The Lamanite
written by @UniversalMonk
Claire Stembowski had found it: the perfect spot to sit down. She noticed a large, flat boulder just off the path, warmed by the sun and overlooking a breathtaking vista of the park.
Her visit to Garden of the Gods had been nothing short of magical. The towering red rock formations reached for the sky, casting long, intricate shadows as the day waned into early evening. She had spent the past hour running the paths, losing herself in the natural wonder of the place.
With a contented sigh, Claire settled onto the boulder, feeling the ancient energy of the land pulse beneath her. The sun was low, the evening still fresh, and there was a light breeze that caught strands of her black hair and whipped them around in a playful dance.
She reached up, letting her fingers find the single braid in her hair, twirling it absentmindedly as her eyes settled on the stunning red rocks jutting out from the earth, framed by beautiful, ancient trees. Their branches seemed to reach towards the sky in a graceful arc, leaves whispering secrets to one another. The sky was one great splash of crimson and gold.
Claire took out her cell phone, seeking solace in scripture to ease her mind. Her eyes scanned the verses, absorbing the words, allowing them to transport her to a place of calm and reflection within the majestic scenery surrounding her.
It had been two weeks, exactly fourteen days, since her mission had ended. In the vibrant hues of the rocks, she saw herself as she'd been: a missionary, devoted yet confined by a strict regime, a schedule that left little room for spontaneity.
At first, she had been slightly irritated by it all—the rigidity, the discipline, the way each day was so precisely mapped out. But now, sitting there with the stillness of the evening wrapping around her like a comforting blanket, she realized she kind of missed it.
Life was different then. It was filled with purpose, a clear direction, a path that was clearly laid out. Now she felt a twinge of nostalgia, a longing for that simple clarity, that uncomplicated commitment to a cause.
The braid slipped from her fingers as Claire leaned back, letting her thoughts drift, carried away by the wind that continued to tease her hair. The world seemed a little more complex, a little less defined, but also richer and fuller.
Suddenly, she sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. Startled, she looked up to see a luminous ball, the size of a bowling ball, whirling, spinning, and floating above the ground in front of her. She watched, transfixed, as the ball of light expanded, and in an instant, the entire atmosphere around her changed.
The once golden light of the evening sun was replaced by a darker, more ominous hue. The scenery before her morphed, and she found herself overlooking a vast moonlit battlefield.
The ball of light had vanished, leaving behind a view that both fascinated and terrified her.
The rocks of the Garden of the Gods that she had been admiring just moments before were now replaced by a spectral scene of conflict, frozen in time under the ghostly moonlight.
“What is going on?” she whispered to herself. “No way is this really happening.” Her heart raced, and her mind struggled to make sense of everything.
Suddenly, the piercing cry of a distant bird sent a shiver through Claire, making her jump and let out a little scream.
“This isn’t real,” she said. “Nope, this isn’t really happening. I just need to wake up!” With tremendous effort, Claire forced herself to focus on the tangible reality around her. Anything to take her mind off of the sense of dread she was starting to feel. She noticed a loose button on her shirt, and she occupied herself with adjusting it, focusing on the mundane task to distract her from the overwhelming fear. Then, she found herself fussing with her shoelaces, tying and untying them, desperate for anything to take her mind off the strange events unfolding around her.
She closed her eyes hard, and opened them again. She was still in this strange place. The soft whispers of the wind transformed into distant wails that seemed to grow closer with each passing moment. Her breath caught in her throat as the haunting cries morphed into the unmistakable sound of men screaming in agony.
She looked in the direction of the sound, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. The once-familiar landscape of Garden of the Gods had fully transformed now, and the harrowing screams pulled her inexplicably into a terrifying vision of a battlefield, filled with ghostly horrors.
Racing towards her—as if driven by a force beyond mere rage and survival—came the figure of a warrior, adorned in animal skins and marked with ferocious war paint. His wild, unkempt hair whipped around his face as his eyes, filled with a berserker fury, fixed ahead in a ghastly, malevolent stare.
In the otherworldly glow of the moonlight, his skin took on a ghastly color, appearing almost translucent and devoid of life, as if the very essence of color had been drained from him. He ran with enormous, unbridled bounds, and what added to Claire's terror, making her aware he was nothing mortal, was each time his feet struck the hard, smooth ground of the transformed park, there came the sound of scattering gravel.
He was running with a demonic swiftness. His bare, sinewy arms pressed into his heaving sides; his large, grimy fists, marked with unknown symbols, clenched in front of him; foam mixed with venom thick on his snarling lips; blood drops oozing down his thighs.
