|-TALLIE-|
[Recording begins.]
You ever hear of Mother Earth, honey?
Most of the time, it don't mean nothin' important. Maybe somebody's mad about all that poison in the air and water–and shoot, who could blame 'em? Occasionally, it's an excuse to draw a lady with big tits and hair made of plants. That sorta thing ain't my concern, so I usually let 'em be.
That's good enough for the folks too tiny to see how things are, but not me, not the monsters of Idle. And honey, as young as you are, you're old enough to see. Them Nahuas got closer to the truth when they named 'er Cipactli, the primordial caiman with a mouth on every joint. She births us all and brings us forth, but she ain't sleepin'. Her jaws open wide, and she'll swallow you whole if she gets a chance.
All this to say, honey, that you oughta stay outta the caves. Nothin' that goes into the Earth's primal womb comes out the same.
Fortunately for you, I never take my own advice, 'specially when I got somethin' to lose. Like a fool, I walked deeper into the dirt, and now...well, just look at me. Ain't I in a state?
You won't find nothin' left in them caves, honey, but use your imagination a bit. You go deep into the ground, and it's all electric lights and metal struts to reinforce the cave (never needed, I can tell you that much. The caves don't need no help to keep bein' caves.) The metal gleams, and the lights flicker. Sometimes there's a switch that don't work proper or a toolbox with gizmos that don't do no good. There's somethin' so human about it all, and that's the gospel truth. Maybe that's the key. The metal don't do no good, but it lets them feel in control. The depths of the earth get to be a human place, and they can pretend it ain't a yawnin' grave. It's a good lie, and I do so love a quality lie over the truth.
Then you reach the end of the wire. The lights stop dead. The metal goes this-far-and-no-further, and a solitary wooden barricade says No Entry to mark the place where the tunnel becomes a cave. That's the key to the lie, y'see–you gotta pretend the problem is folks goin' in, not the monsters comin' out. You look into the crushin' blackness beyond, and you take a step beyond the barrier, and you're not in a human place anymore. You're in the womb or maybe the mouth. It all depends on whether you come back out.
Now honey, you already know I ain't people, let alone human. But this ain't my place either. I like the air, the fire, and the places where words fly like wind and stories grow and change. The deep places are where stories end, not begin. They're where that old monster lurks and grows and changes, devourin' and corruptin' until all's forgotten, even names. Even when I stayed in Idle, it was always her (sometimes his) territory, and I was happy to leave 'em to it.
Light ain't strictly necessary for me to see, and it might even be considered provokin'. So naturally, I whistled some up. It didn't take much doin', just a line or two about the will-o-wisps that lure folks into bogs. Then I wasn't alone: spooklight gleamed blue and green just around corners, ghostly and elusive. I walked a spell as they flitted, tasty glowin' bait for the thing I was lookin' for down in the dark. All the while, I listened. Your monster could be awful sneaky when it wants, but everythin' echoed here in the caves. I knew if it were down here and ate my lights, there would be a sign: the sound of rushin' water, a roar that ain't like anythin' you've ever heard.
That's the sign I awaited. And that's exactly what I didn't find.
The will-o-wisps grew bored after a while on account o' there bein' no bogs to lure me into. They went off on their own, and I ain't seen 'em since. On I walked in the belly of the earth, wonderin' where my enemy was, where my daughter was. Sure as sunshine, I was trespassin' where I didn't belong, yet I went unchallenged. It felt wrong, honey, like the lurch in your stomach when you press too hard and overbalance. The weight that stood in my way for so long had vanished and somehow had taken you with it.
