J.E. Wilkins
CONTENTS **********************************************
00.
ORIGIN OF DEFINITION
01.
ARRIVAL
02.
APPROACH
03.
AWAKENING
04.
RELEASE
05.
NO EVIL
06.
CAPTURED CAPABILITY
07.
CHAOS AND CONFUSION
08.
POUR REFLECTIONS
09.
EMPATHY WITHOUT INTIMACY
010.
ENTER SABARD
011.
AMETHYST AMENDMENT
012.
PERSONAL GAIN
013.
TRAPPED IN ‘MARES
014.
NIGHTMARE ESCAPE
015.
SLEEPLESS KNIGHTS
016.
INSOMNIA CRISIS
017.
TRICK AND TRADE
018.
SOUL EXCHANGE
019.
ABOVE AND BELOW
020.
DREAM DILEMMA
021.
FAREWELL
022.
EARTH BOUND
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Plague of the Black Zodiac
ARRIVAL
01
“A man’s real strength isn’t determined by his power but how he chooses to use the power he already possesses.”
A
S LONG AS THERE HAVE BEEN CIVILIAZATIONS, there have been people to maintain them. Located in the central region of North New Jersey, near the borderline of New York State, is a town that is exempt from the establishments of its civilization--it’s Huntersville, New Jersey. Most of the town is shrouded in forest that conceals the complex within its minimal meat factories, schools, shopping centers, and parks. Huntersville is a peaceful community. There are friendly neighbors, children who play together, teachers who care about childhood education, charity events--and of course, every town isn’t complete without its share of the occasional demonic activity. Huntersville might have been sunshine and roses during the day, but when the sun went down, it was wise to avoid the demons and the forces of darkness that walked freely throughout the town. For thousands of years this location has had an unidentifiable widespread of affliction, calamity, and evil. No one knew what went on, not for hundreds of years. All they knew was that people unknowably came up missing; and they were mysteriously dying. Huntersville could not maintain its civilization because it did not have any people.
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Erick Pierce has been a resident of Huntersville for almost four years. After his mother, sister, brother, and he moved from Irvington, New Jersey, Marcellus, Erick’s older brother, was one of the people who went missing almost two and a half years after they had moved. They had luckily settled into a recent vacancy; enrolled into a new school; applied for new jobs; and had successfully started a new life at 1253 Augusta Boulevard. And then Marcellus was gone. Reporters say that he was in a severe car accident; others who claim to be witnesses say he was kidnapped, despite the impossibility of someone his size being kidnapped within less than seconds. Marcellus was a 5’ 11’’ linebacker on the school’s football team who weighed about 200 pounds. But he was kidnapped- - kidnapped by the darkness that shrouded the town for years; the darkness that yearns for fresh blood every night, a new soul every evening. Marcellus was gone for good, and no one knew why. Erick never stopped wondering what happened, but eventually after the cops gave up; after his mother stopped talking about it; and long after his sister lost hope, Erick was almost drowned in the same boat, so he eventually buried the thoughts of his brother’s whereabouts in the distant part of his cranium--but never forgetting. Marcellus meant everything to Erick, so the thought of him being gone was tragic. When he was seven, Marcellus promised to teach him how to ride a bike; then he promised to teach him how to swim when he was eight; and shoot a basketball when he was ten. There was no one like his older brother--no one to toss around the pigskin with, or to play games, or even to advise him on meeting new girls in their new neighborhood; but he didn’t need those things anymore from his brother because he could just make friends. Erick, however, did need someone older to look out for him, encourage him, and help him understand women, but that person died years ago--his father, Drew. Drew wasn’t a high maintenance kind of guy. Andrew “Drake” Pierce worked in a warehouse. Drake wasn’t equipped with much intelligence or too many skills; but Drake, in Erick’s eyes, was a hero. He barely knew his father, but knew
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him as the guy to do everything within his power to protect and provide for the people he felt mattered most in the world. Erick loved his father and was forced to watch him move on at the age of six. Erick’s father was diagnosed with cancer, and his mother couldn’t keep up the mortgage alone on the house, nor could the family bear the memories left behind. His father couldn’t be replaced, but recognized in someone else--his brother--who was now gone too. The day of the wake was a couple months after the police declared to the family there weren’t any survivors in the car crash. Erick being the youngest and least mature of the family was unable to deal with the death in all that he had been through. But death of this magnitude isn’t easy for anyone, especially when the love for the deceased is genuine. He was although wondering how they could have a wake without assuring Marcellus was dead. Everyone who knew Marcellus was there, including Marcellus’s best friend and closest teammate, Atticus. Erick didn’t bother to speak to him; he just… glanced as if he wanted Atticus to be Marcellus, but didn’t want to speak to Atticus because it’ll be as if he was speaking to Marcellus. So he just… glanced. The wake, held `at the family’s home, was followed by the town’s traditional “assembly of silence” at the Israel Cathedral in the Central Village. Atticus was also there, sitting in the back. Erick wondered if Atticus was hurting as much as he was. No one could be hurting as much as he was he had thought. Marcellus was the one who gave him hope that he could live life without his father. Sure, there’s his mother and older sister, but this was his older brother. What was he going to do now? With everyone grieving, no one noticed the lights dimming inside the church. It was probably a result of the waning structure of the 1791 church. As father Thomas came to a conclusion, Erick decided to walk over to Atticus. It usually seems like if you wait too long to do something, chances are it won’t turn out as well as you had planned it to. As Erick stood
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up and walked toward the back Atticus turned his attention to the back of the church where he had spotted a crow landing on the window seal above the entrance. They were both distracted by the gasps and screams that caused a rotation in their heads and an explosion in their eyes, as they and the rest of the people witnessed something horrific. Something was devouring Father Thomas from the inside; at least it appeared that way. He was reciting his final words of the ceremony when he began choking from a pierced heart. The rest of the audience saw it as an old man grabbing his chest from stress pains; but Erick wasn’t exactly sure. From his point of view, it seemed like a shadow was standing behind him. As he stood in front of the pulpit, ready to succumb to the attack, he was jolted backwards through the easel that held Marcellus’s 24” x 36” picture and into the back wall. Something shot into his left calf muscle and crawled up to his head. The thing—the shadow or whatever it was-spread throughout Father Thomas’s body and compressed every organ in his body. He grabbed his head and screamed desperately as his body started to shake with intense vibrations. The veins in his head popped out and ran from the temporal bone of his skull to his frontal and then down to his sphenoid through the lacrimal. The look in his eyes was terrifying as the veins popped one at a time to issue Father Thomas tears of blood. Erick saw his eyes blank out right before the blood poured out of them. His brain was turned to gelatin and his intestines into bits of blood. His blood splashed on the people in the front as well as on Marcellus’s picture. Erick took two steps toward the altar in an attempt to rescue Father Thomas, but the lights began flickering and shattering as the windows started to break. No one expected anything to go wrong in a church, but Huntersville had no limits in its mystery. The lights were in-andout before completely going dim. Within seconds, Father Thomas was on the floor drowning in his own blood and spilled innards. Erick was confused and didn’t understand, but no one did. The people all ran out in panic and they never looked back or talked about it.
