhabited by a degenerate race of inbred Polynesians. They took him almost immediately, performing orgiastic rites and bloody ceremonies too horrid to remember all the details. In his weakened state, Trevor could do little save scream and wish for death. He thought the end would come when the savages threw him into a large crevasse running through the middle of the island. He was to be a sacrifice to their Dark Gods.

But he had lived! But he was not alone in that deep crevasse...

That Which Sleeps whispered to him. The dark majesty of the Universe was laid out before him. Aeons seemed to pass. All secrets of the Ages were explained, and the Plan was laid bare. His fragile human mind snapped and collapsed into a quivering mass...

And he was reborn.

Trevor blinked awake, realizing he had dozed off in the morning shade. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was nearly 11:45 AM. Looking up through the leafy boughs, he saw that the sun was nearly at its zenith. Ten
minutes to go, as a matter of fact. Off in the faint distance to the south, thin tendrils of black smoke arose from a burning building. Ah, the old man breathed, the fire from early this morning.

A young couple, apparently newlyweds, came strolling along the path. Trevor caught their eye and smiled pleasantly. They returned the smile and continued on their way. A young teenage boy zipped in the opposite
direction on a pair of inline skates and nearly bowled the couple and half a dozen others over before he left the old man's sight. In Armitage Park, life was continuing on.

And when Trevor had made it back to the United States, life continued on for him, too. He changed his name to Jones and got a meager-paying job at a local printing company. With his earnings, he invested with preternatural ability in the Stock Market. Soon he began to make more and more money, moving up the corporate ladder. When he retired, he seemingly lacked for nothing. Yet, he never found his job rewarding.

But he always had his hobbies...

Ah! It was time. Trevor got up to his feet with a few pops in his joints and made his way back over to the quay wall. Pedestrians and skaters on the walkway weaved around him with nary a look. When he arrived at the sea, he took out a small vial and dumped its reddish-brown contents beyond the wall and mumbled. He smiled, recapped the container, put it back into his pocket, and returned to the bench to sit down.

"Medicine, huh?"

The old man started, nearly jumping up from the bench. He turned his head and saw, somewhat surprised, that a young woman was sitting at the far end of the bench. She smiled serenely and spoke again, apologetically.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Didn't mean to make you jump."

Trevor swiftly recovered and nodded, smiling, "It's quite all right, young lady. I guess I'm just not used to having such a pretty lady talk with such an old man."

The woman laughed politely. She was pretty, Trevor thought to himself. She had long black hair tied back into a braid, almost transparent green eyes, and pale white skin. She wore a simple green, ankle-length dress, a white shawl, and simple black walking shoes. The woman seemed to Trevor to be a little sad and lonesome, the way she looked forlornly at each passing couple.

She was also very pregnant.

"Oh, c'mon," she blushed modestly. "Not to butt into your business, but I happened to see you dumping your medicine into the ocean. Do you think that is wise?"

Trevor grinned, pleased that he would not have to make up an elaborate excuse.

"Yes, well, I'm tired of being a slave to my meds."

The young woman put a hand on her small purse, saying, "I wouldn't know what to do without taking the back pain medication for this anvil I'm carrying."

"An anvil?" Trevor pooh-poohed her. "Young lady, it is hardly noticeable on such a young and beautiful lady like yourself."

The woman laughed again, sighing and patting her belly, "Right now, I think I would have to disagree with you. But thank you anyway." Almost subconsciously, she gave a small shiver and wrapped the shawl up over her
shoulder.

The old man gestured to her, willing to pass some of the day away with this girl. He was in no hurry after all.

"Pardon me, but when is the due date, ma'am?"

"Two more weeks," she answered. "And please, my name is Jennifer, Mister-?"

"Jones," he said, leaning slightly towards her and taking her hand. "Trevor Jones." She had cool and delicate hands, much smoother than his own gnarled paws.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Trevor Jones."

"The pleasure is all mine, Jennifer."

"So," Trevor asked a moment later, "what brings you to the Park this fine, fine day?" Obviously, this girl was new to the city. Who else would sit here in the Park? On this bench?

