Doctor Bernard’s Discovery

“The year is 1919. The crew taking my research team to the town of Nuku'alofa spotted some islands up ahead. According to the captain, that should be our destination.”

I scribbled into my logbook as our vessel pulled into the docks. The sailors we hired to take us to the islands were scampering above-deck, possibly tying ropes and turning switches to halt the boat. I typically stayed in my quarters and let them handle their duties, as I hated the commotion they caused and I didn’t want to get in the way.

Me and my group were part of an expeditionary group sent from London under the order of Alfred Nero; my employer and dear friend. Apparently, visitors to the islands of Tonga were returning home with tales of the occult; men gathering in the jungles in the dead of night to perform strange rituals. When Nero caught wind of this, he knew just who to send. I’ve always been an expert on the occult. From Russia to Brazil, I’ve seen many forms of strange worship. By now, I believed I had seen it all. Nothing could surprise me, or so I believed.

I came to Nuku’alofa with a team of three fellow researchers. While I was not personally acquainted with them, we did talk along our journey. They were younger than I, and more naive, but I did not judge. Fresh eyes and minds are good. They are more perceptive and eager than an old fellow like me. Two were from Britain, such as I was, while the final was from America, though he never specified which state. There were also ten guards with us, all weathered soldiers from the Great War. They were even more intimidating than the sailors that brought us along, as their stony faces were from the horrors of war, and not just for show. They carried long wooden rifles with them, and small pistols, both courtesy of Albert Nero.

When we walked off the ramp onto the dock with supplies in-hand, my nose was met with the smell of salt and strange flora. The village we stopped at was not much, but it was civilized. The locals were supposedly Catholics, as I could see from the steeple of a shoddy church in the central square, and there was a convent nearby that we planned on visiting. Apparently one of the nuns there, a stern woman named Huelo, had witnessed one of the rituals we’ve heard about, and had agreed to tell us about her experience.

On our way to the convent, those that saw us walking with our guards and our bags sneered and watched from doorways. I could tell they were skeptical of us, though I could not blame them. Perhaps they were simply afraid, for we had arrived quite unannounced to the village. As we arrived at the convent, we saw young students reading bibles and memorizing chapters of it’s holy scriptures, as well as nuns with wrinkled faces tending to the gardens and buildings.

As we stepped into the long nunnery building, we spotted a very distinctly quiet woman sitting in on one of the benches there. I approached quietly and asked her if she was Huelo. Replying in English, she said yes and insisted that me and my comrades sit with her to speak. I did so and placed my leather bag at my side.

“A pleasure to be with you, Miss Huelo. I’m very glad you could speak with us,” I hailed calmly.

“The same to you and your friends, Sir Walter Bernard. I understand you’re from the British Navy?”

I lied, of course. So much of my job requires deceit that I sometimes find myself doing it unknowingly.

“Yes. We would like to know about your encounters with the rituals in the jungles.”

“Indeed,” the nun said, “I was working with a missionary in Ha’ano, an island north of here, when I was awoken one night by periodic yells and shouts from the jungle by my hut. Both my sisters and I walked through the overgrowth to discover a group of impious men standing in the nude. They had tied dead birds to robes and slung them over branches, creating an absolutely heretical display.”

“This sounds satanic. Tell me more.”

“It was difficult to see, but it seemed that they had rubbed the birds’ blood onto their bodies, creating stars with five points. I couldn’t make out if they were upside down, but I believe they were pentagrams.”

At this point, I came to the understanding that this was a simple case of satanism. Not nice, but not especially anomalous.

“However, before they could do anything else, one had spotted my sisters and I, so we fled and outran them. I was never so scared in my life.”

“How horrible.”

“I’m so happy that you have come to take care of them. They have become quite a menace.”

“We do hope we can be of service. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we will be making our way to Ha’ano. It’s been grand.”

“God be at your back, sir.”

