Short Story

Simon and the Crown
By: Micah Cook

The ice and wind swirled around Simon Fedorov. He felt the cold bite at the skin exposed to the elements. He dug frantically in the ice and snow searching, for what he believed was his purpose in life. He found nothing. He lay in the snow, for what felt like an eternity. The blue of hypothermia crept about him. He felt dead inside. One of his men went to him, picked him up, and carried his seeming lifeless body back to the camp. Life slowly flowed into the man’s body. Warmth returned to his fingers and his toes. Red filled his cheeks, and his breathing grew steady.

Simon Fedorov was born to a poor Russian family in St. Petersburg in 1972. He was the youngest and brightest out of seven children. When he was a teenager, he was taken as a servant to a wealthy family, as collateral for his family’s loans. The family soon realized how bright he was, and he was sent to the university of St. Petersburg. He earned a degree in archeology and history, and soon became obsessed with finding ancient ruins in Siberia. The family was his benefactor, ad after they died; he was the sole heir to their fortune. He quickly used up most of it in his search for the mythic Russian ruins. Everyone called him crazy. He slowly crept into his mind. His cheek had become pale with study and his frame emaciated with confinement. If he could not do this, he felt as though he would let his family, adopted and real, down.

He gasped as he returned to consciousness. He looked around, having no memory of this place. Then he remembered. He put his face in the table and screamed. One of his assistants rushed to him.
“Boss, what’s wrong?” Siegfried asked, mock concern in his voice.
“I failed all of you,” Simon replied, his face still on the table. “Three years of work had brought us here, and nothing. Nothing. I lost my reputation, the last of my family, and my fortune. All in pursuit of a god-damn fairytale.” He got up off the table, wiped his face with his hands, and put on his coat. “Thank you, Siegfried,” He opened the tent, and went to his office.
When he was younger, Simon and his brothers were thieves. It was terrible, but the family needed it. He was caught only once, about two months before he left. He was stealing vodka for his father, who was a drunk. He was a block away from his house, when he was found. The police in his town were merciless, and they gave him a good beating. He lost sight in his left eye for two years, became partially deaf, and couldn’t walk right since. That was the last time he did things like that. When the new family took him in, he did his best to hide it from them, but they found out. He lied, told them that his father caused the damage when he was drunk, and that that was one of the reasons he volunteered to leave. The real reason fro departure was to escape his miserable life in the slums, and to unlock his true potential, which he knew would never happen while he stayed. This lie made the family feel sorry for him, and treat him more like a son. They could never have children, which is why they were keen on adopting. Simon always knew that he all the success that he had ever had I his life, to the family.

Simon busied himself with pouring over his research, thinking that there must be something that he had missed. There was not. He got it right. All the legends, stories, and written accounts told him it must be somewhere around his current camp. He lay his head down, and let out a sigh of defeat. The previous dark thought entered his head again. He had had a terrible depression for years, but recently it had gotten worse, as the sense of desperation had grown on him. His work was the only thing that got it off of his mind before, but now it was the cause. But he couldn’t stop. He fell asleep looking over his work, drowning in a feeling of regret.

Probably the worst part of his childhood with the family was the isolation from other kids. He became socially inept, and when he went off to college, he had a very hard time finding friend. That was when he met Sylvia. Simon loved her with all of his heart. It was when he was with her, most of his personal demons were kept at bay. I 1993, they got married, they lived in his Family’s house, and had two children: Gretchen and Vladimir. Gretchen died at the age of five, and Vlad joined the army at the age of 18 and disowned his family. In 2000, Sylvia died in a car crash on her way to Moscow, to give a presentation on Simon’s work. It was her death that sent him on the sad spiral he was down. The widower always wore a smile, to hide the slow dying of his soul.

A shout came from his tent’s entrance. It unlocked Simon from hi stupor. He walked over to the door, qand unzipped it. Outside was Nikolai, a fellow archeolof]gist and coworker of Simon’s project.
“One of the boys found something, Simon!” He yelled, jumping up and down with joy. After all these years, they had finally discovered what they were looking for. Simon quickly grabbed his coat. Hope filled his chest more than it had in decades. He followed Nikolai out to the site, where what looked like the tip of a steeple sticking up through the ice.
“How did I miss that?” Simon asked himself out-loud, but his disappointment in himself was overwhelmed by his excitement. 20 year of being called a daft fool, and now who is it. His persistence paid off, finally.

The one person who had shared Simon’s passion for discovery was Sylvia. She was a professor, at the Moscow university. She had been one of his driving forces in finding the old city. After she had died, his passion had become an obsession. In a way, it was a way of keeping her alive. If he could fulfill her last wish, he could finally be at peace.

An excavation began. Simon got new funding for his project. He was happier than he had been in a long time. When they had cleared out enough to begin exploration, he was the first one in. It was a simple structure, with small rooms and long hallways. Symbols on the walls dated back to times when the Mongols had taken over. It was a sight to behold.

A week later, still at the site, Simon couldn’t sleep. He felt a strange pull toward the ruins, and decided to follow his feelings. He bundled up, and headed out. The arctic wind rushed through his bones. He walked to the ruins, trying in vain not to trip over the huge mounds of ice that now littered the area. When he made it to the largest room, the seeming pull got stronger. He found a pile of cloth. Lifting it, he discovered a chest. The air around the chest seemed even colder. Inside, there was a crown. It was golden, with three gems imbedded in the front. Simon felt as though it reached out to him. As he held it in his hands, a warm feeling crept up his spine. He needed to put it on. It needed him to put it on. Mindlessly, he lowered it on his head.