It was all real, frighteningly and vividly real, even the most minute details: the wild flutter of animal skins, the glinting of primitive weapons, and the bare feet striking the ground.
Claire tried hard to shut her eyes again, but was compelled to keep them open and follow the movement of a loincloth-clad warrior as he darted past her. He left the pathway, leaping over the smaller obstacles, and vanished into a swirling fog.
Then she heard the rhythmic pounding of drums, mingled with the eerie, haunting melodies of primitive flutes. At the farther end of the scene, their weapons gleaming strangely in the ghostly moonbeams, appeared a line of warriors, their bodies painted with fierce tribal symbols. They marched, not in the formation of any known army, but with a savage grace, their eyes wild and their voices chanting in a language Claire did not know.
Two banner-carriers were in their midst, and flanking them were warriors bearing spears and crude swords, their faces twisted into expressions of rage. The pounding drums and haunting melodies resonated with a startling intensity in the altered atmosphere of the park.
Claire could feel the ground quiver beneath the warriors' relentless march, their bare feet crunching on unseen gravel as they advanced—tall figures, unnaturally tall, with painted faces and burning eyes. Every instant, she expected they would see her, and her heart pounded with terror at the thought.
Yet, miraculously, no one seemed to notice her, or if they did, they ignored her. They all passed her by without so much as a glance, their feet keeping time to a ceaseless and monotonous rhythm. She remained frozen, watching until the last of them had turned a bend in the spectral landscape, and the glint of their primitive weapons could no longer be seen.
The landscape melded with the ethereal glow, taking on a peculiar whiteness that rendered the whole aspect of her surroundings hauntingly spectral. Confronting her, on the opposite side of the vision, was a tree, ancient and twisted, and to her astonishment, despite the calm of the air, the tree swayed violently back and forth, emanating dreadful moans and groans.
“I just need to wake up,” Claire said. “Please.” Gathering her courage, she stepped forward to try to find a way out of the strangeness, when her foot stumbled against something. She looked down, repulsed and horrified, to find that she was standing over the body of a warrior, one of the men the berserkers had been fighting. His body had been torn open, a ghastly wound in his chest offering glimpses of unspeakable gore.
The gruesome sight hit Claire with a wave of nausea, and she staggered back. Her stomach churned, and a sour taste filled her mouth as she fought back the urge to throw up. She turned away, trying to erase the image from her mind, but it was too late; the graphic reality of what she had seen was seared into her memory.
Her legs felt weak, and she stumbled to a nearby rock, sitting down heavily, her body still shaking. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, her mind racing. What had she just seen? Why was this happening to her?
A sudden realization washed over Claire, as if a veil had lifted. The chaos and brutality around her suddenly made sense, and she knew with a clarity that stunned her: she had been watching the Lamanites from the Book of Mormon, locked in a fierce battle with the Nephites.
The warriors, their appearance, and fierce demeanor, the odd warpaint, all of it clicked into place. She was witnessing a historical and spiritual vision, one that brought the ancient words to life before her very eyes. Her heart pounded as the weight of the vision bore down on her, connecting her to a past she had only read about.
After a moment, she remembered her phone. She struggled to unlock the screen, her hands still trembling, but to her rising panic, the screen was frozen, unresponsive to her desperate attempts to make it work. Her frustration and fear mingled as she realized that the evidence of what she had witnessed was slipping through her fingers, leaving her alone with the terror of the unknown.
Claire felt like crying as she looked around, her eyes wide with horror. Bodies lay all over the ground, their faces twisted in agony, eyes wide and unseeing; the horrific aftermath of a brutal battle. A mishmash of livid, bloody awfulness. One warrior was writhing, wriggling on the ground, half his face smashed beyond recognition, a gruesome snapshot of violence. A fallen horse lay nearby, its form mangled and contorted.
Claire wanted to run, but she didn't know which way to go, or even where to look. She could feel panic washing over her when suddenly she was startled by a sight that seemed out of place in the middle of all the carnage. There, not far from her, stood a woman, her appearance wild and striking, her face marked by both beauty and something untamed. She was smiling, with the sweetness and innocence of a child.
In one hand, the mysterious woman carried an intricately crafted basket filled with valuables; in the other, a knife with a broad, sharp blade and an ornate handle. Her large dark eyes held a spark of joy and cruelty, which made the smile on her face all the more unsettling. The woman glanced around, staring at the pained faces of the fallen men.
Making her way towards a wounded warrior that lay moaning on the ground, just a short distance from Claire, the wild-eyed woman seemed to ignore the bodies of the dead and dying that lay in her path. Her slender, graceful feet moved with purpose.
