1 A Nightmare
Prologue
The space fell into a dark and empty aura. An eerie quiet permeated the room where a boy stood, completely still and utterly fixated on the floor with no end and no beginning. There was no light, but the boy continued to stare down, almost lulled to sleep by the sound of his own breathing as it echoed off into the vast space. The air around John suddenly dropped several degrees, causing an icy chill to crawl up his spine, sharpening his senses. His breath came out in labored gasps as the eerie silence was disturbed by the distant yet haunting drips of water.
The atmosphere thickened in a cold and bitter intensity, making it feel like a python was squeezing the air from his lungs. As he clawed at his throat, desperate for breath, a wet warmth bloomed across his neck leaving blood to trickle down. The dripping echoed louder, seeming to come from inside his head as fear sparked a full-blown panic within him; the boy could do nothing more than cry out in desperation as he felt himself being dragged under by an unknown force—a weight with no remorse. And then it stopped.
The pressure had just snapped out of existence, along with the pain he inflicted on himself. All of it, gone. John stood there petrified. His gaze remained transfixed on the floor as that eerie silence returned only disturbed by that soft dripping sound. It became clear that something was enticing him, beckoning him... trying to draw him under. It spoke in sinister whispers, speaking of dark and dreadful things that echoed from the shadows of his mind, covering him in coiling dark tendrils until John felt nothing until all he heard was static. His body went limp and his mind completely blank. And then it plunged him under. He plummeted into unknown depths of perpetual darkness leaving no way of knowing where the floor was or telling left from right, up from down. The sensation of movement vanished. The space held no temperature to it anymore. There was only an endless void where nothing existed but John himself.
A nauseating smell brought John back to his senses as if pulled from a horrible dream. The bitter stench reeked like a rotting carcass left out in the sun on a steamy road after it had rained. It seemed to permeate the air, the stench growing profoundly potent despite the chill that returned to his bones. The urge to vomit felt impossible for him to ignore, but there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. Still, It was sickening him until he hunched over, holding his gut, and dry heaved as he fell to his knees. It was as if he had been yanked out of a nightmare and thrust into a new one. His hands slipped against a slick wetness on the frigid surface beneath him. There was a sticky residue clinging to John's hands—the source of which he was unable to identify. The stench clung to his senses, intensifying the more he tried to make sense of what surrounded him in utter darkness. His throat burned and tears coursed down his face until he had no choice but to bring his shirt up to cover his nose that did nothing to hold back the choking gag that forced its way up his throat. Coughing to the point of pain, he could feel a coppery taste spilling over his tongue in mouthfuls. The warmth trickled out from between his clenched teeth and trickled down his throat from the corners of his mouth. He coughed harder, and the blood spewed and splatter onto his hands as a shudder rocked through him.
John clambered forward desperately. He reached out into the darkness for anything to pull himself out of the nightmare, but there was nothing for him to cling to. There was only the void and the rotten stench consuming him. Eventually, the boy collapsed onto his side from exhaustion and was choking on his blood. The lashes of his eyes fluttered shut as the weight had returned with vengeance, but all John could do was keep still. A sharp agonizing pain suddenly pierced him through the chest as if whatever had been inside him that caused every bit of pain had suddenly been plucked out. And then he felt the weight that had been holding him down vanish. Even the sound of dripping water had ceased, replaced by an unsettling noise. A noise he'd never heard before.
