Descending Darkness (First 3 Ch)

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2

Ch.13

14

John Hayes stood outside his darkened window at half past midnight. The imprint of his hand could still be seen through the clouded glass. A low howl disturbed his concentrated thoughts and directed his attention to beyond his backyard. He shivered in his cotton robe, the tile floor was like ice. He wished he was the type of man that enjoyed sporting slippers, he had always loved taunting his dogs with the over used phrase of, “Fetch me my slippers!” But when those words came out of his mouth, it always left the dog highly befuddled and in search of it’s own tail. He always perfered dogs over cats, and had two highly expressive golden retrievers. Buddy, and Daisy. He sighed, the same howl he had heard a few minutes ago was the one that resurected him from his peaceful slumber. In a maddening fury, he had trifled down the stairs in worry that one of his own dogs had caused the racket, and when morning came he would be bombarded with anoyed and hysterical calls from neighbors complaining of lost sleep. But when he checked outside his large meadow of a backyard, his dogs were no wear in sight. He didn’t remember that any of his neighbors owned dogs. He lived in a respectively small area, and most of the people in his neighborhood were pushing 50 while he was free to bask in his early 30’s. All his neighbors were cat lovers, silent consipiritors in the way of the dog. He looked away from the window to come face to face with Buddy. The dog’s chocolate brown eyes remained enthralled with him.5

“What’s up boy?” John asked the animal pleasantly.6

Buddy pricked his ears and wagged his long golden tail profuesly.7

“Good Boy.” He praised.8

The dog barked softly then began to growl. John shot a puzzled look at the canine as he reached out to touch him. The dog hackled and barred his fangs, his fur rigid as if an electrical current had swept through the room leaving John untouched. John stepped back, while Buddy padded to the foot mat and clawed till some of the paint came off on the door leading to the backyard.9

“Do you need to go out boy?” 10

The dog barked loudly.11

“I guess that’s a yes.”12

The dog sprinted out side and sat attentively on the grass, eyes riveted to the large cluster of bushes at the far end of the yard. John watched his dog in bewilderment, but was snapped out of his trance when he heard the howl again. This time, from behind the bushes. Buddy snarled as he slowly approached the bush. John ran up from behind the dog, but Buddy struck out and bit him on the wrist. An explosion of pain shot through John’s arm, but the dog’s eyes lingered on him as if to say, “Stay Back.” John retreated and watched as Buddy shakily walked head on towards the bush. The bush shook violently as low guttural sounds began to close in on them. The dog whimpered and stored his tail between his legs. A large figure stormed out of the bushes and tackled Buddy to the ground violently.13

“Buddy!” John shouted.14

But it was too late. Before he could even see what had attacked his dog, Buddy laid motionless in a pool of his own blood. John winced at the horrific site. The “thing” whatever it was, had not only savagely attacked Buddy, but also mutilated him. Large chunks of flesh had been dug into so that the organs were showing, and from the looks of it, every bone in the poor animal’s body had been broken, in less then 30 seconds. John couldn’t get a good look at what had attacked his beloved pet, but he had a feeling it wasn’t another dog. It was far too big for that. “A wolf?” He thought. Not even a wolf would be that vicious. He shuddered, mustering all his strength to keep from crying. Buddy had known that something was out there, something not friendly, but hostile. John brushed the drying blood on his wrist. If Buddy hadn’t lashed out at him, they could of both been dead lying in a lake of blood. A shrill howl sounded the night, three more joined it. John rubbed the goose flesh on his arms. “What the hell is going on?” He wondered to himself. He looked back at the spot that Buddy’s body lay, to find that it had disappeared.15

“What the hell?” He exclaimed.16

John edged closer and saw that only the blood remained. He squatted on the ground to see what appeared to be large paw prints beside it that didn’t belong to the once beloved Buddy. His knees wobbled as an icy breeze swept by, carrying eerie whispers with it as it passed. John stood in place and listened intently to try and make out the voices.17

“Kill, kill, kill…” The whispers echoed rythematically.18

John clenched his fists, and raced back in side, the whispers groaning more and more urgent as if “kill” was a desire in which they craved and yearned for. He closed the door to the outside and bolted it up with both locks, and the security chain. His heart lifted when he saw that Daisy was still on the couch. Her eyes filled with worry as if she knew what had happened. John stood in silence for awhile to let the worst part of the shock pass, then made his way towards the coffeepot. He retrieved a large mug from the dishwasher with a picture of Buddy and Daisy engraved in it. He took a long swig, and returned to the couch with the half full mug while he sat down. He got up one last time and drew the curtains at the three large windows that allowed view to the backyard. He returned to the couch and snuggled up to Daisy, massaging her fur. She licked him affectionately and whimpered softly. 19

