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The Prince of Darkness

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Behind the scenes of my madness.

Horror / Adventure
Bret The Best
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

There is a young man lying in bed, who tries to fall asleep, however, is unable to; knowing that when he does finally fall asleep - the soon succumbing nightmares will once again haunt his somber slumber. Tonight, no different than any other, the restless mind of the teenager is unable to calm to his mind, he sits up on his bed. Briskly walking down the stairs, he slips on a white t-shirt and plugs his headphones into his ears. Through the tiny speakers - Iron Maiden's Flash of the Blade starts to play as he walks out the front door and begins to wander down the street of the small neighborhood. He realizes he has no sense of destination or direction; he just aimlessly traverses the sidewalks ,not paying attention to where he's going, escaping into the muted night.
Suddenly, his left arm shivers cold, from high wind that starts to blow. A coldness lingers in the air, and now beginning to feel a little uneasy, the man's knees shake.
On the grassy hill across from the young man, a red mist trickles down. He walks closer; the red mist evaporates into a cloud - then take a form of a monstrous red demon. The monster flies a good ten feet in the air, slowly flapping its red-veined wings. The putrid demon squeals, his spit spewing onto the man's cheek, causing him to stumble. The young man runs the opposite direction of the beast; it slowly fades away into a mist again.
Running over a hill, the young lad stumbles upon a field of white roses, the young man stops a moment to catch his breath, the roses start to ooze blood, droplets falling all over his feet. As the young man is about to start running again - a trail of fire encircles him.
As a spirit of a soul, walking through a wall, the red mist reappears slowly drifting through the flames. Unable to escape, the red mist slowly creeps toward the feet of the poor boy. Rising around his ankles, until finally he starts to inhale the mist through his nostrils.
The circle of flames ceases, and the young lad falls to the ground. His nose begins to bleed, staining his white shirt; his head is now pounding like a Congo drum, beating to a gothic rhythm that is about to break loose. His mind lay shattered, unable to keep a thought.
"What the Hell?" He quietly says to himself.
Trembling on the ground in shock, is hands start to quiver, and then his body goes completely numb. His mind feels wiped clean as is if left as a blank slate of marble ready to be carved. The ground beneath him rumbles, the dirt unravels and is getting looser every second. The surrounding roots from the now exposed unraveling earth, begin to harness his hands and legs, which conform tightly like handcuffs, that make him stuck. The roots slowly drag him deep under the ground.
Awaking to blurry vision the young man notices his hands are bound tight together with harsh leather rope. He feels his hands bruising, as he is slowly led down a lightness hall - by two red cloaked, masked men. White lanterns hang above, giving the hall a faint fluorescent white glow. The young man feels the warmth from several flickering candles, which lay near his feet.
Fully awake, the young man notices a metallic chain hanging towards the end of the room - which at one end bears a large sharp hook. The cloaked men, finally stop walking; arriving at a horrific mountain of human skulls. The light of a nearby burning torch, reveals one of the men to be wearing an elegant black diamond studded crows mask; and the other wears what seems to be an actual pig's skinned head. Their long red robes stitched with intricate Egyptian lettering along the hems.
The man in the crow's mask grabs part of the chain and begins to pull down. Ultimately, lowering the large, sharp hook into his hands.
The man in the pig's mask whispers a prayer, while the man takes one deep breath, exhaling as the crowman forces the hook in through his skin.The hooks firm penetration cuts through his back like a knife through butter, the poor boy lets out a terrifying howl. The crowman, lets go of the chain, swiftly hoisting the man above into the air. The crow-masked and pig-masked men, turn their backs to the squirming in agony victim, and hurry away.
In excruciating pain, with his mind totally lost, he begins to lose all hope. His warm blood trickles down the side of his abdomen, pooling a circle of blood beneath the bones.
"Have you called for me? Again, so soo soon. Your wonderland thrives on crimson stained roses and pure destruction. It's awfully fantastic.The prince of darkness looks for beauty in the dark, and here he has found it, looking into your sad dying blue eyes." The Voices echoes throughout his ears.
The young lad struggles to make sense if he's losing his mind, or someone's really speaking to him. However, he is unable to let out any words, blood overflows from his mouth. As his head sways down, he barely can keep his eyes open anymore.
Just then the hook lowers him downward; the hook tears upward, starting to cut the young man in two. A string of his guts splash below, slithering down the top of the pyramid of skulls. The last thing the young lad saw is the outline of the moon - glimmering in the pool of his blood below. Reflecting, and distorting the world to look like a faded watercolor painting.
