Todd, Benjamin

The Lymbo Project

Day 1—23:07

I will never forget the bridge—that high, narrow structure spanning the treacherous gap between the Zenith and the Lymbo. Arching like a gleaming metal spine over the Brink, it dripped with the bloody light of the setting sun, as if it had been peeled out of a fresh carcass and stretched over the abyss to dry.

Stepping into the veil of shadows on the other side was like plunging through a vortex of liquid obsidian. The blackness swarmed around us, churning and seething restlessly with life. The boys at the Lab had told us before we embarked that keeping our lanterns lit at all times was a necessary precaution; they didn’t elaborate, but rumors of “death by darkness” have stirred throughout our group since we’ve crossed the Brink.

“Creepy, eh?” said a man walking beside me. He gave a nervous laugh, and his eyes spun back and forth apprehensively. The huge backpack he wore rattled as its contents shuffled around inside it.

Ahead of me, the expedition group plodded through the murky darkness, their lanterns lining the trail like yellow beads strung onto a necklace. The ground under our feet was soft and marshy; I feared that my clunky boots might pull me down and I would be swallowed up by some fearsome beast lurking beneath the surface.

“A penny for your thoughts?” the man beside me offered. He had a haggard look about him, with a weathered face and calloused hands, and his gaunt body was sort of hunched over while he walked, like an old tree bowing to the wind.

“I—I’ve noticed how much older than me everyone is here,” I stuttered.

“No one really expects a young boy like you to volunteer for these adventures,” the man said. “How old are you? Seventeen, eighteen?”

“Sixteen, actually,” I said sheepishly.

“Did you sign up on your own?”

“Yeah. My family could really use the money—I mean, if I find anything worth the Lab’s while down here.”

He looked impressed. “The name’s Samuel Ratchet, by the way.”

“Benjamin Todd.”

“Well, Mr. Todd,” Ratchet said, “I think we’re in for a heck of a week.”

We’ve set up camp in a small cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites clamp down around us like ancient teeth. I have a feeling we might have unknowingly pitched our tents in the maw of a gigantic stone monster.

Ratchet set up his tent beside mine. While finishing up, he stole a glance in my direction. “Ah, the field journals.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing yours?” I asked, tapping my open journal with the end of my pencil.

“Already have.” He crawled into his tent for a moment and came out with his own small, leather-bound book. Flicking it open to the first page, he handed it to me.

Dear Diary,

Today we went into the Lymbo. It was really dark.

The end.

I squinted at the entry and read it over again. I turned the page, then flipped through the entire book, but it was all blank. He hadn’t written any more. “We’re supposed to be taking this seriously,” I said slowly.

Ratchet shrugged. “He told us to write down our observations. I said it was dark, didn’t I?” He burst into a fit of hacking laughter.

“But—”

“Kid, take a look around you.” Ratchet gestured to the other tents hidden behind the lines of stalagmites. “There are, what, sixty people here? Maybe more? They’re all gonna write down the same thing. Why waste your time with this journal stuff?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but suddenly Ratchet said, “ ‘Night, Todd,” and he turned away and ducked inside his tent.

Todd, Benjamin

The Lymbo Project

Day 2—19:33

We saw light today. There were little shafts of it, gritty and dull, filtering through the canopy of trees all around. Basking in these spotlights were frameworks of buildings like warped, bent-over skeletons clenched tight by overgrown plants. I thought I saw something dart across one of the structures’ metal beams, but when I pointed it out to Ratchet, it had gone.

Some of the men say they saw shapes whisk past them on their sides, or they felt something brush against their arms and legs. The creatures we’ve glimpsed are nothing more than silhouettes etched by golden threads of lantern light—if “creatures” are what they truly are, and not just our eyes drawing non-existent pictures in the blackness.

And we heard things: low, agonized moans and raspy whispers followed us when we walked. I wasn’t able to distinguish any words; they might have been talking to each other, or maybe trying to communicate with us. Ratchet told me that the Lymbo’s inhabitants—he says they’re called Nightshades—are just as curious about us as we are of them. I wonder if maybe they volunteer at their own Lab to go on expeditions around the Lymbo. Maybe they’re researching the Zenith and its people, researching us. Now I begin to wonder if the Nightshades are more humanlike than we are led to believe.

But when I tell this to Ratchet, he just laughs, so long and so hard that I think he might pass out, and I feel my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment.

Todd, Benjamin

The Lymbo Project

Day 3—22:58

I saw a Nightshade, and it looked just like a human.

Ratchet doesn’t believe me. No one believes me, for that matter. It’s not that they think I’m crazy; they think I’m joking.

But I know what I saw: a young girl, small and thin, perfectly outlined in shadow by a column of dusky gray light. It—or she—stood there for a brief moment, like a sculpture of black ice. She surveyed our group as we slogged through the mire. Suddenly, her image seemed to flicker and blink, then the shaft of light was empty. I was the only person to witness this.