The next thing he remembered was being covered in blood. He awoke with a shock. A terrible pain shot through his head. He looked at the rest of him. The crown lay at his feet. His hands were stained red. Simon felt queasy. He slowly got up, and looked around him. He had moved (or was moved) since he put on the crown, and was now in the middle of the campsite. Dragged blood marks filled the patches of snow between tents.
“Hello?!” Simon shouted, his words echoing out in the cold air. He picked up the crown subconsciously, and hooked it on his belt. He began to look around. Was there a bear attack. Some vandals. Both were known to scour these areas. He found the bodies of some of his workers. They seemed to be cut open, as though with a blade, from the pelvis, and up to the sternum. He gagged terribly. Who or what could do something like this.

Simon heard a rustling in one of the shelters. He ran away to his tent went inside, and grabbed the gun case under his bed. He took out the revolver inside, check the rounds, and went back outside. He walked to where he had heard the shaking. He turned on his flashlight, and shined it on the tent. He raised the gun.
“Hello? Anyone friendly in there?” Simon asked the dwelling, hoping to get some sort of reply. Sadly no. Simon drew a deep breath, and walked towards it. He opend the door, an instinctively jumped back. He shone his light inside. In a corner, was the wounded Nikolai. He was barely breathing. Simon stepped closer. Niklai opened his eyes, and a look of dread was on his face when he saw Simon.
“So, you devil bastard, come to finish the job?” Nikolai spat at Simon, who was standing there, staring at him. Simon was confused. He figured anyone would b happy to see one of their only friends come to save them, but he guessed he was wrong.
“What do you mean, ‘finish the job’, Nikolai?” Simon asked, bewilderment seeping into his voice.
“I mean finish killing me, that’s what I mean, just like every one else!”
“I didn’t kill everyone, it was bandits.” Simon lowered the gun. Why would Nikolai accuse him of something like that.
“I got it all on film, you murderous twat!” Nikolai chucked a camera-phone at Simon. He opened it. On the screen was already a video. Simon started it.

Nikolai and some of the other workers were gathered around a bonfire in the middle of the encampment. They were hanging about, and one of them was about to try and perform a somersault in the air. He was just about to, when Simon, who was wearing the crown walked out of the ruins. His hair appeared to have gone completely white, and his skin was a dull, pale gray.
“Boss, you look terrible, are you alright?” asked the closest to him. Simon made a sort of growl, and lunged toward him, the flash of a knife was seen, and then the screams of deep agony emitted from the worker. He fell to the ground, and Simon stepped on to him, and began to stab into the body, again and again, until his face was splattered with blood. The others had all ran, except for Nikolai.
“What the Hell are you?” he asked Simon, fear rocking his body. Simon snarled at him, tackled Nikolai to the ground, stabbed him in the abdomen, and ran off.

The video stopped. Simon looked at Nikolai.
“What happened after that?” Simon asked softly, his voice quivering.
“You killed most everyone here, Simon,” Nikolai told darkly, “What the HELL made you do that. I mean, how?” Simon was speechless. He felt like Oedipus, everyone else knowing what he didn’t. He looked up at the Ceiling of the tent.
“I’m so sorry, Nikolai. Please forgive me.” Simon said, choking back tears.
“I don’t think I can forgive you for what you did, no matter the excuse; and for that, I’m sorry,” Nikolai said, the echo of defeat in his voice. Simon got up and out of the room. Nikolai died ten minutes later. Simon covered the plae in gasoline from the cars, and lit the tents on fire. Maybe all the others would think it was a bandit attack. He looked at the crown, which was still on his belt. A small part of him told him that it was what had brought this whole thing about. It was the part that still believed in witchcraft and voodoo, which he had for so long suppressed.  A voice in his head told him to put it on. He did so. Taking it off, he saw it gleam with the light of the fire of the site. He lowered it onto his head, and felt his mind slip away once again.

Simon awoke panting. He looked around. He was in his bed, in the camp at the site. There was the rustling of a hand on the fabric of his tent. He got up out of his bed, and opened the door. Nikolai was at the door. Simon was bewildered. HE had burned this whole place down. He killed everyone. How were they here.
“Boss, we found this for you. It’s the only ting made of wood in the whole of the ruins.” Nikolai said, with a touch of pride. Simon recognized the box. It was what the crown had been in. It had the same markings.
“Thank you, Nik,” Simon replied, Taking the box from him. “I’ll be at the sight in about an hour.” Nikolai left. Simon set the box on his desk. Part of him was afraid to open it. What if it was in there? He waved away the feeling, and began to look over the report his staff had for him. The box, however, brought back his attention. He mustered his courage, and opened it; and there it was. The same crown as in what Simon was beginning to accept as a dream. He screamed, and pushed the box out. The crown rolled out from it. The ringing that came from it did not sound like normal. It was speaking to Simon. Wear me. Wear me. I will protect you. Simon didn’t know what to think. He wrapped it in cloth and put it in his bag; but he could still hear it. Simon knew that as long as it was around, and it was unsatisfied, it would not leave him alone.