Rick Mason stepped outside his small ranch house in Omaha, Nebraska, feeling the crisp autumn air bite at his skin. At 60, Rick had seen his share of mysteries—both in his time as a Master Mason and from decades of studying arcane lore and ancient symbolism. However, tonight, something different tugged at him. It wasn’t the usual chill of the Midwestern breeze; it was a feeling deep in his bones, something uncanny that had been gnawing at him all week.
Rick wasn’t just any Mason. As the current Master of his Lodge, he was well-respected in the community for his wisdom, his calm demeanor, and his ability to see past the surface of things. But even with years of experience, nothing had prepared him for the strange occurrences that had begun to plague him. His dreams had been vivid and bizarre—filled with images of an ancient obelisk hidden deep beneath Nebraska’s seemingly ordinary landscape. The dreams were so real, they were more than mere dreams—Rick knew they were something else, something calling to him.
The dreams always began the same way. Rick found himself in a cornfield, tall stalks rustling in the wind as the moon cast eerie shadows across the rows. A pathway would open up between the crops, leading him toward a colossal black obelisk, inscribed with strange symbols. He could never get too close to it; something would always wake him just before he could reach out and touch the cold stone.
Rick shook his head as he unlocked his car, trying to push the unease away. Tonight, he had Lodge business to attend to. It was the annual meeting where he, as Master, would oversee the admission of a new member—always a solemn and important affair. However, something told him that tonight’s meeting would be far from routine.
He arrived at the Lodge, a century-old building nestled between modern storefronts. The Masonic Hall had stood the test of time, a relic of an age where mystery and fraternity went hand in hand. Inside, the walls were adorned with symbols—compasses, squares, and the all-seeing eye—while the rich smell of old wood and incense filled the air. Rick took a deep breath, feeling a sense of familiarity and calm wash over him, but only for a moment. There was still that gnawing feeling of something off-kilter.
As the brethren arrived, Rick greeted each of them, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. Tonight, they would initiate Mark Smith, a local businessman, into the fraternity. Mark had come highly recommended, but Rick couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled into his bones.
As the meeting commenced, Rick took his place at the East, the seat of the Master, and began the opening ritual. The room fell silent as the members of the Lodge followed their practiced routines. But halfway through the ceremony, a strange thing happened.
The power flickered. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the room, and for a brief moment, Rick thought he saw the outline of the obelisk from his dream, standing in the corner of the Lodge. He blinked, shaking his head. It was gone in an instant, but his heart raced.
"Are you alright, Worshipful Master?" asked one of the brothers, concern etched in his voice.
Rick forced a smile and nodded. "I'm fine. Let’s continue."
But Rick knew he wasn’t fine. The visions were becoming stronger, more real. He glanced at Mark Sanders, who was kneeling before the altar, and felt an uneasy pull in his gut. There was something about the man that seemed… off. Not in a malicious way, but as if Sanders wasn’t entirely of this world. His demeanor was calm, almost too calm, and his eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the Lodge room.
After the meeting, Rick lingered behind while the other brothers left, unable to shake the feeling that something important was about to happen. He wandered the Lodge’s antechambers, his mind still racing with thoughts of the obelisk. What did it mean? And why was it haunting him?
As Rick approached the door to the old storage room in the back of the Lodge, a cold draft swept past him. The door creaked open on its own, revealing a space that had remained untouched for decades. Rick stepped inside, squinting in the darkness, when he noticed something unusual—a faint glow coming from behind a stack of old boxes.
His heart pounded as he moved the boxes aside to reveal what was causing the glow. There, nestled against the wall, was a strange stone tablet. It was covered in the same symbols he had seen on the obelisk in his dreams. Rick knelt down, tracing the strange inscriptions with his fingers. The tablet felt warm to the touch, as if it were alive.
Suddenly, the ground beneath Rick shifted. The walls of the Lodge seemed to bend and twist, and before he could react, Rick found himself no longer in the storage room but standing in the middle of a vast cornfield under a moonlit sky. The familiar rustling of the corn surrounded him, and in the distance, the obelisk loomed.
This time, Rick was able to move closer. He felt an invisible force guiding him toward the towering stone structure. His heart raced as he approached it, the ancient symbols glowing brighter with every step. He reached out, his fingers brushing the cold stone, and instantly, a surge of energy pulsed through him.
In a flash, visions exploded in his mind—images of long-forgotten civilizations, of beings not of this Earth, and of Nebraska as it had been centuries ago, a place of great power and mystery. The obelisk, it seemed, was a remnant of an ancient race that had once lived beneath the soil of the Great Plains. And Rick, for reasons he couldn’t yet understand, had been chosen as its Guardian.
As the visions subsided, Rick found himself standing in the cornfield once again, the obelisk towering above him. But now, it was different. Now, he understood. The obelisk wasn’t just a relic of the past; it was a beacon, a gateway to another realm—one that was trying to open.
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the night, deep and resonant.
"Rick Mason," it said, "you have been chosen."
Rick turned, searching for the source of the voice, but found nothing but darkness. His heart pounded in his chest as the voice continued.
"You are the Guardian of the Obelisk. The key to the ancient door lies within you. Protect it, for dark forces are stirring."
Before Rick could respond, the world around him shifted once again, and he found himself back in the storage room of the Lodge, the stone tablet still glowing faintly at his feet. His head spun as he tried to process what had just happened. He had seen things—impossible things—yet he knew deep in his heart that they were real.
The obelisk was not just a symbol from his dreams; it was part of something far greater, something that had been hidden beneath the soil of Nebraska for centuries. And Rick, for reasons he couldn’t yet fathom, had been drawn into its orbit.
Breathing heavily, Rick picked up the tablet and placed it carefully in a leather satchel. He had no idea what lay ahead, but one thing was clear: his life had just taken a turn into the unknown, and he was now part of a mystery that spanned time and space.
As he exited the Lodge that night, the moon hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the quiet streets of Omaha. Rick glanced back at the Lodge, a strange mixture of dread and excitement swirling within him. He had always been a seeker of truth, and now it seemed that truth was seeking him.
The Guardian of the Obelisk had been awakened, and whatever came next, Rick knew he had a role to play.
With the tablet in hand, he started his car and headed home, knowing that the mysteries of the obelisk, and perhaps even the fate of the world, rested on his shoulders.
And this was only the beginning.
