The trees swayed gently in the summer’s breeze, dancing lazily in the soft sunlight. The sweet smell of honey and oak wafted through the forest and into the small town of Eyo, warming the town lovingly. The woods stood around the small village, protecting it from all the outside and forming canopies over the trails to protect from snow and rain. It was these great ancient oaks that stood against the storm fast approaching from the East. It was there the great winds of the Lesser brewed within the mountains, and bubbling in its immense heat, boiled over and into the valleys below; running like the many rivers down the hills and across the plains. It was this wind that scorched the land, charring everything black in invisible flames.
But the Greater, in His almighty armor of Earth; stronger than any metal and indestructible to any force, wielding His unparalleled sword of Fire; unstoppable by any weapon, His majestic helm formed of the purest of Water; granting wisdom and fluidity of any movement, and with His shield spun from the wildest of Wind; deflected every attack without any force, cast down the Lesser and exiled him to the Outlands, never to return.
And with this triumph, came the victory of man against the spirits, and they became one in the same. It is through this, young ones, that many of you are capable of manipulating the forces of nature. Each one of you, according to your soul and very being, may receive a piece of the according element to protect you.
Now you know the story of the Greater’s triumph over the Lesser, and how you came to possess such abilities. It is He we have to thank for saving our race from the wrath, a once simple man, given the very same abilities we have now, saved everyone of us very, very long ago. You all have such potential, but it is up to you, young ones, to decide for yourself, your fate and your future.
And how it will change all of ours.
The story ended then and was followed by silence as the story teller, Rumm, stood and poured a gourd of water into the fire, and with his grasp of the element, painted a thriving portrait of a man in armor with incredible detail out of the steam. The quivering picture throbbed and swirled like smoke, spinning and coiling but keeping perfect clarity as the man stood and raised his sword in the air, followed by a loud pop as the steam exploded into a countryside of cheering people.
Rumm, having told his tale to the end, dropped his hands to his sides, palms up, and the image faded into a rippling steam once again.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Elemental - Chapter One
Moonlight shone through the windows of the orphanage with a silvery white, casting an ominous glow to the small room with beauty. The deep orange and brown of the wood walls contrasted superficially it seemed to the boys within. They sat, both quietly and fidgety in their beds with sheets thrown off in a heap as restlessness took them. The eldest and the tallest of them stood and shook his small fist mightily at the sky, a scowl upon his brow.
“I, the great Merin, proclaim this land as my own! Bow before your new master, peasants!” He bellowed, staring down all the boys. “Being the oldest of eleven years, I pronounce myself ruler of the entire dominion of..” He paused to think but had very little brains in which to do so. “Orphanage Land!” He announced at last.
The other boys laughed and jumped to their feet at once.
“Then I, powerful Henner of also eleven years pronounce myself the general of Orphanage Land’s army!”
“And I, the wise Serin, of ten years pronounce myself the king Merin’s advisor!”
The three largest boys all stood atop their beds in their imagined glory as the giggling boys below began to look around uncomfortably. They looked up at the three then back to themselves and laughed.
“Well we, the Boys of Unroyalty, declare war upon the nation of Orphanage Land! Attack!”
Instantly the mayhem broke loose and the army of boys swarmed the three largest. Fists were thrown and kicks were swung but none were finished as the ruckus woke their Lady. She threw the door open in her robes and cried out in tired anguish to be silent and sleep ‘fore she gives them to the bears, and returned to her room. The boys snickered behind clenched teeth and lay down, resting from the tussle.
In the morning they were sent outside to begin their chores just as the sun peaked the tree line. The purple skies of dawn wrested any sleep from their eyes as the sun drenched clouds glided by with bright oranges and pinks. The stars were still visible to the west and the moon was just setting behind the distant mountains. The boys sucked in the cool air and began to work.
The oldest three woke Beil the mare, and strapped the plow to her back. The others boys were split into four groups of three for such tasks as weeding, planting, sewing, and milking. They set to it as they did every day and continued until the sun was high in the sky, the day warmed and the townspeople bustling about. The thrum of walking and buzz of chatter was nothing more than a faint whisper to the boys on the Hillridge Farm. Perhaps the one thing they had to be thankful for.
Once the tasks were done, the boys convened in the fields to begin the harvest of wheat, slicing the stalks with a practiced hand. Their sicles whistled through the air as the plants fell into the wheelbarrows below, the smallest boy pulling it along slowly. He peaked a small hill, struggling and tripped on a rock. The barrow rolled down the hill and toppled over. Merin stared down at the spilled contents and clenched his jaw.
“You little speck! Look what you did. I’ll teach you a lesson so maybe you’ll do better next time!” Merin reared back to swing but was thrown to the ground from behind. He fell and cried out in surprise. He looked up at the boy who tackled him, studying him incredulously. He had brown eyes with swirls of gold spiraling them, and light tan skin. His shaggy hair was mahogany and fell in his face. The boy was smaller than him but not by much, Merin being broader but just as tall.
“Tough guy huh?” Merin said pushing himself up and standing slowly for effect. “Looks like you’re off the hook, speck. This guy’s takin’ your place.” He looked down then suddenly kicked the other boy in the fork of his legs, and pummeled his back as his foe doubled over in pain.
“This what you wanted? You want some more?” He said patronizingly as the boy kept silent, face in the dirt as he was struck. Merin stood and spat on him, kicking soil in his face. “Thought not.”
Merin stormed off guffawing, the other boys returning to work sourly. The youngest boy crouched down and poked the beaten boy. His gray shirt was torn and mud had caked from his sweat, his trousers were already patched and stained and his hair was filthy. He looked up slowly with a defeated expression. His face was purple and his cheeks blushed. Only his eyes remained unchanged.
“Are you okay?”
The boy shrugged and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Nobody’s ever stuck up for me before. Thanks.” The small boy continued.
He nodded and walked back into the field, instantly hidden in the rows and rows of wheat. The youngest boy ran after him but found nothing. Only a button at the end of the crops.
The boys’ Lady called them in for supper then, eyeing them with disapproval as they wolfed down the soup and cabbage slices.
“Honestly, you’d think you brats were starved yer’ whole lives!”
“Maybe we have.”
“Oh shush up you!”
The boys quickly devoured their food and ran off to play in the last hours of the day. However the youngest boy remained in his seat, his soup untouched. He looked around and poured the remains of the others’ soup into another bowl, ate the leftovers, and as inconspicuous as he could be, carried the bowl of fresh soup outside to the field. He laid it down on the small hill he was nearly trampled on and paused a second.
“Oh right!” He remembered suddenly, placing the small black button against the bowl before leaving. The boy returned to the yard where the others were playing and sat as if he had never left. Henner spotted him coming around the house.
“Hey, Benj, wanna’ wrestle? I’ll go easy on ya’.” Henner called, confident he could take anyone but Merin down in a fight, yet still inclined to pick on the weakest.
Benj shook his head as he stared at the ground. He dared not look up at Henner. He picked up a twig then and began to doodle in the dirt, drawing a man holding a sword facing another with a shield carved with the letter H on it. He chuckled then and smiled at his picture.
“What’cha got there eh?” Henner said suddenly behind him. Benj cringed and jumped away but was too slow to escape Henner’s grip. He wrapped his arm around Benj’s neck and ruffled his hair none too softly. “Hey! Is that supposed to be me?” Henner yelled as he stood, lifting Benj to his feet by his hair. Benj cried out in pain, tears glistening in his eyes.
A loud crash and suddenly Benj was on the ground. He thought he’d been killed or knocked unconscious. Slowly he opened his eyes. Henner was out cold in the dirt, the side of his face already bruised; a broken bowl sat shattered around him.
Benj jumped to his feet and looked around, all the boys gone. He ran inside but no one but their Lady was inside. He ran back out, panting, and sprinted to the fields. He heard the cries and cheers coming from its direction and ran even faster. He could clearly hear it then.
“Oh man! He’s actually got him! Merin and that kid!”
Terror shot through Benj as he processed this. He kicked his feet up higher, taking deeper breaths, his heart hammering. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough. The boy who had saved him twice now would be killed because of him. It would be all his fault.
He tore through the last row of wheat when he finally found them. All the boys were in a circle, blocking his view of the fight. He crawled between their legs through the mob until he was just in the edge of the circle’s inner diameter.
Merin was on the ground, the boy atop him, and was crying out please don’t please don’t as the boy held up a tight fist, knuckles white with the strain. Benj had never seen Marin in this way before. Eyes wide with terror, his voice truly gripped with fear, face pale and tears streaming his cheeks. His nose was bleeding profusely and his lips were both busted. His left eye was swollen shut and his chin was purple, resembling the boy holding him down.
“Please don’t!” The cry rang out, not from Merin but from Benj. The group stopped and watched him dumbfounded. Even Serin had cheered for Merin’s defeat. The boy looked at him intently, fist still raised.
“He’s had enough, I think. He looks worse than you and me already.” Benj said slowly, picking his words carefully. The boy looked down at Marin who whimpered and puffed his lips out. The boy frowned and punched him again, then stood and walked to Benj as Marin began whaling.
“Now he’s had enough.”
“I, the great Merin, proclaim this land as my own! Bow before your new master, peasants!” He bellowed, staring down all the boys. “Being the oldest of eleven years, I pronounce myself ruler of the entire dominion of..” He paused to think but had very little brains in which to do so. “Orphanage Land!” He announced at last.
The other boys laughed and jumped to their feet at once.
“Then I, powerful Henner of also eleven years pronounce myself the general of Orphanage Land’s army!”
“And I, the wise Serin, of ten years pronounce myself the king Merin’s advisor!”
The three largest boys all stood atop their beds in their imagined glory as the giggling boys below began to look around uncomfortably. They looked up at the three then back to themselves and laughed.
“Well we, the Boys of Unroyalty, declare war upon the nation of Orphanage Land! Attack!”
Instantly the mayhem broke loose and the army of boys swarmed the three largest. Fists were thrown and kicks were swung but none were finished as the ruckus woke their Lady. She threw the door open in her robes and cried out in tired anguish to be silent and sleep ‘fore she gives them to the bears, and returned to her room. The boys snickered behind clenched teeth and lay down, resting from the tussle.
In the morning they were sent outside to begin their chores just as the sun peaked the tree line. The purple skies of dawn wrested any sleep from their eyes as the sun drenched clouds glided by with bright oranges and pinks. The stars were still visible to the west and the moon was just setting behind the distant mountains. The boys sucked in the cool air and began to work.
The oldest three woke Beil the mare, and strapped the plow to her back. The others boys were split into four groups of three for such tasks as weeding, planting, sewing, and milking. They set to it as they did every day and continued until the sun was high in the sky, the day warmed and the townspeople bustling about. The thrum of walking and buzz of chatter was nothing more than a faint whisper to the boys on the Hillridge Farm. Perhaps the one thing they had to be thankful for.
Once the tasks were done, the boys convened in the fields to begin the harvest of wheat, slicing the stalks with a practiced hand. Their sicles whistled through the air as the plants fell into the wheelbarrows below, the smallest boy pulling it along slowly. He peaked a small hill, struggling and tripped on a rock. The barrow rolled down the hill and toppled over. Merin stared down at the spilled contents and clenched his jaw.
“You little speck! Look what you did. I’ll teach you a lesson so maybe you’ll do better next time!” Merin reared back to swing but was thrown to the ground from behind. He fell and cried out in surprise. He looked up at the boy who tackled him, studying him incredulously. He had brown eyes with swirls of gold spiraling them, and light tan skin. His shaggy hair was mahogany and fell in his face. The boy was smaller than him but not by much, Merin being broader but just as tall.
“Tough guy huh?” Merin said pushing himself up and standing slowly for effect. “Looks like you’re off the hook, speck. This guy’s takin’ your place.” He looked down then suddenly kicked the other boy in the fork of his legs, and pummeled his back as his foe doubled over in pain.
“This what you wanted? You want some more?” He said patronizingly as the boy kept silent, face in the dirt as he was struck. Merin stood and spat on him, kicking soil in his face. “Thought not.”
Merin stormed off guffawing, the other boys returning to work sourly. The youngest boy crouched down and poked the beaten boy. His gray shirt was torn and mud had caked from his sweat, his trousers were already patched and stained and his hair was filthy. He looked up slowly with a defeated expression. His face was purple and his cheeks blushed. Only his eyes remained unchanged.
“Are you okay?”
The boy shrugged and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Nobody’s ever stuck up for me before. Thanks.” The small boy continued.
He nodded and walked back into the field, instantly hidden in the rows and rows of wheat. The youngest boy ran after him but found nothing. Only a button at the end of the crops.
The boys’ Lady called them in for supper then, eyeing them with disapproval as they wolfed down the soup and cabbage slices.
“Honestly, you’d think you brats were starved yer’ whole lives!”
“Maybe we have.”
“Oh shush up you!”
The boys quickly devoured their food and ran off to play in the last hours of the day. However the youngest boy remained in his seat, his soup untouched. He looked around and poured the remains of the others’ soup into another bowl, ate the leftovers, and as inconspicuous as he could be, carried the bowl of fresh soup outside to the field. He laid it down on the small hill he was nearly trampled on and paused a second.
“Oh right!” He remembered suddenly, placing the small black button against the bowl before leaving. The boy returned to the yard where the others were playing and sat as if he had never left. Henner spotted him coming around the house.
“Hey, Benj, wanna’ wrestle? I’ll go easy on ya’.” Henner called, confident he could take anyone but Merin down in a fight, yet still inclined to pick on the weakest.
Benj shook his head as he stared at the ground. He dared not look up at Henner. He picked up a twig then and began to doodle in the dirt, drawing a man holding a sword facing another with a shield carved with the letter H on it. He chuckled then and smiled at his picture.
“What’cha got there eh?” Henner said suddenly behind him. Benj cringed and jumped away but was too slow to escape Henner’s grip. He wrapped his arm around Benj’s neck and ruffled his hair none too softly. “Hey! Is that supposed to be me?” Henner yelled as he stood, lifting Benj to his feet by his hair. Benj cried out in pain, tears glistening in his eyes.