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Even after the police gave up searching; after his mother stopped talking about it; even after his sister lost hope, Erick was almost submerged in the same sea of sorrow. He eventually buried the memories of Marcellus in the distant part of his mind--but never forgetting. Marcellus meant everything to Erick, so losing him was tragic. Erick never forgot that evening, almost one year ago, when something foul and horrible disgraced his brother’s ceremony and murdered Father Thomas. Looking back at it, Erick debated whether or not he should confront his mother about it. This is something they should all move on from, but the anniversary of his so-called death was approaching and it sparked the memory of occurrences from the previous summer. Why isn’t she still looking for him; or doesn’t talk about it, he wondered. Erick was just as curious about the situation at the age of 16 as he was at 15. After Tracy, his sister, and Cynthia, his mother, finished dinner around 9PM, Erick approached Cynthia with his concern. She sighed with her eyes gazing out the window into the backyard. Cynthia then turned to the right of the sink to pick up a plate to dry with a cloth that she excused Erick for to grab from the top drawer. Cynthia looked cold and lost. There was nothing in her eyes. Not panic. Not regret. Not sorrow. Not even hope. Erick’s eyes almost filled up with water seeing his mother in this condition. His throat was dry. Should he even bring it up? She had dried six plates already, only to end up dropping the seventh one on the floor. Erick had never seen his mother like this. When Marcellus first went missing at least she cried about it, along with harassing the entire Huntersville police force to conduct a non-stop search for almost three months. The plate fell to the floor and shattered into 13 pieces. Erick kneeled down to gather the pieces when he noticed something unusual. Five pieces were connected by drops of water, forming an upside-down star; and the sixth piece sitting above it. Erick’s attention was diverted by his mother’s reflection casted in the shattered pieces. His heart sank into his chest and his throat dried up more. There was a dark figure, a shadow, standing in his mother’s place. Erick threw the piece down and stood to his feet to get a better look at his mother. “Honey, are you OK?” she asked him. He looked at Cynthia then back down -6-
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at the pieces. It was her normal reflection. Cynthia tried to calm Erick down. He was thinking that the psychological stress and the post-traumatic-stress-disorder were making him hallucinate. He was certain he had seen a shadow in place of his mom, the same shadow that stood behind Father Thomas at the alter last year. He resumed his task of picking up the pieces. Erick was still curious about his brother’s abbreviated investigation, the family’s feelings toward the situation, and the occurrence during the ceremony. The words slowly curled off of his tongue, as if he was almost too ashamed to relight the never dying flame. But he had to know; this was his big brother. The question eventually departed from Erick’s heart. His mother was still empty, he could see it. She was his mother, he felt that when she softly placed her hand on his cheek. But she was different, and not in a way Erick was able to describe. There were no answers to his questions, just a random and unusual response. Her eyes—her blank stare—locked onto Erick’s gaze. “Don’t worry about it, honey. We’re going on a camping trip!” Now Erick was beyond confused. The next door neighbors had invited them on a camping trip. Christina “Tina” Azcona, mother to Edwin and Catherine Azcona hooked up with Cynthia and figured since it was an evenly numbered family they should each get out and make some friends since the Azcona’s recently moved to town. There was a place northeast of Huntersville called Stockton Forest. The elder citizens of Huntersville referred to that place as the “Forest of Death” because most people who visit it never return. They talk about the cause of most of the town’s deaths and diseases originating from that place. The last family to visit Stockton Forest was the Abbraxis family in 1977. When they went there during a summer people say their screams were loud enough to echo in the townspeople’s dreams--who were over twenty miles away from the site. The Pierce and Azcona families didn’t know the history of the things that occurred in Stockton Forest, so they were in for an unusual surprise. Erick held on to the image of the shadow throughout the night. He remembered seeing the same thing up to six years after his
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father had moved on; now he was seeing it again, three months to one year after his brother’s death. The terrifying dreams that he experienced for months at a time made him feel helpless, scared, and ashamed, and at the age of seven. He recalled the nightmares occurring after he had seen the shadow for the first time. What does it mean now that it’s back? Will the nightmares return? And what do the nightmares have to do with his father and his brother? Erick knew there was an answer buried somewhere in all the weirdness. He just couldn’t let go of the thought of the shadow. It could be a post-traumatic thing, but it could also be something else. Maybe Erick was just looking for answers where there was just life. He finally went to bed, still holding on to the possibly of something otherworldly occurring. That’s when he had another one of those unusual and uncomfortable dreams. Erick’s eyes shot wide open. It felt like something had jumped into his body and lifted his spirit from its rest. When he finally reclosed them, the sound of falling raindrops was soothing enough to keep him relaxed throughout the night. He was off, though. Erick had spent the past couple hours struggling to open his eyelids. He was trapped in a deep sleep—images of horrifying incidences that he couldn’t recall upon awakening. But he felt that was the case. The nightmares were back, and he didn’t know what that meant. Three days later, the morning of August 22, Erick stepped out of his home and onto the front lawn. The Azconas were to the right of them on Augusta Boulevard. They weren’t awake since it was technically the break of dawn. This street was known to be the most mysterious. Erick observed as the sun slowly rose from the horizon and casted its light upon the road. Erick’s nose twitched as he uncomfortably peered into the faint distance to his left. The mist didn’t clear up. It was 6:27 and the temperature was increasing; but the mist was still visible on the road. Erick suddenly felt a fierce vibration run up his spine. His body pulsated and he felt a slight chill. He closed his eyes as a gust of wind passed through his body while keeping him grounded at the same point. He was seeing something in his mind. Possibly déjà vu?