"Oh," Jennifer explained, "I was just out for a little exercise, but, well..." She gestured at her midsection. Trevor nodded. "Just thought I sit for a moment in the shade and relax."

"That's what I'm doing." Trevor grinned. "Your accent, where did you get it, if I may be so bold? It's sounds like it's from South Carolina, but not quite."

The girl gasped in mild amazement.

"Golly, that's real close. I'm from Texas but I grew up in South Carolina!"

"Interesting. So you're new here?"

"Yeah." She looked at his closely. "How'd you know about my accent? You got family in South Carolina?"

He shook his head. "No. I like to study accents and inflections in my spare time. One of my hobbies to keep an old man busy. Sitting in the Park and chatting is another."

Jennifer put a stray hair back over her ear and shivered more vigorously this time.

"Whew! I didn't think it would be so chilly in the shade!" She exclaimed as she wrapped the shawl around herself.

"Yes, you wouldn't think so."

The girl's chill seemed to pass after a few seconds. When she looked around, she noticed the black tendrils of smoke to the south conversationally, "That must be from the big fire this morning. I wonder how long it took them to get it out."

Trevor looked suitably puzzled, "The big fire?"

Jennifer shifted on the bench, "Oh, my goodness. It was all over the news this morning. Some mansion and several surrounding houses were totally burned to the ground. I guess the people in them didn't make it out in
time. It was so sad!"

"A tragedy."

"Yeah," she replied, still looking at the distant smoke. "They said on the news the man who lived there was real rich." She looked back at Trevor.

"You'd think he would have had money and sense enough to get a fire alarm."

"Yes," Trevor added, then changing the subject. "So what do you think of Armitage Park?"

The girl smiled pleasantly, "Oh, it's great. The city has done a great job on it, but I think they could have made it a little more...accessible, you know."

"I think," the old man responded, "that the park designers a century ago didn't expect such a plucky young woman in your condition to even want to get out this far into the park."

She chuckled.

"Probably not. I didn't realize how long this path was. This park seems so... old I guess is the word I'm thinking of."

Trevor nodded solemnly, "This park is very old. The Indians used this area as religious site way before Europeans settled here. I've found quite a lot of Indian...trinkets...from just coming here all these years. This place certainly has a lot of...history."

Jennifer shuddered and took several moments to recover. She put a gentle hand on Trevor's knee and said, "Mr. Jones, I really don't mean to be so rude, but I am positively freezing. I think I'll just keep on walking around the park, get some sun, and try to warm up. Aren't you cold?"

"Not really, but I am so old, I don't feel to much at all anyway. Please, go on your way. Warm up. No offense taken at all. It was lovely chatting with you."

She got to her feet, smiled politely, and shook Trevor's hand again.

"Nice chatting with you, too. Have a super day!"

"I certainly will. Maybe the best day in a very long time. And you have helped to make it so."

"Thank you, Mr. Jones. You're a sweet man."

Trevor smiled. She waved and continued down the walkway. Trevor watched her gracefully stroll along the wall and out of site. Before she was completely out of range, she turned and waved, and Trevor happily waved in
response. She was such a lovely girl, a bit chatty and flighty, but her beauty more than made up for it.

What a shame the stillborn birth would be for her...

Trevor's stomach rumbled, signaling time for him to eat. He reached over and pulled up his Igloo cooler. Opening it up, he scanned the contents, satisfied that the ice would last through the day. He moved some items and picked up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he had made the night before. This would suit him just fine.

As he nibbled on his sandwich, thoughts of Jennifer made him think about his own wife, Elsa. He had met her just a few years after returning from the Pacific, while he was still a clerk at the company. She was pretty in her own way, but Trevor married her more for appearances than anything else.

Despite an adequate if slightly boring sex life, they had no children in over fifty years of marriage, and the old man knew that saddened her. In the first few years together, Trevor would make very guarded attempts at including her into his hobbies, but she would always become terribly confused and fearful, failing to grasp the opportunities presented before her. Soon Trevor quit trying to include her at all, letting her assume for years that he had spent only a little time with his activities. If she suspected anything, she never spoke of it, and she lacked the will to get a divorce.