A loud crash and suddenly Benj was on the ground. He thought he’d been killed or knocked unconscious. Slowly he opened his eyes. Henner was out cold in the dirt, the side of his face already bruised; a broken bowl sat shattered around him.
Benj jumped to his feet and looked around, all the boys gone. He ran inside but no one but their Lady was inside. He ran back out, panting, and sprinted to the fields. He heard the cries and cheers coming from its direction and ran even faster. He could clearly hear it then.
“Oh man! He’s actually got him! Merin and that kid!”
Terror shot through Benj as he processed this. He kicked his feet up higher, taking deeper breaths, his heart hammering. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough. The boy who had saved him twice now would be killed because of him. It would be all his fault.
He tore through the last row of wheat when he finally found them. All the boys were in a circle, blocking his view of the fight. He crawled between their legs through the mob until he was just in the edge of the circle’s inner diameter.
Merin was on the ground, the boy atop him, and was crying out please don’t please don’t as the boy held up a tight fist, knuckles white with the strain. Benj had never seen Marin in this way before. Eyes wide with terror, his voice truly gripped with fear, face pale and tears streaming his cheeks. His nose was bleeding profusely and his lips were both busted. His left eye was swollen shut and his chin was purple, resembling the boy holding him down.
“Please don’t!” The cry rang out, not from Merin but from Benj. The group stopped and watched him dumbfounded. Even Serin had cheered for Merin’s defeat. The boy looked at him intently, fist still raised.
“He’s had enough, I think. He looks worse than you and me already.” Benj said slowly, picking his words carefully. The boy looked down at Marin who whimpered and puffed his lips out. The boy frowned and punched him again, then stood and walked to Benj as Marin began whaling.
“Now he’s had enough.”
A Walk with Death - Prologue
My hands trembled as I walked on my death march. The stone chained to my waist and around my neck was staggering and gradually grew heavier the longer we walked. I stumbled and fell, scraping my knees on the tree roots and rocks below. I landed on the stone, thankful it was carved flat, and gasped as the wind was drove from my lungs. I laid atop my tombstone for a second to catch my breath, the ground just inches from my face.
The forest was littered with trees and their connections were strewn across the ground in interweaving patterns like spider web so complicated they were impossible to follow for more than a few feet. A hand grasped my collar and roughly pulled me to my feet, nearly driving me back to the ground as the short chain around my neck caught. I stooped low and heaved the stone back into my arms with a groan.
I sucked in another breath and stared at the sky. It was gray, a solemn layer of clouds casting my execution from the gaze of God. Here and there the trees would rattle with rain only to go silent once again and leave us to the sounds of our footfalls. No animals were skittering around from tree to tree, nor a bird flittering from branch to branch. I cringed at the abnormal hush that pervaded the forest and soaked into our souls. Every tree we passed seemed to loom in on us with branches stretched outward.
I paused to look around at the warped wilderness. Where was the color? The little signs that someone or something was still here? Where was the life? The very being of the forest seemed to have died and left just an empty gray shell behind.
For once I wasn’t afraid for only myself.
“Get a move on you.” One of my guards shoved me forward. I hadn’t realized I had stopped walking. “I swear, it’s like you enjoy carrying that thing around. Stopping to enjoy the view, laying down with it..” He rambled on until he realized no one was listening and then the always present silence resumed. It watched us, leering at us from the shadows, waiting for us to let our guard down and become comfortable in the almost soothing aura it emitted.
However, a man on his death march is never relaxed and at ease of mind.
Constantly I found myself looking side to side and over my shoulder, just knowing something was there. I shivered and suddenly became aware I was drenched in sweat. I muttered a low curse then decided the risk of getting sick would no longer be an issue. I almost laughed and instead just let out a long, shaky breath that swirled ahead of me in the bitter cold. I watched it drift away and readjusted my grip on the stone.
It slipped and fell from my grip, nearly crushing my foot, and I stumbled as it pulled me down sharply. I held my arms up to ward off the guards.
“I know, I know, I’m going.”
“Unusual.”
I turned my head to the side and a lump grew in my throat. I looked around as quickly as the chain would allow and felt my tombstone slide from my numb fingers, driving me to my knees.
All the guards were gone, not a sign that they had ever been here.
Tears welled up in my eyes as the darkness began to encroach upon me. Facing the sky, I saw the tree branches slowly, oh so slowly that it could have been an illusion, weave together to form a long tunnel of forest. But I knew it was no trickery of my eyes no matter how much I prayed it had been. What little sunlight I had had was now blotted out, a pitch black ocean surrounding me.
I wept in the darkness, succumbing to my worst fears and mourned the life that I hadn’t had time to live. So many things I had wanted to do, to accomplish, to strive for. All of my dreams and hopes melted away like wax into a pool within my mind’s eye before turning black and consuming my mind’s vision until it was impossible to tell if my eyes were open or not. Maybe I had already been lead out into the swamp with my stone and sank. Maybe this was what it was like to die.
A gentle breeze blew across my neck and face, carrying a bitter sweet scent like sugar and cyanide. Instantly I stiffened and the most terrifying chill crept up my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until it dug into the back of my skull and imbedded there in my brain. Something worse than fear clutched my heart in an icy embrace.
I froze, and the world around me drowned in shadow.
A Walk with Death
The forest was littered with trees and their connections were strewn across the ground in interweaving patterns like spider web so complicated they were impossible to follow for more than a few feet. A hand grasped my collar and roughly pulled me to my feet, nearly driving me back to the ground as the short chain around my neck caught. I stooped low and heaved the stone back into my arms with a groan.
I sucked in another breath and stared at the sky. It was gray, a solemn layer of clouds casting my execution from the gaze of God. Here and there the trees would rattle with rain only to go silent once again and leave us to the sounds of our footfalls. No animals were skittering around from tree to tree, nor a bird flittering from branch to branch. I cringed at the abnormal hush that pervaded the forest and soaked into our souls. Every tree we passed seemed to loom in on us with branches stretched outward.
I paused to look around at the warped wilderness. Where was the color? The little signs that someone or something was still here? Where was the life? The very being of the forest seemed to have died and left just an empty gray shell behind.
For once I wasn’t afraid for only myself.
“Get a move on you.” One of my guards shoved me forward. I hadn’t realized I had stopped walking. “I swear, it’s like you enjoy carrying that thing around. Stopping to enjoy the view, laying down with it..” He rambled on until he realized no one was listening and then the always present silence resumed. It watched us, leering at us from the shadows, waiting for us to let our guard down and become comfortable in the almost soothing aura it emitted.
However, a man on his death march is never relaxed and at ease of mind.
Constantly I found myself looking side to side and over my shoulder, just knowing something was there. I shivered and suddenly became aware I was drenched in sweat. I muttered a low curse then decided the risk of getting sick would no longer be an issue. I almost laughed and instead just let out a long, shaky breath that swirled ahead of me in the bitter cold. I watched it drift away and readjusted my grip on the stone.
It slipped and fell from my grip, nearly crushing my foot, and I stumbled as it pulled me down sharply. I held my arms up to ward off the guards.
“I know, I know, I’m going.”
“Unusual.”
I turned my head to the side and a lump grew in my throat. I looked around as quickly as the chain would allow and felt my tombstone slide from my numb fingers, driving me to my knees.
All the guards were gone, not a sign that they had ever been here.
Tears welled up in my eyes as the darkness began to encroach upon me. Facing the sky, I saw the tree branches slowly, oh so slowly that it could have been an illusion, weave together to form a long tunnel of forest. But I knew it was no trickery of my eyes no matter how much I prayed it had been. What little sunlight I had had was now blotted out, a pitch black ocean surrounding me.
I wept in the darkness, succumbing to my worst fears and mourned the life that I hadn’t had time to live. So many things I had wanted to do, to accomplish, to strive for. All of my dreams and hopes melted away like wax into a pool within my mind’s eye before turning black and consuming my mind’s vision until it was impossible to tell if my eyes were open or not. Maybe I had already been lead out into the swamp with my stone and sank. Maybe this was what it was like to die.
A gentle breeze blew across my neck and face, carrying a bitter sweet scent like sugar and cyanide. Instantly I stiffened and the most terrifying chill crept up my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until it dug into the back of my skull and imbedded there in my brain. Something worse than fear clutched my heart in an icy embrace.
I froze, and the world around me drowned in shadow.
A Walk with Death
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Lucas Black of Down the Lane Chapter 4
Chapter Four: Graduation
The days crawled by slowly, time passing idly like wax down a candle. Lucas, as the flame, grew impatient and burned out quickly as the hours grew into days, grew into weeks, and grew into a fortnight. He attempted to busy himself with his journal and lessons each day, taking them in stride to get out as quickly as possible. Mr. Fletcher had even given him a ribbon for his new attitude, earning him a new pen from Maynard.
“This one has ivory in the handle and writes so smooth you would think it was butter. However, I would recommend you save it for a while before writing with it.”
“Save it for what?” Lucas had asked him as he pocketed the heavy pen. “And why would I write with butter?”
Maynard smiled, something rarely seen, and clapped Lucas on the shoulder.
“You’ll see what I mean when you have nothing to write with.”
Then he had stalked off to fetch lunch for their next meeting. Lucas hurried to his room and changed from his shirt into a sweater and brushed his hair down with his fingers. The pen fell from his pocket and landed on his journal with a thump. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and splashed his face with water, dabbing it up as he was also ridiculed for not doing.
“Lucas, are you ready?” Maynard asked him from the doorway, laden with bowls of soup and buttered bread. A twitch of a smile met his lips and clean shaven cheeks.
Lucas had been invited once again to lunch with his father on very special terms. He was to meet him in the backyard. Lucas couldn’t remember the last time he had ever been let out, even to the backyard, and was riveted with anticipation. He made sure to keep his appearance clean as he strode past Maynard at the door, and through the living room and down the southern hall he had never entered. Pictures hung from each window he passed in the long corridor, completely lit by sunlight.
How have I never been back here? This is so different from the rest of the house, so much better! If things go well, I’ll have to ask to come out again.
He approached the back door, made of stained glass painted with a griffin on its hind legs. The bright crimson around it shone through the sunlight and washed the room in a sleepy red that made the end of the hall appear to shrink as you neared it. Lucas opened the door and held in a gasp.
Great trees taller than the house stretched into the sky before him on either side of the stone trail, the red-orange and yellow leaves rustling in the wind. He stepped through the doorway and the door slammed behind him. The canopy above made a sea of waving green and cast an emerald glow to the ground level as it reflected the sunlight.
“If the outside is all this good I may never go back inside.”
Lucas walked for several minutes, pleasantly surprised at the immense size of their property and absorbed all his surroundings. The new feeling of adventure and freedom radiated from him and shone in his eyes with a glitter. He could feel the weight of his previous lifetime, of work and toil seep away and replace the loneliness with a new vigor for company. His limbs were instantly rejuvenated from the long walk and felt lighter with each step.
A thin smile began to etch its way across his face.
He froze mid-stride as the forest walls split and gave way to a beachfront. Soft, white sand shifted beneath his feet in the cool breeze of the October day and kissed at his cheeks. He left the wilderness and tried to grasp the words to explain what he was seeing.
A sandbank sat resolute before him, cradling a large lake with the clearest waters. The land was smooth and windswept with large rocks laid in a Zen pattern, strokes in the sand drawn around them. Smaller palm trees littered the area in deep shade and the occasional coconut sat half buried beneath them. A small pure glass table sat beneath the largest wall of refreshing shadow. A tall, thin man hidden behind his newspaper sat there with a cup of coffee simmering to his left.
Lucas’ heart hammered against his ribcage and he was sure his father would hear it. He swallowed his fear and gulped in the fresh air. It felt magnificent compared to the musty air he was sure he had been recycling since he was born.
He sat across from his father silently and stared in shock as Maynard appeared right behind him with a tray of food.
“How did you--?”
“I was right behind you, you must have missed me.” Maynard replied instantly and set the table.
Lucas watched his father’s newspaper sit completely still as he read it. Lucas read the headline:
Disappearances Confound All Yet Again
Abductions all across the country have continued to rise in number as another body has been found. Miss Gloria Croft (47) of Birmingham, England was found in her home dead after being gone over three months. No sign of forced entry had been found nor has a suspect been identified. Officers are inspecting the house and corpse for any new evidence of what transpired those months ago.
Maynard cleared his throat and thumped Lucas’ on the back of the head.
“You may eat now.” He murmured and backed away as usual.
Lucas surveyed the plate and took a little bit of everything, surprised at his now ravenous hunger. He ate quickly as to have time to talk to his father and washed it all down with a tall glass of milk.
He brushed the crumbs from his mouth and cleared his throat.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” His father spoke quietly and just as Lucas had opened his mouth.
“O..okay.” He stammered and gave his father his rapt attention.
“You spoke to Hollow a few weeks ago did you not?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he ask you?”
Lucas tried to recall all the strange questions the old man had listed off to him.
“Not all of them, just in general.” His father added after a moment of silence had stretched to a full minute.
“Oh, well, just a bunch of odd questions about things I could do.”
“And can you?”
Lucas seemed to lose all the air in his lungs. A cold depression had formed in his chest and weighed down his soul. He had not found anything he could do despite Hollow’s cheery outcome. He began to wonder if his father knew of what Hollow had meant by them.
“No.” He said at last, and flinched as though he thought his father would strike him. He clenched his eyes shut and peered slowly over as he sensed his father’s relief spread, relaxing his posture behind his newspaper, Lucas sighed. “Although, Hollow seemed to think I made a candle catch flame.”
Instantly the mood of the table changed. His father stirred no longer and had become a statue once again. The newspaper had ripped in two in his father’s hands and blew away in the breeze. Lucas couldn’t bear to look up at him though and stared down at his lap through the glass table. Then came what he had dreaded:
His father stood and disappeared into the wooded trail. Lucas sat alone at the table and turned to ask Maynard a question but found him to have gone as well. The all too familiar sense of longing began to gnaw at his insides. The cold depression clenched his heart and squeezed it with all its might, but no tears would fall. Lucas had decided long ago he had none left to shed after a childhood of neglect and prison walls.