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He saw blood, tears, and dead bodies. This was a vision that Erick was unable to dissect; it was one from his dream. Three nights before that day, the night he saw the shadow in place of his mother, Erick had a hard time falling asleep. When he was finally able to do so, that’s when the nightmare came back. He thought it was just a response to the incident that occurred at Marcellus’s ceremony. There was only darkness, but Erick could smell the blood and corpses that rotted in his mind. He didn’t understand how he was unexpectedly imaging such horrific fantasies when asleep, as well as awake. The screams increased; the crying escalated; and the smell of blood intensified. Erick’s head was in critical anguish and he couldn’t open his eyes. The aroma of blood gave Erick a fulfilling sensation that wouldn’t allow him to escape from wherever his mind projected him. The howling continued and then the dead bodies started smelling like a familiar toasted croissant with butter. Erick immediately recalled the way his mother made croissants. The same soft, delicious bread that she made the morning they left their old home to move to Huntersville. He opened his eyes and turned his head 90 degrees to the right at the Azcona residence. Erick was released from the horrifying vision of blood and corpses. The smell of freshly baked croissants awakened him—it was a familiar and comforting aroma to him. The mist was gone and sun was shining. Edwin was standing outside on his front porch staring at Erick. He had a bag full of trash in his left hand--or at least a large trash bag in his left hand. Erick wasn’t suspicious about it since it was garbage pick-up day; but the fact that it was black made him think twice about it. It made him think of the black shadow. Cynthia then exited through the front door. “Hey, honey. You’re up early.” “Yeah,” Erick replied wearyingly. “Oh, look, you made friends,” she said turning to Edwin and waving. “Yeah,” he responded incredulously. Erick and Edwin challengingly stared at each other for thirty seconds until Tina came out to grab her newspaper from the -9-
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front lawn. It felt damped, but Tina didn’t see any signs of water or mist. After greeting Cynthia, Tina whispered to Edwin and walked back in the house. “Are you hungry, sweetie? Breakfast is on the table.” “Yeah,” Erick replied with slight interest. He stared at the neighbors. “And we’re leaving in one hour.” According to Erick, Cynthia was herself again. She was chipper and moving on, like she intended on doing when they moved there almost four years ago. Then what did Erick really see that night? “Um, why are we going on this trip, again?” Erick asked with uncertainty. “Funny thing,” she went on while rubbing the back of her head and taking a sip of her coffee. “I’m not exactly sure why we agreed to go on this trip. I guess we’re just in the mood to be adventurous.” Cynthia continued rubbing the back of her head. “I had the craziest dream last night. I hope this coffee helps.” That answer didn’t sit too well with Erick. His brother mysteriously dying and his family planning a random trip to the middle of nowhere, those were two unusual things that didn’t sit well in his mind. Not to mention the shadow that he saw twice within the past year. On top of that, Erick was overly restless in his sleep. For a second, he was thinking that the nightmares he had when he was younger would return--the nightmares that had demonic symbols, blood rituals, and ancient chants. Cynthia stepped back into the house, and Erick unlocked his gaze on Edwin as he followed behind her. Hearing the garbage truck approaching their residence, Erick turned back to the street where he realized a four-legged figure staring at him from within the back woodlot. It looked like a dog, but how many dogs have yellow and white shining eyes? He turned to face the garbage truck, only to miss the figure disappearing when he turned back. Being too confused to care about another imagination, Erick waited for the workers to empty the trash bins and collected them before heading back inside. Despite the terror that haunted him in his sleep, nothing scared him as much as facing his mother when his chores weren’t completed. During breakfast Erick was trapped in his analysis of the weird daydream. He barely touched the croissant, and his thoughts were swimming in his bowl of cereal. He had little time to spare - 10 -
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so he cleaned the table, since his mother and Tracy were finished, and went upstairs to pack for the trip. Erick was ready to join his family in loading the car when he came across a black handkerchief that belonged to Marcellus. Most of his clothes were donated to homeless shelters, but Erick managed to swipe that one item before his things were submitted. The last time he saw Marcellus with that handkerchief on was at their father’s funeral. During the reflection period Erick was summoned by his sister to depart on their trip. He quickly tied the handkerchief around his left arm and grabbed his duffel bag to go. Erick and Edwin didn’t seem to connect as easily as the women did, who spent an entire hour and a half chatting while loading the vans. Somehow they all ended up back in the house laughing over a cup of coffee. The two guys just sat outside brooding, most likely a result of Erick’s depression. Erick never really took the time to connect with Edwin during the three weeks that he lived on Augusta Boulevard. Edwin was a gregarious person whose loquaciousness was only outdone by his own following statement. He probably said more in ten minutes than the women did collectively in one hour. But Erick had much going on inside his head. During the drive, Erick couldn’t get over his mother not answering his questions about Marcellus, and how a camping trip is going to mitigate their pain. She didn’t seem like she was trying to get away, though. It seemed like she was driving toward something. Cynthia didn’t even remember her reason for taking this trip. “And what about the dream she had?” Erick wondered. At least he wasn’t riding with Edwin, he secretly rejoiced. Driving along the main road, he questioned the trajectory of his life in comparison to the span of Marcellus’s. He studied the ducks swimming in the lakes alongside Killington Road. As Erick sat in the backseat of the car, with Cynthia and Tracy faintly dialoguing in the front, he peered out - 11 -