“Buddy, I promise to God I will find out what caused your death. And once I do, I will warn everyone I know. I have a feeling I won’t be protected for long. I’m sorry boy.” 20

John hung his head in sorrow as he cried his pent up tears of grief. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, but something told him that this was just the beginning.21

222

John awoke from the large, leather sofa in his living room at ten till two in the afternoon. He slowly rose from his cramped position on the couch and cracked his neck to one side in hopes to release the crick that had a persisting hold on him. He winced in pain as he stood up completely. He rubbed his hand to his grainy eyes and yawned loudly. He drowsily shuffled to the bathroom, with the blanket trailing like a second shadow unraveling behind him like a proud king and his royal robe. Except that the king happened to be John, in a half-sleep like state, he looked fit enough to play a leading role in Dawn of the Dead, and the blanket was just ten year old souvenir that he had picked up at a flea market during his scavenging days. He stood at the sink, staring aimlessly at his reflection in the mirror. It would be a hard duel between John and the man in the mirror; it would be difficult to say who would win. John filled his palms with icy water from the faucet and splashed his skin, bringing it back from dehydration. He reached for his toothbrush and brushed his teeth furiously, he had a rank odor starting in his mouth and he was determined to get it out. He finished the ritual with two large gulps of Listerine. He ran a comb through his matted hair and retreated to his closet to find some clothes. While his wandering eyes darted through out his closet on the many articles of clothing that hung neatly on their hangers, he finally decided on a pair of tan Chinos, a buttoned down black polo and a pair of his white and blue Nikes. He grabbed a granola bar from his scarce pantry and dashed out the door. Why he was in such a hurry, was a mystery even to him. It could have been the fact that getting up at 2 was weighing heavy on his conscience, and he felt bad about missing over half of the day. But he was fully rested to do what he felt was right. Alert a local police station about his dog situation, and perhaps a problem that could escalate to massive proportions, possibly endangering the citizens of Orlando, Florida. He put out the worry that was darting about his head that he would be rejected, and laughed at by the authorities. But he was an optimist, always hoping for the best. 23

If there were a 1-100 % chance that he would live, he would pray and hope on the 1-%, while most other people would already be making arrangements with a morgue. Now, he was almost positive that he would win the 50/50% chance that he had with alerting the police. After all, 50% was a hell of a lot better then 1-%. It had to work, not just for his and Buddy’s sake, but for everyone’s. He began to sweat as he pulled his car out of the garage and rounded the corner. Nightfall was but four hours away, and he was afraid of what would happen when that time would come. He shivered as he thought about Buddy’s mangled body and the howls of hellish beasts in the night and the demonic whispers in the wind. Had the devil been playing his song of Apocalypse on his violin of sorrow once more? John asked himself. He shook his head in disagreement with himself. He had once been a religious man, devoted entirely to his faith. But as the years went by, he had begun to doubt more and more, and eventually stopped showing up to church. John was a self converted Agnostic from a disciplined Catholic in 10 yrs. He kept his eyes on the rode, as he continued down the path of no return. Hell’s clock was ticking, and nightfall was edging closer. John continued at 60 MPH in a 45-speed zone and tried to keep his mind of the events of the previous night, eagerly wanting to beat the superstitious night, that was anticipating it’s reign.24

325

John parked his car and briskly walked to the front entrance of the police station. He looked both ways and swallowed his fear as he swung both large, glass doors open and trudged inside. A stout woman in her mid 40’s adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses and peered up at him.26

“May I help you Sir?” she asked in a nasally, high-pitched tone.27

“Yes, I’m John Hayes, I need to speak with the chief of police right away.” The urgency in his voice was growing.28

The woman stifled through a pile of papers on her desk and pursed her lips together, giving her the appearance of an agitated puffer fish. 29

“Do you have an appointment Mr. Hayes?” she asked in a thick Boston accent, leaving out the “er” of Mister.30

“No I don’t, but this is urgent!” 31

He agreed he must look foolish to her, by marching into the police station and demanding to speak to the head with out an appointment. He was sure that if he had to give her the whole story on why he was there, she would send him to an asylum. But it was his only shot. He bent his knees so he was eye level with her and talked in a stern whisper.32

“Ma’am, this could be a matter of National Security, I can’t express how important it is that I talk to the Chief.”33