He stood slowly and pushed his chair in, mouth tightly shut, and swept away from the table and into the trees. He rounded a corner and heard a rumbling groan like roots torn up. He turned and saw the sunlight around the corner he had just taken to be gone. He eyed it a second then continued, the nagging feeling that something was wrong began to grow in the back of his mind. Ignoring this, he continued on at a faster pace despite not wanting to leave the warm sunshine. The groaning began to follow him, a steady roar now, rushing from behind like a wall of water about to crash down on him and drown the house.
He turned and saw no path behind him, but the walls on either side of him closing together with more trees. He turned and ran, panting from the forest, sprinting as fast as he could. His shoes beat on the earth with every quaking step as the forest tried to swallow him, its great maw opening behind him with more roars as the trees uprooted themselves to close the path.
Lucas didn’t remember it taking this long to get back and began to panic. His legs began to ache and his head felt light. He was sure he would pass out and be engulfed by the trees. But he continued, automatically it seemed, something within him keeping the ravenous wild at bay and holding back his body’s ailments. He didn’t know what but he knew to trust it.
He began to follow the feeling, something lighter than air and more powerful than fear. A warm glow in his chest as his heart swelled with the tingling sensation. This fire began to consume him and propelled him forward faster and faster until all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the ecstatic thumping of his heart.
He stopped and waited, listening intently over his own noise for any sign of the trees’ next move.
How are they doing this? Trees don’t move. They just don’t, it’s impossible! Trees-don’t-move.
Or do they?
He had never asked this question before. It went against all logic, something that couldn’t, can’t and shouldn’t be; yet here it was before him, as plain as the nose on his face. How could he continue to deny it when it was chasing him? Was it fear or something else? Something he had known all along and would never admit?
BOOM!
An explosion of movement shook the earth beneath him as he leaped out of the way of a fallen tree, scratching his knees and palms and ripping the hems of his pants. He kicked at the ground as he struggled to his feet and reached inward for the feeling to give him the courage to run.
But it did not come.
Nothing, no matter how hard he tried, would it return. It had abandoned him and deemed him unworthy to guide. He kept running but it was so close now.
His heart began to beat faster.
Bump-bump, bump-bump.
He could hear the sounds of the trees giving chase as clearly as his own thoughts.
Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.
He could feel the tips of the branches against his back as they reached out for him. They were so close, too close, he couldn’t get past them.
Bump-bump-bump-bump-bump-bump-bump!
He could see the door to the house, the red window casting a crimson glow against the emerald of the leaves, he was so close, just a little further!
I’m almost there! I’m almost home! My..my..
The trees grabbed onto his shirt with their gnarled branches and lifted him off his feet, wrapping him up in their vines. He kicked and screamed, struggling against them as they enveloped him in darkness. His heart was a flutter now, pounding against his chest like it was about to leap from him and run for cover. He wanted to go with it, to be away from these things that wanted him, but there was no way to escape, he was trapped.
He curled his arms around himself to protect his face and struck at the insides of the leaves that surrounded him like a cocoon. He was within their many hands and fingers, held like a baby in their arms, so weak and fragile, something to be cared for and held tightly but not too tightly. They gave him room, enough to pull up his arms, he held them flat against the leaves and felt the feeling from before give his heart strength, the spirit to escape.
He screamed the first word that sprang to his head and collapsed as the leaves around him exploded and writhed in agony, instantly giving him a wide girth on the trail. He stood as fast as he could, covered in great trembles and shuddering breaths. He felt ice cold and numb, a dream-like state that spread from his head and down his neck then spine until it had stretched around his body like a second skin.
He could feel it.
His eyes opened as if he had never seen before. Colors so bright and vibrant, there were several he was sure he had never seen before. Great myriads of crisp, pure pigment filling his vision and embellishing this great new world he had yet to experience. A new life to live laid out before him. He accepted it and stood slowly, watching the trees around him back away as he neared them, several covered in small singes and blackened leaves.
He approached the door and grasped the handle in a firm grip and wrenched it open.
My..sanctuary.
The first time he had ever really appreciated the house for what it was had him taking it all in like a visitor about to buy it. He inspected every inch of it as he walked down the portrait-laden hall and into the grand plaza. He stared in awe at the new definition within the room, at the paintings of his ancestors and places he had never been. Their definition was astounding.
The smell of smoldering cherrywood logs and leather filled his lungs as he gulped down the cool air. It felt good after all that running. The stinging on his hands and knees subsided and was all but gone by the time he reached his room. He changed his clothes and washed away the sweat from his brow. Even then, he was not as refreshed as his first time truly seeing. He was sure there were several pictures and small ornaments he had never noticed before. His small, heavily lived-in room felt spacious and cozy, like a warm, feather bed with too many blankets.
He smiled inwardly and stepped over to record these feelings in his journal. He stopped over to where he knew it had fallen and picked up his pen and instead of his small leather bound book, a single small strip of parchment, bearing the words:
We need to talk.
His mood remained undiminished, despite the steadily growing fear he was in trouble, and guided him up to the second floor to where Maynard would be quickly. Even as he made sure to investigate every object he passed with renewed vigor he made it to Maynard’s quarters in short time. He knocked lightly.
The door opened slowly and revealed a small office. It was unnaturally tidy and spaced out. A small bed, with corners so sharp and lines so smooth it looked like a coffin and a desk in the opposite corner with neatly stacked books with their titles facing out in gold embroidering. A large vanity mirror sat upon the desk and reflected the nearest wall, revealing a small closet and chest beside it. The walls were plain white and had not a single color upon them.
“How may I serve you?” He said obviously annoyed by Lucas’ wandering eyes. “Or are you here to snoop about my private quarters?” He sneered.
Lucas wondered why he was so spiteful but was not offended.
“You said we needed to talk.”
“I did no such thing. What are you talking about?”
Lucas was confused now and beginning to grow in suspicion.
“I found this note where my journal used to be, saying: ‘We need to talk’.”
“Well, it was not I who left it.”
“Who else could it have been?” Lucas countered.
“Perhaps your father?”
Lucas left Maynard standing in the doorway who called after him angrily. But Lucas was somewhere else now. His mind was traveling through the house to trace another’s steps.
Why would he be in my room? Was he looking for me? Maybe that’s why he left a note. But then again, I was already with him; if he wanted to talk he would have said more and not left.
He argued with himself all the way up the stairs and to the crimson doors guarded by gargoyles. Even in his blissful state, the ancient red doors filled him with dread. The room beyond was his father’s study for his eyes only. Lucas’ presence had never been felt within that room.
He reached out and grasped the heavy lion shaped knocker and released it a few inches from the door. In its’ own weight, it swung against the door with a knock like a gunshot and reverberated down the halls. Lucas recoiled from it and covered his ringing ears. A low creak was barely audible through his cupped hands. He looked up as the door opened and into his father’s smiling face.
“Congratulations, son, you’ve made it.”
The days crawled by slowly, time passing idly like wax down a candle. Lucas, as the flame, grew impatient and burned out quickly as the hours grew into days, grew into weeks, and grew into a fortnight. He attempted to busy himself with his journal and lessons each day, taking them in stride to get out as quickly as possible. Mr. Fletcher had even given him a ribbon for his new attitude, earning him a new pen from Maynard.
“This one has ivory in the handle and writes so smooth you would think it was butter. However, I would recommend you save it for a while before writing with it.”
“Save it for what?” Lucas had asked him as he pocketed the heavy pen. “And why would I write with butter?”
Maynard smiled, something rarely seen, and clapped Lucas on the shoulder.
“You’ll see what I mean when you have nothing to write with.”
Then he had stalked off to fetch lunch for their next meeting. Lucas hurried to his room and changed from his shirt into a sweater and brushed his hair down with his fingers. The pen fell from his pocket and landed on his journal with a thump. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and splashed his face with water, dabbing it up as he was also ridiculed for not doing.
“Lucas, are you ready?” Maynard asked him from the doorway, laden with bowls of soup and buttered bread. A twitch of a smile met his lips and clean shaven cheeks.
Lucas had been invited once again to lunch with his father on very special terms. He was to meet him in the backyard. Lucas couldn’t remember the last time he had ever been let out, even to the backyard, and was riveted with anticipation. He made sure to keep his appearance clean as he strode past Maynard at the door, and through the living room and down the southern hall he had never entered. Pictures hung from each window he passed in the long corridor, completely lit by sunlight.
How have I never been back here? This is so different from the rest of the house, so much better! If things go well, I’ll have to ask to come out again.
He approached the back door, made of stained glass painted with a griffin on its hind legs. The bright crimson around it shone through the sunlight and washed the room in a sleepy red that made the end of the hall appear to shrink as you neared it. Lucas opened the door and held in a gasp.
Great trees taller than the house stretched into the sky before him on either side of the stone trail, the red-orange and yellow leaves rustling in the wind. He stepped through the doorway and the door slammed behind him. The canopy above made a sea of waving green and cast an emerald glow to the ground level as it reflected the sunlight.
“If the outside is all this good I may never go back inside.”
Lucas walked for several minutes, pleasantly surprised at the immense size of their property and absorbed all his surroundings. The new feeling of adventure and freedom radiated from him and shone in his eyes with a glitter. He could feel the weight of his previous lifetime, of work and toil seep away and replace the loneliness with a new vigor for company. His limbs were instantly rejuvenated from the long walk and felt lighter with each step.
A thin smile began to etch its way across his face.
He froze mid-stride as the forest walls split and gave way to a beachfront. Soft, white sand shifted beneath his feet in the cool breeze of the October day and kissed at his cheeks. He left the wilderness and tried to grasp the words to explain what he was seeing.
A sandbank sat resolute before him, cradling a large lake with the clearest waters. The land was smooth and windswept with large rocks laid in a Zen pattern, strokes in the sand drawn around them. Smaller palm trees littered the area in deep shade and the occasional coconut sat half buried beneath them. A small pure glass table sat beneath the largest wall of refreshing shadow. A tall, thin man hidden behind his newspaper sat there with a cup of coffee simmering to his left.
Lucas’ heart hammered against his ribcage and he was sure his father would hear it. He swallowed his fear and gulped in the fresh air. It felt magnificent compared to the musty air he was sure he had been recycling since he was born.
He sat across from his father silently and stared in shock as Maynard appeared right behind him with a tray of food.
“How did you--?”
“I was right behind you, you must have missed me.” Maynard replied instantly and set the table.
Lucas watched his father’s newspaper sit completely still as he read it. Lucas read the headline:
Disappearances Confound All Yet Again
Abductions all across the country have continued to rise in number as another body has been found. Miss Gloria Croft (47) of Birmingham, England was found in her home dead after being gone over three months. No sign of forced entry had been found nor has a suspect been identified. Officers are inspecting the house and corpse for any new evidence of what transpired those months ago.
Maynard cleared his throat and thumped Lucas’ on the back of the head.
“You may eat now.” He murmured and backed away as usual.
Lucas surveyed the plate and took a little bit of everything, surprised at his now ravenous hunger. He ate quickly as to have time to talk to his father and washed it all down with a tall glass of milk.
He brushed the crumbs from his mouth and cleared his throat.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” His father spoke quietly and just as Lucas had opened his mouth.
“O..okay.” He stammered and gave his father his rapt attention.
“You spoke to Hollow a few weeks ago did you not?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he ask you?”
Lucas tried to recall all the strange questions the old man had listed off to him.
“Not all of them, just in general.” His father added after a moment of silence had stretched to a full minute.
“Oh, well, just a bunch of odd questions about things I could do.”
“And can you?”
Lucas seemed to lose all the air in his lungs. A cold depression had formed in his chest and weighed down his soul. He had not found anything he could do despite Hollow’s cheery outcome. He began to wonder if his father knew of what Hollow had meant by them.
“No.” He said at last, and flinched as though he thought his father would strike him. He clenched his eyes shut and peered slowly over as he sensed his father’s relief spread, relaxing his posture behind his newspaper, Lucas sighed. “Although, Hollow seemed to think I made a candle catch flame.”
Instantly the mood of the table changed. His father stirred no longer and had become a statue once again. The newspaper had ripped in two in his father’s hands and blew away in the breeze. Lucas couldn’t bear to look up at him though and stared down at his lap through the glass table. Then came what he had dreaded:
His father stood and disappeared into the wooded trail. Lucas sat alone at the table and turned to ask Maynard a question but found him to have gone as well. The all too familiar sense of longing began to gnaw at his insides. The cold depression clenched his heart and squeezed it with all its might, but no tears would fall. Lucas had decided long ago he had none left to shed after a childhood of neglect and prison walls.
He stood slowly and pushed his chair in, mouth tightly shut, and swept away from the table and into the trees. He rounded a corner and heard a rumbling groan like roots torn up. He turned and saw the sunlight around the corner he had just taken to be gone. He eyed it a second then continued, the nagging feeling that something was wrong began to grow in the back of his mind. Ignoring this, he continued on at a faster pace despite not wanting to leave the warm sunshine. The groaning began to follow him, a steady roar now, rushing from behind like a wall of water about to crash down on him and drown the house.
He turned and saw no path behind him, but the walls on either side of him closing together with more trees. He turned and ran, panting from the forest, sprinting as fast as he could. His shoes beat on the earth with every quaking step as the forest tried to swallow him, its great maw opening behind him with more roars as the trees uprooted themselves to close the path.
Lucas didn’t remember it taking this long to get back and began to panic. His legs began to ache and his head felt light. He was sure he would pass out and be engulfed by the trees. But he continued, automatically it seemed, something within him keeping the ravenous wild at bay and holding back his body’s ailments. He didn’t know what but he knew to trust it.
He began to follow the feeling, something lighter than air and more powerful than fear. A warm glow in his chest as his heart swelled with the tingling sensation. This fire began to consume him and propelled him forward faster and faster until all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the ecstatic thumping of his heart.
He stopped and waited, listening intently over his own noise for any sign of the trees’ next move.
How are they doing this? Trees don’t move. They just don’t, it’s impossible! Trees-don’t-move.
Or do they?
He had never asked this question before. It went against all logic, something that couldn’t, can’t and shouldn’t be; yet here it was before him, as plain as the nose on his face. How could he continue to deny it when it was chasing him? Was it fear or something else? Something he had known all along and would never admit?
BOOM!