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toward the lake with agony. The slow moving mist that Catherine missed earlier was drifting in their direction. He watched as the family of ducks became devoured by the cloudlike aggregation. He assumed the dominant looking duck in the front was the male of the bunch; the anchor being the mother; and the three sandwiched between were their offspring. Erick realized that the four in the back may symbolize his situation—the leader of his family no longer around to guide and protect them. The strong thought pattern struck an emotional tendency that formed fluid in his eyes as he watched the mist and the ducks disappear behind the bed of rocks once they merged onto the mountainside road. Erick raised his right arm and clutched it into a fist before placing his palm on his left shoulder--where he wrapped Marcellus’s handkerchief. Erick then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and laid his head back on the seat’s head rest. “Damn it, Marcellus,” he grievingly whispered to himself as he threw his head back against the seat and silently continued to curse his brother’s name while shutting his eyes. It was close to sunset when the families arrived at Stockton Forest. Although the forest was part of the town, the travel time was extensive by road, especially since the signs leading to the destination were all concealed to the public. While in his sleep, Erick could hear one of the town elders admonishing them not to travel to Stockton Forest when Cynthia was forced to stop for directions. “Bad things happen there,” he cried. “If you go up there you may not return the same.” Eventually, they made it to the exit after discovering a pathway that was cloaked by a haze, almost preventing them from noticing it. The path didn’t appear to be safe as Erick slowly opened his eyes and calmly reclosed them. Edwin, in the car behind the Pierce family, also disagreed with the environment. Looking in the distance, Edwin was convinced he saw a man and a woman running down the hill, as though they were
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scampering for their lives in fear. Edwin immediately disregarded his possible hallucination and prayed the stories of Stockton Forest were false. The families finally reached their camp site a little before sunset. The screams that were said to haunt the hills echoed in Erick’s mind as he heard a distressing outcry. He instantly woke up to his mother and sister unpacking the jeep. “Well it’s about time, sleepy head,” Cynthia said jokingly. After Erick stepped out of his mother’s Nissan jeep, he was struck with a disturbing sensation. The atmosphere around him felt defragmented and polluted. Erick was stunned with confusion and unidentified anguish. Once the tents were set up, Tina, Edwin’s mother, located enough wood to start a small fire. After peering into the swarm of multi-colored clouds from the setting sun, Erick grabbed his left arm again. He felt he needed to be alone for a while longer, so he volunteered to collect the branches and wood for a larger fire. Something was different --something made Erick feel a little strange. He picked up his flashlight and a 3foot long thin twig to serve as his walking stick while traveling through the area to begin his firewood search. Since he could easily see the lights and fire from at least 40 feet away, Erick wasn’t too concerned with rushing back with the materials. He started out looking for firewood but found himself drawn to something in the forest. First, there were slight chills that ran up his spine, a feeling similar to the one he’d experienced earlier while at home. Following that was a sudden shriek of an ominous aura that vibrated his acute distress. While the silence around him was comforting and a little creepy--because no birds were chirping, no animals were wailing, or even a blow of the wind--the whispers that howled were pretty unusual. Erick looked back at the camp site and was unable to see his family. When Erick had cleared at least 60 more feet of the forest, he was unable to see the fire. It was unusual because the other lights in the camping area were also shrouded in the setting Sun’s illumination. He couldn’t walk away, as scared as he was, because the call of the whispers kept Erick frightened in his