The woman shook her head of flaming red curls, placed her pen tip to her chin and continued her stony stare. After about a minute of intense staring, John broke the silence. 34

“Ma’am?” He asked.35

The woman cocked her head to one side. “Are you a terrorist?”36

Surprised, and taken aback by the question, John reflectively rose his hand in protest.37

“What? Where would you get an idea like that?” he fumed angrily.38

The lady did a little shrug and darted her eyes away from him. “I don’t know, you strike me as the type. And my name isn’t Ma’am, it’s Lila.”39

John cleared his throat and shuffled his foot nervously. “I’m sorry Lila, I don’t know if you got the wrong vibe from me, but I am FAR from a terrorist. I’m trying to help the country!”40

“If you say so.” She said with a snicker.41

“Look, if I can’t see the Chief today, can I make an appointment for tomorrow?”42

Lila checked a long schedule and ran her finger along it. “You’re a lucky man Mr. Hayes. Insane, but lucky. We can fit you in at 3:00 tomorrow afternoon. That’s the only appointment for weeks, so you’re out of luck if you can’t make it.” She informed him with out once looking away from her paper.43

“I can make it. Thank you.”44

“Yep.” Lila said tight lipped.45

James picked up the appointment time on the slip and dashed out the door. “3:00,” he said to himself “That gives those “things” another night to strike. Another night to kill…” He raced to his car, started the engine and drove off. Nightfall had descended.46

447

The night after the run in at the Police Station, John warmed himself a cup of Camameal tea. He wafted the warm fragrance towards him, cinnamon and lemon overwhelmed his senses. He walked to the living room and sat down, nervously glancing at the large, darkened windows to his right He took a sip of his tea, the heat of the beverage scalded his upper lip, but he was too on edge to let it bother him. Fear coiled in his stomach like a mighty python tightening its grip on his prey. Loud panting brought him back to reality when he noticed Daisy approaching. She looked at him full heartedly and wagged her golden tail affectionately. She rested her head in his lap and nuzzled at his hand. He scratched the top of her ear while she whimpered in content.48

“What am I going to do with you Daisy? You have no idea what the hell is going on, do you?” he asked the dog. 49

She cocked her head in confusion and barked loudly. 50

“Just when I think your beginning to understand what I’m saying, you prove to me that you’re just a mutt.”51

Daisy was fed up with John’s cutting remarks, as she shook her head in protest and stormed off to her favorite napping place in the corner. In Daisy’s mind, she was no ordinary Golden Retriever, but a golden lion in disguise. She settled down in the corner, sighed happily, and prepared herself for lavish dreams of prime rib roast, and getting her revenge on the cat next door, And maybe the occasional puddle of joy in John’s room for atonement.52

John laughed to himself while he watched his dog, not in the least bit aware of the surprise that Daisy was plotting for him. He turned on the TV to try and drown his worries, and tie an anchor to them so they would sink to the bottom and never return. An old Western was playing, where strapping young men in chaps and cowboy boots wandered the landscapes of a blistering southern desert, starring each other down in the midst of the blazing summer heat, while a tumble weed blew across the other wise empty terrain. With all of the gunshots erupting from the TV, he could barely hear the growling that was admitting from bushes in the backyard. John shut of the TV, stiffened his body, and listened for more sounds. Silence. Daisy had awoken from her nap and was growling at the window. She had evidently forgotten about her plan of revenge for John’s ridiculing. A shadowed, rigid shape drew John’s attention to the front, center bush. Daisy snarled protectively, saliva flying up from her gums.53

