Spectrum

My throat dried as mud after solidifying in the hot sun all day.

Running for as long as I remember, I can’t keep this up forever.

Finally! My home! I need to get away from this ghoul...

Once I reached the door, I pounded it with all my force.

I was too manic to use the doorknob as my heart was too frantic to even hold on.

I wish to feel the presence of my family. Instead I feel the breath of insanity.

The door opens swiftly & I tumble through as if the door was my bed and someone pulled the sheets out along with me.

Before advancing to shut the door, I caught a glimpse of true horror...

The swallowing of saliva relieves my throat.

“BOY! Where have you been all night? You stayed in that dark forest long enough for the bowl of stew made by your mother to have gone cold. You already left an hour before she even started cooking.” I was still catching my breath on the door while my back was pressed against it, I couldn’t let that...thing...in.

After locking it, I turned to my father & responded. “Please, you can’t open that door, there is a monster on the other side trying to-” “Enough! I won’t hear any more of this. Eat your dinner, & we’ll speak of your punishment after. Your mother & I already had a long day.” He then walks back to the table and proceeds to eat dinner as if his meal was interrupted by one of the city’s messengers delivering more bad news to his day. I don’t mind this actually, I’d rather deal with his punishment than whatever that thing had in store for me.

I sit next to my brother who’s already on his second bowl, I really need that type of relief. I scoot the wooden chair close enough to the table while wood-on-wood screeched throughout the small dining room in this cramped but cozy house. Looking into the bowl I can see the assortment of vegetables that were recently harvested from our garden in front of the home. Even though it was cold I could still smell some of the spicy & herbal aromas from it. Before tasting a spoonful, I took a calming glance at my mother, father, & brother. No matter how bad a day gets, it always somehow gets better when I’m eating with them. I took a bite & *CRUNCH!*

Cracking of wood with the sound of multiple dying trees tears through the peaceful home.

I looked & saw a... hand of skin & bone as grown as the hole now in my soul...

The thing’s hand latched onto the corner wall behind my father who’s in front of me, I now feel how flies feel caught in the web by 6 eyes of black death.

As motionless as I am, my family seems to be devoid of emotion.

Continuing their dinner as if refusing to let it turn into useless litter.

I have no words for this, my eyes seem to be meaningless...

What I see is absolute terror in my seemingly safe place, what they see is a tear of time & space...

I can’t take this... my breath is... no longer conscious...

“Darryl, go back into the house & get the green hand shovel in-” The boy launched from his knees, sped into the house while kicking back dirt, & replied “Right!” before entering the home. His father, kneeling next to the cabbage, looked back & saw the trail of dirt leading up to & through the open doorway. Turning back to the garden he sighed and muttered “How many times does Elizabeth have to yell at him about the dirt?” He continued focusing on other tasks, tending to the rest of the vegetables & herbs.

A few minutes pass by, wondering about the time required just to find a hand shovel until he heard a closing door. “Who’s that stranger in the black and white cloak Dad?” Darryl ran back and flopped down next to his father, eager to harvest. His father looked up after taking the shovel and saw a man in the distance slowly approaching. Even though the stranger was about 50ft away, he could see them wearing a black monk robe with a strip of white down the middle along with white gloves, both were lined with gold fabric separating the black & white throughout the attire, it was odd seeing little to no dirt on the white. He had a steady walking pace as if admiring the travel more than the scenery, the father had a grayish feeling about this monk.

“Good morning to you & your child. I have a...” Once the monk was about 20 feet from the small fence protecting the garden, the father sprung up and outstretched his hand with an open palm, motioning the monk to stop at that distance. “If you’re a normal monk, why do you need a unicorn wand?” He sees the wand in its holster on the monk’s right hip, the girth of it stuck out like a bunny in an open field of short grass. The monk peeked at it, then chuckled a bit while holding up his hands, all while seeing two rings on the father’s hand, a normal wedding ring on the middle finger & an enchanted one on the ring finger. “Please don’t fret Warlock, I came here only to look for something special that you have.”

“Special?” the father’s face twisted slightly out of confusion, what would a normal family have that’s special for a monk besides sharing a meal or having a spiritual ancient relic? He studied them further, but the increasing silence by the monk only made him more anxious about their purpose for being here, especially with a unicorn horn wand, Wizards/Witches using those instead of traditional gem wands tend to care more about power than magic.

Besides the expensive-looking clothing, he couldn’t make out much about the monk, only that his shadow flickered a bit as if it was also accompanying the journey. He was about to interrogate them further, until the sound of a squeaking door cut the silence, along with emotions of panic from his wife in the entryway “Thomas! Get inside quick, Damien is having a seizure!”

Thomas spun on his heels as if out of instinct once detecting the panic in his wife’s voice, but only after that he thought about what she said. A seizure? Damien isn’t prone to seizures. Not wanting to ask anything else further, he ran into the house along with Darryl.