An explosion of movement shook the earth beneath him as he leaped out of the way of a fallen tree, scratching his knees and palms and ripping the hems of his pants. He kicked at the ground as he struggled to his feet and reached inward for the feeling to give him the courage to run.
But it did not come.
Nothing, no matter how hard he tried, would it return. It had abandoned him and deemed him unworthy to guide. He kept running but it was so close now.
His heart began to beat faster.
Bump-bump, bump-bump.
He could hear the sounds of the trees giving chase as clearly as his own thoughts.
Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.
He could feel the tips of the branches against his back as they reached out for him. They were so close, too close, he couldn’t get past them.
Bump-bump-bump-bump-bump-bump-bump!
He could see the door to the house, the red window casting a crimson glow against the emerald of the leaves, he was so close, just a little further!
I’m almost there! I’m almost home! My..my..
The trees grabbed onto his shirt with their gnarled branches and lifted him off his feet, wrapping him up in their vines. He kicked and screamed, struggling against them as they enveloped him in darkness. His heart was a flutter now, pounding against his chest like it was about to leap from him and run for cover. He wanted to go with it, to be away from these things that wanted him, but there was no way to escape, he was trapped.
He curled his arms around himself to protect his face and struck at the insides of the leaves that surrounded him like a cocoon. He was within their many hands and fingers, held like a baby in their arms, so weak and fragile, something to be cared for and held tightly but not too tightly. They gave him room, enough to pull up his arms, he held them flat against the leaves and felt the feeling from before give his heart strength, the spirit to escape.
He screamed the first word that sprang to his head and collapsed as the leaves around him exploded and writhed in agony, instantly giving him a wide girth on the trail. He stood as fast as he could, covered in great trembles and shuddering breaths. He felt ice cold and numb, a dream-like state that spread from his head and down his neck then spine until it had stretched around his body like a second skin.
He could feel it.
His eyes opened as if he had never seen before. Colors so bright and vibrant, there were several he was sure he had never seen before. Great myriads of crisp, pure pigment filling his vision and embellishing this great new world he had yet to experience. A new life to live laid out before him. He accepted it and stood slowly, watching the trees around him back away as he neared them, several covered in small singes and blackened leaves.
He approached the door and grasped the handle in a firm grip and wrenched it open.
My..sanctuary.
The first time he had ever really appreciated the house for what it was had him taking it all in like a visitor about to buy it. He inspected every inch of it as he walked down the portrait-laden hall and into the grand plaza. He stared in awe at the new definition within the room, at the paintings of his ancestors and places he had never been. Their definition was astounding.
The smell of smoldering cherrywood logs and leather filled his lungs as he gulped down the cool air. It felt good after all that running. The stinging on his hands and knees subsided and was all but gone by the time he reached his room. He changed his clothes and washed away the sweat from his brow. Even then, he was not as refreshed as his first time truly seeing. He was sure there were several pictures and small ornaments he had never noticed before. His small, heavily lived-in room felt spacious and cozy, like a warm, feather bed with too many blankets.
He smiled inwardly and stepped over to record these feelings in his journal. He stopped over to where he knew it had fallen and picked up his pen and instead of his small leather bound book, a single small strip of parchment, bearing the words:
We need to talk.
His mood remained undiminished, despite the steadily growing fear he was in trouble, and guided him up to the second floor to where Maynard would be quickly. Even as he made sure to investigate every object he passed with renewed vigor he made it to Maynard’s quarters in short time. He knocked lightly.
The door opened slowly and revealed a small office. It was unnaturally tidy and spaced out. A small bed, with corners so sharp and lines so smooth it looked like a coffin and a desk in the opposite corner with neatly stacked books with their titles facing out in gold embroidering. A large vanity mirror sat upon the desk and reflected the nearest wall, revealing a small closet and chest beside it. The walls were plain white and had not a single color upon them.
“How may I serve you?” He said obviously annoyed by Lucas’ wandering eyes. “Or are you here to snoop about my private quarters?” He sneered.
Lucas wondered why he was so spiteful but was not offended.
“You said we needed to talk.”
“I did no such thing. What are you talking about?”
Lucas was confused now and beginning to grow in suspicion.
“I found this note where my journal used to be, saying: ‘We need to talk’.”
“Well, it was not I who left it.”
“Who else could it have been?” Lucas countered.
“Perhaps your father?”
Lucas left Maynard standing in the doorway who called after him angrily. But Lucas was somewhere else now. His mind was traveling through the house to trace another’s steps.
Why would he be in my room? Was he looking for me? Maybe that’s why he left a note. But then again, I was already with him; if he wanted to talk he would have said more and not left.
He argued with himself all the way up the stairs and to the crimson doors guarded by gargoyles. Even in his blissful state, the ancient red doors filled him with dread. The room beyond was his father’s study for his eyes only. Lucas’ presence had never been felt within that room.
He reached out and grasped the heavy lion shaped knocker and released it a few inches from the door. In its’ own weight, it swung against the door with a knock like a gunshot and reverberated down the halls. Lucas recoiled from it and covered his ringing ears. A low creak was barely audible through his cupped hands. He looked up as the door opened and into his father’s smiling face.
“Congratulations, son, you’ve made it.”
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Lucas Black of Down the Lane Chapter 3
Chapter Three: A Meeting Worthwhile
Lucas stared at it slowly, eyes wide as saucers, mouth agape. A hungry feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. He had known deep down it must have existed but his mind had convinced him otherwise. Seeing it now before him was a slap in the face to his reality and shook him. A groping sense began to spread into his arms and he found himself walking toward the mysterious door before he realized he was standing again.
Where the hell did this door come from?
The doors were disappearing slowly on either side.
I know it wasn’t there before. I would have noticed something like this.
He was nearing the end of the hall now, only a single door to his left and the crimson one before him.
It can’t have just appeared out of nowhere. Where does it go..?
His hand reached for the glistening knob and it turned. The handle felt smooth and ice cold despite the new heating of the floor. He thought for a fleeting second it was made of ice then laughed the thought away in his mind as that would be absurd.
Besides, it’s golden and not white. If it had been clear like crystal however.. No. Nobody in their right mind would make a doorknob out of ice.
The door opened very slowly with a creak then suddenly swung on its hinges as if an immense gale of wind was behind it. A flat plane of white greeted him; a large palette of nothingness to not truly watch or see. The non-existence of the doorway’s holdings grew higher as the light dimmed and the white turned a gloomy shade of gray and melded into the wall once again, the red door gone.
Lucas’ hand was still stretched out before him like he had been burnt and had gone stock still. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he had just seen. Or had he seen it? Such a thing couldn’t possibly be real in his world, not a boring existence of work and dreary gray walls. His life was much too boring, too normal for such a thing to occur. Yet..
“Master Lucas!”
Lucas leapt from where he stood and ran into the parlor room, away from the winding hall to the wall he thought was a doorway.
“There you are,” Maynard said pointedly and not looking at him, “Latin, downstairs, now.”
Lucas could hear the distaste of Maynard having to speak to him in the butler’s droning voice, perhaps the first time it had inspired any sort of emotion. Lucas nodded and passed him, approaching the staircase.
“Wait just a moment!” The bass called from behind.
“What is it now?”
Maynard inspected the room then onto the halls.
“How did you light these?”
Lucas wrinkled his nose and turned his head to the side.
“Light what?”
“The lanterns, you fool. They are lit, why I thought they had long since burnt out of fuel?” Maynard leaned in close and sniffed the one nearest him. “No smell of butane?” He unscrewed the small canister hanging from the lantern’s base and rattled it in his gloved hands.
“Nothing. Just as I thought.”
“Oh.” Was all Lucas could say. He was just as dumbfounded as Maynard. In fact, he was now watching all the lanterns burn out almost instantly and at once with the utmost expression of confusion. Maynard seemed to have noticed too for he turned in a complete circle with his mouth open as the darkness refilled the room with an almost tangible whoosh and the cold crept back in, pressing in on them most uncomfortably from all sides like being underwater.
Lucas’ insides shivered at what had transpired up here. This was the single most interesting day he had ever had in his life. A disappearing door, a way to nowhere, and torches that burn unhindered by a lack of fuel. Was this perhaps why the third floor was off limits to touching?
“What’s up here?” Lucas asked suddenly, surprised at the intensity of his own voice. It seemed strained, anxious for something to really be happening around him. Something worth trying to find.
“Nothing other than old antiques and the like; nothing you should worry yourself about.” Maynard replied not looking at him but instead around the room. He too appeared lost in thought for his voice was uncharacteristically high and wondering as if he had no real answer. But he was faster to hide it than Lucas and shook his head with a small pop of his neck.
“Don’t you have classes to attend to?” He asked in a falsely bored voice. Lucas could see the squinting of his eyes which always meant he was lying. Maynard sniffed again at his mustache and cleared his throat.
Lucas’ frowned up at him and crossed his arms. He was not about to go without something to contemplate.
I’ve got to have something to think about in Latin.
“Come on, Maynard, please?”
The sound of his name seemed to have brought Maynard back from his mood with an obvious reproach. Lucas instantly felt the mood of the room lighten, even with it back to its shadowed old self.
“Er, well, it’s nothing really. Just maybe some old belongings of your family’s,” Maynard rattled off as if he had been trying to find a way to explain without lying. “You know, old clothes and boxes of knickknacks and baby clothes you used to wear, books and your grandparents’ furniture. Your mother was quite the packrat..”
Maynard froze instantly and blushed a deep scarlet then swept out of the room. Lucas stood rooted to that spot and blinked. It was the first and only time he could remember anyone ever mentioning his mother around him. He knew so very little about her and had once believed Maynard when he was told at a young age he had been grown out in the back garden.
So these are my mother’s things. This is where she used to walk about and speak. She had once eaten and slept up here, actually been something. Lived...existed…
A large lump had risen in Lucas’ throat and he found it hard to swallow. He left his mother’s floor quickly and drifted into the kitchen where he found Maynard busily and with rapt attention scrubbing a large silver platter that Lucas knew had just been washed that morning.
He saw a man sitting at the table, not Mr. Fletcher but a new man he had never seen before. His hair was pure white and stuck out everywhere like he had been shocked, and he did indeed smell like something burning. His eyes were the palest gray as well, nearly silver and sat wide around the droopy eyelids that hung from them with age. His face was wrinkled and he bore an expression of being addled. Lucas couldn’t help but notice that he too wore strange clothing; something like a suit crossed with a cloak, covered in black stripes and white polka dots.
The old man looked up as Lucas approached him, apparently not noticing him or pretending he hadn’t to be polite.
“Ah, Lucas Black, I presume?” His whispery voice cooed like the wind down an empty street. Lucas jerked involuntarily and pretended the hairs on his arms weren’t standing as he nodded.
“Good, I’ve been expecting you for a long time, a very long time indeed.” He shook Lucas’ hand with his papery skin and beckoned for him to sit across from him. Lucas made sure to keep his chair scooted away from the table and kept his legs to the side in case he should run.
“Tea?”
Lucas stared blankly at him.
“Sorry, what?”
“Tea, would you like some?”
“Oh, no thank you.” Lucas lied for his mouth was quite parched. He instead chewed the inside of his lip and waited for the man to continue. He watched as the old man slurped his tea then poured another cup and slurped it down as well. Four cups later he seemed content and sighed happily. Lucas continued to stare at him in amazement as every cup was still steaming angrily.
“Now then, I am Mister Hollow Well; most people simply call me Hollow.” He announced with something of a flourish. “I am the—“
“Proprietor of many great things.” Maynard finished for him with a stern eye cast at the man. Hollow looked deflated like his introduction had been cut short for some kind of show. He ruffled his jacket and gave a plain smile.
“Yes, um, anyway, I am Hollow, and I do have many great things, but today is not about what I have, but what you have.”
Lucas’ stomach seemed to drop out from under him. His arm which he had been leaning on slipped and he fell forward from his seat and hit the table with his chin. The candles that had sat burning there fell over and rolled to the floor, extinguishing on the carpet.
Always on cue, Maynard lifted him into his seat and laughed with no enthusiasm.
“Boys will be boys will be boys.” He waved his hand as he spoke and bustled off into the kitchen. Lucas flushed red and stared at his shadow on the tabletop. His sore chin was nothing to the humility that burned in his chest.
“You alright, boy?”
Lucas nodded then sucked in a deep breath.
“Yeah..sir.” He added.
“Good, now, onto why I’m here for I am very, very busy. Have you ever had an affinity for guessing what people were thinking?”
Lucas shrugged and pondered over the question.
What does he mean ‘guessing what people were thinking’? Like reading someone’s mind or something?
“No, I..I don’t think so.” Lucas looked up and saw Hollow writing on a long sheet of parchment wrapped into a scroll he had not seen before. He leaned under the table and saw no bag or suitcase beside the man.
“Now..” Lucas jerked back up to the man before he looked up from his paper. “Have you ever made something happen out of the ordinary, like windows or doors opening?”
Lucas wracked his brain for any hidden meanings behind the question.
“Umm..no, not that either.”
Hollow began scribbling once again.
The questions went on for over an hour, Lucas answering as best he could and Hollow recording them on his sheet. Once or twice Lucas was sure he saw a grin flash across the old man’s face. Lucas assumed it was due to the oddity of each question, which became weirder and weirder until he had gone down to the bottom of the list.
“Have you ever noticed the weather to be what you prefer as soon as you step outside?”
Lucas answered no immediately as he was never allowed out and sat, sour, in his chair. His back was beginning to ache from sitting up to watch the strange man and his curiosity had long since wandered back to the red door above.
Will it reappear if I come up looking for it again? Maybe I have to relight the torches too..
“Last question!” Hollow announced.
Lucas smiled inwardly and thanked God for there being an end.
“Have you ever conjured anything or noticed something was not there until you wanted it to be?”
Lucas sat for a moment and decided at last to answer to what he was sure would bring a quick end to the interview.
“No sir, nothing.”
Hollow seemed to sink lower in his chair before looking up at Lucas again.
“You are Lucas Wayne Black?” He asked seriously.
“Yes?” Lucas asked back, stunned and confused.
“Raymon Black’s son?” He questioned further.
“Yes, yes I am Lucas Black, son of Raymon Black!” Lucas snapped exasperatedly.
