Before I Sleep: Poetry, Prose, and Peculiarity

By L.J. Keys and Luc Bardi

Horror and psychological themes mix to create a harrowing fever dream of poetry and prose. Join Echo on the beautiful and terrifying journey into the healing process.

Echo takes a walk in the same woods every day, unaware of the whispers trying to reach her ears. A new path, or perhaps an old one, leads her deeper into the wood

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pantheon of Grace
• Release date: Jan 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578936444

Book preview

Prologue

Ilowered myself into the cave, pausing to adjust my helmet. 

My hands were shaking. 

I pointed my headlamp downward, feeling the helmet shaking along with my hand. 

The descent into darkness always got my adrenaline pumping. 

I could feel it circulating along with my blood. 

A surge of excitement accompanied each heartbeat. 

I released more rope and made yet another mental checklist of the items in my pack. 

By the time I reached the ground, I was certain I had everything I needed. 

I’d done this before. I knew what to expect. 

The cave system was new to me, but I was not alone. My guide greeted me at the bottom as I unharnessed myself. 

We directed our headlamps forward and walked toward the largest opening in the rock. 

It was early in the day and although the sunlight poured in like rain, it didn’t reach the floor. 

I glanced up, the green brush at the entrance of the cave barely visible. The sound of flowing water somewhere below, the air thick with moisture. 

Triple checking my gear, I nodded that I was ready to go. 

We moved forward, slow. 

The terrain was rough, but I knew where to step, how not to twist my ankle or to fall. 

Thirty minutes passed.  

My arms now spanned the width of the tunnel. I tested it. 

A claustrophobic caver. 

Forty minutes.  

I thought about what was above us. 

How we would have navigated here if we were above ground. 

I asked my guide if we were almost there. Without answering, she waved me on. 

We walked another ten minutes before she put her hand up to stop me. 

She turned to look at me. I could only see the outline of her face with her headlamp blaring. We stood for a moment. She angled her light away from my face and I saw her smile flood into her eyes.  

We crouched down to go a few more steps and 

The Earth opened before me. 

A cavern the likes of which I’d never seen. 

In the darkness, the ceiling rose to some unknown height, the walls to some unknown width. 

My breath caught.  

It was beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The shine of the walls, the smell of ancient rock and water. The chill in the air gave me goosebumps. I looked to my guide and she held her hand out before her. 

We moved forward, reaching for our flashlights. 

Rocks of all sizes littered the ground but just ahead, there was a defined path. 

I walked first, my guide following. 

The ceiling was too high to see in some places. Even with our flashlights. But in others, I could see the tips of the hovering stalactites. I was tempted to be afraid. 

The air was heavier here. It was so humid, I felt like I was swimming. 

As we wandered through the boulders, I ran my hand over one. It was cold and damp. I placed my palm flat against the side, closed my eyes, and pressed. It seemed to warm under my hand.  

I think I made a friend. 

We continued on for an hour or so until we reached the end of the room. My guide gestured forward. 

I looked at her, puzzled. 

She pointed toward a small hole near the ground. Made a move that suggested I should look through it. 

I knelt, holding up my flashlight, forgetting I was already wearing a headlamp. 

I could hear the rushing water.  

I got down as low as I could and peered through. The hole was about a foot wide and three feet deep.  

I shined my light down the narrow stone tunnel for what seemed like forever. I glanced up at my guide, her earnest eyes urging me on. 

Then I caught a glimpse of 

Something. 

My heart skipped a beat. 

My guide smiled reassuringly, offering her hand. 

As I stood, I wasn’t sure how I felt. 

I knew the water was there, 

But hearing it rush just behind this wall, 

Hearing the force of it? 

My hands began to shake again 

And my heart fluttered like a bird stuck in a collapsing mine. 

Still, I longed to be on the other side.  

She knew I did.  

But for today, we were done. 

This was further than we’d ever gone. 

There were many other openings to explore. 

Many other ways to get through. 

We’d find them. 

With a meaningful glance, and a tap of her wrist, 

My guide suggested we go. 

And we started back toward the sunlight.

Part I

The Woods

We wake up together, the woods and I.

A single bird sings in the sunrise. The sun peers through the branches, splashing buckets of light on the leaf-covered ground.

There’s a vibrant chill in the air. It hastens my step. The breeze carries the smell of rain, mixing with the taste of cinnamon left from my morning tea.

The combination awakens my lungs.

I walk the path I’ve known for years and feel its familiarity humming in my veins.

The bird song ebbs and flows.

I find him high in the branches of a nearby tree.

I wonder what I look like from way up there.

I wonder what I look like to the squirrels. They chase each other around the trunk and the chipmunks rustle the brush around the roots.

I wonder what I look like to the trees.

Maybe I’m just a passing sound wave, or a scent, or perhaps a color.

The sun rises slow as I come upon the clearing.

Today, the grass sways like a couple cheek to cheek. Deep hues of green and a glitter of lime where the sun hits just right.

Sometimes I come here to celebrate, sometimes to cry, sometimes to scream.

Dandelions pepper the ground, joined by a blanket of forget-me-knots; a bounding blue sea of golden bottle cap ships. I sit amidst them until the sun is high, my neck is warm, and my soul is full.

I find the path out on the other side of the clearing.

The shade of the trees is a welcome break.

But something is different here.

Something intangible. An intuition? A ghost?

I take in the dirt and earth stretching out before me and focus on my feet.

I settle back into the comfort of the woods.

I step over the twisted roots and the occasional downed tree.

My feet carry me of their own volition.

Suddenly, they stop.

The unfamiliar takes the form of a fork in the trail.

Something rises from my belly but I ignore it.

I look down the path to the right.

I look down the path to the left.

I close my eyes.

Breath fills my lungs and holds.

I open one eye. The fork’s still there.

My lungs and my sails deflate.

I can’t stay here all day.

Decisions. I’m terrible at them.

Eventually, I walk to the right.

Not three steps in, a wash of reassurance douses the flutter in my chest.

I listen to the rhythm of my steps and feel my jaw begin to unclench.

As my shoulders relax, I think about the path to the left.

Was it really there?

The woods break my silent contemplation.

Three deer gracefully bound over roots and brush, sunlight catching the antlers of an enormous buck.

The sudden noise stops me in my tracks.

Curiosity gets the better of me.

I turn on my heels, determined to find the other path.

I walk and walk; sure I’ve gone far enough.

But I look and look to no avail.

I reach the clearing again. The green grass welcomes me, but it’s lost some of its luster.

I must have made it up. There was no other path, no fork, no alternative.

Back down the trail for the second time.

I cross roots and trees when

My feet stop again.

The fork.

The path to the left is still oddly familiar and this time, I take it.

It’s just as smooth, just as sun-drenched, just as warm and inviting.

I walk for quite some time before realizing evening is approaching. The sun is still hours from the horizon, but I need to be out of the woods by dark.

Annoyed by how much time I wasted deciding which path to take, I turn around.

The sun is low in the sky when I reach the clearing. The area is bathed in golden light. I say goodnight to my forget-me-nots and dandelions, blowing them kisses.

I make my way toward the path I took in.

But

The path is gone.

I look at the dandelions as if they’ve betrayed me.

I must have gotten turned around.

I must have made a mistake.

I circle the clearing and find nothing but thick woods and the path to the fork.

The brush has grown thicker along with my saliva.

I swallow hard.

I walk the edge of the clearing two more times finding nothing. I stand in front