Searching the Darkness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Continuing my Undead series I decided to delve deeper into the historical background of our protagonist's lineage, to give an origin of the battle that starts back in the past that still occurs in the present day. I might delve deeper in future short stories of how these historical figures start and begin their causes that seem to be at odds with each other that trickle down throughout time.

Through the corridors he walked, tip toeing at first then becoming grandiose in large footsteps.  The heavy boots made an imprint on the mud puddles that kept their rounded shape.  A dust jacket scraped the sides of the innards of the dank tunnel leaving just little scrapes of trickled moisture.  A brimmed hat held his hair back from falling in his face as he lifted up the lantern to light the path ahead of him.  Somewhere, in these crisscrossing  labyrinths there laid his inevitable target. 
Sounds were dead silent as his footsteps made a faint utterance.  Hearing up ahead what sounded like snoring immediately turned into a snarl.  This had been one of its lairs, he knew it pulsating in his forearms.  The stretch of wrinkled lines etched on his forehead.  The lantern swayed momentarily as his hiking strides became more profound.  From his waist he drew out the kukri, the one thing that had become some sort of talisman in the darkness.  The glow of the light glinted off the blade as it came close to his chest as he drew it close to his heart.  The pounding almost sweating pacing of his heart.
Looking upwards he saw a grate, and the moon blinded his vision.  How beautiful yet haunting it remained perfectly coalesced in the sky.  Its damning fair danced in the pools of water and mud underneath his feet.  The feeling of despair rang aloud as the snarling echoes passed him in indiscrete rhythms.  It reminded him of the howling beast from before, the one that appeared to be a man but resembled a wolf.  Had walked on two legs like a man, but flew and glided like a hellish bat.  Had two eyes but glared as if hell fire summoned its rectifying presence.
He had come this way when he approached the city limits.  From witnessing what occurred on his homestead prompted him to make a run from what he used to know.  He left the people and things he loved the most, only bringing bladed weapons and survival gear along with him.  He peered inside the darkness that haunted him, and it took the loving embrace of all his family members.  To escape had been foretold, and to run was his only solace in this world, it was the only thing that made sense.
The creature never returned nor did it follow him.  George made sure to cover all tracks, those leading away from his homestead and out into the countryside.  For many days that led into weeks, he suffered the harshness of the elements.  First the last days of winter remained on the landscape that gave way to spring’s flowers and lush fields.  This made his venture easier giving to brisk brooks and easy flowing rivers.  The grass edged upwards and sprung life but night still held a darkening touch.  Never knowing if the creature, for whatever it had been, would be behind him by miles or on top of his course through towering trees.
The city limits had been a sight to behold, George grunted at the thought preferring the openness that farming had brought him.  Little by little towns began to spring up around him, a common village holding some semblance of civilization.  And the scenery had changed from dirt roads to rocky terrain to cobblestone streets.  The buildings became fancier and heartier in nature.  Tipping his brow to regular passerby’s he knew his adventure took him to places only his brother Ryan called “Western civilization at its best.”  And for once George could not argue.  All the amenities that it afforded had been tailored to its finest inheritances.  All the inns he had slept in were built and made to be comfortable, the sheets perfectly cleaned twice daily, the home meals for breakfast and lunch were plentiful never meager in proportions, and the décor was close to being regent borderline spectacular.
The houses became less scattered, less independent, and formed townships that centered in around central causes, to live freely and openly as this new world intended.  The bustle of children would sometimes run pass his steed and a smile came to George’s face.  To be a child and care free was something he lost a long time ago.  The face of his mother and sister plagued his mind at times, in the warmness of day and dampness at night.  The way their lives were taken haunted his memories, and he plunged those restless demons down deep.  It gave him the semblance of a broken man, but objectively they were only memories.  They garnered strength in the deep recesses of courage and honor.  It would never halt his journey, to find out what had plagued his family.  What made the Injuns scatter before the creature had befallen his home and his family is what drove George to peer into the darkness of other totems.
At night George would walk the endless fields, his bluish oculars staring at the moon, gazing at the wilderness as though the shadows gained a life of their own.  Momentous undertones covered the brush, the sound of coyotes and wolves made their call known to the weary travelers going to and from the country to the townships.  Walking past fences and workshops, scouring empty barns and field houses, investigating gravel pits and water basins, only to come up with even more questions.  Where there more of these creatures?  Where would they nest or reside?  Did they have homes or did they come from some unknown land or palisade?  Dare he asks the night these hellish questions.  Most of the time the answers never came just disappeared as the dusk broke into the new dawn.