Hollow seemed to freeze in his seat, lost in thought as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Lucas stared at him for a minute then made to get up.
“You’re sure you haven’t done any of them? Any?” He almost pleaded. His eyes bulged and his face became pale and flustered.
“No, I haven’t done any of your weird things! I’m just a normal, boring twelve year old with nothing to do and nowhere to go! Happy!?”
The room fell silent, Lucas stood there, chair knocked over behind him, Maynard now in the room looking alarmed, and Hollow sitting in his chair smiling to himself.
“What are you smiling about!?” Lucas cried and wanted so badly to hit him.
“Yes.”
Lucas shook his head not understanding.
“Yes? Yes what?”
“Yes, I am happy,” Hollow grinned.
His long thin fingers pointed to the center of the table where the candles Lucas had knocked over were sitting, burning once again with a bright golden flame. Its’ warm glow cast across Hollow’s gnarled face and gave him the appearance of a leather coat.
“You lied, Lucas Black.”
Lucas’ mouth was even drier than before and his brain seemed to have died. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton down his throat and kicked him in the head.
“You said you had never conjured anything or had it once you wanted it to be there.”
Lucas continued to stare at the small, un-flickering flame.
Hollow rolled the scroll back up and stuffed it into his coat then stood.
“Thank you, Lucas Black, for you time and patience. We will report to you your results in two to five weeks.” He gave a little bow and turned to the front door, leaving Lucas in the room with the flame that had definitely not been there before.
Lucas stared at it slowly, eyes wide as saucers, mouth agape. A hungry feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. He had known deep down it must have existed but his mind had convinced him otherwise. Seeing it now before him was a slap in the face to his reality and shook him. A groping sense began to spread into his arms and he found himself walking toward the mysterious door before he realized he was standing again.
Where the hell did this door come from?
The doors were disappearing slowly on either side.
I know it wasn’t there before. I would have noticed something like this.
He was nearing the end of the hall now, only a single door to his left and the crimson one before him.
It can’t have just appeared out of nowhere. Where does it go..?
His hand reached for the glistening knob and it turned. The handle felt smooth and ice cold despite the new heating of the floor. He thought for a fleeting second it was made of ice then laughed the thought away in his mind as that would be absurd.
Besides, it’s golden and not white. If it had been clear like crystal however.. No. Nobody in their right mind would make a doorknob out of ice.
The door opened very slowly with a creak then suddenly swung on its hinges as if an immense gale of wind was behind it. A flat plane of white greeted him; a large palette of nothingness to not truly watch or see. The non-existence of the doorway’s holdings grew higher as the light dimmed and the white turned a gloomy shade of gray and melded into the wall once again, the red door gone.
Lucas’ hand was still stretched out before him like he had been burnt and had gone stock still. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he had just seen. Or had he seen it? Such a thing couldn’t possibly be real in his world, not a boring existence of work and dreary gray walls. His life was much too boring, too normal for such a thing to occur. Yet..
“Master Lucas!”
Lucas leapt from where he stood and ran into the parlor room, away from the winding hall to the wall he thought was a doorway.
“There you are,” Maynard said pointedly and not looking at him, “Latin, downstairs, now.”
Lucas could hear the distaste of Maynard having to speak to him in the butler’s droning voice, perhaps the first time it had inspired any sort of emotion. Lucas nodded and passed him, approaching the staircase.
“Wait just a moment!” The bass called from behind.
“What is it now?”
Maynard inspected the room then onto the halls.
“How did you light these?”
Lucas wrinkled his nose and turned his head to the side.
“Light what?”
“The lanterns, you fool. They are lit, why I thought they had long since burnt out of fuel?” Maynard leaned in close and sniffed the one nearest him. “No smell of butane?” He unscrewed the small canister hanging from the lantern’s base and rattled it in his gloved hands.
“Nothing. Just as I thought.”
“Oh.” Was all Lucas could say. He was just as dumbfounded as Maynard. In fact, he was now watching all the lanterns burn out almost instantly and at once with the utmost expression of confusion. Maynard seemed to have noticed too for he turned in a complete circle with his mouth open as the darkness refilled the room with an almost tangible whoosh and the cold crept back in, pressing in on them most uncomfortably from all sides like being underwater.
Lucas’ insides shivered at what had transpired up here. This was the single most interesting day he had ever had in his life. A disappearing door, a way to nowhere, and torches that burn unhindered by a lack of fuel. Was this perhaps why the third floor was off limits to touching?
“What’s up here?” Lucas asked suddenly, surprised at the intensity of his own voice. It seemed strained, anxious for something to really be happening around him. Something worth trying to find.
“Nothing other than old antiques and the like; nothing you should worry yourself about.” Maynard replied not looking at him but instead around the room. He too appeared lost in thought for his voice was uncharacteristically high and wondering as if he had no real answer. But he was faster to hide it than Lucas and shook his head with a small pop of his neck.
“Don’t you have classes to attend to?” He asked in a falsely bored voice. Lucas could see the squinting of his eyes which always meant he was lying. Maynard sniffed again at his mustache and cleared his throat.
Lucas’ frowned up at him and crossed his arms. He was not about to go without something to contemplate.
I’ve got to have something to think about in Latin.
“Come on, Maynard, please?”
The sound of his name seemed to have brought Maynard back from his mood with an obvious reproach. Lucas instantly felt the mood of the room lighten, even with it back to its shadowed old self.
“Er, well, it’s nothing really. Just maybe some old belongings of your family’s,” Maynard rattled off as if he had been trying to find a way to explain without lying. “You know, old clothes and boxes of knickknacks and baby clothes you used to wear, books and your grandparents’ furniture. Your mother was quite the packrat..”
Maynard froze instantly and blushed a deep scarlet then swept out of the room. Lucas stood rooted to that spot and blinked. It was the first and only time he could remember anyone ever mentioning his mother around him. He knew so very little about her and had once believed Maynard when he was told at a young age he had been grown out in the back garden.
So these are my mother’s things. This is where she used to walk about and speak. She had once eaten and slept up here, actually been something. Lived...existed…
A large lump had risen in Lucas’ throat and he found it hard to swallow. He left his mother’s floor quickly and drifted into the kitchen where he found Maynard busily and with rapt attention scrubbing a large silver platter that Lucas knew had just been washed that morning.
He saw a man sitting at the table, not Mr. Fletcher but a new man he had never seen before. His hair was pure white and stuck out everywhere like he had been shocked, and he did indeed smell like something burning. His eyes were the palest gray as well, nearly silver and sat wide around the droopy eyelids that hung from them with age. His face was wrinkled and he bore an expression of being addled. Lucas couldn’t help but notice that he too wore strange clothing; something like a suit crossed with a cloak, covered in black stripes and white polka dots.
The old man looked up as Lucas approached him, apparently not noticing him or pretending he hadn’t to be polite.
“Ah, Lucas Black, I presume?” His whispery voice cooed like the wind down an empty street. Lucas jerked involuntarily and pretended the hairs on his arms weren’t standing as he nodded.
“Good, I’ve been expecting you for a long time, a very long time indeed.” He shook Lucas’ hand with his papery skin and beckoned for him to sit across from him. Lucas made sure to keep his chair scooted away from the table and kept his legs to the side in case he should run.
“Tea?”
Lucas stared blankly at him.
“Sorry, what?”
“Tea, would you like some?”
“Oh, no thank you.” Lucas lied for his mouth was quite parched. He instead chewed the inside of his lip and waited for the man to continue. He watched as the old man slurped his tea then poured another cup and slurped it down as well. Four cups later he seemed content and sighed happily. Lucas continued to stare at him in amazement as every cup was still steaming angrily.
“Now then, I am Mister Hollow Well; most people simply call me Hollow.” He announced with something of a flourish. “I am the—“
“Proprietor of many great things.” Maynard finished for him with a stern eye cast at the man. Hollow looked deflated like his introduction had been cut short for some kind of show. He ruffled his jacket and gave a plain smile.
“Yes, um, anyway, I am Hollow, and I do have many great things, but today is not about what I have, but what you have.”
Lucas’ stomach seemed to drop out from under him. His arm which he had been leaning on slipped and he fell forward from his seat and hit the table with his chin. The candles that had sat burning there fell over and rolled to the floor, extinguishing on the carpet.
Always on cue, Maynard lifted him into his seat and laughed with no enthusiasm.
“Boys will be boys will be boys.” He waved his hand as he spoke and bustled off into the kitchen. Lucas flushed red and stared at his shadow on the tabletop. His sore chin was nothing to the humility that burned in his chest.
“You alright, boy?”
Lucas nodded then sucked in a deep breath.
“Yeah..sir.” He added.
“Good, now, onto why I’m here for I am very, very busy. Have you ever had an affinity for guessing what people were thinking?”
Lucas shrugged and pondered over the question.
What does he mean ‘guessing what people were thinking’? Like reading someone’s mind or something?
“No, I..I don’t think so.” Lucas looked up and saw Hollow writing on a long sheet of parchment wrapped into a scroll he had not seen before. He leaned under the table and saw no bag or suitcase beside the man.
“Now..” Lucas jerked back up to the man before he looked up from his paper. “Have you ever made something happen out of the ordinary, like windows or doors opening?”
Lucas wracked his brain for any hidden meanings behind the question.
“Umm..no, not that either.”
Hollow began scribbling once again.
The questions went on for over an hour, Lucas answering as best he could and Hollow recording them on his sheet. Once or twice Lucas was sure he saw a grin flash across the old man’s face. Lucas assumed it was due to the oddity of each question, which became weirder and weirder until he had gone down to the bottom of the list.
“Have you ever noticed the weather to be what you prefer as soon as you step outside?”
Lucas answered no immediately as he was never allowed out and sat, sour, in his chair. His back was beginning to ache from sitting up to watch the strange man and his curiosity had long since wandered back to the red door above.
Will it reappear if I come up looking for it again? Maybe I have to relight the torches too..
“Last question!” Hollow announced.
Lucas smiled inwardly and thanked God for there being an end.
“Have you ever conjured anything or noticed something was not there until you wanted it to be?”
Lucas sat for a moment and decided at last to answer to what he was sure would bring a quick end to the interview.
“No sir, nothing.”
Hollow seemed to sink lower in his chair before looking up at Lucas again.
“You are Lucas Wayne Black?” He asked seriously.
“Yes?” Lucas asked back, stunned and confused.
“Raymon Black’s son?” He questioned further.
“Yes, yes I am Lucas Black, son of Raymon Black!” Lucas snapped exasperatedly.
Hollow seemed to freeze in his seat, lost in thought as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Lucas stared at him for a minute then made to get up.
“You’re sure you haven’t done any of them? Any?” He almost pleaded. His eyes bulged and his face became pale and flustered.
“No, I haven’t done any of your weird things! I’m just a normal, boring twelve year old with nothing to do and nowhere to go! Happy!?”
The room fell silent, Lucas stood there, chair knocked over behind him, Maynard now in the room looking alarmed, and Hollow sitting in his chair smiling to himself.
“What are you smiling about!?” Lucas cried and wanted so badly to hit him.
“Yes.”
Lucas shook his head not understanding.
“Yes? Yes what?”
“Yes, I am happy,” Hollow grinned.
His long thin fingers pointed to the center of the table where the candles Lucas had knocked over were sitting, burning once again with a bright golden flame. Its’ warm glow cast across Hollow’s gnarled face and gave him the appearance of a leather coat.
“You lied, Lucas Black.”
Lucas’ mouth was even drier than before and his brain seemed to have died. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton down his throat and kicked him in the head.
“You said you had never conjured anything or had it once you wanted it to be there.”
Lucas continued to stare at the small, un-flickering flame.
Hollow rolled the scroll back up and stuffed it into his coat then stood.
“Thank you, Lucas Black, for you time and patience. We will report to you your results in two to five weeks.” He gave a little bow and turned to the front door, leaving Lucas in the room with the flame that had definitely not been there before.
Lucas Black of Down the Lane Chapter 2
Chapter Two: The Study
The morning sun rose slowly over the next week, greeting the Black Manor groggily like it resented shining on such a dark and dreary place. The sunlight was wasted on the house as every window remained curtained shut and lit only by lanterns. Fear of prying eyes plagued the residents and made them pale and weary. Very rarely did they leave a window open or allow a single ray to pass through undiminished by shades.
Lucas’ eyes swelled as he watched the sun rise without blinking, enjoying his brief glimpses of the outside world when he could. He enjoyed the warmth on his skin, the growing sensation of light tingling that tickled his neck and face. He smiled as his skin absorbed the radiation and stretched, stifling a yawn with the side of his arm. He sat up in bed and scratched at his ruffled hair then swept it out of his eyes.
With perfect timing as if on cue, the sound of gloved knuckles rapping on his door met his ears.
“Come in if you must,” He breathed, still rubbing sleep from his watering eyes.
“Master Lucas, you are needed in the dining room—“
“I know, I know; for breakfast.” Lucas interrupted and stood, shrugging off his blankets.
Maynard sniffed his large nose and held his head up high, staring at the ceiling.
“Actually, you are needed in the upstairs dining room.” He continued very arrogantly.
Lucas tripped mid-step on his way to the door and stubbed his toe painfully. The pain never took his thought from this new occurrence. The upstairs dining room was where his father ate daily and was off limits to Lucas aside from when he was invited. Lucas’ palms began to sweat and his heartbeat picked up to a quick patter.
“What for?” He asked slowly, mind racing and failing to comprehend the orders he had been commanded. “Is he angry with me? I didn’t touch anything upstairs, I swear..”
Maynard inclined his head and moved aside, sweeping his arms out to the doorway. Lucas stumbled through it, dead on his feet as his mind went blank. His body seemed to know what to do however as his feet walked themselves through the main chamber and up the stairs. His arms hung limp in his pockets and bobbed in tune with his head lolled to the side.
What does he want with me? I haven’t done anything wrong or anything good either. Oh no, please don’t let it be more classes. He pleaded with himself as he stepped blindly through the second hallway to the right and covered the last several rooms of the house in what he wished was much longer. Lucas turned right in the furthest corner and stopped at the doorway to the lobby.