John opened his eyes again, and this time he was standing upright with no knowledge of how he came to be that way. The dim light of a lone swaying lightbulb came into focus and provided enough light to make the darkness around John withdraw a few feet, guiding him away from the void. It hung lowly from a thing black cord and flickered every few seconds. There was no pattern to the light flicker and yet John couldn't look away. As if lost in some sort of trance, John stepped closer until he was directly under the light's fog-like haze—a moth drawn to the lamplight. He hardly registered that same unsettling sound in the atmosphere, somehow managing to zone it out completely until it stopped with an abruptness that was startling; like his heart had jumped up into his throat and all his blood froze in his body. John looked away from the bulb with wide eyes strained forward. In front of him was a mirror that didn't seem to connect to any wall or surface, nor did it reflect any image of him or of the light still swaying above his head. It looked like it had been painted black—until a shadowy something shifted. John froze. He took notice of a figure, partially hidden in the darkness, crouching on the ground. He couldn't tell if it was watching him or facing away. He glanced back at the mirror's frame. What he first thought was a mirror before him looked more like a narrow entryway into another room. He squinted, looking more into the dark. It was a familiar room, but it felt like another dream or memory as he gradually recalled the space. The place did look familiar to John; it soon dawned on him that this was his bedroom--only darker, more menacing than ever before. He could make out the smooth wood of his nightstand on the left and to its right, his bed's frame. Across the bed stood his dresser near the covered window, and to the far right should be his door. His eyes strained further, trying to make out the figure at the foot of his bed, but nothing could be seen. His gaze returned to the bed as he recognized the blue duvet that was slightly pulled back. Everything looked like his room, but the room didn't smell like his did. The room reeked of damp dirt and mildewed insulation that was thick in the air, and...there was something else. It was dark and it dripped in the air. A pungent moist odor of foul bodily fluids, dead things, and soiled underclothes. It was almost an ammonia-like stench, but it only lingered for a moment. Then it was gone.
The same noise that had startled John pierced through the stillness once again as the figure turned its head to look at him. Dropping whatever it was holding, the creature stood significantly taller than the frame of the mirrored doorway and approached John with a slumped posture having arms longer than its legs. Its clawed tapping feet slowly advanced closer to the threshold, and even closer to the boy. Every thought abandoned him as John froze in fear, watching it take one step closer, then another, like a wolf stalking its prey. John choked on a breath as long slender fingers slipped through what the boy had once assumed had been glass and gripped the lining of the frame. Unable to move, John could only watch as the thing bent down to step through it, knees and elbows cracking in an unnatural way. Then it stood there, still bent in a freakishly inhuman crouch with its head bent at a painful angle as it stared directly at John, a handful of inches from touching him. Under the low light, the boy stared utterly horrified. It almost seemed like a distorted version of his reflection, as if it had walked straight out of a horrifying mirror. A ghoul-like thing mimicking John in the worst of ways. Hair of the same color and texture, but much longer with knotted tangles. Its features are more defined, an angular face with hollowed cheekbones and a distinctly sharper nose. Instead of his green eyes, the creature's eyes glowed like molten silver cooled by liquid nitrogen. Thick black fluid ran from its eyes like tears, soaking its pale skin as if the thing had been crying. If it had been, it wasn't any longer. In fact, the thing was smiling. It was a sinister kind of grin only a madman would have with sharp disfigured teeth. Then in a deep croaky yet childlike voice, the thing in the doorway spoke.
"Look what you made me do," the thing rasped. Thick black liquid oozed from the corners of its mouth. Below its chest, the creature pulled a knife out of its abdomen that had been profoundly embedded within its flesh. The wound gaped in a thick line, from the torso all the way up to its throat ending at the chin. John's eyes widened at the gruesome wound before quickly slamming them shut, feeling excruciating pain in his own abdomen. The pain caused his knees to buckle and he collapsed onto the floor.
