Sitting in the car, the engine still running to keep me warm and the windshield clear, I’m hit by the savageness of the landscape outside. The road ended here, with a pile of ancient rocks rising up forever to the blackest of skies, the rocks now covered by snowdrifts, ever-changing and flickering in the headlights, as if taunting me, daring me, to step out. The howling wind rocks the car, whipping it viciously from all sides with gusts of snow, inviting me to see things not quite there. A white blanket laid gently on the rear screen, just to be torn away the next second and replaced by a hammering on the side window. Then followed by a white hand caressing the windscreen, before it turns to claws scraping the glass. I’d never realised it before, how primordial and frightening a snow storm can be when you’re out of the city, well out of your comfort zone.
    I don’t know why I’m here. I truly don’t. Two days ago I got in the car, without being prompted by anyone or anything. No premonition, nor a dream telling me what to do (I’m not crazy, I can assure you), not even an urgent phone call. I simply knew that I needed to go north. Normally, that’s the last place I’d travel to. I’m a hot weather person. I spend my holidays in the tropics and like to stay warm. I may have been born and still live in a country with harsh winters, and I can ski when I’m forced to because of a client, but I doesn’t mean like it. It’s bloody cold out there. In any ski resort, my favourite spots are the sauna and the bar. Yet here I am, after nearly two days of driving north obsessively, only stopping for a night of rest. Spending it, as I was in the middle of nowhere, in the car and barely able to sleep, next to a gas station. “The Last Stop Before The Polar Circle”, the sign said, with the owner hinting that anywhere north of there was… not a good option.
    Obviously I’ve lost it. Gone gaga without any aid from ingested chemicals. Will need to book sessions with a professional once I get back home. But in the meantime I might as well get out, stretch my legs, see why the hell I’m here and what mental problems I’ll need to deal with once I get back to civilisation. You know that feeling, don’t you, when you’re high as a kite and a tiny part of your brain sends you on a mission, a must-do? The rest of that overrated organ may object strongly, and try its best to tell you to just have a good rest/fuck/whatever, but you ignore it. Then you start coming down and get to this in-between place, realise the utter silliness yet still feel the importance of it all. This is where I’m now.
    I wait for the feral wind to change direction before I switch off the ignition and step out quickly, slamming the door behind me. No bag to retrieve, I didn’t even think about that when I left, did I? So what did I expect to find here? A Hilton? Four Seasons? A boutique hotel happily perched on the top of the cliffs on my right, with boulders matching Mordor in their defiance of humanity, monstrous talons shredding the dead air above? On my left, the sea is in uproar, mindlessly and relentlessly throwing itself upon the cliffs below me, howling in anger at being denied unrestricted access to the land. Every now and then, a persistent wave manages to burst over the edge before it slithers back down with a heavy, frustrated sigh.
    But of course, there’s nothing here. Certainly nothing resembling civilisation. Not even a transient trace of humans ever having visited this spot. And just to prove it, the wind dies, allowing the huge snowflakes to drift down aimlessly and showing me that I’m utterly alone. Not just me, as a human being; this place is devoid of any form of life. It is dark, so dark that I feel, rather than see, the snow settling on me. Weighting me down, claiming me as its prize, transforming me into an icy sculpture, a nameless elegy.
    I pull the coat tightly around me, gloveless hands in pockets and chin down. Useless actions, as my fingertips are already getting numb and the air is so cold that tiny icicles have started forming around my nose and mouth.
    ‘We expected you earlier,’ spoken softly, close behind me.
    Honestly, what would your reaction be if, in any desolate place – and never mind this nowhere, where I am now – someone starts talking to you when there shouldn’t be anyone, and wasn’t a moment ago? Surprise, fear, panic? And as the last stand of the doomed, turning into indignation, aggression and finally rage. The reptile brain’s ultimate response. Exactly! I’m with you there, that’s how any normal person would have reacted. All of which emotions I went through in an instant. Except only in my mind. And instead I reply, before even moving, ‘I wasn’t sure this was the place.’
    ‘It is. Come with me.’
    As I turn around I almost get blinded by a sharp beam of light although it’s only pointing downwards, to the snow-covered ground. Blinking rapidly, forcing my eyes to adjust to this sudden change, I take in the form in front of me. A bulky shape wrapped in off-white cloth (Fur? Skin?), face nearly hidden. But certainly shorter than me and I get a feeling of a slender, sinuous shape beneath the bulk. The voice is feminine, but with an underlying rasp. It is not a pleasant voice.
    Without waiting for my answer, the figure starts walking towards the rocks; the light, I sense, is more for my benefit than anything else. And instead of going for the car and getting away from this place, anything but staying here, I follow.
    The light disappears behind a boulder and when I reach it, I see roughly carved stairs leading down. Rock or ice, I can’t tell, they look slippery. There is light in here, not from the flashlight but from bulbs hanging from a thick cable circling the uneven wall and attached to it by oversized clamps firmly hammered into the wall. And incongruously I think, as if that is my most pressing issue, at least they’ve got power here.
    We go down the stairs, in a never ending spiral, the figure somewhere in front of me, staying just out of sight. Left and down, left and down. I’m still not sure whether the stairs and the walls are carved out of rock or ice. As if it matters. It’s bloody cold and I’m getting dizzy.