A pair of blood-red doors stood resolute off center in the back wall, faded and adorned in numerous scratches and knicks. A single knocker of brass hung on the left door with a roaring lion forged from it. Two large stone gargoyles guarded the doorway and stood over six feet tall on either side, wings spread and arms outstretched to strike.
Lucas stood planted across from them. His father had never let him within those doors and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was the place his father locked himself away every day and night hard at work in his study. He often heard strange noises and voices from within but knew better than to ever admit to eavesdropping.
He shook his head and returned to reality with a jarring jolt.
“Another time,” Lucas promised himself and continued across the lobby to the small glass door of the dining room.
“At last, he arrives,” Maynard sneered as he laid out the table. “Get lost did you, or just thought you would take the scenic route?”
Lucas ignored him and sat down at the table, pressing his chair in close to allow Maynard to pass behind him. It was a small room with a wall entirely of windows lighting it as the near entirety of the room was taken up by a broad cherrywood table. The ceiling was a light yellow and the walls an ivory meant to reflect the sunlight evenly which only made the small room hot and stifling.
Lucas stared at the streaks in the wood with his head low and gaze averted from the figure across from him.
“How are your studies?” His father asked him suddenly from behind his newspaper. Lucas shifted uncomfortably and searched for his voice.
“Uhh, good. They’re good.” He said sheepishly.
“Still studying your Latin?” He asked, opening to a new page and ruffling his paper for a better view.
“Yes, started the next level a few weeks ago. But I don’t understand why.”
His father’s ruffling ceased behind his cover of The Oracle’s Daily Dose and a silence grew between them.
“Explain.”
Lucas was taken aback by the sudden shift in the mood of the room. It was tense and every movement seemed to be an attempt at hiding a weakness. The very air seemed to shiver with anticipation.
“I..I don’t see why I need to study Latin when I’ll have no need of using it. It’s a dead language isn’t it?” Lucas spoke very quietly and slowly. He had never really known his father and a feeling of dread washed over him every meeting they shared. He was a fierce man or so he was told. It was common to see him wearing a dark suit though it was uncommon to see him at all.
“This is not a time for you to understand, but to listen.” He said in an air of great importance. “It is of the highest necessity you continue your Latin studies. You will know soon enough.”
Maynard appeared in the room again carrying great silver trays of eggs and toast and platters of bacon, sausage and biscuits laden with gravy. He set them on the table gracefully and poured orange juice into Lucas’ signature blue cup and a still steaming coffee was already in his father’s long fingered hand.
They ate in silence for a few minutes before his father stood from the table, having had only a piece of toast and coffee, then turned about abruptly and left the room, leaving Lucas to eat alone. His toast from then on became spongy and tasted like bile. Lucas abandoned his food and left as well, heading downstairs for his lessons.
“Master, Lucas, you are prepared for your Latin examination I take it?” Maynard said from the side of his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you didn’t forget to study for it.”
Lucas forced a smile and looked up at the aging butler from the table.
“What’s it like having no ambitions other than to have a clean house for someone to return to after achieving theirs?”
Maynard’s sallow face paled and his mustache twitched. Lucas thought for a moment he would hit him then knew at once he had gone too far. Maynard’s lips went thin and his face seemed oddly strained.
“No different than having nowhere to go and no one to see.” He spat and turned an about face on his heel with a squeak.
Lucas sat for a while then decided he was too amped to study. He sat in his room staring out the window past the great iron fence outside to watch the people go by. He watched them pass slowly and couldn’t help but notice it was a common tendency for them to blatantly look away from his house, as if it weren’t there.
But that man before saw it, Lucas argued with himself.
It had been a month since that mysterious figure had watched him stare back from afar. Lucas had nearly succeeded in convincing himself it was a ruse and he hadn’t really been stared at until he saw the slight scorch mark near his lantern. He had thought up numerous reasons and possibilities for how such a thing could have occurred and other things the man must have been watching. In fact, Lucas was so hard-pressed (by none other than himself) to find a solution to his question he had began keeping track of his ideas and theories in an old journal he found across the hall.
He opened it up and found crinkled pages, yellowed and dog-eared with a musty smell of history he relished. He dipped his quill in ink and thought of where to begin.
October 18th,
It has come to my attention that a man may or may have not been watching me from across the street. I have never seen him before, though his face was covered, nor did I recognize his stature, though he did have on a cloak, and his inquiry to me or my home has been the only I’ve ever noticed.
Seemingly invisible, I think the house might actually be unattractive and a bit of an eyesore. He was maybe someone sent to inspect it for the town or a tourist. No proof of him seeing me has arisen or been apparent.
I shall continue to watch the streets for any sign of him or other wandering eyes.
P.S. I think my torch has sprung a leak.
Content, Lucas tossed the journal onto his desk which promptly slumped to the floor, and left his room. Maynard passed him without a word on the stairs and purposely avoided his gaze. Lucas trudged on to the third floor as he had done the last several days off, whistled to himself, and reached into his pocket.
“Glad I remembered this..” He pulled out a small match and struck it on the rough wall with a flash. “Now where’s that lantern?” He turned on the spot and dashed to the small lantern on the wall as the match began to burn his fingers and lit it quickly. He wafted his hand through the air and sucked on the tip of his thumb gingerly.
Lucas watched the lantern flicker brightly on the corner wall near the cobweb laden, overstuffed chairs; casting a seemingly unknown-to-the-room glow that felt alien even to Lucas in such a forgotten place. The warm glow spread out its fingers, encroaching on the dark and lent a fond sense of life to the room. Lucas smiled slightly then turned to the next room.
Instantly the shadows eclipsed his rising sun. The parlor seemed just as abandoned as ever, perhaps even more so now with the light’s remaining in his mind. Lucas’ smile faltered and he found himself wishing for the light. He jumped a little as a brief whisper of sound scraped behind him.
“What the!” He exclaimed and turned about to view the room entirely. The small blackened, wrought-iron torch a few feet away had a small simmering flame like that of his match. Lucas leaned in closer to see it and laughed. “Guess it was here the whole time.” He turned the knob and the flame rose slowly in kind until a warm glow engulfed the small office.
Maybe this will change their mind about me coming up here.
Lucas went room to room then for the next hour, and found to his delight that every torch upon his approaching appeared to have already been lit. Upon lighting every room until the entire third floor was alight he surveyed his work. The chilly October weather Lucas normally enjoyed was nowhere to be seen and the darkness that once stained the entire floor was left trying to invade in the far corners and hidden beneath tables. The shift in mood was instantaneous. He felt alive, like he had done something worthwhile the first time in his life. Something not already decided for him.
Lucas held his arms out wide to allow the rich moment to consume him and stared at the ceiling. A small glint shone in his eye like a passing window in the morning sun. He blinked and looked down the hall at the cause.
There, down the hallway now illuminated in firelight, stood the bright red door emblazoned with its shimmering golden handle.
The morning sun rose slowly over the next week, greeting the Black Manor groggily like it resented shining on such a dark and dreary place. The sunlight was wasted on the house as every window remained curtained shut and lit only by lanterns. Fear of prying eyes plagued the residents and made them pale and weary. Very rarely did they leave a window open or allow a single ray to pass through undiminished by shades.
Lucas’ eyes swelled as he watched the sun rise without blinking, enjoying his brief glimpses of the outside world when he could. He enjoyed the warmth on his skin, the growing sensation of light tingling that tickled his neck and face. He smiled as his skin absorbed the radiation and stretched, stifling a yawn with the side of his arm. He sat up in bed and scratched at his ruffled hair then swept it out of his eyes.
With perfect timing as if on cue, the sound of gloved knuckles rapping on his door met his ears.
“Come in if you must,” He breathed, still rubbing sleep from his watering eyes.
“Master Lucas, you are needed in the dining room—“
“I know, I know; for breakfast.” Lucas interrupted and stood, shrugging off his blankets.
Maynard sniffed his large nose and held his head up high, staring at the ceiling.
“Actually, you are needed in the upstairs dining room.” He continued very arrogantly.
Lucas tripped mid-step on his way to the door and stubbed his toe painfully. The pain never took his thought from this new occurrence. The upstairs dining room was where his father ate daily and was off limits to Lucas aside from when he was invited. Lucas’ palms began to sweat and his heartbeat picked up to a quick patter.
“What for?” He asked slowly, mind racing and failing to comprehend the orders he had been commanded. “Is he angry with me? I didn’t touch anything upstairs, I swear..”
Maynard inclined his head and moved aside, sweeping his arms out to the doorway. Lucas stumbled through it, dead on his feet as his mind went blank. His body seemed to know what to do however as his feet walked themselves through the main chamber and up the stairs. His arms hung limp in his pockets and bobbed in tune with his head lolled to the side.
What does he want with me? I haven’t done anything wrong or anything good either. Oh no, please don’t let it be more classes. He pleaded with himself as he stepped blindly through the second hallway to the right and covered the last several rooms of the house in what he wished was much longer. Lucas turned right in the furthest corner and stopped at the doorway to the lobby.
A pair of blood-red doors stood resolute off center in the back wall, faded and adorned in numerous scratches and knicks. A single knocker of brass hung on the left door with a roaring lion forged from it. Two large stone gargoyles guarded the doorway and stood over six feet tall on either side, wings spread and arms outstretched to strike.
Lucas stood planted across from them. His father had never let him within those doors and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was the place his father locked himself away every day and night hard at work in his study. He often heard strange noises and voices from within but knew better than to ever admit to eavesdropping.
He shook his head and returned to reality with a jarring jolt.
“Another time,” Lucas promised himself and continued across the lobby to the small glass door of the dining room.
“At last, he arrives,” Maynard sneered as he laid out the table. “Get lost did you, or just thought you would take the scenic route?”
Lucas ignored him and sat down at the table, pressing his chair in close to allow Maynard to pass behind him. It was a small room with a wall entirely of windows lighting it as the near entirety of the room was taken up by a broad cherrywood table. The ceiling was a light yellow and the walls an ivory meant to reflect the sunlight evenly which only made the small room hot and stifling.
Lucas stared at the streaks in the wood with his head low and gaze averted from the figure across from him.
“How are your studies?” His father asked him suddenly from behind his newspaper. Lucas shifted uncomfortably and searched for his voice.
“Uhh, good. They’re good.” He said sheepishly.
“Still studying your Latin?” He asked, opening to a new page and ruffling his paper for a better view.
“Yes, started the next level a few weeks ago. But I don’t understand why.”
His father’s ruffling ceased behind his cover of The Oracle’s Daily Dose and a silence grew between them.
“Explain.”
Lucas was taken aback by the sudden shift in the mood of the room. It was tense and every movement seemed to be an attempt at hiding a weakness. The very air seemed to shiver with anticipation.
“I..I don’t see why I need to study Latin when I’ll have no need of using it. It’s a dead language isn’t it?” Lucas spoke very quietly and slowly. He had never really known his father and a feeling of dread washed over him every meeting they shared. He was a fierce man or so he was told. It was common to see him wearing a dark suit though it was uncommon to see him at all.
“This is not a time for you to understand, but to listen.” He said in an air of great importance. “It is of the highest necessity you continue your Latin studies. You will know soon enough.”
Maynard appeared in the room again carrying great silver trays of eggs and toast and platters of bacon, sausage and biscuits laden with gravy. He set them on the table gracefully and poured orange juice into Lucas’ signature blue cup and a still steaming coffee was already in his father’s long fingered hand.
They ate in silence for a few minutes before his father stood from the table, having had only a piece of toast and coffee, then turned about abruptly and left the room, leaving Lucas to eat alone. His toast from then on became spongy and tasted like bile. Lucas abandoned his food and left as well, heading downstairs for his lessons.
“Master, Lucas, you are prepared for your Latin examination I take it?” Maynard said from the side of his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you didn’t forget to study for it.”
Lucas forced a smile and looked up at the aging butler from the table.
“What’s it like having no ambitions other than to have a clean house for someone to return to after achieving theirs?”
Maynard’s sallow face paled and his mustache twitched. Lucas thought for a moment he would hit him then knew at once he had gone too far. Maynard’s lips went thin and his face seemed oddly strained.
“No different than having nowhere to go and no one to see.” He spat and turned an about face on his heel with a squeak.
Lucas sat for a while then decided he was too amped to study. He sat in his room staring out the window past the great iron fence outside to watch the people go by. He watched them pass slowly and couldn’t help but notice it was a common tendency for them to blatantly look away from his house, as if it weren’t there.
But that man before saw it, Lucas argued with himself.
It had been a month since that mysterious figure had watched him stare back from afar. Lucas had nearly succeeded in convincing himself it was a ruse and he hadn’t really been stared at until he saw the slight scorch mark near his lantern. He had thought up numerous reasons and possibilities for how such a thing could have occurred and other things the man must have been watching. In fact, Lucas was so hard-pressed (by none other than himself) to find a solution to his question he had began keeping track of his ideas and theories in an old journal he found across the hall.
He opened it up and found crinkled pages, yellowed and dog-eared with a musty smell of history he relished. He dipped his quill in ink and thought of where to begin.
October 18th,
It has come to my attention that a man may or may have not been watching me from across the street. I have never seen him before, though his face was covered, nor did I recognize his stature, though he did have on a cloak, and his inquiry to me or my home has been the only I’ve ever noticed.
Seemingly invisible, I think the house might actually be unattractive and a bit of an eyesore. He was maybe someone sent to inspect it for the town or a tourist. No proof of him seeing me has arisen or been apparent.
I shall continue to watch the streets for any sign of him or other wandering eyes.
P.S. I think my torch has sprung a leak.
Content, Lucas tossed the journal onto his desk which promptly slumped to the floor, and left his room. Maynard passed him without a word on the stairs and purposely avoided his gaze. Lucas trudged on to the third floor as he had done the last several days off, whistled to himself, and reached into his pocket.
“Glad I remembered this..” He pulled out a small match and struck it on the rough wall with a flash. “Now where’s that lantern?” He turned on the spot and dashed to the small lantern on the wall as the match began to burn his fingers and lit it quickly. He wafted his hand through the air and sucked on the tip of his thumb gingerly.