“Maybe you’re inhaling too much darkness, Todd,” Ratchet told me during dinner. He slurped his stew thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on our campfire. “I mean, Nightshades are real and all, but they don’t look like us. Not one bit.”

“Then how do you explain what I saw?” I retorted. “I know it was there.”

“She could have been a human like us...”

“Then what was she doing in the Lymbo? She didn’t have a lantern, a candle, or even a matchstick!” I jabbed the air with my spoon. “Ratchet, I’m serious. You don’t have to believe me, but... but just know that I’m not a liar.”

“Not a liar, eh?” he said, chuckling. “Fine, then. I’ll remember that.”

I glanced toward Ratchet’s tent. The opening flaps were tied back and I could see inside, where he’d lined up his own glass jars in neat rows. Some of them simmered with tarry substances, others smoked, and a few even quivered and shook as their black contents wheeled around frantically inside.

“You’ve got a good lot there,” I said, nodding at the collection. “How much do you think that’ll get you back home?”

“Ah, I dunno,” Ratchet replied wearily, following my gaze. “Some of that stuff’s just the same old water samples and flies the Lab’s always getting from these expeditions. What I really want is something big—something nobody else has been able to get before. There are deadly things lurking in the Lymbo, things that would really get me some good money if we could just catch ‘em.” Making a fist, he wrenched something invisible out of the air. “Have you gotten yourself anything yet?”

“Um... I’ve been spending an awful lot of time with the field journal...”

“What did I tell you? You gotta leave that to the dumber blokes around here. They’ll take care of that. But us—no, you and me, we’ll get the real goods. Just you wait.” He lifted his bowl to his lips, tipped it up, and gulped down the rest of his stew.

Todd, Benjamin

The Lymbo Project

Day 4—05:23

Dark hair; silver eyes; approx. 5 ft. tall; thin, wiry body

Name is Moth

Day 4 Cont.—22:30

I hardly know where to start.

We were trekking through a moor-like landscape, with tumultuous black hills and muddy pits and crouching boulders. Up ahead, I could see a mound of rocks rising up in the shadows, like a knobby, gray fist. The line of lanterns was skirting around it. Suddenly, we heard quiet sounds, the click of clawed feet on stone, the swoosh of wings, and—

A storm of black fur and glinting fangs burst from the rock pile. People screamed and scrambled for cover. It dove toward our group—claws flexing, the pound of its wings stirring a whirlwind in the air—then it shot up and circled high in the darkness, its shadow knifing through the pillar of light as it spiraled around. It was a gigantic bat.

Someone slammed into me and I tumbled across the ground. I lay stunned in the grit as the brown blurs of countless boots thundered around me, bashing me, laces whipping my face as thick soles and toes pummeled me. Lantern lights streaked overhead—where was my own lantern? I blindly reached out to grope for it and found my hand in the grip of someone else’s. I was pulled aside, off the trail and into knee-deep sludge.

We sloshed through the darkness, heading into a wall of nothingness; all light and sound was to our backs, and what lay ahead was a blank void.

I couldn’t breathe. The air was sooty and stifling. I felt like I was being swept away by a surge of raw, sable sea that soaked me to the bone and drowned every bit of warmth within me. My limbs were freezing up; I could feel my blood solidifying in my veins.

Then everything lit up and we were in a vast shaft of light. The air cleared, and my body thawed instantly. I sank to my knees and took massive gulps of air. Slowly, I turned to face my rescuer.

She didn’t have a lantern. She didn’t have a candle, or even a matchstick.

I probably should have been frozen with shock. But instead, I whipped out my journal and pencil, checked my watch, and, with a fumbling hand, began scribbling things down before she could run.

But she didn’t run. She continued to stand with me in the steaming mire, calmly studying me with the most luminous eyes in existence. They were like pools of melted galaxies, huge and glittering; I thought I could fall into those irises and drown in their silvery depths. As I met her gaze, a strange warmth unfurled in my chest.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

I felt goosebumps prickle my arms. The voice of the primitive species was soft and clear. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“Your lights disturbed the Nightshade,” she said.

My heart hammered against my ribcage. “I’m—I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I’m not the one who almost got killed by it.”

“I-I’m Benjamin. Benjamin Todd.”

She hesitated. “I’m... Moth.” She cocked her head to the side and peered at me curiously as I scrawled down this information.

“Are you a Nightsha—”

“You’re different than the others,” she murmured.

I blinked at her. “What?”

“You’re younger, and you’re smaller,” Moth said, half to herself. She crouched just outside the ring of light. “They come down here all the time, but I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“A-a-and that bothers you?”

“That intrigues me.” She crept a little closer. “The others are frightening,” she said, a hint of resentment in her voice. “They’re fast and strong, and they use weapons. I don’t trust them.” She gazed at me thoughtfully with those fathomless eyes. “But maybe I’m wrong... I’ve been wrong before. I thought they were all bad, but seeing you, Benjamin Todd, has made me believe otherwise.”

I stared past her, out into the oblivion. “They might be looking for me.”

