Young Writers Society

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Chapter 1

‘Disheartening’

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The trees swayed in the wind, their bare branches clawing out at the nearby run-down buildings that scattered the area. A light shone from a nearby building. The crackling sound of a fire that had just been started lent it’s sound to the orchestra of sounds coming from the wildlife of the area. Chirping insects, howling wind, the odd bark of a stray dog filled the air. But, not any birds. Never any birds.

A man bent over something in the darkness, his form cast a eerie shadow on the cracked drywall. A faint chanting echoed in the background. The man ran his dark, rough and scarred hands over something under a black cloth.

He emptied a vial of silver powder on top of the black cloth that covered what looked like a long object, his chanting staying steadfast. The man took something from the fire with a pair of tongs, a silver ring, now glowing red-hot from the fire. He placed the ring on the mound of silver powder on the cloth. It fizzed until it cooled. Next, the man produced another vial from under his dark, ragged clothing. He popped it open and carefully pulled out a long hair.

His chanting grew in haste. He carefully wound the hair around the pile of silver powder and cooling ring. His chanting growing louder. The man’s shadow grew long as he stepped back from the covered object. His hands held out, he withdrew a short knife from his trousers. A quick slash of his forearm and blood began to run down his wrist, to his hand, and down his finger, which he held over a tin can. After a few seconds he applied a cloth to his wound.

The man stepped forward cautiously. He held out the can and slowly turned it over, so that a drip of blood fell from the edge. it traveled through the air, now filled with tension. The man stepped back quickly as the blood hit the silver pile. A loud bang, followed by a bright blaze of fire emitted from the pile. The fire quickly burned out, and the man lowered his arm from in front of his face. Two shadows now danced on the drywall.

“Ah, good.” Muttered the man, in a nasally broken tone.

“You know what you must do.”

The second shadow collapsed on itself and disappeared.

The man looked down at the now burned black cloth, a charred hand protruding from the ashes.

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“Oh, c’mon! You know he’s been having nightmares for weeks now.” A male voice echoed down the halls of an old victorian home.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he can just run from them. He has to grow up sometime.” A female voice retorted.

“How is letting him sleep with us one more time not letting him grow up?” The male voice questioned.

“Stephen. He’s not a baby anymore. Let him figure it out himself.” The woman sharply answered.

Bruce looked through the crack of his slightly opened door, his bedroom pitch black. Everything but his eyes hidden under the covers, his scruffy brown hair matted to his forehead.

“Fine. We’ll see how he does tonight. But, if it happens again I’m letting him stay with us until this passes.” The male voice said.

“Done.”

The light through the crack of the door darkened, the door opened and the boy’s father stuck his head into the room.

“Hey, you alright, little champ?” The father’s voice was caring and affectionate.

The boy mumbled and silently shivered.

"We’re going to see how you do tonight, if anything happens, just come knock on mommy and daddy's door?” The father sounded pained.

“Mmhm.” Was all the boy could manage.

“Sleep well, my little champion.” The father said as he slowly shut the door.

Blackness covered the room, the boy covered his face, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, he lowered the blankets from his eyes, he scanned the room. His closet door was firmly shut, with his basket of clothes right in front, keeping it from swinging open. His dresser, with the top shelf slightly open, and a sock hanging out was to his left. To his right was his play area. A wooden rocking horse sat surrounded by toys and action figures. The horse’s eyes stared endlessly.

Bruce shut his eyes.

CREEK

Bruce’s eyes flashed open, his heart pounding. He quickly scanned the room. There! The rocking horse swayed, then came to a stop. The eyes still staring. Bruce’s eyes continued to scan the room. Everything was normal, his heart still pounded in his chest. He waited a few minutes, then his eyes slowly shut.

CREEK, BANG

Bruce threw the covers down, and frantically reached for his flashlight that lay on his nightstand. He grabbed it and turned it on. The closet door swung wide open, his clothes thrown over the rocking horse, whose eyes now looked terrified. Bruce took a breath to scream. A black hand shot from the closet and stretched all the way across the room and covered his mouth. Bruce’s heart pounding in his ears, he tried to scream, but no sound came out. A dark face emerged from the closet, it’s eyes glowed an eerie green, it’s mouth like a slash across it’s face, It smiled. The face stretched all the way up to Bruce’s. Bruce continued to attempt to scream, he was being held down.