Lucas watched the lantern flicker brightly on the corner wall near the cobweb laden, overstuffed chairs; casting a seemingly unknown-to-the-room glow that felt alien even to Lucas in such a forgotten place. The warm glow spread out its fingers, encroaching on the dark and lent a fond sense of life to the room. Lucas smiled slightly then turned to the next room.
Instantly the shadows eclipsed his rising sun. The parlor seemed just as abandoned as ever, perhaps even more so now with the light’s remaining in his mind. Lucas’ smile faltered and he found himself wishing for the light. He jumped a little as a brief whisper of sound scraped behind him.
“What the!” He exclaimed and turned about to view the room entirely. The small blackened, wrought-iron torch a few feet away had a small simmering flame like that of his match. Lucas leaned in closer to see it and laughed. “Guess it was here the whole time.” He turned the knob and the flame rose slowly in kind until a warm glow engulfed the small office.
Maybe this will change their mind about me coming up here.
Lucas went room to room then for the next hour, and found to his delight that every torch upon his approaching appeared to have already been lit. Upon lighting every room until the entire third floor was alight he surveyed his work. The chilly October weather Lucas normally enjoyed was nowhere to be seen and the darkness that once stained the entire floor was left trying to invade in the far corners and hidden beneath tables. The shift in mood was instantaneous. He felt alive, like he had done something worthwhile the first time in his life. Something not already decided for him.
Lucas held his arms out wide to allow the rich moment to consume him and stared at the ceiling. A small glint shone in his eye like a passing window in the morning sun. He blinked and looked down the hall at the cause.
There, down the hallway now illuminated in firelight, stood the bright red door emblazoned with its shimmering golden handle.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Post Radio Chapter 1
--Chapter One: The Bridge of Fire
Has anyone ever told you the story of Joshua? He led an immense army against an even greater enemy to aid an old ally. And against all odds, defeated the Israelites in battle, wielding the power of the Sun to blind his enemy..
The sun had set only an hour ago when I stepped across the toll bridge of Dallas. No water here as was usual, but an immense crater had befell the city, a new valley, the ridge constantly aflame from the immense natural gases below. This “moat” kept the city ironically safe from attack and raids, therefore holding one of the largest populations in the country.
I passed the guards, their helmets turning in my direction, boring into my back as I stalked past them across the bridge. A small man standing in the middle of the bridge several feet away held his hand up and signaled for me to stop. I stopped in my tracks and turned.
At the base of the rope bridge from which I had entered stood the two guards, rifles drawn. I looked to my left and noticed a small tower, like that we had at a football game in my old high school, and a man crouched low on it.
Sniper.
The small man held his hands out and walked back and forth in a pace. He smiled a wicked sneer, his mousy face wrinkling around his thin mustache and thin lips. His beady black eyes and thinning, dirty hair the same color.
“You sir, do you see this here line?” He motioned to the ground just behind him, a red line crudely painted. “This here is the boundary line it is. You wanta’ cross? Yeh’ have ter’ pay.”
“Pay what? There is no money or currency.”
The man snickered and snorted, his pointed nose crinkling back.
“Why trade a’ course!” He leaned forward, one eye open, and studied my face. “You some kind a moron or just plain stupid?”
I remained silent, knowing this man held no power but that sniper rifle had enough to blast my head off. He stopped laughing then and shrugged.
“Awright then you know the drill. Drop the rifle an’ present anythin’ you think’s worth tradin’.”
I removed the Old Rifle from my back but held it at my waist.
“Is this for this entrance only or permanent?” I questioned, awaiting a sure answer as the man turned around, facing someone, and then faced me again.
“Uhh, depends.”
“On?”
“Dangit. On. Whatever it is you trade! There.”
I stopped for a moment, considered it, and then placed the Old Rifle on the bridge. Slipping the sack off my back, I plopped it on the ground and rummaged through it. The small man craned his neck forward in hopes to see.
“Okay. I’ve got two bars of scented soap, a pack of napkins, and some matches.” I said finally. Making a point to keep my supplies hidden. The man scratched the scruff on his chin, small fragments splintering off.
“How ‘bout that bottle a’ water you got there?” He said finally, not really a question. I cursed myself for leaving it exposed in the outer right pocket. I debated with myself a moment, the small man’s foot tapping impatiently.
“Or I could just leave ya’ here to face the weather. Wind’s pickin’ up.” The man smiled a grisly grin, yellow teeth glinting even in the dim light from the moat of fire. I couldn’t help but notice the rising winds, the fires roaring with every pass.
“Fine,” I replied at last. “But I’m keeping the matches.”
The small man smiled and laughed, waving me on. I gathered my supplies and slung the Old Rifle over my shoulder. I handed over the water resentfully then the soap and napkins. The small man sneered and leaned close, his rank breath smelling of raw meat and cheese.
“Welcome ta’ Dallas.”
The city was like a mountain had collapsed on itself, imploding the miles of land below it. The dirt was still brown but blackened, little ash remained here in the churned sands of the daily walked. Small buildings like that I had once camped in sat at random all over the sides of Dallas, all down the steady decline. A steep hill beheld the entire city on every side of the circular area, the very middle of the city a small plateau of water. It was no surprise as water was a commodity that a fence was placed around the well with several guards around it in chairs.
The houses and businesses looked the same scrap yard cabins like a child would make in a tree house. Sheet metal and stained and rusted planks of iron from cars, other buildings and trash cans were formed into their walls and roofs. Several doors were nothing but a tarp or blanket nailed onto three four by fours attached to the house by a rope. None had windows but a few businesses had a sign out front, often misspelled or crooked. A sort of diner, shop, and common house were placed to the left, and houses all around. Small chimneys sprouted from the cabins and sputtered smoke, clogging the air of the higher regions of the city.
The air here was putrid and reeked of sulfur. The constant fire from the Barnett Shale kept the city toasty, even in the below freezing nights. The tainted sky seemed just as illuminescent with the moon hidden behind it however and gave little relief to this painstaking reality.
People bustled about with their poor lives, trading supplies and food before returning home for the night. People working random jobs such as guard, hunter, mechanic, technician, cook or whatever was needed departed and made their trip for dinner. I debated with myself what job I would seek. My skills seemed appropriate enough, however they were all bent around surviving, not contributing a trade.
Cook and mechanic are no good and a technician is nowhere near. Maybe a hunter or guard? I’ll have to check tomorrow morning.
A large stone building stood erect near the center of the city. It had great walls of marble and granite, scorch marks across its’ face. As I neared it, further recognition dawned on me as I read the small bronze plaque.
The old Court House. This must be the base of the old building. I didn’t think anything had survived down here. Memories not so fond coursed through my mind of times here, but were still worth remembering compared to this godforsaken hole. But memories are only memories and intangible, so I kept them to myself as I stepped through the doorway of the apparently named Underground Inn. Thankfully no one asked any question when I asked for a room in exchange for a set of blankets.
“Have a safe night, son.” The old bartender said. I nodded curtly and went away without directions. Not much of a people person I guess. A few minutes and dimly lit corridors later, I found room number one seventeen with an X through it and a twenty seven painted below it. They key stuck then turned slowly, the door hinges creaking as the grime on them cracked and split like chapped lips.
The room smelled of smoke, as did the rest of the town, and had a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. A large wooden chair sat in the corner of the room, a musty bed across from it with an OD green sheet.
No blankets, great. Old man takes mine knowing he hasn’t got any. I groaned and kicked off my boots. Just being indoors seemed alien to me. No sky, no matter how foreboding, seemed unnatural. Two and a half years of wandering, traveling the wastes to find somewhere for work and life. Two and a half years of escaping from..
A loud knock at the door echoed in the nearly empty room. I searched the shadows for my boots but gave up as the door shuddered under another impatient knock. I walked cautiously to the door and peered through the eye hole. A tall man with broad shoulders and a square jaw stood just outside, a black trench coat hanging to his feet which were in armored boots. I saw the weight of a rifle on his right shoulder even under his jacket. His eyes were hidden behind tinted sunglasses with wide rims.
A Waster? I thought sorely. Too many encounters with the no good thieves and murderers.
“What do you want?” I said gruffly, not opening the door. I wished I had grabbed the Old Rifle from off my bed. I saw the man smile slightly and crack his knuckles.
“This room has been reserved for the likes of Mr. Wallace, and his associates, of which I am one. I would like to procure this room as of this moment.” The large man said calmly like some kind of protocol, not a hint of alcohol in his voice.
Taken back, I opened the door to investigate the man. The door squealed open and the man stepped forward, blocking any exit.
“Well. You’re definitely not a Waster. But I am curious as to who you are.” I said questioningly yet defensively as I remained stationary, less than six inches from the giant. His chin was level with my eyes, which I had to strain upward to see his face without raising my head.
“My name and rank is Sergeant Roberts the fifth. You may call me Sergeant Roberts. Now, will you be vacating the premises?” He leaned down slightly, staring me hard in the eye even as I couldn’t see his.
“Actually no. I paid for this room and without compensation will not be leaving. Sorry.”
“Compensation.” He scoffed. “You sir, are lucky to have been given the option.”
“Is that right? Well now, I don’t care who you are or how big you might be. But there is always a choice.”
Roberts laughed then, a deep hollow chuckle like a boulder rolling down a mountain.
“I like you sir. Unfortunately, the Military has strict rules on who is allowed in, and you, with your sun-tanned skin and darker hair..” I noticed then his pale skin and blond hair. “You wouldn’t get past the front gate.” The man eyed me then and looked up and down the hall with quick glances.
A sudden right hook caught me then; right on the chin and I must’ve flown twelve feet, as I hit the back wall of my room. I laid there, dazed, unable to move and just watched as Roberts grabbed my supplies and left, yelling something I couldn’t understand. I stood shakily and walked out into the hallway toward the exit, and saw Roberts leave through the front door, a small group of large men around him. I watched him show off my supplies and strut around like he had just succeeded in shooting Hitler as my vision and stability returned.
I stormed through the door after him, chair in hand, and brought it down hard on the back of his head with a loud crack. Roberts collapsed in a heap, my pack falling on top of the Old Rifle. Instantly the men around him turned on me.
I prepared to fight them all but a gunshot broke my focus. We all turned to look at a midsized man, hair hidden under an old Dallas Cowboys cap, wearing dirty jeans and a ripped football jersey. A small revolver was held tightly in his left hand, fingers turning white with the strain. He waved the pistol at the men who reluctantly left when a crowd began to form around us. He looked at me then and laughed a wheezy breath.
“You took one hellova’ beatin’ out there. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“Military.” I stuttered, my chin numb. It had been a long time since I had fought anyone.
“Huh. Then why are they after you?”
“They’re in the Military?”
“Nah,” The man removed his cap and scratched his head. “They are Military. It’s a conglomerate of the Air Force, Marines, Army and Navy, but only those who think they’re better. Racists, disriminists, sexists, they’re all in there. Supposedly to, ‘Rebuild a better, pure, world for all’. But everyone knows to stay outta’ their way. They’ve still got guns and the like. Power too, betcha’ right now those boys are already getting a warm meal from some Colonel.”
I absorbed all this, stunned and ashamed of my ignorance in the world.
How could I have traveled this long and not heard about this?
“How big are they?”
“Who the Military? Huge. Biggest single group of people there is anymore. Probably three thousand members. They’ve been all over, killing anyone they see fit, or unfit really. You should listen to Post Radio some time. They’re always bringin’ em up.”
A radio? An actual working radio broadcast?
“I’ll do that. Where can I pick them up?”
The man shrugged.
“You need yer’ own radio I’m afraid. These brutes won’t let us keep ‘em.” A deep sorrow passed over his face then. “It’s on eighty two point five though.”
“Thank you, you’ve been very helpful mister..”
“Henry. Just call me Henry.”
“Mister Henry. You’ve been most kind, thank you.”
I threw my pack down on the bed and followed suit. My head pounded like my hammering heart and my back ached miserably. My arms and legs felt like metal and weighed hundreds of pounds. Even in the dark room I saw bright flashes of light and shimmering mirages.
That right eye must be pretty bad. Least Roberts is worse off, sitting in some hospital.
I decided then to stay the night, but not without precautions. I sat up slowly and strenuously and found my bag in the dark. I felt around for some string and nailed it across the bottom of the doorway, a bell hanging from it. The chair would be my bed for tonight and the queen sized mattress a barricade against the door to the next room over. All locks were checked and a chain fastened across the bed frame to the doorknob.
I pulled the Old Rifle against me and laid back in the chair, and slowly, very slowly, drifted off to sleep.
But for me, sleep was no reprieve. No vacation or escape from the harsh world I had to face every day. A past as war torn as the new Earth plagued my mind like a weed. The seed grew and grew until it seeped life from the happy things I could remember. The things now forgotten.
Dark walls and a lice ridden cot. A tray of maggots and meatloaf paste. These were all I had now. Taunting memories to remind me of what once was and never should have been, and what I will never get back or glimpse.
Is this hell really any better than my old one? Or are they just the same thing in disguise? Maybe I never woke up from that last beating and have been rotting in there these last two and a half years. But what do I care? I’d never know the difference. Pain is pain and death is death. At least I’m not suffering. Or am I? When’s the last time I looked in a mirror?
I woke then. Something inside me telling me to. Nothing at the door, nor the sleeping bell. The bed was still in place and the frame hadn’t moved an inch. No, something else had stirred me from my rest. Had it been my subconscious or something greater? I turned on the lantern with one of my matches and walked to the sink. I looked up into grey eyes.
My grey eyes. So sunken. So shallow. My face was gaunt beyond belief. My cheekbones jutted out from the thin face I called my own with pools of purple below my eye sockets. My once clean skin now stained and sunburned. My teeth were horrid yet better than most with my box of fluoride and pack of floss. My face was so depressed and hung like a noose in the gallows. My long greasy hair hung to my shoulders like a wet mop covered in filth. My lips were chapped and cracked around the sides, small bloody flakes about them like pedals on a flower. I stared in disbelief at my scarred and starved body, ribs showing and muscles rippling beneath empty skin.
How long has it been since I’ve eaten more than a few morsels of anything? I asked my reflection aloud. So hurt and betrayed. How could I have let myself get this way? I’m all I’ve got and I need to keep that in mind. I looked back to those eyes staring back at me like a lifeless fish would, floating slowly in the water, bobbing up and down. My facial hair was tremendous like the Amish I had once seen on television but disgusting.