Moth frowned. “D-do you have to go now?”

My gaze flicked back to her. She sounded so timid. “I can’t stay here for long. If night comes, I’ll suffocate in the darkness.”

Moth narrowed her eyes and looked up into the shaft of light. “That could be any moment now,” she muttered. “Will I see you again after you go?”

“We—we could meet again, I guess. You could follow us. When we stop for the night, I’ll get away from the campsite and we can meet up nearby.”

Moth grinned, and her eyes shone with relief. “That will work,” she said. “Goodbye for now, Benjamin.” She jumped up and began splashing away through the darkness.

When I stumbled back to the spot where the Nightshade bat had attacked, the group was recovering.

“Todd!” Ratchet roared, running toward me. “Where the heck have you been?”

“I—There’s something I gotta—You won’t believe what I just—”

“We almost had it,” he said grimly, shaking his fist. “One more harpoon in its hide and that darn bat would’ve been ours!” He thrust his stubby finger at me. “We’ll get ‘em, Todd. I told you, we aren’t leaving this pit empty handed.”

I instantly locked my jaws shut and gave him a weary smile. “Yeah,” I said, “we’ll get ‘em.”

Ratchet grinned, a wicked, tarnished-toothed split on his face that made my stomach roll.

Todd, Benjamin

The Lymbo Project

Day 5—23:22

I’m worried about Ratchet. Seeing that Nightshade really wound him up; today he was fussing with a bear trap. He cranked the mechanisms and launched rocks at it during lunch, watching the metal jaws bite the air. He kept muttering and cursing the whole time.

I didn’t bother to ask him if he’d done his field journal.

Todd, Benjamin

The Lymbo Project

Day 6—01:00

Moth moved through the darkness with the grace of a dancer. Her steps were light and quick, and she balanced on her toes on calloused rocks and rotting logs that sank down into the black mud.

“Why hasn’t anyone ever found you just... surviving in the darkness?” I asked, clambering after her.

Moth spun around. She had a profound look on her face as she said, “If the darkness is great at one thing, it’s keeping things hidden, especially secrets.”

I felt a chill run down my spine like an icy needle. “Do you... want to be a secret?”

I thought she would nod right away, but she pondered this for a while. “I—I don’t trust... I’ve seen people from the Zenith, and I just don’t... don’t want what they have.”

I thought about her crouching in the darkness, eyeing the glint of the guns and traps, and I understood.

Day 6—18:45

Ratchet is still trying to work his traps. “I’ll do anything to catch a Nightshade,” he told me. “I can just imagine the reward the Lab will give me when we get back.”

“So you think you’ll get one, then?” I asked.

“I know I will,” Ratchet said, springing another trap. With a sharp clang, it snapped shut around the stick he’d prodded it with and showered the ground with splinters.

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, imagining the stick as Moth’s leg, the metal teeth shredding through her muscles and bone. “Ratchet,” I said hesitantly, “do you remember when I said the Nightshades could be more like us than we thought?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, passing me a sideways glance as he pried back the trap.

“Well... What if I’m right?”

“I thought we’ve already been through this.”

“Seriously,” I persisted. “Think about it. Would you really want to catch a Nightshade then? You wouldn’t want to step into one of those yourself, would you?”

“Certainly not.” Another trap chomped the air. Ratchet turned slowly to face me, a flinty expression on his face. “Say, Todd,” he growled, “you haven’t come across anything interesting, have you?”

“Ah, you know, busy with the journal...”

“Enough with the stupid journal,” he snarled, and I flinched. Suddenly his face softened; his whole body seemed to release its tension.“You know, I really hate liars, Todd. And you said yourself you weren’t a liar.”

“Because I’m not.”

“You know what’s funny?”

I didn’t answer.

“A moth is attracted to her own death,” he went on. “She’ll see a light, a flame, and think it’s so freaking beautiful. But what Miss Moth doesn’t know is that one little touch will fry her tiny body to a crisp.”

I went rigid, my insides turning to ice.

Ratchet leaned down. His breath was hot on my ear as he hissed, “You understand now, Todd? We’re not like the Nightshades. We’re not like Moth.”

I turned to face him. His dark eyes were brimming with even darker poison. He turned and silently stalked away.

Moth is smart. She’s fast, too. And I’ll do anything to help her. She’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. I’ll make sure of it. No matter what, Moth will be safe.



Ratchet slapped the journal shut and brushed his fingers across the cover. “Humph. No matter what, eh?”

Then, with a mighty sweep of his arm, he flung the book out over the Brink. Its covers opened up and the pages flapped and fluttered as it went spinning down into the fog.

“You think it’s dark down there too, Moth?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Darker than in the Lymbo, maybe?”

Pulling the tent canvas tighter around herself to block out the light, Moth inched closer to the bridge’s railing and watched the book shrink to a black pinprick. She gazed down at it longingly.

“I sure hope it’s dark,” Ratchet went on. “You said it yourself: If the darkness is great at one thing, it’s keeping things hidden, especially secrets.”