“Stay here girl. I won’t let you end up like Buddy.”54

Daisy’s tail fell between her legs, as if she sensed the true danger of the situation. John opened the door slowly to make sure Daisy couldn’t dart out, and closed it firmly. He slipped into a pair of battered Rockports on the deck and approached the bush. The dried, decaying grass crackled like popcorn beneath his feet. He was beginning to have dejavu, except there was no dog to devour this time. He prayed he wasn’t the animal’s next victim. When he got to the middle of the yard, he stood six feet in front of the bush. He waited patiently. The bush shook violently and a creature that resembled a large dog on first glance sprung out. John squinted to make the animal appear clearer, but then retreated back three steps. When he caught a glimpse of it the body was very similar to a large dog, perhaps a Great Dane with a hunched back and course, matted fur. The head was something out of a nightmare. Balls of gleaming, yellow flame filled the creature’s eye sockets, giving the eyes a look of a snake. Its snout protruded outward about a foot in diameter. Long jagged teeth filled both top and bottom of its jaw line. Its last defining feature was a long, bristled tail like a wolf’s that branched out in all directions. This beast looked like a cross between a wolf and an alligator. Low growls admitted from the creature that made John’s hair stand on end. The animal had something to the left of its large, sharp paw. John peered at it, to see what it was. He gasped when he saw the severed arm; blood still caked to the limb in fresh globs of hibiscus fluid. John was white with fear as it coursed through him like a million pin needles. The creature looked into John’s eyes as if it was asking him for his last words of life. John sprinted towards the door, as he closed it just in time. The beast charged forward, stopping just inches short of his leg. It crashed into the door with malice and brought its upright jaws into a snapping frenzy, as if it was prying an imaginary bird from its safety of the sky. John locked both locks and safety hinge and turned his back to the wall, his chest collapsed and rose with each shuddering breath. He walked over to the counter and reached a shaky hand towards the phone, and dialed the area code for Animal Control. “This is going to be a long night” he told himself regrettably.55


Ch.256


Chewing on his destroyed cuticles, Greg Patterson worried immensely about what had occurred the night before. His hands shook as he wearily reached for a sip of his greatly appreciated energy drink. Last night, on September 5, 2000, a nightmare was released into the world. What Gregory and his colleagues were hoping to create was a new breed of show dog that would make them millions, it wasn’t just for the money though, Greg was infactuated with dogs. Every time he passed one on the street, he melted like a wax candle might do when faced with the suns scorching rays. But what started out as harmless fun, quickly developed into a disaster. He and his colleagues were anticipating on designing a new breed of Golden Retriever that was a hybrid with an Arctic wolf, making it one beautiful, pure breed. The income this animal was estimated to make was 1.5 million a year. A large enough sum to send any well-paid business man into a lifetime of riches and early retirement. The main goal in the makings of this animal was a breakthrough in science. Not only would it be a rare and new pet, and make them millions, but it would also show everyone in the world how advanced technology could be at its fullest, and give scientists everywhere major ego boosts. But something in the experiment went wrong. During the process where the chromosomes interlocked, there was a major chemical imbalance between the two animals, causing it to evolve into a beast unlike any other. Classifying it as a creature of its own, the scientists christened it “Fiend Lupine”. Aside from its looks, it had scrambled brain chemistry, allowing it to focus on one thing, and one thing only. Killing. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when any other creature, including humans, suffered a bite from this fiend they reverted back to their primal instincts, transforming them into fearsome beasts. And as far as Greg was concerned, there was no cure. Greg placed his hand on his pulsing head, he had a persisting migrane and he didnt have much time to figure out how to stop Lupine before it was to late.57

158

John put down the phone and raced to the door when he heard loud rapping upon its wooden surface. He was exhausted. He scratched the back of his head and yawned loudly while he walked slowly to the door. The persisting knocking continued.59

“John!” a loud, frantic voice greeted him.
There in the door way, under the crystal chandelier, was the most breathtaking woman he had ever seen. She shook her mane of wavy, dark auburn hair and charmed him with a dazzling smile. His eyes lingered on her plump lips as he imagined himself kissing them over, and over. Her bright green eyes burned with passion, and her flawless caramel skin had a definite radiant glow to it. She stepped inside, and took of her boots. She stood 5”5 and had an exquisitely ripe figure that made John feel like a 14 year old going through puberty again. 60

“Rachel, what brings you here at this hour?” he asked, trying to drown his lust in conversation.
She scowled at him, bringing her dark, perfectly trimmed eye brows into an angry arch. “Why didn’t you call me? I was worried sick about you! I heard about your run in with the police and I was afraid something might have happened to you.”
He popped his knuckles and glanced away from her nervously. “I made a fool out of myself, thats all. I really don’t want you to worry about my petty problems.”
Rachel ticked her manicured fingers at her side and clucked her tongue, in imitation with a rooster. “John, when have I ever been troubled by your problems, we have been co workers for over six years now, and we’ve always been each others rocks.” 61


John stared into Rachel’s emerald eyes and spoke in a near whisper. “Rachel, listen to me. I don’t want you to worry about me okay? Go home and get some sleep, you look exhausted.”
She slipped off her socks and charged at him like an angry lion, and slapped him hard in the face. Despite Rachel’s looks, she was no priss. He winced in pain, as the sting began to envelop the right side of his face. 62


“What was that for?!” he cried in reproach.
“For being so Godamn stubborn!” she fumed enraged, “Obviously, you were facing a problem that was big enough to get the police involved, you can’t tell me that’s petty! Please John, I’m begging you, let me help. I want to help.”63