Moving farther up north, he made his way into harsher city terrains.  Open shops, taverns, and burlesque houses became more frequent.  Banks and vendor stores heightened in number, and the cobble stone roads were more apparent then before.  Ryan had been a defense lawyer, a quite good one if need be.  The houses appeared to be supremely built giving way to Victorian styles of landscapes.  People bustled and kept their privacy down deep in their bellies.  The public eye made known all things, and the town square screamed in laughter, harsh political talk, and boastful images.  Men and women in eloquent trade amongst the masses, selling and trading trinkets of grand design some small girthing and aptly fined tidings.  Truly this had been the bedrock your average person worked so hard to accomplish.
Every once and a while a sore thumb was found, a needle in a haystack.  Some passerby or civilian did not feel right, and the eyes shone with either despair or anger.  A raw contempt of how things should have been had been on the tongue of one who just wandered around complaining and behaving abruptly.  Of course the law was upheld in these parts with promise and persistence, the town constable and his mercenaries making sure that these vagrants were given their due.  George was in no way or shape to argue against their methods, their deviance had been one to disturb and cause ruckus which was never tolerated.  At times he wondered it was probably their upbringing that made them turn down that perturbed and nay saying road.  Also a perfect clue into what occurred behind closed doors and beyond this civilized nature.  A way into discovering what this creature, or creatures, might have been after all along.  So he kept a wary on these sorts of men, to keep one eye open and one ear always listening.
The inns and taverns of the city had been eloquent indeed.  Upholding standards had been a priority no country folk could possibly believe.  His room was tailored in sophisticated patterns, pointing all the rustic charms of country living to beautifully manicured water basins.  He made his refuge in one of the inns with a tavern attached on the first floor.  And as night fell and beckoned to the young traveler, a sense of dread came over him.  A shadow of illness entered his stomach and at first he began to keel over but got a grip of his starting headache.  Something had been wrong, terribly wrong and somewhat morose.  Stirring had occurred outside his window as he gazed at streets below.  Night people passed by quickly making their way to taverns and ale houses, the typical drunkard wobbling down empty streets with no carriages or herding of steeds.
Making his way down to the tavern he made sure at least some protection was acquired.  The kukri tied to the back of his belt, on the side his cattleman six shooter rested on his hip.  The buoy knife stood out plainly strapped opposite of his pistol.  He slung over his bullet strap over his shoulders, and tied on the back had been a handmade machete.  Of course his dust jacket covered most of his weaponry, which even he knew would be too much for one person to survey.
The tavern had been filled with your typical patron.  Men with heavy strides and burgeoning pride along with loose available women.  Some of them dressed scantily, others more conservative.Men of renown playing lucky hands and rolling loaded die, while women behaved in uptight fashion.  Barmaids made their way across from tables to the bar, drinks being poured left and right.  Taking out his parcel, he grabbed a hold of folding paper and his jar of tobacco.  A perfect cigarette wrapped tightly came to his lips as he brushed his match against his boot.  The fog escaped his lips as he exhaled and he exited the tavern peering in both directions down the street.  This night, this gut wrenching night would bring something he thought.
With his headache disappearing after taking plenty of drags from his cigarette, he walked as that lone cowboy always does before going to duel with the head honcho.  Only in this case he was looking for something, anything that seemed out of place, someone to grab his attention, to divert his gaze down the wrong alleyway.  A group of youngsters stumbled past him completely dazed and belligerent, clanging stolen glass mugs as they laughed.  Brining his flask to his mouth the whiskey burned his throat, the taste of bitter tingling liquor.  Another puff made the feeling subside.  On two stable stoic feet he made his way to where the cobblestone street gave way to rocky pebbles.  He walked merely a mile down where the flames of street lamps became nothing but lit beacons behind him.  The houses disparaged few and far between, and the businesses de-clattered.  The moon once again glimpsed down at him holding himself alone in its dim light.  A rat scurried underneath his presence and scurried past, and then another.  He followed the pack crawlers as he glanced in the direction they carried their little bodies towards.