The creature smiled even more unnaturally, before it snarled through its teeth in another voice similar to his own, "Look what you did to yourself, Johnny," and plunged the knife back into its stomach. With one twist, the knife plunged deeper. The pain was unimaginably overwhelming, yet it caught John off guard. Such as being struck in the chest by a mallet, it knocked the wind clear out of him. John struggled to stand upright with one hand grasping his abdomen and the other pushing himself up off the floor. On trembling legs, John glanced up at the creature who now stood at its full height grinning wildly down at him as blood lapped at his lips. As he looked down at the blood flooding across his shirt, the light overhead began to flicker violently. Everything around John started to distort. The room grew larger, with both John and the thing together in a hallway he couldn't identify. The walls flashed between a filthy white to smears of blood splatter as the bulb continued to flicker. The flood beneath John was nothing but dark liquid, slick and steaming. He gasped for breath as pain devoured every noise he tried to make. A growing warmth spread quickly throughout his body where the wound had been cut open. John could only watch helplessly as his intestines slid out from under his shirt and then between his arms. The sensation felt both familiar and frightening as the wet clumpy texture on the floor from before. Between every flash of darkness and dazzling light, John saw what he was feeling in his hands. Slippery reddish-black eels poured out through the tear across his flesh screaming with static and electricity. Heat burned from where the eels touched. Another flash and the face of an eel reeled up to snap its teeth at John causing him to stumble back. They piled poorly onto the dark surface of the floor, splashing and overlapping all around him. He stepped on one and its fleshy body exploded like a boiling blister beneath his feet. His blood fallowed thickly in pints that pooled around him endlessly mixing with the shallow dark liquid. John collapsed on shaky legs, this time from blood loss. He knocked his head off the surface of the floor, but the blow was nothing compared to the overwhelming pain coming from his stomach. The heat all too quickly left his body and was replaced with a coldness so intense it left him feeling hollow. The lightbulb overhead continued to flicker aggressively accompanying the creature's croaking, childlike laughter as they both faded away.
John jolted out of his sleep in a state of terror, shaking uncontrollably as he felt the damp sweat on his sheets that lay ruffled around him. The blue duvet had slid halfway off the bed, leaving his legs exposed to the chilled air that blew through the open window, causing goosebumps to spread across his skin. The wind must have blown the covers off, though John could have sworn he closed the window before going to bed. The icy January air slowly trickled in before settling on the floor, having already taken all of the warmth with it. As John got up from the mattress to shut the window, three sharp knocks struck his bedroom door.
John jumped at the noise, but he inhaled deeply in an effort to calm himself and assumed it was just his mother. The light from the hallway shone from beneath the door followed by a silent shadow on the other side. Telling himself again that it was just his mother, John responded softly though his voice was uneven.
"Come in," John said, though no response came. But the shadow stayed. He hesitated to call out again, but eventually did so, "Mom?"
John's heart raced when his mother didn't answer, and a wave of unease came over him. He wasn't sure if what he was experiencing was reality or if he was still stuck in the nightmare. And as he stood there for what felt like an eternity trying to figure out if he were actually awake, faint shadows shifted beneath the door. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. When the light stopped flickering, John finally gained enough courage to grab the handle and twisted it open. Peering out into the hallway, he found himself alone. He couldn't remember the last time he slept walked, and this didn't feel like one of those times, yet he wasn't sure what to make of what he saw. Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Or had something truly happened? But the lights weren't turned off, so that was real enough for him to step out into the hallway and tiptoe down the hall. Maybe someone else was still awake, he thought.
As he approached his parent's bedroom, he noticed the door was ajar, which he found rather odd considering the lack of lights inside the room. Further down the hall where it split in two directions, John noticed the lights were left on in the kitchen and living room making John wonder, so he decided to investigate. At first, he expected to find one of his parents sitting at the kitchen table as they sometimes did accompanied by a bottle and a glass of amber liquid, but to his surprise, no one was present in either of the rooms. The house was completely empty. His parents never normally left the house lit up like this so late at night, and their bedroom door was always shut – something that truly bothered him. Still, he brushed off the feeling as being still shaken up from his nightmare and grabbed himself a glass of water before turning all of the lights off. A strange sensation overwhelmed John as he neared the chipping white door that lead to the cellar – a door that hadn't been opened in months. He stared at it for a moment expecting it to open then; having to remind himself that nobody had ventured down there since the accident.