John sighed, seeing that their was no way that he couldn’t tell Rachel what was going on, he ushered her to follow him into the living room. 64

“Do you want something to drink, maybe some coffee?” He asked. The day had taken a tremendous toll on him, and it was evident in his voice.65

Rachel tucked one tuff of glossy hair behind her ear, and settled on the couch, setting her black, leather purse on the ground by her feet. “If you have it, I’ll take Vodka and grapefruit.”66

John raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want to do that? It’s three in the morning.”67

Rachel watched him from the corner of her eyes, “It’s fine. After what your about to tell me, I have a feeling I may need it. Besides, I skipped my evening drink, so I can make up for it here. You don’t mind do you?” John blushed and continued to make her drink, squeezing the grapefruit in a diligent manner and taking care not to spill the Vodka into the Waterford crystal glass.68

When John was finished making her drink he walked over to the couch, drink in one hand, small towel draped over his other arm which gave him the impression of a cocktail waiter. All he was missing was the fancy little jacket. She accepted it greatfully and looked him in the eye. “Now, tell me from the start, what’s been going on?” she said doggedly. 69

John waited for her to take a long sip of her drink then started from the top with the story.70


271

The glass beaker that Greg had been grasping firmly in his hands shattered in to thousands of tiny jagged shards. He looked up to see who had called his name and shifted to the side nervously, the crunching of the glass under his foot could be heard through out the room. 72

“Gregory, what are you doing?” said a chilled voice.73

Greg swallowed hard and met the owner of the voice’s eyes. Greg’s fellow colleague James Isac, towered above Greg and was an intimidating 20 lbs heavier. He was a tall, sinewy young man, but had at daunting appearance about him in his face. He had defined cheek bones, and ghostly pale skin, but the threat lied in the eyes. Under his sleek mane of jet black hair, was the most fearsome pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. They were such a dark blue, that at first glance they appeared indigo. James was the head of Greg’s team, and he had always felt feeble to him. Greg stood his full 5’10, but paled in comparison to James’s 6”5. He stepped away from the glass, and stared into James’s steel blue eyes. James approached Greg slowly, exadurating his thunderous steps. 74

“What did I tell you about breaking the beakers Greg” James asked coolly.75

“I’m sorry sir, it was an accident.”76

James laughed, and peered down at the cluttered shards of glass. He bent down and picked a long shard beside Greg and held it to his throat.77

“Tell me Mr. Patterson, would it be an accident if I mistakenly brushed this splinter of glass across your throat?” He smiled crookedly, giving him a look of dementia. Greg shivered as he began to feel a cold sweat forming.78

“No, shirr.” He stuttered.79

“Good, now pick up the glass.”80

“And Greg?”
Greg looked up at the hovering silhouette of James and met his eyes.81

“Yes?”82

“Don’t let this happen again.”83

Greg nodded as James walked off into the shadows, his footsteps growing ever more faint, until he vanished completely out of sight. Greg finished retrieving the fallen shards, and relief overwhelmed him with James’s absence. 84

“What am I going to do?” Greg asked himself, “I need to put a stop to what I helped start, if I don’t start soon, the world may have a dilemma at hand.” Greg pitched the remains of the shards into a nearby waste bin and retreated into his studies on finding a cure.85


386

Rachel pressed one delicate hand to her mouth to keep from gasping. John had just finished fulfilling her curiosity by giving her every detail of the previous night. She touched her cheek, she was cold as ice. She could feel involuntary chills claw at her spine, as if they wanted to escape and draw her into their icy realm. She began to feel feverish when she recalled the detail that John went into describing his dead dog, Buddy. A throbbing hotness filled her chest, as her heart pulsed wildly. She had always loved Buddy, it was like she was loosing a furry, little brother. Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried her best to suppress them. John put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gently whispered into her, concern and worry was spread across his face as obvious as it would be for a murderer to leave a finger print on his weapon. 87

“What’s wrong, did I give you too much detail?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.
Rachel shook her head and sniffed loudly. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” She said tremulously between sobs.88

“Is it Buddy?” 89

She accepted the Kleenex in his hand and blew her nose. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s just that. Something about what you told me, well it rubbed me the wrong way. It’s the kind of Science Fiction stuff you read in books that you think can happen, but it never really does.”
She drew her legs under her and crossed her arms protectively against her chest and shivered.90