Claire knew what was about to happen, and—forgetting the strange woman was nothing but a ghostly vision; that they were all ghosts—she was willing to move heaven and earth to stop her. But she was frozen in place, unable to move or act, her screams of protest trapped in her throat. All she could do was watch in terror, feeling an agonizing helplessness, as the surreal and terrifying scene continued to unfold before her eyes.
The Lamanite woman knelt down beside the wounded warrior, and with a look of devilish glee, calmly plunged her knife into his heart, working the blade backwards and forwards to assure herself she had made a thorough job of it. The slimy, crunching sound was horrible, but the woman kept smiling, her eyes fixed on her gruesome task.
When it was done, the woman calmly stripped the body of valuables, her hands moving with a practiced ease that was almost as horrifying as the act itself. Rings, ornaments, anything of value was tossed into the basket she carried, her movements efficient and unfeeling. In some cases, unable to remove the rings easily, she chopped off the fingers, and plopped them, just as they were, into her basket.
Claire observed in horror as the Lamanite’s method of dealing with the Nephite soldiers varied in its gruesome nature. For some, she put them out of their misery with a swift thrust of her blade, treating the act with a chilling indifference. Others had their throats cut with a cold efficiency, as if she were performing a mundane task. Still, others were dispatched with the heavy blows of their own swords' hilts.
In the midst of the surreal and brutal spectacle, Claire's hand went limp, and her phone slipped from her grasp. The sound of it hitting the ground, though soft, seemed to echo through the chaos, and the Lamanite woman's head snapped in Claire's direction.
Time seemed to stand still as their eyes locked, the woman's gaze infused with an intensity that was both wild and calculating. Her head tilted slightly, a feral smile playing on her lips, and she screamed, her voice a blend of rage and triumph, “Your fate is sealed with theirs, Nephite lover!”
Claire froze as the woman's words rang in the air, and then the Lamanite began sprinting towards Claire with terrifying speed, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground, nimbly avoiding the lifeless bodies, her knife glinting wickedly in her hand.
Claire's mind screamed at her to run, but her body refused to obey. It was as if her limbs were ensnared by unseen forces, locking her in place. The terror was so overwhelming that her vision began to blur at the edges, and her legs wobbled beneath her.
The Lamanite woman was almost upon her, that enraged visage twisted into a hideous grin, her eyes ablaze with wicked delight. With her blade raised high, she prepared to deliver the fatal strike.
Overwhelmed and paralyzed with fear, Claire collapsed at the feet of the Lamanite, her consciousness slipping into darkness.
Then nothing. Only a gentle breeze and the distant melody of birdsong.
Opening her eyes, Claire found herself back in the park, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The nightmarish visions of violence and the wild-eyed woman had vanished without a trace.
———
Claire, still shaking from the nightmare she'd just experienced, drove her car into the parking lot of Waverly's Quick Stop, a small, nondescript convenience store just off the highway. Her heart still racing, she knew she needed a moment to compose herself, and something as simple as a cold bottle of water felt like it might ground her in reality.
The digital screen at the gas pump flickered as she pulled up to it, casting an eerie light that briefly sent a shiver down her spine. Shaking off the feeling, she filled her car's tank, her hands almost mechanically gripping the fuel nozzle.
With the car gassed up, she made her way into Waverly's, the bell above the door jingling as she stepped inside. The store was quiet, save for the low hum of refrigerators and the distant sound of a radio playing old hits.
The cashier, a middle-aged man with a bored expression, glanced up from his magazine as she entered but said nothing. Claire wandered through the narrow aisles, her mind still consumed by the terrifying images she had seen, but she forced herself to focus on the present.
Finally reaching the cooler, she grabbed a bottle of water, feeling the cool condensation against her skin. As she approached the counter to pay, she noticed her own reflection in a glass door. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with lingering apprehension.
"You okay?" the cashier asked, his voice tinged with concern as he noticed Claire's pale and shaken appearance.
"I'm fine, just a long day," Claire stammered, forcing a smile. "I just had the weirdest experience over at Garden of the Gods. Like the craziest thing ever.”
He nodded as he scanned her water and she slid her card into the card reader. As he handed her the receipt, the man said, "Not the first time I've heard that.” He nodded towards a series of tables in the corner. At one of them, a guy was sitting, engrossed in his laptop.
"You should tell your story to that guy," the cashier suggested, his voice carrying over to the man at the table. "Hey Trevor, this chick just saw something weird at the park. You still write for that magazine?"