Inside the house were sounds of crying and pleading, as if standing next to the open doors of a hospice while hearing the sick’s family begging for more options or time. The monk smiled and proceeded into the home while desiring to finish the job, not one of holy generosity, but of sinful malice.

When inside, the monk was guided by the disturbed voices until finding the source. When approaching the open room, Thomas popped out while wailing & howling. He threw his shirt at the opposing wall while vigorously swiping & scratching his skin. He continued to thrash around like a madman, slamming into shelves and tables, nearly turning the house into a messy crime scene. He threw his pants away after a minute or two of this, now only wearing an undertunic. Then flew out of the house like a trapped and scared animal now free, only in this case, the father still seemed trapped, screaming “GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF!” All while running into the woods behind the house, disappearing into the thick darkness of trees.

The monk’s face held a subtle grin while entering the room. The first thing he saw was the crying mother standing next to the bed, staring at her son’s stiff body. Before he had the chance to look at the boy, she yelled at him “Y-you did this! You killed my baby! You brought that... Cabal in here to kill my baby!” she pointed at Daryll saying this while he was huddled in the corner. Her child looks up at her, eyes filled with tears, brows furrowed, & lip quivering out of disbelief at what his mother is saying.

Her face was now locked onto his, responding with brows that drew together, a grimacing face, & body tensing up while balling her fist. In a single motion, she grabbed one of the toys on the large drawer shared between the brothers’ beds & launched herself onto Daryll. He squealed while protecting his head, but as if on cue in a swift fashion, the monk drew his wand and a flurry of arctic wind rushed out the tip. The sheer force grasped her body as it hurled onto the window between the beds, the glass absorbed most of the impact but still shattered onto the floor as the mother’s body bounced off the drawer first then followed the glass’s demise.

Darryl ran to his mother and kneeled beside her, ignoring the shards puncturing his pants & skin. Turning his mother over onto her back after sweeping the floor with his arms, disregarding the patterned stinging pain. He shakes her body while calling her, his hands & arms shaking more from fear than his wounds, that is, until he saw her chest slowly rise & drop.

After checking any other possible wound, Darryl looks up at the monk and yells “What did you do to my family!? My brother was suffocating until my mom & dad went crazy. My brother is dead! And you just stood there the entire time before hurting my mom and...” his voice trailed off, for what he saw next was somehow more outlandish than all that had occurred within that brief amount of time.

Damien was sitting up on the bed like a child not wanting to go to school but still knowing the importance of it. With his back facing Darryl, he now stood up straight on the bed, then Darryl asked, “Damien...are you ok?” Unaware of his brother’s presence, Damien was locked onto the monk, & despite every step he took on the bed leading in a different direction, his head was still fixated on the monk, like the opposite of a painting that stares at you no matter what part of the room you’re in. Unfortunately, reality can be more horrifying than fiction.

Damien’s body plopped on the floor after walking off the bed, but before the impact, there was a loud snap of bone. Darryl’s stomach dropped after witnessing the horror that now replaces his very being with pure dread. Damien’s body was tangled on the floor like a dead octopus washed up on the shore.

But his head... it outstretched upwards like a baby bird anticipating food from its mother. You could see some of the neck bones nearly puncturing the skin & muscles while its head was fixated on the monk. Then it collected itself and stoop up stiffly while still staring up at them. Throughout this entire ordeal, the monk’s face gleamed like a child meeting their hero after so many years of only hearing about them and seeing their accomplishments, truly speechless.

The last bit of willpower left within Darryl was used to pull himself up and march across the cracking glass, griping the shoulder of his brother whose back was still facing him. Yanking him around like an annoyed sibling that figured out what happened to their “lost” toy. Darryl’s face melded from anger to terror.

A lifeless husk. Youth turned to dust. His eyes filled with dusk. Skin cracked of rust. My eyes lost my trust...

Darryl was paralyzed with fear, handing the title of contained sanity to the monk. The thing turned back around toward its only fan. The monk continued to be at a loss for words, for how many words in the English language can describe this beauty?

Once another minute passed, the monk finally gained the strength to say something, but just as his mouth opened, the thing left the room. He thought he would be disappointed by this, but witnessing its influence in person was more than satisfying. The monk then puts his hands together & recites a prayer:

“O divine Poesy!

Deities of the world below, above, & in between

Lend me your strength of these lands

Of which is your creation & destruction

Aapep, the first to be repaid for the cost of man

The sport of their customs, good & bad,

Our hearts, for as much as we grew,

Doesn’t deserve our ‘Pure’ souls

Every Neighborly act mirrored by a stab to the back

No hope! For us! For we are now a mundane species

By our own witlessness to our Gods & ourselves

Dh’ooryah, the second to have scorched Terra, gave us true purpose

Our second ‘moon’, the third to have taught us, changed our perspective of the sun

Make our tale die for us. For only then can we bear the truth, O Muse...”

He gave a sigh of relief & turned to leave. But before making a final exit, he looked down at his casted shadow stretched between the rooms from the fall of the sun, and says “Thank you Jei...”