1
I wake to silence. It is always like this, nothing ever happens here. Life drifts by lazily, like a foggy dream, like we had never woken to begin with. Every morning I question my wakening and in the end decide that it really doesn’t matter dream or reality it really is all the same here.
With the haze of rising still swirling in my brain I gather my self up and trudge off in the general direction of the shower. Everything so normal and monotonous I scarcely register the nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Something is wrong. I brush it off as leftovers of a troubled night, of waking dreams I cannot remember. A shower, that’s all I need to start this day, pure droplets of watery focus to clear the mind and relax the body.
I step from the shower not feeling all that refreshed, an irritating buzzing silently roaring at the base of my brain, incessant and nagging tearing at my thoughts. I frown in frustration. Something is wrong. I shake my head and finish dressing, with morning comes the meaning of life, work. I chuckle to myself at my attempt at joviality choosing to ignore the fact it was meant to fool my brain into forgetting about the warning my subconscious was signaling to me. Something is wrong. Nothing can be wrong; life never changes in this place.
Outside the sun is shining and as the rays beat down, the heat haze beats back rising from the pavement in rippling sheets. I start walking towards work, it’s a small town and the distance is not that great and the day is pleasant. I lose myself in thought as I drift though the morning light trusting my feet to carry me down the path they have walked hundreds of times before without fail. The buzzing in my mind has changed to a wail, faint, like the sound of distant sirens. It is to this that I divert my thoughts away from the path I tread. I * my head and find to my surprise the sound slightly increases. I turn my head and the distant sirens in my mind beckon me clearly in one direction.
My pace slows as my vision blurs in and out of focus, the whine in my brain now sounds like I am standing beneath an air-raid siren. The world seems to drop away at the edges, as if I had suddenly stepped out of reality and into a swirling world of black. There is a light in this place, faint, but blinding. I see the silhouette of someone walking toward me, or am I walking toward him or her? He reaches out towards me as he collapses to his knees, I can see him clearly now, as well as the blood.
“Morghan….â€
The Darkness closes in…
… I wake to silence. It is always like this, nothing ever happens here. Life drifts by lazily, like a foggy dream, like we had never woken to begin with. Every morning I question my wakening and in the end decide that it really doesn’t matter dream or reality it really is all the same here…
As I swing my legs over the edge of the bed I have this surreal feeling wash over me, as if all before me had been a dreamers dream, but today my eyes have opened to the waking world for the first time ever. Life had changed and swept me along with it.
I head to the shower I smile to myself, perhaps nothing has changed, certainly not my morning routine. I wash with vigor, not sure where this energy has come from, but I’m not going to complain. As step from the shower, drying my hair, I hear the doorbell ring. Not expecting visitors I wrap a towel around myself then head downstairs. I open the door a crack and peer out, no one was there but as I looked down I spotted a package and a note. I gather up the package and set it on the table in the foyer and close the door. I pick up the note and read it.
A Dreamer awakens, a Prophecy is spoken, and a Messenger is sent as his life is taken. Take hold of your birthright and learn well the ways of Ash.
Puzzled I open the package and find within a box. It appears to be a puzzle box, very intricate and ancient. I turn it over in my hands at a loss of what to do, questions rebound in my head, who sent it? What does the note mean? What am I supposed to do? Open it? How? The thoughts float around like butterflies in my brain begging attention but untouchable.
I walk into the Living Room still turning the puzzle box in my hands examining it from every angle, I collapse on the couch examining it from every angle, pressing on it here and there, getting no further with no more clue as to how to open it as I did when I had first opened the package and saw it. I stop and hold it up before my eyes rotating it one final time in every direction, finally unable to take it anymore I set the box down on the side table and push myself up off the couch; pressing my hands to my temples I head into the kitchen to grab some aspirin for my newly received headache, and then head back upstairs to dress. Today is Saturday, and I have a party to attend tonight, the intense feeling of change still hanging in the air.
The night was calm and warm; the moon was full in a cloudless sky. Thomas Brannigan walked out onto the porch to get some fresh air and escape the bustle of the party inside. He leans on the porch railing and stares out at the night, keeping a watchful eye on the shadows.
“Hello Morghan.†he says without looking behind him into the darkness covering the right side of the porch. Morghan smiles at this, Thomas always was very perceptive of his surroundings. “So, how come your out here when the party is alive inside?†he asked.
“Probably for the same reason you are, Thomas.â€
“Possibly, but I doubt it.†Thomas chuckles as he turns around and rests his back against the railing, staring unerringly to where Morghan is seated. They stare at each other in silence for a while the sound of the party inside bringing back memories of years gone before.
“Your father used to love these parties.†Thomas said sadly as if reading Morgan’s own mind. “I remember how he used to bring you here when you were but a wee sprout of a thing, he was always so proud of you.†He shakes his head and sighs sadly. “I must be getting old to become such a sentimental fool.â€
“I can barely remember him Thomas, I wish…†Morgan let the thought trail off.
“Aye, you were but what? Seven? When your father disappeared.†Morghan nods at this. “How old are you now? Forgive an old man his memory.â€
“20, just last month.†Morghan smirked at Thomas’s startled expression.