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position; but at the same time, brought him closer. The louder and more sinister the whispers became, the more terrified and worried Erick felt. From his left peripheral he noticed a figure pedaling through the shrubs, and into the bushes that were shrouded by the night sky. As the unknown figure continued running across the forest Erick started getting dizzy. As the wind slowly picked up his eyes felt heavier, and his vision became obscured. As he gracefully fell into a trance, he started to think about Marcellus. “Erick, Erick, Erick,” exclaimed a familiarly approaching voice. Erick fell out of the trance to find that the same tall trees and footsteps meant he hadn’t moved in inch from the spot he stopped in. However, the sun had completely set. “How could 18 minutes have passed within a couple seconds and I not realize it?” Erick wondered. As Erick adjusted his vision to recover from the unknown hypnosis, he saw Edwin walking toward him. Edwin was under the impression that Erick was taking special medicine or either doing drugs. He couldn’t figure out why he was standing in the pitch black forest howling and crying. Edwin observed Erick’s hands and questioned the smoke seeping from his palms. “You’re not him, you’re not him, and you’re dead. Who are you?” Erick bawled in the eventide before the moonlight. Erick’s wails stirred a frightening awe in the forest. He was severely overwhelmed by the horrific experience. Erick fell to the ground while starring at his scorching palms. As Edwin was helping him up he felt a shock. This wasn’t a normal shock as a result of human contact; it was a shock that you might feel after you’ve been hit hard with a high voltage of electricity. One zap and Edwin went flying four feet away! He was a little shaky about Erick after that. Even though he couldn’t hear out of his left ear and couldn’t feel his right calf muscle, he didn’t say anything about it--after the yelling, swearing, and name calling. Edwin was an on-edge, quick-tongued, and openly verbal kind of guy. What he couldn’t explain or stand up to would be expressed through loud cries of swears and panic attacks. Edwin
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explained his purpose for following Erick. He was sent out to bring him back because Erick had been gone for over an hour. “What took you boys so long?” asked Cynthia. They noticed that Erick was bleeding a little and Edwin was limping, so to cover up what they refused to try to understand about the past 20-plus minutes, they just said, “I guess we still have to get used to the wilderness.” In Cynthia’s mind, boys will be boys, despite their resistance to sharing their actions, so she simply offered them a stick and the bag of marshmallows for their camp fire s’mores. Later that night, all Erick could think about was what happened earlier. He couldn’t sleep, although he tried; and every time he’d gotten close to doing so he kept reimaging the unusual place he was in. He hoped it was a dream, but the scar on his right thigh and the brose under his right rib cage told him differently. It was all a blur, a blackout of a mystery that he felt would never be solved. The midnight cure produced a calm wind and restless trees that eventually suspended Erick’s body and thoughts. The gentle ambiance arrested his subconscious pouring him into a successional state of images, thoughts, and suppressed emotions that forcibly passed through his mind during a deep sleep. This journey was different from what he’d remembered because it wasn’t the sun that guided him to his destination, but instead he was drawn by a darker, damper image. There was something at the end of this dark tunnel--what appeared to be some kind of world that was grim and baron. There was nothing but an open field made up of sand and pestilence. On the open field were rotted and withered trees with holes and crow nests. Where he was, he did not know. Within twenty feet of his position, Erick could see surrounding parts of the field; 40 feet was more difficult; and beyond that was complete darkness. A slight jolt in the ground sparked Erick’s movement toward a search for a possible exit. He walked slowly throughout the field, being cautious and observant of the terrain; but there was nothing for him to put his finger on. “This place is weird, man. Where the
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hell am I?” Erick felt disoriented, like his organs were replaced with baked potatoes that were recently removed from the oven, and ready to explode. He was dazed and confused; and could barely hold up to the thick atmosphere. An actual oven on a hot beach would be more comfortable compared to this place. Erick’s body refused to obey his need to stand up straight. “Shit! This feels like it’s ten times normal gravity,” he achingly announced to the dark void ahead of him before immediately collapsing to the ground. To Erick, it felt as though his hand had been pierced by a knife. His hands were so hot and sweaty that they felt like blood pouring from his palms. The ground felt like warm sand, but heavier, harder--like ashes and grinded bones. There was nothing surrounding him, just endless pits of darkness. All he could hear were screams from various points of the void. Erick walked farther, slowly and fearfully. He passed by pouting shrubs and weeping souls. That freaked him out more. People were walking around in complete tears and sadness, murmuring bits of depression and sorrow. “Excuse me,” Erick said, tapping a man on his shoulder. The man, wearing a suit with deteriorated but close to burnt sleeves and pant legs, ignored him completely. It was like he didn’t see Erick at all. Even worse, it was like he was trapped in his mind. He just kept walking and murmuring. “I couldn’t get the promotion. I missed my chance at getting the promotion. But I was so close,” the man cried over and over. He ignored the man only to swing around into the unattractive image of a creaky 30-year-old woman in a white dress holding a baby and screaming, “I didn’t mean to let her go. It was just too much to handle.” Erick’s faced twisted and turned in repulsion. When he looked back at the man walking, he was holding his eyeballs in his hands and red tears were dripping from the sockets; and the woman was taking small chunks of the item in her arms, what Erick hoped wasn’t an actual baby. He really didn’t want to see her biting into it and watching the blood fall from her mouth as she loudly confessed her screaming feelings to him.
