ABANDON ALL HOPE

Some people believe that life is a series of random events, which is probably true because the outcome of this story and many others would have been very different had chance not played a role.

Consider Will Alva's case... He wouldn't have embarked on his incredible journey if he had been born in a town with a common name, such as Madison or Greenville. His fate was sealed, however, when his parents relocated to Ding Dong, Texas.

Although its population never exceeded 100, the town gained prominence when Ripley's Believe It or Not featured it in one of its programs. This brought year-round tourist traffic, with domestic and international tourists posing for photos in front of the town's sign. One could also purchase goofy souvenirs, such as keychains, t-shirts, and postcards featuring Ding Dong emblazoned in gold lettering.

Growing up in a community with an odd name piqued Will's curiosity about what lay beyond. But it also put him in some pretty tricky situations. Not only did he have to cope with the typical teen issues like zits and body odor, but he also accidentally spilled the beans about his birthplace while attending college. His subsequent efforts to explain that the town’s name came from two bells painted on the awning of a country store owned by Zulis and Bert Bell were usually met with a chant of "Ding Dong, the Wicked Will is Dead!"

When he finally graduated and became a photojournalist for National Geographic, he put the ridicule behind him and traveled to far-flung corners of the globe, capturing superb images and collecting stories about other cultures and civilizations.

Then chance intervened again. Will and his editor, Susan Hathaway, went to El Rinconcito one evening for tacos de pastor and tequila margaritas. Despite their age difference, he felt comfortable with her, so against his better judgment and most likely due to too much drinking, he told her his hometown's ridiculous name. Susan's eyes lit up, rather than mocking him, as she encouraged him to tell her the whole story.

"What we've been through can truly motivate us to do incredible things. They actually teach us valuable lessons and insights that we can use to move forward. Your unusual upbringing and the struggles you've endured have shaped you into the outstanding photographer you are today," she said after he wrapped up his story.

"You know what? I just thought of something! How about writing an article about your town? You could make it more fun with lots of pictures of the sign and the residents," she exclaimed with enthusiasm.

"You could also add some quotes from the people to really make their stories come alive."

Will thought Susan’s idea could make for a compelling story.

“It could work! And while I am at it, I might stop by Cut and Shoot, which is just a stone’s throw away from Ding Dong!”

"I think we have a winner on our hands," Susan agreed.

"It might even grow into something more than an article and make a fantastic book! And you wouldn't have to limit it to Texas. I know there's an Eggnog in Utah and a Boring in Oregon."

"And a Saint-Louise-du-Ha in Canada!" Will added.

They laughed so hard that they could barely keep their third margarita from tipping over.

Will met Susan for one more round of drinks a week before embarking on his fact-finding mission.

"I can't let you go without a gift," she said, reaching into her handbag.

“It’ll get you back into the old-time habit of writing in longhand. I know it helped my creative juices flow.”

She handed him a box with the Cross logo. Inside was a beautifully crafted fountain pen with a glossy finish and a sterling silver nib.

"This pen has been by my side through all my crazy adventures. It's like my best friend," she continued, her eyes tearing up with nostalgia.

"I really hope this inspires you to capture every moment of your journey with the same passion it inspired me."

That's how it all began, and it's why he was in Santiago, Chile, waiting for a connecting flight to Puerto de Hambre, or Port of Hunger, in the Province of Last Hope, only a few kilometers from Desolation Island.

The three names sounded so gloomy that he decided to have a few stiff cocktails before boarding. He was anxious about what was ahead as he waited for his guide and interpreter to join him.

The project he started over a year ago had taken him to places with amusing rather than somber names. He never made it to Boring but instead visited Dull, its Scottish counterpart. Although it had only one street, it was filled with charming cottages and picturesque vistas, offering an uplifting departure from the usual urban settings. As he explored the village, he was grateful for the unexpected detour that led him to this hidden gem, where residents were happy to share stories about Dull’s traditions.

“You might think that it means boring,” one of the locals explained, “but it actually means meadow in Gaelic.”

His next stop was Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogoch, a Welsh community with Europe’s longest name, meaning "The church of St. Mary in the hollow of white hazel trees near the rapid whirlpool by St. Tysilio's of the red cave.” He took dozens of photos of the signboard and recorded the residents pronouncing this tongue-twisting wonder.

During his year on the road, he also visited Crapstone in Devon and the Australian Lake Disappointment, a salt lagoon named by an explorer who expected to find a freshwater source. He passed through Batman in Turkey and boarded bus 666 to the Hell Peninsula in Poland.

