Matt McPhee

Entry 21: UNKNOWN. Still Inside the Tree??? – August 19th, 2023 – 8:17 PM

I woke up (was I asleep?). A soft golden light danced on the ceiling, and I realized I was lying on my back, and I could see my breath. The first thought I had, which I feel a little silly to admit, is that my breath was the angler devouring my mind. Every breath I took was just the angler slowly sucking my thoughts and feelings out of me in wisps of steam. The second, more logical thought was that I was simply in a cold place.

I focused on the golden lights. They were soothing. I felt like I could watch them flicker and sway across the ceiling all day.

The museum

The piano

Maisel

Everything came rushing in, and I could think clearly again. What happened when Maisel touched the shovel? Why did everything go dark? Why did it feel like I was falling? Where were Maisel and Murlocke?

A shiver ran up my spine as I had a realization. Up until that point, no matter how bad it got, I was still with Maisel and Murlocke. Now, I was alone. I could feel my chest tighten, and my vision began to cloud. I blinked several times, hoping it would pass, but it just got worse.

Reflexively, I tried to push myself up to be on my hands and knees, but my arms began to wobble.

My right arm slipped, and my chin hit the floor. The pain rippled through my body, and I could tell without even looking that I was going to need a pretty big bandage to cover up the cut.

I could picture my parents’ reactions. My mother would softly cup my head in her hands to get a better look. Her eyes would be initially gentle before sharpening as the line of questioning began: Oh, honey, what did you do? Why weren’t you being careful? Sasheen, I hope it doesn’t leave a scar… Did someone do this to you? It better not leave a scar. You need to be more careful, my love. If this leaves a scar, your grandmother will be very upset.

My father, on the other hand, would already have his coat on and be hopping around, trying to put his boots on: You tell me who did this, Sasheen. I’m going to talk to their parents. You slipped? No. My daughter does not slip. Tell me who did this.

I needed to focus. Allowing myself to sit there imagining the worst wasn’t going to help. I took a few deep breaths and tried to get to my feet. I felt like I was on a boat in the middle of the ocean. The world around me swayed softly, rocking me back and forth. I steadied myself against the wall, and slowly, the swaying faded.

The wall didn’t feel like the red cedar tree we had been stuck in for the past few hours. It was freezing; it sapped the heat from my hand. That must be why I was dazed. If I were no longer in the tree, the angler would no longer be able to consume my thoughts. I needed to focus on getting out of here, so I put a pin in that line of thought and looked around at my surroundings.

I realized I was in a small underground cave with a pond, which means the lights I saw earlier were reflections from ripples in the water. I tried calling out—

My voice echoed as the sound bounced around the room.

MURLOCKE! MAISEL!  

MURLOCKE! MAISEL!

 MURLOCKE! MAISEL!  

Nobody responded. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Why would the angler drop me here? Wherever here is… Did it do it on purpose? I glanced around the underground pond. I couldn’t spot any apparent exits until I looked up and saw a small hole in the roof.

My theory was that the angler attempted to drop me into another room, like Maisel and the jail cell, but something went wrong, and I fell into this cave area. That would explain why I could think clearly. If the angler didn’t have a grasp on me, it couldn’t muddy my thoughts.

At this point, I faced two immediate issues:

1. I was stuck in an underground cave, with the only exit seemingly twenty feet in the air.
2. I had no idea where Maisel and Murlocke were. They could still be inside the angler. That would mean that they had limited time. If I were to do a quick calculation…

If I started at 8:17 PM (the current time) and 4:22 PM (the time we entered the red cedar), we were in the tree for roughly 3 hours and 55 minutes. I estimated that the angler clouded around 47% – 52% of our cerebral functions. This was a rough guess based on the intervals between waves of amnesia. That would mean that Maisel and Murlocke would lose a percentage of their ability to function roughly every 4 minutes and 52 seconds to 5 minutes. Based on these numbers, the angler would completely cloud over their brains, effectively rendering them into blank-eyed zombies in 4 hours and 25 minutes or, at worst, 3 hours and 53 minutes…

A victim’s memories, thoughts, and emotions will eventually return unless they have passed “the tipping point.” At the tipping point, the victim only retains a sliver of their brain’s functions and are essentially zombies, mind-controlled by the angler, allowing the angler to feed on them for decades or until the victim passes away from old age. Very very very unpleasant stuff. – Excerpt from ALFRED’S The Layman’s Field Guide to Monster Hunting (undated)

No pressure…

– Sasheen