Now that we knew where we were going, I had my team board the boat once more. I knew there were several villages on Ha’ano, though they were much less civilized than the people we met here. Hopefully they would not be threatened by us, as we needed answers and they were possibly our only hope for getting them.

The following day we stopped the boat along the coast of Ha’ano and stepped into two wooden rowboats we brought along with us. The island was dominated by plantlife, and a variety of different animals inhabited it, though none gave us any trouble along the way. The most discouraging thing here was the flora, with thick vines that created barriers to cut through and sharp thorns that stabbed at my flesh. Eventually, we met some members of a tribe who were hunting. They were surprisingly helpful, though serious and ignorant of the English language. Thankfully, me and my fellow researchers had all studied Tongan before we came, and we convinced them to let us into their settlement.

The village was tiny, and made up of many huts constructed from palm tree wood and woven grass. It was simple and did not provide much privacy, but it was still quite interesting, and very different from the brick buildings in London. We asked the townsfolk about the rituals and supposed cult, and by the time my team had rounded up all information on the subject, we learned that the entire population of the village worshiped the sea; or something related to it. We needed to know more.

I tried to speak with the village elder, though the villagers would not have me anywhere near him, though for what reason, I couldn’t say. We set up camp and prepared some food we brought along, as I continued to write my report. Even if we didn’t find any anomalous forces on this journey, it would still be an intriguing story to tell. Something deep inside me did wish we would uncover some strange mystery, however.

Sometime around midnight while most of the team were trying to rest, one of the guards caught wind of some villagers walking in a straight line out into the jungle. I was awoken by one of my fellow researchers shoving me out of my bed, saying that we may have found our lead. In a rush of adrenaline and excitement, I grabbed my logbook and put on my jacket and set out with my allies to follow these villagers.

We walked in the villagers’ path for around 15 minutes before we reached the shore. Furtively, we hid behind a series of rocks at the treeline as a large group of eighteen or so villagers, all men, began to disrobe and light bonfires that appeared to have been set up along the beach some time ago. After each flame was lit and every person involved were completely undressed, they distributed a bowl of dark red dye and began drawing five-pointed stars on three places on their bodies; the center of their chests, and on either of their palms.

We watched in awe as the villagers performed five distinct hand gestures whilst facing the east seas, then interrupting the gestures with a loud and bellowing yell. I quietly asked my American companion what they were saying, to which he thought for a moment, before replying with something that made my bones shudder:

“He-who-lies-in-wait.”

Just hearing that phrase was enough to make me reconsider following these men, but something about it made me absolutely sure that this was not just some petty religion among locals. In case I ever needed to remember them, I wrote down the steps to this ritual, including each of the hand gestures.

The first was a curled fist, with the index finger extended, pointed toward the sky. The second, a flat palm with the thumb curled over, with the individual’s knuckles facing the ground. The third involved clenching one’s fist, except for the thumb and little finger. The index finger was to be half-extended, and the little finger was to point directly forward. The fourth was a closed hand with the middle finger and thumb meeting at the tips to create a ring, facing the  individual performing it. The last were simply clenched fists aimed towards the heavens.

As I finished writing, I could tell the guards were nervous. I told them we would silently watch a while longer, but I assume they had different plans. I noticed one raising his rifle to his shoulder, and I snapped at him, though without saying a word, as to not alert the villagers. But instead of halting his movements, it only surprised the guard, and his finger slipped upon the trigger, shooting and killing one of the villagers.

In an instant, both parties were caught in a violent scuffle, with the guards firing hot metal into the naked bodies of the villagers, only to be met with the slashing and stabbing of small metal blades. I covered my ears and collapsed back into a bush, and by the time I got up, all the villagers laid dead or dying in the cool sand, their blood seeping into the ground beneath them. In awe and horror, I picked up my logbook and had the guards take us back to the camp. I hoped we would not speak of this event again.