The face cocked to the side, studying Bruce. Tendrils snaked out of the closet, covering the room. The flashlight lay at Bruce’s side, illuminating the room. The creature’s darkness seemed to swallow the light. The wooden horse’s eye’s staring. A tendril snaked it’s way up to Bruce’s side. It lifted, as if ready to strike. The face straightened, as if it had made up it’s mind. The tendril shot forward and impaled the boy through the heart. Blood covered the boys chest and soaked into the blankets. The creature held Bruces mouth shut as he tried to scream. No sound escaped, his body rigid in pain. Suddenly, the flashlight turned off.

There was pitch blackness for a second, then a bright light like the sun exploded out of Bruces chest, obliterating the creature in a split second. A loud shriek emitted from the closet as the room was illuminated. Bruce finally gave let out a bloodcurdling scream, before his sight began to blacken. His head fell. He watched as the sheets turned a dark crimson. The door burst open and he heard his father yell out before everything went black.

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Bruce attempted to open his eyes. His vision too blurry to see, just bright light, so he closed them. The room smelt like latex gloves and sterile equipment.

“He’s awake.” A females voice said.

“Oh, thank God.” It was his fathers voice.

Bruce tried to mumble something, but found he couldn’t take a breath. Equipment next to him beeped.

“He’s not going to be able to speak for some time. I recommend not attempting to ask him any questions, yet. His mind probably hasn’t processed what’s happened.” The female voice explained.

He heard a opening and closing of a door. Then, a woman sobbing.

“Oh, Stephen. Who could have done this?” It was his mother.

He heard his father try to calm his mother. “I don’t know.”

Bruce felt like he was floating, yet he couldn’t move a muscle. The machine beeped again, and he felt himself slip into sleep once more.

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Bruces thoughts swirled around him. He heard voices around him but couldn't make any of them out. He searched the voices for those he might know.

“It’s a miracle.” He could make out his uncles voice.

“Yes, but why? Why would someone or something go after Bruce?” It was his aunt.

“That doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that Bruce is alive, and safe.” His fathers voice.

“Yes. Nothing will be able to harm him now.” A deep male voice he didn’t recognize.

There was a short pause in he conversation.

“The MP’s were there.” The deep male voice continued.

“What? What would they have to do with any of it?” his father inquired, worried.

“I’m not sure. I’ll try to find out more about what is going on.” The deep voice said.

“Charles, are you sure we can leave him here? Is it safe?” His mother inquired. Bruce didn't recognize the name, it had to be the deep, male voice.

“For right now. But, we should move him soon. You all can stay at my residence, and the school until we are able to find out who, or what is behind this.” said Charles.

“I fear the worst.” His aunt sighed.

Bruce grunted, he tried to lift his hand, but it felt tied down for some reason. Someone noticed and moved to his side.

“Shh. it’s okay, you’re safe, go back to sleep. You have a lot of healing to do, my little Champion.”

He heard a beeping sound, then everything blacked out once more.

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Bruce dreamed of the monster that night. He stared into the horrifying, piercing, green eyes. They seemed to be lifeless, yet so full of anger at the same time.

WHY?

The single thought resounded in Bruce's head.

Bruce was ripped from his sleep as rays of light hit him in the face. He opened his eyes, but he could only squint, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The bandage was gone, and there was no smell of latex or the sound of equipment beeping. The room smelt like an old man’s cologne. He could make out a dark shape in front of a window. The curtains had just been thrown back.

Bruce groaned, his chest hurt. He felt like he was strapped down. The shape turned, and walked to the end of his bed.

“Good morning, young sir.” A male voice he didn't recognize, said.

The shape moved to the side of his bed and reached over to undo whatever was holding him down.

“I apologize for the straps, but they were necessary to keep you from harming yourself in your sleep. You seemed to be experiencing something unusual.” The voice sounded genuine, and worried.

“My name is Markus, and I am Charles’ servant here at this residence.” Markus moved out of his vision.