His last destination, the little-known harbor with rugged cliffs near the Strait of Magellan, was supposed to be breathtakingly beautiful and would provide the perfect backdrop for his journey’s final chapter.

He was on his second gin and tonic when someone tapped on his shoulder.

“Will? Will Alva?" A baritone boomed behind him.

Will turned to face a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and sporting a scruffy beard. His blue eyes seemed to hold a hint of mystery as if they had seen more than their fair share of adventures.

The man introduced himself as Juan Stokes, followed by a firm handshake.

"Commander Pringle Stokes' descendant, the captain of the Beagle that dropped its anchor in the Magellan Straits nearly two centuries ago," he boasted.

Will was thrilled to know the rugged-looking man would take him through uncharted territory and potentially help him discover the secrets of the Pacific Ocean's chilly waters. He gathered his luggage and followed Stokes to Gate 15, excited to begin the last leg of his journey.

Three hours later, the JetSmart Airbus 320 landed in Punta Arenas, the world's southernmost city and the closest to Antarctica's perpetual ice.

"Get your stuff, and we’ll grab the jeep. I can't believe you picked winter for your first trip to Puerto de Hambre! The roads can be pretty tricky, and the weather's all over the place, but I guess that just makes it more exciting, right?” Stokes said as he walked ahead of Will to the parking lot.

He remained silent for the first hour and a half, his attention fixed on the dirt road while Will slipped in and out of a shallow slumber as the Jeep heated up. Before drifting off completely, he wondered if Stokes' warnings about the dangerous roads were starting to make sense. He couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that their expedition might be a bit more complicated than anticipated.

"So, why pick the end of the world as your spot?"

Will was jolted awake by Stoke's voice.

"Not a typical place on a tourist's to-go map," the guide added, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Will glanced out the window at the desolate landscape, with a few leafless bushes bending under the force of the wind. He could see now why Stokes referred to it as the end of the world—it felt like they were driving through Tolkien’s Middle Earth rather than a real place. The untouched beauty of the surroundings was unlike anything he had seen before, and he felt that this one-of-a-kind setting would be the ideal climax to his book.

“It all started as a kind of random idea and simply turned into something that I really think has a lot of potential. I thought since I’ve already visited a dozen places with quirky names—like Eggnog in Utah—I might just find myself in Port of Hunger, in the Province of Last Hope! Precisely the kind of spooky that fits perfectly with the book’s ending!”

As he finished the sentence, something in the Jeep's belly wheezed, coughed, and grumbled, and Stoked stopped the car abruptly.

"Well, that doesn't sound good," he remarked, pushing open the door and jumping out.

He stared under the hood, trying to figure out what was making the noise. A cloud of smoke billowed out of the engine as he inspected it.

"Looks like the engine's running a bit too hot. This isn't the best place to be stuck. Puerto de Hambre is still about a half-hour drive from here. We can't hang out here for much longer. It's getting ready to dip below freezing,” the guide murmured before pulling out his phone, hoping to pick up a signal and call for assistance.

"Not even one bar," he grumbled.

"Let’s head out and see if we can make it to town before it gets dark. We'll stick to the road. It's not exactly a great place to hang out until morning,” he reflected, scratching his chin.

Will nodded as he peered up at the darkening sky.

"Maybe we can flag down a passing car or find help nearby?"

Stokes roared with joyless laughter.

"A passing car? It looks like you didn't do your homework well before the trip. What kind of journalist are you? We could wait a week and not see a single car on this route. Remember? This is where the world ends. The Province of Last Hope! Have you read Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy?” He inquired unexpectedly.

Will shook his head.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” Stokes quoted in Italian.

"It means Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. Why do you think this place is called the Province of Last Hope?”

Will looked at the desolate landscape, devoid of any signs of life. The name suddenly made sense. It was a place where hope came to die!

“Get your rucksack, and let’s start moving,” Stokes ordered.

"We must get to town before it's dark, or..."

"Or what?" Will prompted.

“Or we risk getting more than we bargained for," Stokes responded, sounding a bit on edge.

"And I’m not just talking about the cold,” he added, hinting at something sinister lurking in the shadows.

The guide's urgent tone fueled Will's desire to reach Puerto de Hambre before dusk. With each passing minute, the sun sank deeper into the horizon, leaving lengthy shadows that appeared to warn of monsters with glowing eyes and sharp teeth prowling in the darkness ahead. As he reached into the boot for his backpack, he was startled by a howl. It was like nothing he had ever heard before—a mix between a hyena and a wolf, prolonged and haunting.