In the early morning, the doves outside sing a lovely melody outside the window, in which the light of the sunrise beads into the bedroom of Oliver Rain left behind. The young, eager lad is up earlier than usual, busy making sure all the belongings are secure in the back of the 16-foot moving truck he's rented for the trip. Today is the day he set's out for Los Angeles, a place where he will start anew, and find the real him, through trial and error.
Oliver has just enough money to cover one month's rent, deposit, and some cushion money, to begin his journey to the city of angels. He picks up his blue leopard-print drawstring backpack enters the moving truck. He packs one life away to unpack it in a home he'd never even been in. Oliver lets out a small smile - finally leaving the blistering hot Arizona summer. He puts on a pair of black sunglasses, as he drives along the 101 freeway.
Los Angeles, only 350 miles away the rectangular green sign declares. Oliver thinks about what kind of person he'll grow into living in the city, social and outgoing? Or perhaps form back into the habits of being his quiet, doesn't talk much, lean on the wall kinda guy? Oliver takes a sip from his plastic water bottle, and slowly let's out a sigh.
The moving truck, wouldn't go over fifty-five miles per hour, a little disappointing. Oliver turns on the truck's radio, after a few static-filled commercials, a clear signal of Bruno Mar's Locked out of Heaven starts playing. He stops at the state border patrol stop, almost unsure what to explain his reason for his business in California to the patrol officer.
"What is your business here? the middle aged female patrol officer monotonously asks.
"I am moving to Los Angeles." He stumbles.
"Are you transporting any plants?" The officer continues.
"No, just my spirit. " Oliver laughs.
Stopping at a rest area in Indio, Oliver steps out of the truck for a good stretch. Just a few cars park in the area; a few giant trucks are further down the road. A lone elderly man, wearing a long black knit sweatshirt - smoking a cigarette, holds a conversation on his cell phone. He speaks with a deep foreign accent, maybe Russian - though his conversation seems to heat up, and become unpleasant. The gray-haired older man looks up from his phone to lock his eyes to Oliver's. The young lad shakes his head and hurries into the nearby restroom.
The air smells rank, and the floor is damp; a young couple enters one of the stalls, further down the restroom. Sketchy, just another word for adventure - right? As Oliver uses the urinal, he hears a man's yell, it comes from outside the restroom. He quickly dashes out the door and sees a security guard have a hold of a man, carrying the looks of his son in his arms, and he yells profane, racist slurs toward the guard. Oliver gazes away from the uncomfortable scene.
"We do not tolerate any drug use, sorry sir." The security guard distantly yells.
The young lad walks over to a vending machine; pushing D4, for a usual dose of tea. A cold yellow can falls out. After finishing the can, he quietly walks back to his massive moving truck and continues to back onto the highway.
Out his truck window, Oliver can see towering white wind turbines, spinning their oval fans. They strung in lines stretching out for what looked like for miles; the bellowing sight could ignite a sudden spark of inspiration in an artist.
Oliver finally enters into Los Angeles, he catches sight of tall otherworldly high-rises, hotels, the largest buildings he'd ever seen. A circular-structured building catches his eye - the Capitol Records building. Turning down one road after another in the new city feels like continuous bites into a poisonous fruit.
Driving a dragon of a truck, he carefully turns down a narrow street. He notices one of old original red Sears sign on one of the buildings across from the Los Angeles Greyhound station. A low vapor lingers in the air, Oliver notices as he takes in a deep breath of the exhausted fumes looming above the dark city. Like the constant smoke of the underground fires in Centralia, he can only expect an at least one metaphorical fire, blazing under Los Angeles.
Turning on a backroad in Koreatown, nearly every side street parking spot is taken - either by a small box car, Vespa, or motorcycle. He passes a little Korean hotel - which hangs with several crazy swirling red signs, and several other apartments. Consequently, he arrives in front of his new home, parks in the middle of the street and calls his new roommate - Alex Contra.
"Hey Alex - I'm out front" he giddily explains.
"Finally man, hold on. I'll come out front, just put your hazards on." Alex replies.
The old faded nineteen-twenties apartment building has front stairs that lead up to a big white door. An abundance of palm trees and exotic trees rise over the entrance . A metal fire escape hangs above the red awning of the building. The top floor has ladder access to the rooftop; Oliver is intrigued on its security.
Alex Contra opens the front door and walks out wearing a plain green shirt, and blue jeans. After a quick, friendly embrace, Oliver retrieves the check from his truck, handing it to his roommate. Alex hurries inside the apartment, and then hand it to their new landlord, a young latina woman. She stands in her doorway, of her room, on the first floor.
The two men hurry outside to the truck, the hazard lights still blinking; Oliver unhinges the back part of the moving vehicle. Alex is a bit surprised at the amount of stuff Oliver managed to bring. It inevitably would start to fill the empty apartment.