    ‘Are you comfortable?’
    ‘Yes, I am.’
    Why did I just say that? I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life, yet I seem to accept this whole crazy situation without any reservations. Then it strikes me: I’m at home and sleeping, having a weird, very weird dream, one of those where you’re aware that you are dreaming. Which is fine with me, as any dream – pleasant or nasty – is just a way for our brains to relax; process all kinds of bullshit input from our conscious state, deal with it while we’re asleep and prevent us from going mad. So I’ll just go with it for now.
    ‘You are not dreaming.’
    Damn, that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. If I’m not dreaming this, I’m straitjacket crazy and should be locked up. Maybe that’s where I am now, in an asylum, having an “episode”. Or infinitely much worse, this is happening to me in real life, right now. So why haven’t I started panicking yet?
    ‘Where the fuck are we?’
    ‘Soon.’
    ‘I bloody well didn’t ask you for the time, I asked you for the location!’
    ‘Soon. We are nearly there.’
    ‘What the hell is “there”? And where is “there”?’
    ‘Where you all come from. And come to. The sea.’
    I’m just about to come up with a scathing response to that nonsense answer when I stumble. The stairs have ended and I am, as far as I can discern in the inadequate light from the staircase, at the entrance of a cave. Not a large cave by any means, I can still see the walls without any lights inside. As I take in the space, I realise that I’m alone.
    ‘Good trick. Excellent. I’m impressed.’ I applaud slowly, the echoes sounding as empty as my attempt at getting on top of the situation. ‘So, please, do come out, all of you. Let’s get the party going. Which is why we’re here, isn’t it?’
    No one challenges my statement. I’m alone. Thus I decide to check out the perimeter, find out where my friends are hiding, for surely they must’ve planned this, I realise it now. Or my work mates, bless ’em. I’m okay now, knowing that this is all about setting me up for a major party.
    It’s slightly warmer here than on the staircase. I take off the coat and drop it on the ground. Observe that I’m sweating slightly and remember that I have no change of clothes with me.
    ‘Hey guys, I’d love to take a shower now and change into something more party-like before we hit it,’ I shout.
    No reply.
    ‘Okay, have it your way. Be silent and mysterious. But think of the babes having to dance with me, intimately, while I’m all icky and sweaty.’
    Still no reply.
    ‘Well fuck you, then. So I’ll just check out this room now and maybe go to my suite afterwards and call for room service. Comprehensive room service, with dinner, massage and all the extras. And you can go fuck yourselves, or rather get fucked by the teeny boppers that you’ve no doubt invited here, you sorry bunch of hedonist wankers.’
    Met by absolute silence, and increasingly pissed off about it, I do a tour of the premises; if nothing else, to discover the secret door through which the woman that brought me here disappeared. And, feeling my way around the perimeter in the dim light, I come to the conclusion that this is not, however you look at it, a man made space. The walls are way too uneven, their surfaces impossible to tell whether they are rock covered by ice or just plain ice. Except for one area, which I feel more than see, and which is quite flat and even. Fleetingly, I wonder whether I should still entertain the idea that I’m either stir crazy or having an extremely vivid dream. Sure, I did go through a lot of spliffs on my way here, but this is only slightly on the uncomfortable, not-quite-real side. Not even close to the odd but familiar paranoia moments. If anything, this feels like coming home, wherever home may be. But not necessarily in a good way.
    Adjusting my eyesight to the darkness, I concentrate on the flat part of the wall. Somehow, it’s marginally brighter than the rest of the cave. And there are shapes, barely discernible, moving behind it. As I strain to see better, the flat part seems to get brighter, very slowly. Or maybe it’s just my eyes getting used to the dark and working hard to do what they’re supposed to. At first I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I comprehend, I think, but I still can’t quite believe it. It looks like a window set in the base of the rocks, showing me the cold, barren sea outside. I can just make out the silty bottom, empty of life. No fish. No crabs. Nothing.
    Yet there is movement out there. Shadowy shapes, slight turbulences in the water, shifting in and out of the window area, impossible to see clearly when I try to focus on them. I step closer to the window and as I do so, the movements get sharper, faster, agitated.
    Another step forward and… fuck, I now clearly see the imprint of two hands on the window – if hands could be made out of water – and between them, the outline of a face, mouth open as in a wail, a semblance of empty eyes looking straight at me. And I realise what it is that I’m looking at, as the other shapes come up to the window.
    I jump back in shock, and as I start to panic, in absolute terror and incomprehension – or even scarier, comprehension – of what’s out there, a child’s hand takes mine and holds it firmly. I look down to my side and see a small boy, naked and smiling at me.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ the boy doesn’t open his mouth, yet I hear him clearly. ‘This is where you all come in the end.’
    I should be frightened now, beyond reason, cowering in a corner and trembling in terror. Instead, the words calm me as I observe with acute interest the tiniest of cracks appearing in the window. A trickle of water comes through the crack, widening it and spreading, creating a beautiful, intricate cobweb pattern across the window.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ the boy says it again as the sea pushes its way through the window, flooding the cave. ‘This is how it is. And always has been.’
    Then I died.