John's grip on the glass he held tightened as he forcibly pulled himself away. After turning off the hallway light, he returned to his bedroom, chugging down most of his drink before shutting the door softly behind him. He had barely made it to his bed when something cold and spongey touched his feet. His eyes shifted downwards in confusion at the dampness that clung between his toes. He could smell it now too—that same scent from before—and John hastily pulled his shirt up to cover his nose. He lifted his foot further back and felt for the lamp switch in the darkness; however, it did not seem to work. Instinctively, John ran two fingers over the area where the bulbs should have been but felt a noticeably empty space. As he stepped back perplexed, a feeling of dread washed over him and John quickly dashed towards his parents' room, pushing open their door while nearly spilling the contents of the glass in hand. The acrid smell from his nightmares came at John in an assaulting wave invading his nostrils, making the boy outright gag. John frantically felt around for the light switch on the right wall that should have been beside the door. Finally finding it, he flicked it on, flooding the bedroom with brightness. His eyes widened. To his horror, what he saw caused the glass to slip from his suddenly too-loose fingers, shattering as it met with the hard wooden floor.
John couldn't move, as if his bare feet had solidified and were now rooted to the spot. All he could do was stare in disbelief, unable to look away from the unfathomable horror that presented itself before him in a gruesome tableau; a macabre display. Blood. Everywhere he looked, it covered the walls, the floors, and the very bed itself, as if someone intentionally smeared it by hand. Both of John's parents were before him, broken and savagely mutilated beyond recognition and positioned in a manner that disturbed him. His father was crucified against the wall with knives of different sets through the shredded grey nightshirt he wore, his flesh carefully peeled away to reveal a macabre smile and ruby-red fruits for eyes. A pile of steaming intestines lay beneath him while the rest of his body was missing. On the bed, John's mother laid on her back completely nude with her stomach cut clean open, her organs both removed and replaced with sinister trinkets and ornaments. Her mouth held a jagged grin while dark red fruit rested in her hollowed eye sockets. Her head looked carefully placed, adorned with dark hair that had been brushed straight and braided with red ribbons, yellow flowers, and golden lace. John's eyes lingered on the wall above the bed. Carved into that wall were words that John didn't understand. They were nonsensical, yet he couldn't help but read them again and again, despite an icy fear creeping gradually through his body.
Reapers of the Crow
See me
Hear me
Say my name
John felt his heart pounding in his chest as he stood motionless, feeling that icy chill spread throughout his body. He couldn't blink. He couldn't breathe. He was unable to produce a single sound. And then, out of nowhere, a strange noise broke John from his petrified state. It was a sound he's only heard once before, and his heart sank to the floor. Backing away from that horrid room, John's gaze shifted to the hallway only to see standing hunched over in that same stooped posture a figure that made him gasp with panic. The figure stood taller than his doorway, just like in his nightmare. Its black silhouette was sharply outlined against the darkness surrounding it, and the creature's eyes - two silver orbs glinting through the gloom - met John's gaze and bored into his soul. At that moment, John knew that this was the same creature from his nightmare. Suddenly the thing lunged forward, sending John running for his life down the hallway toward the kitchen. Without hesitating he slammed the door shut behind him and desperately started shoving furniture up against it - chairs from the kitchen table, whatever he could find to barricade himself in - all while trying to make sense of what was happening. When he ran out of heavy objects, John stared at the door listening. It was uncomfortably quiet.
It had to be the nightmare. He had to be stuck in it. That's the only explanation John chose to believe. John kept pinching his arm, a trick he learned to do to tell if he were awake or still dreaming, but he kept feeling the pain. He wasn't sleeping.
John pleaded quietly, "No—no, this can't be happening. This isn't real," until a loud thud sounded from the door. Then came the frantic scratching and hard pounding against the kitchen door, causing alarm bells to rattle in John's head.