After a sleepless night filled with anxiety, me and some guards went into the village to try and explain what the commotion was last night. We were allowed entry into the elder’s hut, and we were preparing for a very angry response. However, when we stood before the frail old man, he seemed more disappointed than cross. I attempted to explain myself, but he seemed to know already that it was not our intent to kill those men. He spoke in English, catching both me and guards by surprise.

“Your people do not understand what you have done. You risk not only yourselves, but all of us with those actions.” He muttered through his white beard.

“I beg your pardon?” I responded, attempting to understand what he meant.

“The one who sleeps. You have disturbed him, and if he is to ever awaken it will be the folly of mankind.”

“We had no idea. We didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Do not act like this is some cultural exchange. My people have read the stars, for centuries we have kept watch to assure we do not make the mistakes you have. We act with caution, not fear!”

At this point I was dumbstruck. Was this supposed to be some personal offense? Or perhaps it was a warning. I intended to find out, but before we could, the village elder demanded that we leave the island, before we cause any more chaos. With my good health in mind, I obliged and instructed my men to begin packing their belongings.

We were back on the boat by noon with all our things. The sailors and guards were tired and discouraged, and wished to return home, but I was too far in to halt my research. This was no ordinary cult or tribal spiritualism. There was something far beyond our comprehension here, and I intended to discover what.

We headed to the final destination along our journey, Vava’u. It took some time, but we arrived there and decided to sleep on the boat just as the sun was setting. I, however, found this difficult as my mind was racing from all the information we had gathered. What kind of cult was this? My imagination first went to some elementalist religion, though I had little evidence to back this. Who is “He-Who-Lies-In-Wait”? Was it some Tongan deity that had lost it’s following in recent years? Or was it a mortal man or woman, seeking godhood?

The following morning we set out to find another village, locating a quite large one just by the southern coast. The people here were helpful, though they seemed quite depressed and dreary. Their medicine women tended to the wounds my team had sustained during our fight with the villagers on Ha’ano, and I went by my lonesome to speak to the village elder, eventually finding him in his hut.

The village elder was a fat man with long braided white hair. He seemed to be very spiritual, though I could not tell whether he followed the same beliefs as the people of Ha’ano. We spoke, and he seemed delighted to talk about his peoples’ religious affairs. I told him about my team’s involvement in the interruption of a ritual in the south, and how we were removed from the village afterwards.

“You interrupted the sea-calling?” He boomed in disbelief.

“Yes. Not intentionally, you see. My guards were nervous, I told them we were to simply watch.”

“This is very bad. Very bad, my friend.”

“Hopefully you can set aside your anger just for now. I seek to help right my wrongs. Is there anything you can tell me about your religion? Who do you worship, and so forth?”

“Bah. An outsider like you would never commune with the sleeping one. But alas, I fear I have no choice. Are you aware of Maui?”

“Yes, your cultural hero. He pulled your islands up from the water with his legendary fish hook.”

“Very good, my friend. According to my people, long before Maui ever cast his hook into the water, there was a being from beyond the stars that fell from it’s heavenly vale into the ocean. This ‘star-child’ fell so fast that he buried himself in a crevice underwater. Now, for a long time he has slept and grown up, but now he knows of us. My people fear him, so they sing him a lullaby; the ritual you interrupted.”

“A child? What does it want with your people?” I asked, intrigued.

“Why, he wants my peoples’ bodies and souls. He wishes to consume and destroy them. Every story has an end, my friend. Even ours.”

“Who told you about this star-child?”

“Why, the star-child did. It may slumber beneath the waves, but it is well aware of us. It speaks to my people in dreams, you see.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“I see it as an omen.”

“It seems so,” I said, visibly weak from fear, “I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Good luck to you, my friend.”

I returned to my crew some hours later after asking around about the rituals I intended on completing. Back with my team, I wrote up my notes with haste, and informed them of what I planned. None of them seemed to share my tenacity, but they agreed to help if they could just go home afterwards. I gathered materials, including wood to burn, red dye to mark myself with, and even a pistol, stolen from one of the guards just in case I ever needed it.