“Do you want a blanket?” John asked.91

“No, I’m fine now.”92

“Rachel.” He scolded.93

“Oh, fine.” She said reluctantly.94

He retrieved a wool blanket from the laundry basket and draped it over her from behind. She welcomed the blanket as she pulled the material down, encasing her entire body in a protective, wool cocoon. His arms remained draped over her shoulders until he realized they were still there. He blushed, and retreated back to his seat on the couch.95

“What if we’re part of a modern Frankenstein movie, and the evil scientist who created that beast you saw installed a radar in it, so it has your scent and will continue to track us down?” Rachel clenched her fists under the blanket and rubbed at her subsiding goose flesh.96

“There’s a reason why it was a movie Rach, it wasn’t real. No movie with mutant monsters is real, I’m sure there is a perfectly logical explanation for what I saw.” He said half convinced.97

“I hope your right.”98

“I don’t hope,” He said, “I know.”99

He scooted closer to Rachel and cradled her in his arms. No matter how bad things got, he had to remain brave. He had an obligation to uphold he needed to protect Rachel and stay brave for her sake.100

Ch.3
1101

John gave Rachel a friendly kiss and walked her to the door. She looked at him with worry creased in her face; her exhaustion was evident in the dark, bluish flesh that rested beneath her eyes.102

“Rachel, please tell me when you get home your going to get some rest.”103

She shook her lustrous, auburn mane and wagged an acrylic nail. “John, your such a worrier. And I don’t mean a casual worry wort, I’m talking a full blown narcissist worrier.”104

John winced at the thought of him being inflicted by a chronic worry syndrome, named and created by Rachel Duncan.105

“Sorry,” He said comically, “I’m afraid there is no such thing. Are you going to tell me I also contracted a serious case of Herpes, or maybe that I have a brain tumor and my head will have to be cut open an hour from now?” He stood at her side and draped one arm around her shoulder. Deep creases filled the space on the smooth skin between her eyebrows, as she twitched her lip in aggravation. Pushing his arm away from her, she stepped halfway outside the door, the cold wind tore at her face in a frigid, winter furry.106

“Don’t make jokes like that,” She snapped, “It’s one thing to be sarcastic, but you take it to a while new level! I’ve been worried sick about you and all you can do is make sadist remarks about your impending death.”107

Seeing that he had upset her, John reached out a hand in remorse. She swatted at his hand and reached down for her bag beside her feet.
“I don’t even care anymore, all my efforts that have been devoted in caring for you, are wasted now. And don’t bother to call me later and apologize, because it’s going to take a while for me to blow this over.” The sound of the door slamming erupted in his face as he blinked in disbelief at what he had just heard. He couldn’t remember the last time Rachel had been not just angry, but seething. He pressed a cool hand to his head and went to the kitchen to retrieve the Aspirin he had recently bought. His footsteps stopped short of the thresh hold to the kitchen area when he saw what was on the large, four paned windows. Spread across the glass surface, in a mass of blood and gore, was a message barely readable printed across the window in thick, scarlet stains.108

“YOUR NEXT.” 109

John’s temperature dropped in the instance he repeated the words out loud. “Your Next, What did that even mean, what is next?” he said toying with options in his head. 110

The door leading to the backyard burst open with a sudden gust of icy wind. He squinted as the powerful cyclone drew him forward. He felt himself hovering above the floor as he struggled to keep anchored by seeking refuge holding on to an open nearby cabinet. Pots and pans flew off the brass rings that hung them in place. Splintered legs of the wooden, kitchen table tore loose and shattered into tiny, wooden pieces. He squeezed his eye's shut to avoid the incoming hail of splintered needles. He wanted to scream and cry out for help, but then he realized no one would hear his tortured cries, not in the deafening wind’s moans. 111

The wind slowed, as he began to open his eyes. He was slowly lowered back to the ground when the whispers started. Hundreds of different dialects uttered threats he could barely make out. The whispers grew urgent as he felt the room vibrate with the blaring, breathless voices. With the wind, the voices ceased. He stood disbelieving, as the door slammed shut. He glanced around the room at the strewn pots and pieces of glass and wood littered about the floor. He leaned against the wall and slid down to a squat. 112

“What was that, a warning?” he thought. He didn’t know what was happening, but the burning pain in his chest that it was sinister would not subside. Obscure waves of doubt flooded his mind as he wondered how he could possibly take on this adversary, this unexplainable new deity. The fear of the unknown was one of the greatest, and it left him trembling miserably in anticipation of what has caused the wind. The wind that carried with it endless voices of animosity.113

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