Again, italics arnt present in the forum version
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CHAPTER 1: Man of the Fourth World
“Work!” Aiden slammed his hands onto the keyboard of his computer in an attempt to get the ancient thing to work. The whole thing failed and the blue screen of death fizzed on screen. He sighed and crumbled. Computers. Why were they useless?
Aiden was just about to restart when the screen vanished and a browser window opened of its own accord, “Dad!” he yelled. If ever there was something wrong it was always best to shout him. He didn’t call again. Something merged onto the screen, a chat room. Letters and words appeared. He was alone in a chat room with this other guy.
Aiden! – Strange, very strange. Curiosity consumed him.
Hello, who r u? Seconds passed until more letters snapped on screen.
Come to the park at midnight! – He was just about to type a rude response when the blue screen of death reappeared and continued shut down. He backed away from the keyboard as if it was poisonous. What just happened?
Ok, nothing to panic about, someone just took control of your PC, it was a mate playing a trick. And I’m definitely not meeting him! That was the conclusion in his mind for the next hour, he wasn’t going to go and get himself embarrassed or humiliated, and certainly not at midnight. He pushed the thought aside but didn’t touch the computer again.
The evening wore on and the thought came back carrying more thoughts. Perhaps he should go? Perhaps its something important? He reasoned with himself as he sat in bed that night and gazed up at his starry ceiling that hadn’t been changed from childhood. His alarm clock read 11. One hour to decide.
A tiny blip signalled 11.15. He wasn’t going. It was stupid to, his mum and dad had already sacrificed enough for him. It was some crazy hacker paedo trying to lure him out. His stomach quivered at the thought. Someone was watching him, they could be watching him now. Tiptoeing from the bed he peeked through the curtain to find darkness, but his worries didn’t stop. He rolled back into bed and tightened the covers over himself.
No matter how much he tried to warm himself, an invisible icy blister twisted over his head. Aiden felt his stubby lip blue over and quiver, half with cold the other with an unfamiliar emotion of fret. What was wrong with him? Why was he frightened? The great Aiden Themis frightened! He closed his eyes with slight anger at himself.
Then he felt it.
The cold turned nasty, it bit his arms, legs and skin all over, sharp shocks of pain. Dagger like but invisible, cutting, trimming, gnashing at his body. But he couldn’t shout or scream for his throat was blocked with some kind of stopper. He was silenced. The cuts became harder, forcing him out of his bed.
He hurtled out of bed, throwing on his coat and shoes, the pain easing as he did this. He stopped and looked down at his scarf in his hands. He paused for several minutes then the pain came back. Clenching his teeth he turned blue and reluctantly placed the scarf around his neck. This time the pain continued, it didn’t break him, it gave him strength and motivation. He had to get out, he had to go to the park or else.
Or else.
Something at the back of his mind told him “or else”. The pain would never stop if he didn’t reach his destination, despite all acts of reason the stinging voice had taken over.
The door opened before he got there, he stepped out and the door slammed behind. He grappled the handle from outside trying to force it open, placing a foot on the wall. But nothing, not even a creak gave way. He felt a slash in the back of his knee which ordered him to continue.
Looking up at the sky he saw it was like an assaulted body, dark blue skin bruised with black clouds and slashes of wispiness. He dared not look forward for some way; he travelled along the barren streets with haste. There were no street lamps to guide his way or passers by to aid him. Nothing. Just nothingness only the shimmering puddles of water splashed by eddies of wind on dark, black tar. The pain had gone but the voice had not. Stop.
The wrought iron gates of the park formed streaks of blackness on the ground, a shadow prison for an innocent convict.
He almost expected a dark silhouette to be near it, but there was none. Nothing, no one. It was strange, he half wondered where the vandals and druggies were – dealing no doubt, or worse. Perhaps they had all been disposed of by this new voice, the voice of the chat room earlier. Text.
He halted and pulled his coat tight. He had been here many times for football games and cricket matches, watching of course, he was too lumpy for the team and he knew it.
Well that settled it – the voice had brought him here, now it was time to leave. It had gotten what ever it wanted, a glimpse of him, the thrill of control. The pain hadn’t come back – that must be it.
He turned to leave and put his hands in between the rails ready to skim them, maybe for his own reassurance, when a soft slither coiled aroundhis arm. He looked down to see a gnarled, pale, cursed hand, he traced it in semi horror to find two shimmering eyes looking straight at him from beyond the bars. He pulled away but the hand hung on and pulled him closer. The pain was gone and the voice was gone. This thing seemed to have absorbed it.
“Get off me!” He shouted as loudly as he could but the person behind the bars silenced him with one gesture.
“Quiet boy!” His voice was masterful, it did not linger in the air as it was sharper than the bitterness of the wind, as soon as the words were spoken they recoiled again. His cracked blue lips pulling a toothless smile from his mouth. A chain hung from his neck which appeared to make his body crooked and from it lay a key, bigger than Aiden’s arm, it dulled as the moon fell behind him and was hidden in shadow as the man edged slightly closer.
“Listen!” Imperative though the man was Aiden obeyed. “The Boatman” Aiden made another foolhardy attempt to pull away, but the Boatman’s eyes yellowed dangerously.
“Ok, the Boatman? Who are you?” Aiden asked, he didn’t want to speak at all but questions began to spew into his mind.
“A Boatman of the Seas I am not and another Boatman I shall not tell, “The pain came back and seared in Aiden’s arm as the Boatman’s clench tightened.
“You have a task, man of the first world.” A cold metal object formed from nothingness in Aiden’s other hand. A silver knife, cool and sleek, power within it.
“Go home, do not wake your parents and puncture their hearts with this knife, kill them both and do it quickly, then come back here.”
This man was a lunatic, but where did the knife come from? Was this man for real? Why would he kill his parents whom he loved and cherished? “Why?” He said simply.
“Because man of the first world, this is your purpose, if you do not do this simple task terrible things will happen in all four worlds which could destroy all things. This small task is of vital importance.” The man moved out of shadow and pressed his face against the railings. He was small, bald with two great black eyes in his boiled face. Scars struck across his nose and cheeks and met to form a strange symbol beside his left eye.
Aiden shook with horror as he laid eyes upon the man who spoke to him, the Boatman. His ugliness could only mimic that of hell.
A jolt of pain passed through him which sent him to his knees. The Boatman walked clean through the railings and stood looking down at him at his feet. And placed his other, gloved hand on Aiden’s head. The scene vanished before his eyes and instead another place merged into his head.
It was the very same street but instead of the blackness, red, gleaming blood boiled and steamed, each crack and gutter was filled with deep blood. The blood merged into a river and that into a stream until the street was nothing but rubble swimming with this lethal toxin. There were no people. Then the scene zoomed outwards, he could see the world, a red giant, bubbling and steaming with a sickening glory, the oceans were barren, the continents no more. The world had ended. But then the view zoomed in, back into the street and a small baby lay on a piece of melting debris, crying, screaming. A man, not unlike the Boatman appeared , floating above the river. He was hooded with a glove on his left hand. That gloved hand picked up the baby and slowly, its flesh, skin and bone crumbled and dissolved into the thicket of blood.
He was back in the real world, his eyes filling with tears, his stomach wailing in a tortured agony.
“Now, go home and kill them. If you do not then you are risking everything” His voice quavered for the first time in the meeting, a slight fear clinging onto his last word. Aiden felt his arm free again and the Boatman had vanished. He picked himself up and sprinted home, the knife still cool in his sweaty hands.
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