My mind was restless that night, but I had stayed awake for so long that I eventually passed out. Immediately, I awoke in a dark, cold environment with no sunlight or, seemingly, gravity. I floated helplessly, and felt myself drowning under the weight of whatever kept me still. In an attempt to free myself from this dense void around me, I exhaled, causing a stream of bubbles to rise up above me. It was then that I realized I was deep underwater.

It was then that I felt a presence. I couldn’t see or hear a thing, but there was this feeling that I something was close by, not unlike the feeling that something is right behind you but you’re too afraid to turn around. I was paralyzed with dread, when I heard a voice that I could not describe using only my mortal mouth bellow from around me.

“Your dedication is commendable, but you are weak, as all those before you were.

You will be food, nothing more.”

At the utterance of that final, harsh sound, I awoke from my nightmare hell in the sweat-drenched hammock I fell asleep in. I awoke the rest of my team and had them follow me into the jungle with the materials I had gathered, which they did reluctantly. Of course they came with me. Couldn’t they see how important this task was?

We found our way to an isolated beach that overlooked the southeast seas. I knew not why I came to this specific spot, but I cared not. All that mattered was that I found this place. Now we could begin the ritual. I barked at my men, ordering them to set up three bonfires along the waterline. When this first step was completed, I instructed them to remove all clothing and draw the five-pointed stars we saw on the villagers onto their bodies.

“Walter, you can’t be serious,” one of the guards growled.

“You think I’m some kind of pervert!?” I cried, “Disrobe or we’ll all die here!”

“Walter I’m not going to be a part of this.” The American researcher stated.

I drew the pistol I had stolen from the guards and pointed it at him, with every intention to shoot.

“You bloody bastards! I’ll kill each and every one of you if you don’t take your goddamn clothes off right this instant!”

At this, everyone paused. Standing still in their shoes.

“Okay, Walter. Calm yourself.”

They disrobed and drew the stars upon their palms and chests, and we all stood in a line on the shore. Our feet soaking in the water, I told them what to do. After several attempts, everyone had memorized the ritual, both the hand gestures and the shout. I had them perform it so many times that I lost track. I’m not proud of what I did, but we’re still alive aren’t we?

We did this for five sodding hours. The villagers must have heard us at some point, because they all came to watch. Just watch. Don’t they know what we were there to protect them? And they just stood there and oversaw us like judges. But we kept performing the ritual. I swear, throughout the whole ordeal I could hear that bellowing voice laughing at me. Somewhere down in that deep blue abyss was that hellish voice, and whatever it belonged to. But we were at it’s mercy now. We were no longer in control.

Days later a boat came to pick us up and haul us back to England. My crew was escorted from their huts, all talking about how insane I was, and that this whole journey was for nothing. Nothing. That’s what they said. They didn’t take me without a fight. I killed two of them when they walked through my door with the ammunition in my pistol, but they subdued me and brought me back. On the ride back I looked down into the water off the side of the deck and I cried out, not for help, nor in cowardice. I cried out in the realization that the quality of my life were no longer judged by my own choices and upbringing, but by some damned child from the stars, sleeping in that hell under the water.

When the men arrived with Bernard, they handed me a paper, claiming it to be my old friend’s report. What I read was intriguing, and gave me hope that my organization truly was needed in this world. That we could become something greater than a collection of scientists and a pile of money.

“Alfred, I’m sorry to say this, but Mister Bernard has suffered from some kind of insanity. He screamed the entire boat ride back, and he refuses to leave his quarters,” stated the servant that brought me the report.”

“I highly doubt it. I know Bernard well, and he’s not one to snap so easily. But this discovery of his states he found something beneath the Pacific Ocean. And after reading it, I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“Please file this as ‘ABN-025’.”

“Of course.”

## Related Pages

* ABN-025
* Walter Bernard
* Alfred Nero