John let out mouthfuls of curses as he sprinted around the kitchen, ripping open every drawer and cabinet with frenzied desperation, yet no knife could be found. The haunting images of his father being killed with knives assaulted his memory, causing John to scream out, torn between frustration and choking fear. Another loud bang on the door caused the wooden frame to crack from its hinges. Instinctively, John stumbled back onto the floor and felt something solid slam into his hand before sliding away. He immediately recognized it as the house phone and without hesitation or question, he reached over, snatched the phone, and crawled into one of the cabinets. John dialed 911 and whispered in a trembling voice, giving the woman on the line his address and situation before she could even finish a sentense. In that same instant, the kitchen door was busted off its hinge sending chairs scattering across the room. A humanoid creature cloaked in tattered clothing stepped into the kitchen. All the air locked in John's throat as he watched through the narrow gap of the cabinet doors as the creature from his nightmare, the ghoulish imitation of himself, slowly moved about the room.
The creature smiled from ear to ear and began humming a tune under its croaky breath. As the humming progressed, the voice grew steadier until it became a full-fledged song.
"One bright day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight. Back-to-back they faced one another, they drew their swords and they shot each other," the creature paused as if listing. John's fingers dug into the phone, becoming so taut his knuckles turned white. Then it continued singing, advancing closer to where John hid.
"Deaf policeman, he heard the noise. He came and he killed those two dead boys. Don't believe my lie is true?" With a sharp crack, it rotated its head so that the creature faced the cabinets. Dark lips curled revealing crooked teeth as it grinned even wider. "Ask the blind man, he saw it too," it finished with a whisper.
At the sound of sirens blaring from down the street, the creature threw its head back and let out a laugh—a laugh that send shivers down John's spine and would surely haunt his sleep. By the time the police arrived, the thing had already disappeared. John emerged from his hiding spot when he saw an officer enter the kitchen with his gun drawn, though thankfully he didn't fire it. He was escorted out of the house and into an ambulance by two officers who tried to talk to him, though all John could do was mumble in response as a paramedic checked for any injuries. As he sat between them, John's gaze drifted out towards the woods beyond.
The third officer approached the other two and gave the boy a wary glance. "What is he rambling on about?" He questioned softly. "Is this the boy of the family?" At this, the other two officers nodded.
John mumbled again, a barely audible word just loud enough for them to hear, "R-reapers..."
The two officers exchanged a concerned glance as the third one inquired. "Reapers?" He said, voice soft and gentle. "The words that are written on the wall, son?" He was looking at John, but the boy fell silent. John wouldn't look at any of them, he couldn't. A vacant expression settled over his features that made the third officer visibly pale. It was a look all too familiar.
That same officer shifted then, no longer looking back at the boy as he gave the two others a solemn nod, "We better call them." There was a change in the officer's tone, a hint of anxiety lingering beneath the seriousness of it. Something about those words seem to unsettle the two officers as one of them returned to their car while the third pulled the other aside, speaking too low for the boy to hear.
As their conversation continued, John's gaze held to the woods where a figure stood waiting. Something rotten throbbed deep within the boy's stomach, turning his gut in awful ways. It made him feel sick, but he was too distracted to fully acknowledge it. The thing smiled at John with those crooked teeth before it disappeared from view in a veil of black smoke so fast that it was gone before the boy could blink. In its place stood a masked figure in a white and black striped hoodie leaving the rest of them cloaked in black. The mask obscured all but their eyes, a luminous piercing silver. Something mischievous flickered behind those eyes, and with a malicious wink, the masked figure vanished into that thick cloud of smoke, this time leaving an empty space between the trees. They were gone.
The words carved into the wall remained like a dreadful echo inside the boy's head as he replayed the memory of the masked figure's face fading into darkness. Always repeating, yet never appeasing that empty twinge inside his stomach. There was no wound, yet the pain was still there, it too like an echo incapable of being healed. Ruby-red fruits for eyes...a jagged grin...steaming intestines flooding the floor like dark red eels...red ribbons, yellow flowers, and golden lace...trinkets and ornaments fill up the space...carve and pluck...red...Red...His nightmare seemed to whisper and breathe at the nap of his neck, and again those words echoed in his head...
Reapers of the Crow...
See me...
Hear me...
Say my name...