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Erick slowly maneuvered away from the crowd of creepy crazies and put pep in his step in getting farther away. But someone or something--which he didn’t notice-- wearing a black cloak, caught him in their eye and followed him through the wasteland area. He could feel the energy of the spirit following him, but it was too similar to the essence of the environment to make a distinction. The place seemed familiar to Erick. It made him feel closer to his darkest feelings and thoughts. The cold air and crying wind pushed him to search for something he wasn’t sure he’ll find. “I know this place,” he said while trying to figure things out. He was getting closer to something in the wasteland—something that drew his curiosity. “There is something here for me. But where am I going?” he thought to himself. His curiosity then brought him to a mist of sand and dirt, being created by a revolving gust and swarming ashes. Erick wasn’t sure where he was or what was going on, but with the dead bodies, whispers of dying souls, and barren landscape, it wasn’t a place he wanted to be. Through the mist there came black dust that formed an image of people. They were all gathered around a dinner table—all five of them. The father had just finished carving the turkey as the mother walked in with the freshly cooked candy yams. The three siblings waited patiently with watering mouths to dive into the succulent dishes of the Thanksgiving feast. The turkey was served and the full meal set on each plate. “We should start by saying what we’re all grateful for, Hun,” suggested the woman who cooked the meal. “I’ll start,” the man said, sitting at the head of the table. “I am thankful for this day; my health; this wonderful meal—he looks at his wife to signal a kiss, only to cause the children to respond with disgust—and my family: Cynthia, my wife; Tracy my first born; Marcellus, my first son; and Alerick, my successor. I never want this moment to end; but I will accept it when it’s time to move on.” The black dust opened up a memory to Erick’s past, one that he thought he’d never have to revisit. Any memories of his family being complete--whether they were pleasant or not— disturbed his emotions. He didn’t know this memory existed
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since he was only one year old at the time. The dust began fading behind the mist, and the memory of his father rolled in the back of his mind with every tear drop. He appreciated every moment spent with his father, but that wasn’t enough for him because he truly felt their relationship could have been stronger. If only he didn’t have to go away so soon. The black dust started to reform before Erick. Only now, it was denser, thicker—like a black cloud. The cloud’s opacity increased more with every second. “Was it another memory?” Erick wondered. Erick took one step forward only to be pushed directly into the remaining mist of sand and dirt. He coughed, almost chocking, as the dirt managed to enter into his mouth. Erick quickly got up, shook himself off, and examined the surrounding area. No one was there. Erick was certain that someone was following him. He started walking forward in the direction that he originally came from—where he first entered the wasteland. It was difficult to see anything in that place. It was dark and polluted with nothing but dead things; and it was best that he kept moving to prevent himself from freezing to death. His insides were burning up, but the atmosphere around him was the complete opposite. Erick felt someone following him earlier. Could this be the same person? It didn’t matter anymore, not now, not to Erick who was already irate at the thought of going on the camping trip. Now he was ready to go. To find a way back to the supposed entrance, that was his only interest at the moment. A maniacal laugher echoed in the distance; a whisper from the sky. He heard a woman run passed him crying, but he didn’t see anyone. Now Erick was frightened. “Erick!” called a voice that echoed louder as it marched toward him. “Erick, I’m behind you,” it taunted. “You can’t run this time,” the same voice demanded. Erick spun around in countless circles trying to keep up with the terrorizing voice. “Am I going to die?” he asked himself. Erick finally stopped. “Boo!” exclaimed a 5’ 11’’ figure from behind. Erick quickly and fearfully turned to face the figure— and probably the voice—only to have another black cloud form between them. The figure absorbed the cloud and launched its
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arms into Erick’s chest to create a repelling force. The proximity of the force caused Erick to hit the ground harder this time, only to rise with more sand on his jeans and blood pouring from his mouth; although, it took him a couple minutes to get up. His heart kept racing; head pounding; legs shivering. All he could do was clamp his palm onto his chest while he coughed up large amounts of blood. “What is this sick and disgusting place?” he angrily asked, as a man slowly walked by cutting into his wrist with a hand saw. “And who are you? Why did you attack me?” There was no response. “Tell me!” Erick, outraged, hit the ground on his knees while holding on to the final thread of his mental construct. The man, wearing a black cloak and hood, didn’t answer right away, but began asking questions about Erick and his brother-asking him to remember times they spent together; if he’d missed him or not--things that erupted his anger and stirred his grief. Whatever that place was; it was without a doubt traumatizing. Somehow this person was able to get inside his mind while, unfortunately, breaking down the walls that provided him with mental stability. “What do you know about Marc?” he asked with a slur that represented a medically overdosed hospital patient. “I know quite plenty, actually.” What could this man possibly know? Despite Marcellus’s death being in the forefront of Erick’s mind, there was nothing the man would gain from exposing such thoughts. This was a puzzling question for Erick. “Is he reading my mind?” he thought. Erick’s confusion and weakened physical disposition gave the man an incentive to continue his assailment. The man’s yammering about pastimes only made Erick angrier; but there was nothing he could do about it. This man was violating every private region of Erick’s mind and unlocking his emotional vulnerability. “Tell me what you want with me and what you know about my brother, you perverted son a bitch.” “I’m surprised you don’t already know,” he replied. Erick’s ignorance gave the man an opportunity to take his abuse a step
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further by reciting something familiar to Erick that made him think of his father. Erick, gasping for his life, was not prepared for mind games. “Hm, I was certain you would have gotten that one. I hand-picked that line just for you. At least you got those couple seconds of your fatherly memories back.” The man continued. “Do you recognize something in me, Erick—possibly the same something that is in those words? Hm?” Erick briefly hesitated not knowing if his own mind was playing tricks on him. He looked to the sky and called for his father right before dropping his gaze to the ground, pleading for the unbearable pain to stop. Erick gave the man’s question more thought. Looking up at him, words slowly started rolling off his tongue, one syllable at a time. He forced himself to stop because he felt he was going crazy—that his thoughts were nothing more than a negative result of his unfortunate circumstances. The man was sure Erick knew of his identity because he clinched onto his left arm, where he wore his brother’s old handkerchief. Now the man found the situation more amusing. “Isn’t it unusual how the cops never found the body? Or didn’t you find it strange that no one knew how he died?” A smirk ran over his face. “No,” Erick cried. “That’s impossible. You’re lying.” The man’s accusations falsely registered with Erick’s beliefs. The man would not surrender his scheme-play and emotional hold on Erick. “It can’t be,” Erick went on. “Marcellus is dead.” Letting loose a howling chuckle; the man finally gave in. “Is he, really?” the man questioned while slowly removing the black hood from his head. Who could this mysterious man be torturing Erick’s emotions? Surely he was aware of the extent to which he was bastardizing his subconscious. Erick’s mind and body weren’t holding up so well. The black cloud that was shot against him scarred his face and upper body extensively. Blood wouldn’t stop pouring out of his mouth and the severity of the coughs had increased to a point that exhaustingly crippled his activity. The hood fell from the man’s head as Erick raised his vision toward him. “Oh, no,” he surprisingly exclaimed. The man’s true image was finally revealed. “Is Marcellus really dead, little brother?” There he was standing before him with a grim look on his face. Marcellus