Still, the old man thought, he had spent many a year with Elsa and grown very accustomed to her presence. He was still very sad over her death. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he sighed and shrugged inwardly. I suppose, he reasoned, I'll get over that in time. And near the end, she had become more involved in his work, too. She was useful for so many things, though she had never made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich like he could.

His sandwich, carefully made over an hour period, was sheer perfection.

He continued to eat, watching as the thoroughfare of people began to dwindle in the afternoon heat. A few bicyclists cruised by him. Most of the park-goers had continued on to one of several nice beaches farther around the path and much more easily accessed by a wider, newer path to the south. Others had returned to the more "urbanized" sections of the Park to the east. Moving, moving. People were always on the move.

Trevor had moved nearly half a dozen times in the last forty years. In each city, he had read and studied extensively, conducting his hobbies all the while. When he had exhausted the area's supply of knowledge or began to feel trapped, he would maneuver his job so that he would be transferred to a higher-paid position elsewhere. What few minor acquaintances he picked up along the way never suspected that he drove the direction in his life, that he was in complete control, that he had the Plan. His activities would begin again in the new city. The most important aspects of his research always seemed to elude him, so he had begun to get desperate in recent years. But he had seen! And he knew...

On some nights, That Which Sleeps would whisper in his dreams, and that same horrifically glorious sensation he felt when he was pitched into that abyss over fifty years ago would overcome him. He would scream and awaken, tears of utter joy and terror streaming down his face. Elsa would cringe at his hysterics, but it was in those times that he knew what he was doing was right. Soon would come the transition.

When he retired from his work, he and Elsa moved to this city, where he had hoped he would finally find the missing pieces of his puzzle. He heard of Armitage Park, and his hopes of ending his quest grew high. His research here, aided in part by the ever-growing Internet, proved wildly successful.

It turned out that his "missing piece" had been with him for a great long time, but he had never known it. But he had it with him today.

He was ready.

He finished off his wonderful sandwich. He took a can of grape juice out from the cooler and cracked it open. The hottest part of the day was here, and even though he was in the deep shadows of the overhanging trees, he was beginning to feel drowsy. Perhaps a small nap might do him good. Judging by the sun's position, he had plenty of time on his hands until sunset. Sipping his beverage, the old man slowly drifted off into sleep.

He awoke with a start the moment he was touched.

"Huh!"

"Whoa! Hey, Sir, I was just seeing if you were okay. That's all."

The man kneeling in front of Trevor removed his hand from his shoulder and stood up. In the very late afternoon light, the old man could just make out a silhouette against the reddening sky. An instant of absolute panic gripped Trevor. Did he miss sunset? Were all of his plans for naught? Because of a nap?!

"What time is it?! Tell me, man!"

"Easy, pal! Easy. It's...," he checked his watch, and Trevor immediately calmed as he saw the sun behind the man as he moved. "It's just after 6:00."

Trevor nodded and smiled apologetically, touching the man's hand.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I have an appointment this evening, and it's quite important to me."

As his eyes adjusted more to the lighting, the old man saw that the man in front of him was in his early twenties and wearing the uniform of the city's Bike Police. His mountain bike was parked a short ways off to the left. The police officer nodded.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." He stared at Trevor for a long moment, seemingly deciding if that were the case. "I also wanted to let you know that the Park closes fifteen minutes after sunset. I suggest you might want to gather up your things and start on out of here. This isn't the safest part of the Park, you know."

"Oh, I've heard that there have been some disappearances here."

"Well, Sir, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in this part of the Park after dark."

Trevor nodded subserviently. "Very well. Just need to gather my things and my person up to leave. Thank you for your concern."

The cop smiled, gesturing to the Igloo.

"You brought your lunch today, huh?"

Trevor momentarily panicked, but he remained outwardly calm.

"Oh, yes. Quite delicious. I have an extra sandwich left if you want it."The man laughed lightly. "No, thank you, Sir." The cop walked over to his bike, kicked up the kickstand, and got on the bike. "Just be careful. Have a good evening."