Up the rickety elevator, with a rusty metal frame, the two men walk to apartment #307 on the third floor. Through the green door, after passing through a small hallway is the living room. The exposed brick walls give the place a unique look and have three large window panes with a view of the street below. There's a small kitchen to left has a refridgerator. After finally carrying the last of the contents of the apartment, the men take a seat on the white couch.
After grabbing a cigarette, the walk out the front door. Climbing out through a window at the end the hall leads to the fire escape. Alex lights his cigarette using a match from his pocket, slowly exhaling the smoke toward the night sky.
Alex extinguishes his cigarette, and the two men head downstairs. Walking three blocks down they arrive at Alex's small white Nissan sports car. It has droplets of some Oil, presumably fallen from the palm trees above.
The wind of the city feels euphoric on Oliver's face, as he leans his hand out the window. The dimly lit roads, with the shrubs, are so high, Oliver barely gets a glimpse of the houses hidden behind. Beverly Hills by Weezer randomly comes on the radio; driving out the infamous neighborhood.
Next Alex turns up the twisty roads of Mulholland Drive. Alex parks in one of the scenic viewpoints. The two men gaze at Los Angeles's lights, both in awe of the sight. Oliver snaps a photo of the cityscape, and they head back to the car.
Back on the highway - passing under a dark tunnel - Oliver sees the ocean - which smells like salty alligator tears. The Santa Monica beach is scarce of activity, as the night consumes, and the lonely white moon show its smile. A light fog rolls in over onto the beach, Alex stops the car on the side of the road.
"Wanna walk on the Beach? Alex asks.
"Aye, Captain" Oliver Smiles.
Oliver, already dresses beach attire, as he wears his Hawaiian floral shorts, green tank top and flip flops. Alex leads his friend, down a trail of black rocks, leading down to the sands of the beach. Oliver shakes off his sandals, the cold sand on his feet feels superb -- the beach does not disappoint.
"Aren't you cold?" Alex asks.
"Not a bit" Oliver smiles.
The cold water splashes over Oliver's bare feet, as he slowly walks down the beach. Finally lost in the moment - with no other people in sight; the beach creates an impression of endlessness and timelessness. Time washing away, back and forth over the waves. Oliver sees a couple's initials written in seashell wash away into the ocean. Walking, still holding his sandals in one hand, he notices a glow, up on a nearby pier in the distance.
"It's a Ferris Wheel, out on the Santa Monica Pier. I'll take you some time." Alex replies.
The wind picks up, sand blowing - it starts to rain. Oliver and Alex hurry back to the car, just as it begins to pour. Making a U-turn, heading back along the coastline - the car radio turns on suddenly to heavy static.
Alex messes with the radio knob; trying to receive a better signal. A loud crackle implodes from the stereo, it lets out a loud - awful screech. Oliver tries to turn the radio off, but it seems to be stuck on, booming loud - violently hissing.
As they pass through the tunnel from earlier, a distraught teenager, runs through the middle of the highway, he throws a water canister onto their car.
"Slow the fuck down!" The boy anxiously yells.
In the opposite lane, a wrecked red Mustang sits in flames. Traffic starts to slow down. It looks like the driver's trapped in the front seat, no help has arrived yet.
"Do we get out and help?" Alex Contra yells.
"The car could blow up any second" Oliver Rain replies.
The driver of the burning car looks no older than Oliver himself. He sits struggling to unbuckle his seat belt. The yelling teen from before tries opening the driver's side door. It lets out a blast of fire - pushing him back screaming.
The trapped driver inside burns to death - right in front of their eyes. His body falls to its side, his hand hanging out the door. The terrible smell of both burning smoke and charing skin fills the tunnel. A light film of smoke starts to rise from the burning Mustang. Oliver finally hears police sirens blare in the distance.
After a quiet drive back to the apartment, the two roommates, Alex finds lucky parking, on the opposite side of their place. His roommate quickly heads to the restroom, for a shower , Oliver unpacks a few things for bed.
Oliver wonders if there's anything on the back side of the apartment. To his excitement, after walking down the far end of the hallway, he finds a window leading to a second more secluded fire escape. He climbs the fire escape, floor after floor until he's reached the top. A black ladder leads straight to the rooftop, the metal barrier that's supposed be locked, lay unlocked. After climbing to the roof, Oliver takes a view of the city.
A Korean Karaoke bar's giant sign glimmers with flashing white lights. He sullenly listens to his music. Oliver closes his eyes.
My first night here in Los Angeles, and what a way to end the night with a Friday night explosion.
Why does burning fire lead to an innocent snow? The devil grins in the shadows of the smoke, just waiting for the right moment - to show....

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