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Jackson Pierce, Erick’s older brother who supposedly died in a car accident over a year ago. “How is this possible?” Erick thought to himself. Is this real? More importantly, he really didn’t want to see the corpse of his brother standing there psychologically beating him up of things they shared in the past. This made Erick second guess the feelings he had for his brother and doubt the bond they shared. Was he truly grieving the way he had convinced himself? This could be the reason behind him being mostly upset the whole time his brother was missing— faux grief sparked his anger. “No, that can’t be true,” Erick tried to tell himself. He felt as though something was working its way into his memory bank to alter his perception of Marcellus. “What is this place doing to me?” he grudgingly asked the man claiming to be his brother. The man just stood there watching him suffer. Erick then realized why he wasn’t grieving; why he’d been so upset the entire time his brother was gone. Erick and Marcellus never shared good times the way he wanted to. They’ve never tossed a football or talked about girls. Erick noticed how he made up memories in place of what he’d forgotten about his brother. Marcellus was never there. Marcellus was always Marcellus--a high-strung, egotistical asshole who was never around; and never there for anyone but himself. Or he started to be right before he died. So maybe these memories were real -real enough to make him want to forget seeing his brother again; to give up the pursuit of finding who or what killed him; of kindling a flame that died over a year ago. He didn’t know what to believe. Was Marcellus an asshole or a role model? Was Erick grieving because he missed his older brother or angry because he hated the guy posing as his older brother his whole life? He was torn and confused; and didn’t know what to do or think. “I’m pretty sure he taught me how to swim. Or did he let me drown when I tried?” Erick’s heart pounded faster and faster with every bit of strain he placed on trying to recover those lost memories. This man, Marcellus or not, was literally standing by and watching Erick destroy himself. He wanted to believe that the man was really Marcellus. To be in some wasteland with sand, blood, and corpses, that was too
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much, nearly impossible. Collecting the small amount of strength he had left, Erick slowly lifted his head to face his brother and continued his raging demands, questioning the man again and asking him of his identity and why he’d brought him there. The man, possibly Marcellus, just kept up with his cryptic responses and started speaking about the Assembly of Silence. “Tell me, little brother, was it nice? The Assembly of Silence, was is nice? I know it must be done to bless the soul of the one who passed away with an assembly of silent prayers. I don’t think that worked out so well for me.” His devilish smirk was like a dagger in Erick’s heart. The amount of blood that he coughed up was increasing. “And you wouldn’t by any chance remember what everyone said about me, do you? Don’t worry about it; I’ll just go into their sandbox to find out for myself.” This made Erick feel helpless, the confirmation that he could enter his mind whenever he wanted. Bringing up his father; raising the subject of his brother’s death; even forcing him to think about the horrible day in the church. If his job was to make Erick furious, it was working. But he didn’t know what to do; he could barely stand, let alone defend himself. The ceremony hasn’t been a blur to him since it happened. Was this the man who killed Father Thomas, he wondered. Then it hit him, the most logical reason behind everything. This was the main who killed Marcellus and Father Thomas, and possibly his dad. Erick’s fists curved into a tight ball of fury and sadness as he looked back unto that night where his brother’s ceremony was interrupted by something menacing that almost killed everyone in the church. Then he thought about Father Thomas and how something ate him from the inside out and made a mockery of his brother’s death by killing the man who tried to bless his brother’s soul. He strongly felt there was no way his older brother could do something like that. “This guy must be playing tricks with my head, forcing me to believe lies about Marc.” Marcellus did teach him how to swim; ride a bike; toss a football; shoot a basketball; and use cheesy pick-up lines on attractive women. Why the mind games?
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Erick looked down at what might appear as a ground but was nothing more than dust and drops of his blood. Then he looked up at the sky--there was nothing there either, for there was no sky, just darkness. He looked at the man and demanded he explain his purpose for destroying Marcellus’s assembly; for killing Father Thomas; for bringing him there. “What is your game, you sick son of bitch?!” With a silent chuckle followed by a heavy sigh, the man grew tired and bored of conversing with Erick. “I’ve already told you, little brother. I am Marcellus, and it’s time I tell you the truth. He then quoted something Erick remembered his father saying. “Dad would always say that ‘A man’s real strength isn’t determined by his power but how he chooses to use the power he already possesses.’” Erick’s eyes widened with shock. According to his mother, Drew used to recite those words to him every night before tucking him into bed. “Marc, is that really you? How? It’s impossible,” he thought as he tried to maintain his frustration through the urges of being happy and overwhelmed. Erick’ suspicions were indeed confirmed after the man took his hand and peeled the hood on his cloak from his head; but this was different. His father’s quote was buried deep within his mind, so far that Erick himself would never have remembered it in a thousand years. Other than Cynthia, only one other person would know about Drew’s mantra. Now he was convinced that the man standing before him was in fact his older brother Marcellus. Erick wasn’t surprised to see his brother again. He was certain it was just another dream. Erick’s had a copious amount of dreams about his brother since his death, so what makes this different? Especially since he was watching a science-fiction film the previous night. Erick, however, concluded it wasn’t a dream after smacking his face a couple times. He looked at Marcellus, and before he could even make a sound his brother started explaining everything as Erick stood there confused while asking himself every question of what his brother was already answering. “What happened to him that night?” “What is he doing in the wasteland?” “Is he really dead?”