The police officer rode away. Very few people were left in the area. It was fairly common knowledge that the beaches to the south offered the best (and safest) views of sunset in the city. Trevor stood up from his bench, admiring how the sinking sun made Indian Father Rock glisten green in near-luminescence. As the sun touched the horizon, he reached into his left jacket pocket, removing a gray lock of hair. Muttering loudly, he flicked it into the water, where it swirled and sank out of sight.

The sun fell below the waterline, and Trevor looked about. The last inline skaters were rounding the far-off turn. He had the peninsula all to himself.

Excellent. Now all he had to do was wait.

He hobbled back to the bench, thinking about the placard nearby. Who thinks up of those banal "legends," anyway? The "Spirits", indeed! Few if any knew the true story of this place, and none, Trevor guessed, knew as much as he did. Thousands of years ago, this place was the home of a vile, cannibalistic tribe of degenerate Native Americans, surprisingly similar to certain groups of Polynesians in the south Pacific. They performed hellish and obscene rituals in the black hearts of this wood, staining the length and breadth of it with blood. They worshiped dark gods of the sea who demanded human sacrifices on a monthly basis under the full moon, sacrifices to which that tribe of Indians would happily oblige. In return for the blood and slaves, the dark gods of the sea would come forth and breed with the Indians in wild, gore-soaked orgies, and the tribe would become more degenerate. The dark gods, under their huge and powerful leader Dagon, were said to have brought the tall rock in the bay up from the blackest pits of the deep to be used for the sacrifices. The rock was a testament to their own all-powerful god, Cthulhu, or That Which Sleeps. Those who would be near the rock would feel his Almighty Presence and tremble at his majesty. Those chosen by Cthulhu would have the honor of dreaming of It, until That Which Sleeps will one day awaken and rule the world again as it did before.

Cthulhu brings death.

Cthulhu brings life.

So caught up in the moment was he that Trevor barely noticed how dark it had become. When he did, he knew the time was nearly nigh. Behind him and above the woods, the full moon cast a bright, colorless glow over him and the gray sea. As he watched, roughly three hundred feet out to sea, just beyond the obelisk, the sea began to roil and churn.

Trevor could feel his heart pounding through his chest in excitement, and the breath caught in his throat. Dark and loathsome shapes emerged from the inky depths. They had arms and legs like a man, but they seemed more like a gruesome fish-man hybrid. They flopped and lurched forward with wide scaly fins and flippers. Their long, down-turned mouths drooled long strings of slime, and their wide black eyes glimmered balefully in the moonlight. The foul stench of rotting fish seemingly came from everywhere. In all, almost fifty creatures came forth and approached Trevor on the walkway.

The old man moved surprisingly fast. He went to his cooler, threw it open, and withdrew the largest package inside. He gibbered with overflowing glee, swooning in religious fervor as he returned back to the wall. Surely, he had killed and sacrificed a great many people since he had returned from the Pacific, but none had been harder to kill than his wife that morning. But his effort had paid off. Her heart was still as fresh as when he cut it out of her chest. She had never truly understood his hobbies, but she had given him what he had needed the most.

In a fleeting glimpse of sanity, Trevor nearly fell to the ground in sheer horror and grief at what he had done, but his mind was destroyed so many years ago in that crevasse. His madness was complete. He cackled to the heavens as the grotesque abominations approached. He held the heart high above his head. His sacrifice was ready. In a few moments, he would be joining That Which Sleeps, mighty Cthulhu, back under the sea with Lord Dagon and his millions of minions. Trevor Jones the man would cease to be. No one would miss him. He had killed an old homeless man two nights ago and placed the body in his home so that when the firefighters would come, they would find two bodies. The whole plan had been executed flawlessly.

Now he would live forever!

Forever!

Moments later, silence laid like a think blanket over Armitage Park. The only sound to be heard was the faint lapping of the Pacific on the quay wall. Trevor Jones and the creatures from the deep were gone, vanished. The moon shone down on the sea, the obelisk, and the park. All that remained was a small Igloo cooler. That sat on Trevor Jones' favorite bench.

The End