“By all the gods.†Thomas sputtered, and he was not an easy man to surprise. “I have been a *beep* fool, and negligent to boot.†He quickly composed himself. “Ah well guess there is no help for it now, there were certain things I was supposed to tell you on your 18th birthday…†Thomas stares off into the distance thoughtfully. “I supposed I need to play catch-up now, anyway now is not the time for such things, the night has ears as well as eyes, and there is a party yet going on.†With that Thomas shoves off of the railing with a grunt and strolls into the house.
A shadow detaches its self from beneath a tree, unseen, and fades into the darkness.
(More to be added to this portion at a later time)
2
A drop of water hangs, clutching, the tip of the leaf as if it is afraid to fall. A man stands there contemplating the drops precarious plight, wonder if the drop somehow realizes its fate and is attempting to resist change and the inevitable watery death that awaits it should it lose its hold.
A voice behind him stirs him from his reverie, as the drop loses the battle with gravity and falls. “Change comes to all in time, at it’s own pace.†The woman’s voice seems to echo his thoughts. “Change is coming now, but it’s being pushed upon us, unnaturally.â€
He turns toward the lady intent upon her words. It is her words that always give him purpose, and purpose is what defines ones life. He waits for her to continue, in this place there is never any hurry, and they are both very patient people. She starts humming as she wanders around watering the flowers, the cause of the prior watery homicide.
(More to be added to this portion at a later time)
3
The fog moved into the town of Hunter’s Ridge around midnight; the night air hot, stifling and dead as a crypt. Officer Keane was in the middle of his shift and tonight was proving to be just as sleepy and quiet as hundreds of nights before. Hunter’s Ridge was a small town after all, population about 500; besides he thought, nothing ever exciting happens here. As if the thought had conjured it up Officer Keane spotted a figure dressed in black walk out of the ally between Don’s Doughnut Shoppe and the coin operated Laundromat. The figure paused as if aware of Officer Keane’s stare, turned and seemed to looked right at Keane, and continued walking down Main St. heading towards Cemetery Row Rd.
Unnerved and thinking that the figure might be a burglar, or if nothing else up to no good Officer Keane starts to follow behind the figure in his Patrol car. As he rounds the corner onto Cemetery Row he notices the figure is well down the road near the edge of town already. Breathing a sigh of relief and thinking to himself “That’s it keep moving, right on out of town, become someone else’s problem.â€
As the figure turns into the old Trinity Cemetery; Keane curses under his breath, he should have known it couldn’t be that easy. Pulling over to the side of the road Keane groans as he realizes the fog is getting thicker by the moment. â€*beep*, why tonight in this god forsaken fog?†Unbuckling his seatbelt Keane opens the door and keys his Mic. “Jeanie I have someone entering the old Trinity Cemetery I’m going to go in and see what’s going on.†Seconds later there was a brief crackle and a woman’s voice answered from the radio’s speaker. “I don’t envy you out in this fog, you best take care of yourself John.†Chuckling, Officer Keane keys his Mic again. “I wouldn’t worry Jeanie it’s prolly just some kid out to get his jollies off by vandalizing some old headstones. I’ll report back in a bit.â€
With that Keane pulls out his black department issue Maglite flashlight, clicks it on and heads for the Cemetery gates.
Shining the light in head of him Officer Keane is dismayed that he can only see 3ft. ahead of him. “This is pointless, he mutters to himself. I can’t see or hear anything in this fog, its best I just head back.†Turning around he is startled as a large figure in black looms out of the fog in front of him. Before he can react something hard collides with his head and his entire world dissolves into blackness.
Sometime later Officer Keane awoke, head throbbing and sight fuzzy. He suddenly became aware that he couldn’t move. As his head cleared he came to find that his arms and legs were outstretched and staked to the ground. Seeing the headstones around him he decides he must still be in Trinity Cemetery. About all he can move is his head the bindings of his arms and legs were to secure to budge even a fraction. Laying his head back he closes his eyes to collect his thoughts, “What in the **** is going on, he thinks to himself. I’m lying here staked out in a cemetery, my shirt seems to be the only thing besides my radio that is missing. My utility belt and gun is still on and the flashlight is lying on the ground two feet away shining on a headstone.†As he opens his eyes again he finds himself staring into the inky darkness of a hooded figure.
There is the stench of death surrounding the figure, so overwhelmingly powerful Keane feels the urge to vomit. Turning his head to the side he catches sight of something in the figures hand. Bring it forward he sees it clearly, a blackened blade. As the figure places the tip of it against his chest Officer Keane knew without a doubt that he should have stayed in bed today. “Oh God please help me, Officer Keane somehow manages to croak out of a suddenly dry throat. He tears he eyes from the knifepoint on his chest and looks at the hooded figure again. “Who are you?†he says, barely louder then a breath. The hooded head looks toward him, slightly *beep* its head and with a whispery voice sounding of ice and dead leaves speaks for the first time. “I am the Plague of Days.†And starts slicing Officer Keane down the middle.