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Marcellus began with how he died a year ago in a car accident. “People speak of walking into a light. And you’re supposed to walk into that light, right? In this case there was a shadow, and the shadow whispered a reprieve from death,” he nonchalantly explained. “I heard a voice calling out to me, a voice I was more than thrilled to hear at that time. I was getting ready to lose everything: my career; my scholarship; my prestige. I needed a way to hold on to it—to live. I mean, what’s a soul worth anyway? Why not give it up?” Marcellus was hesitant at first; but with a fire blazing your backside and the roof of a car crumbling above you, the only way one could escape death to protect their reputation and their fame was to agree. Marcellus sold his soul to the devil, or something like him, but little did he know that he wasn’t a free man. Marcellus now had his human appearance, but he wasn’t a man anymore. Without his soul, he lost his humanity. Without a soul, there had to be something to fill the void, and there was-darkness. “I am now an agent of something greater; now I have great power.” “This can’t be you, Marc. It must be this place making you think that way.” “Wrong, little brother. I came here because it’s where I belong. I have strength unimaginable to mortals; power that exceeds human understanding. And do you want to know something else? So do you!” Marcellus knew something about Erick that Erick himself didn’t know. “You have something resting within you that’s even darker than my own. I need it to make me stronger, and to release the hold that binds me to this wasteland.” Erick’s heart dropped. “Is that why you’re here, to claim possession of whatever you say is inside me?”“I want to walk among mortals, go up to one, and feel their innocent neck crack as I take their life.” Erick grew furious, and wasn’t accepting any of what Marcellus was saying. “The only reason, little brother, I am here is to get that strength. You didn’t even know you had it.” Erick couldn’t handle it any longer. “Get away from me, you sick bastard. You’re not my brother.” “Ya know, you were always such a baby, Alerick.” Voices howled from the void. The black sky crackled with thunder. Marcellus watched Erick with satisfaction as he
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underwent a transformation fueled by his anger. “What’s happening to me?” The blood that Erick coughed up was now black. His ribs and bones were cracking as though they were reforming. Erick clinched his fists tightly, and began to change as his anger escalated. His canine teeth grew longer, his nails became claws, and his eyes were pitched black. He observed as the grains of sand rose from the ground and exploded in midair—like they were being struck with unseen electricity. Marcellus chuckled twice. “That’s the power I want, little brother!” “Stop laughing, you bastard, and give my brother back now!” The weeping trees and bushes fell to the ground in complete sorrow. Crows retreated in the opposite direction. The wasteland was almost shrouded in total darkness. “Your brother is gone, buddy. It’s just me now. And soon I will have you too.” Marcellus then raised his hand, rotated his palm around the black sand, and formed another cloud of dust. Was he planning on throwing it at Erick again? “Say hello to Daddy for me.” Without hesitation, Marcellus launched the black cloud at Erick. Unlike before, Erick was prepared for this attack. He was different, though. Was he even human? He simply raised his hand to collect the dust within his own palms. The blood that mixed in with the dust was like acid to Erick’s wounds. Although it slightly burned his hand, it wasn’t enough to divert his concentration. “I don’t know who you are, but know that if my brother is in there somewhere, I will bring him back.” He licked his lips as a wolf would before a kill, and then released the black cloud at Marcellus. Marcellus flew backwards, landing on the sand bleeding and choking. “I will kill you, little brother! That power belongs to me.” Marcellus didn’t know how much he had already killed his brother, and in the process awakened something within himself that should have stayed dormant. As Marcellus gasped for his life, Erick started to normalize again. What was the steam seeping from his palms, he wondered. He relinquished most of his grief, anger, and sorrow in the attack. Erick quickly ran over to Marcellus to address his condition. He looked at his brother and couldn’t believe what happened. “Congratulations, little brother, you managed to kill me. But
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you’re still not ready to face Him.” Tears rolled down Erick’s face as he hovered over his brother’s body. “Face who, Marc?” Marcellus could barely utter a syllable. “The Sandman.” Erick couldn’t figure out what that meant, but he didn’t care. His brother was dying in his arms and he blamed himself. Erick screamed with sorrow and guilt into the void of the wasteland, repeatedly yelling, “No!” Erick thought he’d killed his brother. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He wanted to believe that he didn’t kill Marcellus by convincing himself that it was someone else. “You’re not him. You’re not him. You’re dead.” But Erick was torn. Holding the man in his arms, Erick saw the look in his eyes. He knew the man was his older brother, Marcellus, or at least part of him was. “I killed you. I’m sorry,” he continued. He slowly closed his eyes as he did while riding to the forest. More and more tears dripped onto Marcellus’s face as Erick quickly fell into pieces. “Damn you, Marcellus.” He continued to cry, hearing nothing but the swarming dust behind his back. He eventually reopened them to find himself back inside his tent. Erick looked at his burning hands with eyes filled with fear and trauma. Erick got up from his sleeping pad and stepped outside, following the path of black sand that trailed from the edge of his pillow. He noticed there was a full moon out; and behind the trees in front of the camp site he thought he had spotted a black dog with glowing yellow eyes staring in his direction—the same possible creature from the woodlot on Augusta Boulevard that caught his attention before they left. “What the hell?” he asked himself. He looked around, but everyone else was sleeping. Erick was confused. “What the hell happened?”
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