Rick Mason
stepped outside his small ranch house in Omaha, Nebraska, feeling the
crisp autumn air bite at his skin. At 60, Rick had seen his share of
mysteries—both in his time as a Master Mason and from decades of
studying arcane lore and ancient symbolism. However, tonight, something
different tugged at him. It wasn’t the usual chill of the Midwestern
breeze; it was a feeling deep in his bones, something uncanny that had
been gnawing at him all week.
Rick wasn’t just any Mason. As the
current Master of his Lodge, he was well-respected in the community for
his wisdom, his calm demeanor, and his ability to see past the surface
of things. But even with years of experience, nothing had prepared him
for the strange occurrences that had begun to plague him. His dreams had
been vivid and bizarre—filled with images of an ancient obelisk hidden
deep beneath Nebraska’s seemingly ordinary landscape. The dreams were so
real, they were more than mere dreams—Rick knew they were something
else, something calling to him.
The dreams always began the same
way. Rick found himself in a cornfield, tall stalks rustling in the wind
as the moon cast eerie shadows across the rows. A pathway would open up
between the crops, leading him toward a colossal black obelisk,
inscribed with strange symbols. He could never get too close to it;
something would always wake him just before he could reach out and touch
the cold stone.
Rick shook his head as he unlocked his car,
trying to push the unease away. Tonight, he had Lodge business to attend
to. It was the annual meeting where he, as Master, would oversee the
admission of a new member—always a solemn and important affair. However,
something told him that tonight’s meeting would be far from routine.
He
arrived at the Lodge, a century-old building nestled between
modern storefronts. The Masonic Hall had stood the test of time, a relic
of an age where mystery and fraternity went hand in hand. Inside, the
walls were adorned with symbols—compasses, squares, and the all-seeing
eye—while the rich smell of old wood and incense filled the air. Rick
took a deep breath, feeling a sense of familiarity and calm wash over
him, but only for a moment. There was still that gnawing feeling of
something off-kilter.
As the brethren arrived, Rick greeted each
of them, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. Tonight, they would
initiate Mark Smith, a local businessman, into the fraternity. Mark had
come highly recommended, but Rick couldn’t shake the strange feeling
that had settled into his bones.
As the meeting commenced, Rick
took his place at the East, the seat of the Master, and began the
opening ritual. The room fell silent as the members of the Lodge
followed their practiced routines. But halfway through the ceremony, a
strange thing happened.
The power flickered. The lights dimmed,
casting long shadows across the room, and for a brief moment, Rick
thought he saw the outline of the obelisk from his dream, standing in
the corner of the Lodge. He blinked, shaking his head. It was gone in an
instant, but his heart raced.
"Are you alright, Worshipful Master?" asked one of the brothers, concern etched in his voice.
Rick forced a smile and nodded. "I'm fine. Let’s continue."
But
Rick knew he wasn’t fine. The visions were becoming stronger, more
real. He glanced at Mark Sanders, who was kneeling before the altar, and
felt an uneasy pull in his gut. There was something about the man that
seemed… off. Not in a malicious way, but as if Sanders wasn’t entirely
of this world. His demeanor was calm, almost too calm, and his eyes
seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the Lodge room.
After
the meeting, Rick lingered behind while the other brothers left, unable
to shake the feeling that something important was about to happen. He
wandered the Lodge’s antechambers, his mind still racing with thoughts
of the obelisk. What did it mean? And why was it haunting him?
As
Rick approached the door to the old storage room in the back of the
Lodge, a cold draft swept past him. The door creaked open on its own,
revealing a space that had remained untouched for decades. Rick stepped
inside, squinting in the darkness, when he noticed something unusual—a
faint glow coming from behind a stack of old boxes.
His heart
pounded as he moved the boxes aside to reveal what was causing the glow.
There, nestled against the wall, was a strange stone tablet. It was
covered in the same symbols he had seen on the obelisk in his dreams.
Rick knelt down, tracing the strange inscriptions with his fingers. The
tablet felt warm to the touch, as if it were alive.
Suddenly, the
ground beneath Rick shifted. The walls of the Lodge seemed to bend and
twist, and before he could react, Rick found himself no longer in the
storage room but standing in the middle of a vast cornfield under a
moonlit sky. The familiar rustling of the corn surrounded him, and in
the distance, the obelisk loomed.
This time, Rick was able to move
closer. He felt an invisible force guiding him toward the towering
stone structure. His heart raced as he approached it, the ancient
symbols glowing brighter with every step. He reached out, his fingers
brushing the cold stone, and instantly, a surge of energy pulsed through
him.
In a flash, visions exploded in his mind—images of
long-forgotten civilizations, of beings not of this Earth, and of
Nebraska as it had been centuries ago, a place of great power and
mystery. The obelisk, it seemed, was a remnant of an ancient race that
had once lived beneath the soil of the Great Plains. And Rick, for
reasons he couldn’t yet understand, had been chosen as its Guardian.
As
the visions subsided, Rick found himself standing in the cornfield once
again, the obelisk towering above him. But now, it was different. Now,
he understood. The obelisk wasn’t just a relic of the past; it was a
beacon, a gateway to another realm—one that was trying to open.
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the night, deep and resonant.
"Rick Mason," it said, "you have been chosen."
Rick
turned, searching for the source of the voice, but found nothing but
darkness. His heart pounded in his chest as the voice continued.
"You are the Guardian of the Obelisk. The key to the ancient door lies within you. Protect it, for dark forces are stirring."
Before
Rick could respond, the world around him shifted once again, and he
found himself back in the storage room of the Lodge, the stone tablet
still glowing faintly at his feet. His head spun as he tried to process
what had just happened. He had seen things—impossible things—yet he knew
deep in his heart that they were real.
The obelisk was not just a
symbol from his dreams; it was part of something far greater, something
that had been hidden beneath the soil of Nebraska for centuries. And
Rick, for reasons he couldn’t yet fathom, had been drawn into its orbit.
Breathing
heavily, Rick picked up the tablet and placed it carefully in a leather
satchel. He had no idea what lay ahead, but one thing was clear: his
life had just taken a turn into the unknown, and he was now part of a
mystery that spanned time and space.
As he exited the Lodge that
night, the moon hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the
quiet streets of Omaha. Rick glanced back at the Lodge, a strange
mixture of dread and excitement swirling within him. He had always been a
seeker of truth, and now it seemed that truth was seeking him.
The Guardian of the Obelisk had been awakened, and whatever came next, Rick knew he had a role to play.
With
the tablet in hand, he started his car and headed home, knowing that
the mysteries of the obelisk, and perhaps even the fate of the world,
rested on his shoulders.
And this was only the beginning.
The End.