"Get back into the car! Now!” Stokes shouted.

Will hurried towards the Jeep’s passenger door and dove in.

“What was that?” he asked breathlessly.

Stokes twisted the key in the ignition, but the engine coughed and failed to start.

"It's no use! They've already seen us!" Stokes yelled as he peered out the window at the fading light.

Will's heart raced, a nervous drumbeat resounding in the car as he struggled to decipher the meaning behind Stokes' words. The howl echoed through the night, a chilling sound that announced something immense and terrifying was approaching the vehicle. He clutched the edge of his seat as the ground beneath the Jeep trembled. Stokes twisted the key with a frantic urgency.

"What is it? What is out there?" Will repeated.

Stokes returned his stare. His face was blanched with fear.

"We've got to get out of here! Quickly!" he shouted.

The darkness seemed to close in on them as they waited for whatever was outside to show itself. Something or someone was rocking the Jeep, trapping Will and Stokes inside like sardines in a can, desperately trying to get them out.

Will was not religious, but he prayed to return to one of those towns with weird but harmless names, even if it were only Ding Dong in Texas.

“What’s going on, Stokes?”

"Why do you think this place is called Port of Hunger?" Stokes yelled back.

“You think it was just pulled from a hat? Come on, it's not just some goofy name like your Bacon and Eggs! People around here say that folks and animals have vanished without a trace. I’ve heard some wild tales about huge footsteps that must belong to a giant. No one's actually seen it, but people say it lives out here...Old wives' tales, I used to think, but now…"

Stokes held the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep his composure as the Jeep continued to rattle. He pressed the gas pedal and twisted the key, but got nothing apart from a grinding noise.

“Start, you bastard!”

With a thunderous crash, the driver’s window shattered, and an immense, fur-covered arm reached into the vehicle, seizing Stokes by the collar. He let out a piercing scream as he was dragged out, the creature's razor-sharp claws ripping his clothes.

Will watched in horror as the screaming guide's desperate struggle to cling to the car. With a surge of desperation, he seized his legs and yanked with all his might. Despite their combined efforts, the guide's strength waned with each passing moment. Knowing that Stokes's life was on the line, Will searched the Jeep for a weapon, panic taking over every thought.

Then he remembered Susan Hathaway's farewell gift, which was supposed to unleash his creativity and make his creative juices flow. With one hand still clutching Stokes' leg, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the pen, unscrewing the lid with his mouth. Gripping it firmly, he lunged the silver nib toward where he assumed the creature's face might be, looking for a vulnerable spot in a last-ditch attempt to release Stokes. He thrust hard, once or twice, but the thing's rough, furry skin seemed impenetrable. He took aim and unleashed one final strike, putting everything into the attack. This time, he aimed higher, where he thought the creature’s face should be.

The roar of pain echoed through the air as his weapon finally pierced the beast's defenses, releasing Stokes from his grip. The beast staggered back, clearly shaken by the impact, while a viscous slime trickled onto Will's hand, followed by a sharp wail as the animal thrashed around, trying to pry out the pen lodged in its flesh.

And as suddenly as it had begun, the attack was over. They heard the monster move away, its heavy footsteps fading into the distance. Will sat panting heavily, his heart pounding. The silence hung around the vehicle as if the world held its breath, unsure of what had just happened.

"Stokes? Stokes?" he called.

"You OK, Stokes?"

Stokes moved weakly, then sat up, his face ashen.

"I think so," he croaked, then looked down at his jeans, torn to shreds by sharp claws.

"We must get out of here before more of them show up!" he cried out, frantically trying to locate the car key that had been lost in the struggle. His hands grazed the Jeep's floor as he searched, glancing anxiously in every direction, bracing himself for another assault. At long last, his fingertips made contact with the cold metal.

He spun around to face Will.

“If it doesn't start, we'll just have to walk. We must get out of here. There could be more of them hanging around!”

He turned the key, his entire body tensed. The engine roared to life, a welcome sound in this desperate situation.

"That's one hell of an ending to my book," Will exclaimed, relieved.

Stokes raced to Puerto de Hambre, a place they almost didn’t make. As they approached the outskirts and glimpsed the buildings and empty roads, it struck them just how near they had been to a disaster - the echo of their close call a palpable reminder of how swiftly things can change in a heartbeat.

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate," Stokes whispered.

"Abandon all hope," Will translated unnecessarily.

"I swear I'll never again complain about minor inconveniences. And from now on, I'll only visit towns called Eggnog and Ding Dong," he remarked, laughing but with very little mirth if any at all.

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