Between Two Creeks

The Oasis occupies about five acres in the middle of the plain and provides the best hide-away in all the Valley. No hunting allowed. No dust from the often-dry grassy lands, no hot sultry days, just cool breezes drifting through the trees and causing ripples on the stream.
Arriving at the Oasis, Mister John could see waters now rushing with new vigor across the rocky creek bottom. The sight is breath-taking. A gentle mist rises from the rocky bank on the opposite side of the creek. The water rolls over the stones in such a way a hissing sound is produced. Today the mist shoots up about ten feet into the air like a small geyser in Yellowstone. The air is filled with this cool mist, and will soak anyone who venture too close to the creek. The winter freezes cause the mist to puff up like white smoke bellowing from a factory steam exhaust. In the summer, especially today, the area immediately surrounding the mist is filled with vegetation. Orange tiger lilies are plentiful in Two Creeks, and the banks of the creek are filled with the color. The banks on both sides of the stream have a carpet of velvet clover in purple and blue hanging like a patchwork quilt across the rocks along the upper rim of the creek bank. A mixture of flowers and ferns also add to the peaceful splendor of this hideaway. The place was truly an Oasis, a paradise on earth. Everyone in Two Creeks knows of this heavenly garden.
No one really knows for sure just what causes the mist. The surrounding creek banks are certainly testimony to its mysterious power. Mister John had always thought the spot was a shallow break in the earth’s crust that allows steam to escape from the molten lava thousands of feet below. In any event, the site has attracted many people who hike to this special hideaway. Since the Oasis is on Chandler land, permission is always appreciated.
The afternoon is simply perfect. A gentle breeze rolls across the grassy plain. The cool air of the woods meets the warm breezes of the plain, creating a wonderful garden spot. The creek is running high from the rains last week. The bubbling current creates a splashing rumble across the rocks. The color of the mist this day had become blue, giving the impression a fire might be burning just below the rocks. Arriving to witness this splendor, Mister John sat on one of the larger rocks. He recalled he had noticed the blue mist only a couple of times before, the first time when he was about ten years old, and later when he was a young man of thirty. Today is special, since now another twenty years later, the color had returned.
Mister John was in deep thought, reflecting on his work at school, thinking about his Julie and her arrival tomorrow. His thoughts often return to his encounter with me at the sycamore tree. He had drifted into a calm repose, as he often would do even when Miss Julie was with him. He closed his eyes and simply listened to the water dancing over the rocks a short distance below his feet. The breeze through the trees seem to chant a melody so soothing. From the midst of these peaceful sounds, another gentle sound rose up from the Oasis calling out, “John.” At first, he thought he was simply dreaming; however, the voice had actually stirred him from his mediation. Discarding the sound as something he imagined, a few moments passed when he heard another sound, “John.” No mistake this time, someone had called out his name. This time he straightened up and looked around to see if someone had followed him to the Oasis. Standing up, no one was there. Mister John then walked around the bend in the stream and peered into the wooded area thinking perhaps someone had arrived before him. He walked back towards the summit of the low ridge that hid the Oasis from the rest of the plain. No one was in sight. He was puzzled more than ever and began to argue with himself. He must’ve been in a deep sleep.
Mister John returned to his perch. Just then, the sound became a distinct voice and spoke again. This time he could see that the sound originated from the blue mist and spoke his name again, “John.” With the sound of his name, an image also appeared from within the mist. The sound created a bodily presence when his name was spoken. And with the pause, the body disappeared. He was still not sure of what he saw and heard. Was he dreaming? Was he hallucinating? What could this be?
Mister John reached down to the cool water to wash his face. Taking a drink from his hands, he looked down to the clear water. The blue mist began to rumble and spew into the air. The voice appeared again with a bodily presence, “John. I know.” This time he could clearly understand the words. No delusion. No wind. No rippling sound of the water. A real voice emanated from a misty fog rising up from the other side of the creek. Mister John didn’t try to speak. He couldn’t speak.
Again, the voice called out, “John. You know.” The voice was serene yet familiar. Mister John stepped back and became terrified so much he began to shake. He could only watch since his body was frozen. He could do nothing else but take in the mysterious sight and sounds. His fear reached into every part of his body, turning his stomach inside out and making his legs weak, leaving him faint yet still standing. And yet in the midst of Mister John’s fear and trembling, he never thought of fleeing from the danger. He was drawn to the voice with the anticipation of hearing more. Mister John stood still and listened in silence. Several tense moments passed, though he didn’t sense any duration of time.
Again, the voice spoke, “John. We know.” With these words the blue mist stopped rising up into the air and began to hover over the stream, spreading outward, and filling the creek bottom. Blue flames pierced the air and ignited into blue sparks whenever the misty fog touched something. The rocks, the flowers, the grass, and even the trees glowed with the blue foggy mist. A gentle hum filled the creek bottom when the blue fog spread, filling up the air. When the blue fog reached Mister John, he was engulfed by the haze. Blue sparks stretched across from the mist and shocked him with a strong jolt that knocked him off his feet. He fell backwards into the grassy clover to his rear, just off the rocks. A bit paralyzed, he just lay there.
At the same moment, a few yards along the rocky creek bank, a terrible scream pierced the fog, and then silence. Mister John’s attention immediately shifted to the scream. Through the dense fog he could see a body lying lifeless on the rocks below the upper bank.