“I will be looking after you until Charles arrives in just a few days. He had some… unfinished business to attend too. But, I assure you he has made every effort to make you feel welcome.” Markus moved back into Bruce’s vision. He carried a small platter, on a wooden table made for eating in bed.

Bruce reached up with his now free hands and rubbed his eyes. They were nearly crusted shut.

“You’ve been asleep for nearly two weeks now.” Markus said, noticing Bruce’s effort.

“You must be starving.”

And indeed he was. At the smell of whatever was on the platter, Bruce’s stomach groaned, reminding him that it was still there.

Bruce took the silver top off the platter, revealing Chicken Noodle soup, with buttered bread, and orange juice. He began to shovel the meal into his mouth, only stopping to breathe.

Markus stepped back and chuckled at Bruce’s ferocity. He sat in a chair at the far end of the room.

Bandages were wrapped around his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Bruce looked around. He lay in a large bed made of stained wood. The room reflected this. A single large window set in the wall to his right, he could see distant fields stretching as far as he could see, and mountains in the background. It looked as if he was very high up. The room was furnished with a empty fireplace to his left and a few used-looking chairs circled around his bed, one of which Markus sat in, watching Bruce. At the opposite end of the room was a closed door, with two full bookshelves on ether side.

“Your parents are out at the moment, they will be glad to see you have awakened. They are staying in the room across the hall. I am in the room right behind this door.” Markus looked in his mid forties, with a clean shaven face and greying hair. He wore a servants garb. He looked comfortable, but worried at the same time.

“I am also charged with your safe keeping until we can figure out exactly what happened. You will always be within twenty feet of me, and in my eye sight as much as possible. Once you are well enough to move, you may do as you please on the grounds, but always in my company.”

Bruce nodded, then returned to his meal.

“Who is Charles?” Bruce managed to croak out. His voice rough.

Markus’ eyes softened.

“Charles is a a distant relative of your fathers. You will know more once you are well. I promise.”

Bruce nodded then slid the empty platter and glass forward. Markus took them and left the room, closing the room softly behind him.

Bruce leaned back and stared at the ceiling. The images flashed in his mind. He turned over and squeezed his eyes shut.

‘WHY?’ Bruce’s thoughts flew around his head.

Bruce heard the door open and shut as Markus silently entered. A soft whistling calmed Bruce’s nerves. The birds outside began to sing along to the whistling. This continued for a few minutes, as Bruce drifted along on the brink of consciousness. The beauty of the song and the harmonizing birds causing the memories to fade away. He never even thought of why, or how the birds were singing along with Markus.

The whistling stopped at the sound of a soft knock on a door. Bruce stayed where he was, drifting. Footsteps announced the arrival of someone.

“How is he doing?” Charles questioned in a soft meaningful tone.

“He’s doing fine. He finished his meal in seconds, and he’s now asleep.” Markus answered.

“Ah, just like his father.” Charles said, chuckling.

The footsteps moved to the side of the room, then a chair creaked as Charles sat.

“What have you found?” Markus asked in an anticipating tone.

Charles sighed.

“It’s much worse than we thought.” Bruce heard another chair creek as Markus sat.

“Is it …” Markus trailed off.

“I’m not sure. It took me a week to just get to the boys room, by then the police had already gone through everything, and the footprint had faded slightly, but it was strong, Markus. Extraordinarily strong.”

Charles paused.

“Normally any other footprint would have worn off by then, but not this one. I can’t quite figure it out. But, whatever it was, it was dark. Very dark.” Charles sounded worn down, defeated.

“What do we do now?” Markus asked.

Charles sighed once more.

“Now, all we can do is wait for Bruce to heal. And, move the Witherfields into safety.”

“It’s been over a hundred years since we have had to do that.” Markus said.

“Yes, but there is no other choice. Not until we can furthur study the footprint and pinpoint exactly what it is and from where it was sent.” Charles answered.

“In the meantime, we should look into Bruce. Something is different about him. And, obviously someone knows and wants him dead.”

Charles and Markus sat there for a time, then Charles left, and Markus lit a fire in the fireplace, softly humming to himself.