What Lies Beneath
ICHK, Nastassja Chan, Fiction: Group 4
M
y dear reader, I only have a limited amount of time to transcribe my thoughts onto
paper, so do excuse me if my penmanship is illegible.
What you’re about to read is strictly meant to be for your eyes, no one else. Do
not take this lightly. The purpose of this letter is to inform you, and a few others,
of a secret hidden from the world. You might say that you are, well, special. I would prefer if you
consider yourself privileged. In order to not break the cycle, you must destroy this once you’ve
read it. Burn it, tear it apart, flush it down the drain... do not let anyone else see this.
Now that that’s clear-- where should we begin?
My name is Aidan Edevane. I live to find adventure and discover history. This time, though, it
was different. Adventure seemed to have sought me, and history called my name instead. My job
as an archaeologist had bought me to the broad field of gold, known to you all as the Gobi Desert
in Southern Mongolia, known to me as... well, you’ll see.
I never thought it would be this hard to write down my experience. Honestly, I’ve walked for
hours under the burning sun for something as ridiculous as finding the right spot to sit down and
simply write. I sit in front of a wide lake called Ekhiingol -I advice you not to try to pronounce
that-, thinking that the calm, mirror like surface would help ease my shaking hands long enough
for me to record what I’ve seen. My plan isn’t working so well, if you couldn’t tell already. Plus,
the sound of my horse slurping hungrily at the fresh water is more distracting than I thought it
would’ve been. I think it might be getting a bit impatient.
Anyway.
It all started when I found that video camera, the surface of it burning hot from being buried
underneath boiling sand for far too long. It’s plastic corner stuck out in the straw colored surface
of the desert, catching my eye immediately. I felt my heart jump, somehow hoping it was a flask
that another traveller had left behind. We were running a bit low on water, after all. What I ended
up, though, was this old video camera that I still need to dispose of. I shrugged, dumped it into
my backpack and carried on hiking through the barren Khongory Els dunes.
I barely stopped until I reached the summit of one of the dunes. Finally able to sit down
and rest whilst enjoying the view, I decided to take a look at this strange camera that one of the
tourists must of dropped. I knew darn well that peeking at other people’s properties isn’t the most
moral thing to do, but I felt as if something as special about this camera. It called to me, as if
it was meant for me to find. I was surprised to see that it was fully charged when I clicked the
tiny On button. I was more surprised to find the absence of a menu screen, giving me options
of selecting various ways of capturing the video or letting me choose which footages to view.
It showed me nothing but static. Of course! What else did I expect? A full on documentary
explaining to me the history of the country? Yet, my brows furrowed in confusion. I couldn’t
shake off the feeling that something was supposed to happen. I hit the camera against my palm a
few times, hoping that would do the trick.
What? I’m a historian, not a technician.
Just as I was about to give up, the outline of a face began to appear amongst the pool of
monotoned grains. It was a young girl, in her twenties I would guess, maybe even younger. She