I slipped the small knife I had found long ago from my belt and held it to my throat.
It’s time.
I slid the knife across my neck and gasped.
A chunk of beard the size of my fist fell to the floor. It sat beside my bare foot like a rat waiting for me to leave, unnoticed. I continued shaving, hair spilling like rain from the clouds until my face was clear and bristly until it had almost seemed like me. Then I returned to those eyes.
Nothing I can do about those. I decided and replaced the knife into my belt. I looked down to the sink and turned the knob. Nothing, as I expected. However a single drop of water plopped into the porcelain below. The first water I had seen clean and unadorned by another’s previous encounter. This was clean, fresh water.
“Tomorrow, I find work and a reason to be here.”
Has anyone ever told you the story of Joshua? He led an immense army against an even greater enemy to aid an old ally. And against all odds, defeated the Israelites in battle, wielding the power of the Sun to blind his enemy..
The sun had set only an hour ago when I stepped across the toll bridge of Dallas. No water here as was usual, but an immense crater had befell the city, a new valley, the ridge constantly aflame from the immense natural gases below. This “moat” kept the city ironically safe from attack and raids, therefore holding one of the largest populations in the country.
I passed the guards, their helmets turning in my direction, boring into my back as I stalked past them across the bridge. A small man standing in the middle of the bridge several feet away held his hand up and signaled for me to stop. I stopped in my tracks and turned.
At the base of the rope bridge from which I had entered stood the two guards, rifles drawn. I looked to my left and noticed a small tower, like that we had at a football game in my old high school, and a man crouched low on it.
Sniper.
The small man held his hands out and walked back and forth in a pace. He smiled a wicked sneer, his mousy face wrinkling around his thin mustache and thin lips. His beady black eyes and thinning, dirty hair the same color.
“You sir, do you see this here line?” He motioned to the ground just behind him, a red line crudely painted. “This here is the boundary line it is. You wanta’ cross? Yeh’ have ter’ pay.”
“Pay what? There is no money or currency.”
The man snickered and snorted, his pointed nose crinkling back.
“Why trade a’ course!” He leaned forward, one eye open, and studied my face. “You some kind a moron or just plain stupid?”
I remained silent, knowing this man held no power but that sniper rifle had enough to blast my head off. He stopped laughing then and shrugged.
“Awright then you know the drill. Drop the rifle an’ present anythin’ you think’s worth tradin’.”
I removed the Old Rifle from my back but held it at my waist.
“Is this for this entrance only or permanent?” I questioned, awaiting a sure answer as the man turned around, facing someone, and then faced me again.
“Uhh, depends.”
“On?”
“Dangit. On. Whatever it is you trade! There.”
I stopped for a moment, considered it, and then placed the Old Rifle on the bridge. Slipping the sack off my back, I plopped it on the ground and rummaged through it. The small man craned his neck forward in hopes to see.
“Okay. I’ve got two bars of scented soap, a pack of napkins, and some matches.” I said finally. Making a point to keep my supplies hidden. The man scratched the scruff on his chin, small fragments splintering off.
“How ‘bout that bottle a’ water you got there?” He said finally, not really a question. I cursed myself for leaving it exposed in the outer right pocket. I debated with myself a moment, the small man’s foot tapping impatiently.
“Or I could just leave ya’ here to face the weather. Wind’s pickin’ up.” The man smiled a grisly grin, yellow teeth glinting even in the dim light from the moat of fire. I couldn’t help but notice the rising winds, the fires roaring with every pass.
“Fine,” I replied at last. “But I’m keeping the matches.”
The small man smiled and laughed, waving me on. I gathered my supplies and slung the Old Rifle over my shoulder. I handed over the water resentfully then the soap and napkins. The small man sneered and leaned close, his rank breath smelling of raw meat and cheese.
“Welcome ta’ Dallas.”
The city was like a mountain had collapsed on itself, imploding the miles of land below it. The dirt was still brown but blackened, little ash remained here in the churned sands of the daily walked. Small buildings like that I had once camped in sat at random all over the sides of Dallas, all down the steady decline. A steep hill beheld the entire city on every side of the circular area, the very middle of the city a small plateau of water. It was no surprise as water was a commodity that a fence was placed around the well with several guards around it in chairs.
The houses and businesses looked the same scrap yard cabins like a child would make in a tree house. Sheet metal and stained and rusted planks of iron from cars, other buildings and trash cans were formed into their walls and roofs. Several doors were nothing but a tarp or blanket nailed onto three four by fours attached to the house by a rope. None had windows but a few businesses had a sign out front, often misspelled or crooked. A sort of diner, shop, and common house were placed to the left, and houses all around. Small chimneys sprouted from the cabins and sputtered smoke, clogging the air of the higher regions of the city.
The air here was putrid and reeked of sulfur. The constant fire from the Barnett Shale kept the city toasty, even in the below freezing nights. The tainted sky seemed just as illuminescent with the moon hidden behind it however and gave little relief to this painstaking reality.
People bustled about with their poor lives, trading supplies and food before returning home for the night. People working random jobs such as guard, hunter, mechanic, technician, cook or whatever was needed departed and made their trip for dinner. I debated with myself what job I would seek. My skills seemed appropriate enough, however they were all bent around surviving, not contributing a trade.
Cook and mechanic are no good and a technician is nowhere near. Maybe a hunter or guard? I’ll have to check tomorrow morning.
A large stone building stood erect near the center of the city. It had great walls of marble and granite, scorch marks across its’ face. As I neared it, further recognition dawned on me as I read the small bronze plaque.
The old Court House. This must be the base of the old building. I didn’t think anything had survived down here. Memories not so fond coursed through my mind of times here, but were still worth remembering compared to this godforsaken hole. But memories are only memories and intangible, so I kept them to myself as I stepped through the doorway of the apparently named Underground Inn. Thankfully no one asked any question when I asked for a room in exchange for a set of blankets.
“Have a safe night, son.” The old bartender said. I nodded curtly and went away without directions. Not much of a people person I guess. A few minutes and dimly lit corridors later, I found room number one seventeen with an X through it and a twenty seven painted below it. They key stuck then turned slowly, the door hinges creaking as the grime on them cracked and split like chapped lips.
The room smelled of smoke, as did the rest of the town, and had a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. A large wooden chair sat in the corner of the room, a musty bed across from it with an OD green sheet.
No blankets, great. Old man takes mine knowing he hasn’t got any. I groaned and kicked off my boots. Just being indoors seemed alien to me. No sky, no matter how foreboding, seemed unnatural. Two and a half years of wandering, traveling the wastes to find somewhere for work and life. Two and a half years of escaping from..
A loud knock at the door echoed in the nearly empty room. I searched the shadows for my boots but gave up as the door shuddered under another impatient knock. I walked cautiously to the door and peered through the eye hole. A tall man with broad shoulders and a square jaw stood just outside, a black trench coat hanging to his feet which were in armored boots. I saw the weight of a rifle on his right shoulder even under his jacket. His eyes were hidden behind tinted sunglasses with wide rims.
A Waster? I thought sorely. Too many encounters with the no good thieves and murderers.
“What do you want?” I said gruffly, not opening the door. I wished I had grabbed the Old Rifle from off my bed. I saw the man smile slightly and crack his knuckles.
“This room has been reserved for the likes of Mr. Wallace, and his associates, of which I am one. I would like to procure this room as of this moment.” The large man said calmly like some kind of protocol, not a hint of alcohol in his voice.
Taken back, I opened the door to investigate the man. The door squealed open and the man stepped forward, blocking any exit.
“Well. You’re definitely not a Waster. But I am curious as to who you are.” I said questioningly yet defensively as I remained stationary, less than six inches from the giant. His chin was level with my eyes, which I had to strain upward to see his face without raising my head.
“My name and rank is Sergeant Roberts the fifth. You may call me Sergeant Roberts. Now, will you be vacating the premises?” He leaned down slightly, staring me hard in the eye even as I couldn’t see his.
“Actually no. I paid for this room and without compensation will not be leaving. Sorry.”
“Compensation.” He scoffed. “You sir, are lucky to have been given the option.”
“Is that right? Well now, I don’t care who you are or how big you might be. But there is always a choice.”
Roberts laughed then, a deep hollow chuckle like a boulder rolling down a mountain.
“I like you sir. Unfortunately, the Military has strict rules on who is allowed in, and you, with your sun-tanned skin and darker hair..” I noticed then his pale skin and blond hair. “You wouldn’t get past the front gate.” The man eyed me then and looked up and down the hall with quick glances.
A sudden right hook caught me then; right on the chin and I must’ve flown twelve feet, as I hit the back wall of my room. I laid there, dazed, unable to move and just watched as Roberts grabbed my supplies and left, yelling something I couldn’t understand. I stood shakily and walked out into the hallway toward the exit, and saw Roberts leave through the front door, a small group of large men around him. I watched him show off my supplies and strut around like he had just succeeded in shooting Hitler as my vision and stability returned.
I stormed through the door after him, chair in hand, and brought it down hard on the back of his head with a loud crack. Roberts collapsed in a heap, my pack falling on top of the Old Rifle. Instantly the men around him turned on me.
I prepared to fight them all but a gunshot broke my focus. We all turned to look at a midsized man, hair hidden under an old Dallas Cowboys cap, wearing dirty jeans and a ripped football jersey. A small revolver was held tightly in his left hand, fingers turning white with the strain. He waved the pistol at the men who reluctantly left when a crowd began to form around us. He looked at me then and laughed a wheezy breath.
“You took one hellova’ beatin’ out there. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“Military.” I stuttered, my chin numb. It had been a long time since I had fought anyone.
“Huh. Then why are they after you?”
“They’re in the Military?”
“Nah,” The man removed his cap and scratched his head. “They are Military. It’s a conglomerate of the Air Force, Marines, Army and Navy, but only those who think they’re better. Racists, disriminists, sexists, they’re all in there. Supposedly to, ‘Rebuild a better, pure, world for all’. But everyone knows to stay outta’ their way. They’ve still got guns and the like. Power too, betcha’ right now those boys are already getting a warm meal from some Colonel.”
I absorbed all this, stunned and ashamed of my ignorance in the world.
How could I have traveled this long and not heard about this?
“How big are they?”
“Who the Military? Huge. Biggest single group of people there is anymore. Probably three thousand members. They’ve been all over, killing anyone they see fit, or unfit really. You should listen to Post Radio some time. They’re always bringin’ em up.”
A radio? An actual working radio broadcast?
“I’ll do that. Where can I pick them up?”
The man shrugged.
“You need yer’ own radio I’m afraid. These brutes won’t let us keep ‘em.” A deep sorrow passed over his face then. “It’s on eighty two point five though.”
“Thank you, you’ve been very helpful mister..”
“Henry. Just call me Henry.”
“Mister Henry. You’ve been most kind, thank you.”
I threw my pack down on the bed and followed suit. My head pounded like my hammering heart and my back ached miserably. My arms and legs felt like metal and weighed hundreds of pounds. Even in the dark room I saw bright flashes of light and shimmering mirages.
That right eye must be pretty bad. Least Roberts is worse off, sitting in some hospital.
I decided then to stay the night, but not without precautions. I sat up slowly and strenuously and found my bag in the dark. I felt around for some string and nailed it across the bottom of the doorway, a bell hanging from it. The chair would be my bed for tonight and the queen sized mattress a barricade against the door to the next room over. All locks were checked and a chain fastened across the bed frame to the doorknob.
I pulled the Old Rifle against me and laid back in the chair, and slowly, very slowly, drifted off to sleep.
But for me, sleep was no reprieve. No vacation or escape from the harsh world I had to face every day. A past as war torn as the new Earth plagued my mind like a weed. The seed grew and grew until it seeped life from the happy things I could remember. The things now forgotten.
Dark walls and a lice ridden cot. A tray of maggots and meatloaf paste. These were all I had now. Taunting memories to remind me of what once was and never should have been, and what I will never get back or glimpse.
Is this hell really any better than my old one? Or are they just the same thing in disguise? Maybe I never woke up from that last beating and have been rotting in there these last two and a half years. But what do I care? I’d never know the difference. Pain is pain and death is death. At least I’m not suffering. Or am I? When’s the last time I looked in a mirror?
I woke then. Something inside me telling me to. Nothing at the door, nor the sleeping bell. The bed was still in place and the frame hadn’t moved an inch. No, something else had stirred me from my rest. Had it been my subconscious or something greater? I turned on the lantern with one of my matches and walked to the sink. I looked up into grey eyes.
My grey eyes. So sunken. So shallow. My face was gaunt beyond belief. My cheekbones jutted out from the thin face I called my own with pools of purple below my eye sockets. My once clean skin now stained and sunburned. My teeth were horrid yet better than most with my box of fluoride and pack of floss. My face was so depressed and hung like a noose in the gallows. My long greasy hair hung to my shoulders like a wet mop covered in filth. My lips were chapped and cracked around the sides, small bloody flakes about them like pedals on a flower. I stared in disbelief at my scarred and starved body, ribs showing and muscles rippling beneath empty skin.
How long has it been since I’ve eaten more than a few morsels of anything? I asked my reflection aloud. So hurt and betrayed. How could I have let myself get this way? I’m all I’ve got and I need to keep that in mind. I looked back to those eyes staring back at me like a lifeless fish would, floating slowly in the water, bobbing up and down. My facial hair was tremendous like the Amish I had once seen on television but disgusting.
I slipped the small knife I had found long ago from my belt and held it to my throat.
It’s time.
I slid the knife across my neck and gasped.
A chunk of beard the size of my fist fell to the floor. It sat beside my bare foot like a rat waiting for me to leave, unnoticed. I continued shaving, hair spilling like rain from the clouds until my face was clear and bristly until it had almost seemed like me. Then I returned to those eyes.
Nothing I can do about those. I decided and replaced the knife into my belt. I looked down to the sink and turned the knob. Nothing, as I expected. However a single drop of water plopped into the porcelain below. The first water I had seen clean and unadorned by another’s previous encounter. This was clean, fresh water.
“Tomorrow, I find work and a reason to be here.”
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