"Yeah." The man got up and walked over to Claire. "Hi, I'm Trevor McCall. I'm sort of a journalist who's into this sort of thing. Wanna sit down and tell me what happened?"
“Not sure that you'll believe me," Claire said, smiling sheepishly. “Just weird. I probably just dreamed it or something. It was crazy.”
"Oh, he'll believe you," the cashier interjected, smirking. "Trevor believes a lot of things. Hey Trev, you still think birds aren't real?"
"Depends on the area, man," Trevor replied, unflinching. Tall and lanky, with a military-style haircut, he adjusted his glasses and looked at Claire, saying matter-of-factly, "Ok, so for real, some birds are just mechanical drones designed by the government to spy on people. That's how they can sit on power lines and not get electrocuted. They're charging up!”
The cashier chuckled, shaking his head. "And what about the UFO stuff you write about?"
Trevor's face turned serious. "First, they’re called UAPs now. Unidentified Aerial Phenomena. Second, hello?! You should've watched those Senate hearings like I told ya to. They practically admitted they’re real. The government's hiding that stuff!"
He noticed Claire's incredulous look and quickly shifted gears. "Ok, seriously though, I’ve heard of people having weird visions at Garden of the Gods. So what happened to you?” Claire followed him to his table, sliding into the booth across from him, her mind reeling but intrigued by Trevor's unexpected interest in her horrifying experience.
After Claire finished recounting her story, Trevor nodded thoughtfully and said, “Ok, I’ve heard things like that before. Actually, the reason they called that place Garden of the Gods is because the local Native Americans who used to live here would go there for vision quests. They said they could be transported to other places and witness battles and visions. But not everyone can see those things. It takes a gifted person. The Native Americans called it ‘Big Sight.’ Sounds like you have it. What do you do for work?”
“I just finished a missionary mission,” Claire replied, a touch of pride in her voice. “So I’m about to drive home and probably go back to school.”
“Missionary?”
“I’m a Latter-day Saint,” Claire clarified. “I spent my time—“
Trevor interrupted her, excitement in his voice. “Mormon! You’re a Mormon sister?”
“A Latter-day Saint, yeah,” Claire corrected gently.
"That's awesome," Trevor said, smiling. "Actually, I met a couple of Sisters a while back. Really awesome girls. But I think I scared them off when I started asking if Joseph Smith might have had an alien encounter. They were cool about it, but, um, yeah, I think I probably freaked them out a little bit."
“I doubt you freaked them out. We hear a lot of wild theories,” Claire assured him.
“Ok, so anyway,” Trevor continued, leaning forward with enthusiasm. “You mentioned you don’t have a job. Want one? I'm owner and editor of a magazine called 'Unseen Realities Digest.' Ever heard of it?”
“No,” Claire admitted, her eyebrows raising.
“That figures,” Trevor said, laughing a bit. “It's primarily a print magazine for people like doom preppers and conspiracy enthusiasts. I cover UAPs, ghosts, and all sorts of unexplained phenomena.”
“You have a website?” Claire asked.
“Nah,” Trevor replied, shaking his head. “I should set one up, but my readers are the types who get paranoid about online stuff. They prefer physical copies for their secret bunkers or something,” he said, chuckling. “I have an account on Lemmy, but most people on there are even crazier than the people who subscribe to my magazine."
“Ahh, ok, gotcha,” Claire nodded.
Trevor's eyes sparkled as he laid out his offer. “The thing is, I hate to drive. So, I need someone to travel to different cities and investigate hauntings and weird stories for me. If I go outside a six-mile radius from my house or something, I get too annoyed.”
“I don’t really know if I'm cut out to be a writer,” Claire confessed, hesitating.
“That's okay. You'll experience it, share your thoughts, and I'll handle the writing. I’ll pay more than minimum wage, plus cover all expenses. Maybe it’s a good gig between school semesters? Just think about it, okay?” Trevor suggested, pulling a copy of his magazine from his backpack. He scribbled his phone number on it and handed it to her. “Here's the latest issue for you to check out. It’ll be fun!”
Claire scanned the cover of 'Unseen Realities Digest,' intrigued by headlines like “Hundreds See UAP in Ceylon,” “The Ghost from the Vanishing Continent,” and “Thousands of Fish Dead in Pond after Mysterious Lights Seen in Sky.”
A smile played on her lips. This just might be the gateway to her next unexpected adventure.
END
I didn't delete the one you posted here either, friend.
You can post you video about me anywhere you want to. I'm fine with it.
I only deleted your other posts here because this is a fitness challenge community. But I kept your vid up. All good, man!