More rats seem to occupy his gaze as more crawled into the fields that grew poppy and barley.  Hopping over the fence the rats seem to appear in hordes as if signifying a gathering.  Their bodies forming almost an army that marched off to war as they dipped into the edges of a small ravine.  Down in that muck he saw a slew of them clamber inside of a grated sewer.  His feet climbed down one by one as he slid his last few steps into the water that resembled a grave of dead rodents.  A few of them made their home inside the entrance of the elongated pipe as yet the construction had not been finished.  The ravine held its ominous fissure as it appeared to darken as he walked inside the tunnel of the sewer.  A workman’s pile was noted nearby leaving a barrage of mining supplies, one of them happened to be a lantern.  Taking another match he lit the kerosene inside its bottom ring.  Shining brightly it illuminated what seemed to be a drainage system that stretched underneath the town it was built for.
And now here in the murky depths George heard the sound of a cascaded growl.  The faint scent of decomposed carcasses of what appeared to be a mare possibly a fawn.  An arm came up to hold off the stench as the kukri dangled from his grip.  The lantern dimmed a bit and he turned up the kerosene gauge.  Sounds became more blunt but still unheard.  The snarling dialed up its tone, and all of a sudden whispering echoed along the tunnel walls.  The hint of translucent talking was heard by his somewhat frightened ears.  But he purged on through, pushing away hanging cobwebs and growing moss.  Dumping water could be heard overhead which made the whispers halt momentarily but then start up again.  The grates became fewer and far between as the talking could be heard more coherently.
To his side turned another tunnel towards the right which veered off to the left in its middle.  The voices were slightly audible yet he could not make out what they were saying.  Light peered through a series of slotted grates which stood out from a regular sewer main.  What in hell was this built for?  From the angle George stood he looked through the slots to see a staircase rising up through the concrete bound tunnels spiraling upwards towards the foundation of the earth.  Gripping the grate he located a handle that was kept unlocked which deepened his dread.  This was either fortunate or utterly disturbing as he walked towards the spiraled staircase.
It circled upwards into some sort of hypnotic swirl.  Endlessly it went up.  George thought to himself it might have been to a mining station or construction site, but the stairs and banister was made of solid oak.  An almost ornate design, something perfectly handmade and delightfully medieval in appearance.  He made his way up the stairs leaving behind no creek.  The stairs wound upwards and so did he, the swirl of perpetual motion leading him someplace.  Nearing the top he drew a breath wiping a thin layer of sweat on his brow.  His kukri went back into its sheath and the lantern played dancing puppets along the walls.  No door signified an entryway, the stairs just ended as it came to a stop at a landing.
A series of violins played discretely and could be heard from a chamber nearby.  The landing paved the way to an upstairs loft, filled with stunning and vibrant colors.  Rows of books lined the walls upon bookshelves, the scent of musty odor deceased reigning in a sweet incense.  Candles burned upon the walls held up wooden carved gargoyles.  Totems with Injun markings marked the spaces between the book collection and vials of an unknown liquid poured from saucers and tube fillings that sat upon a laboratory table which sat in the center of the room.
The voices could be heard more clearly now.  The room door stood ajar giving a hint of harrowing darkness.  The brightly lit room once exited gave way to a darkened hallway where only specs of light came from glaring wires attached to the walls.  A spark of insanity played with this odd source of light.  George investigated one of these brightened bulbs which inside held a tip of copper wire.  Tapping it only made it glow brighter which made the wire attached only hum with vibrant energy.  What kind of invention was this?
“This will be a day of days.” A voice clambered over the subtle silence.  Quickly George pulled out his cattleman, clicking back the hammer.  His trimmed hat fluttered cascading his vision some until he lifted the brim.  More voices could be heard down the hallway, this time their coherent speech could be made out.  “All that had been done has been catered to our doing.”
Another voice answered the other as George crept slowly down the hallway. “All preparations have been made.  The elder ways have been swept away to usher in a new age.  This world will belong to us in due time, good friend.  These pesky inhabitants will soon be shown the strength that beholden us.  The old ones have shown us the true power and we shall pave the road ahead.  No one…and I mean no one will stand in our way.”
George did not like a single word of what these two held in conversation.  Some kind of organized group, perhaps a committee or worse a damned cult.  They sounded not like Injuns but typical Americans with that drawl to add a kind of comfort to their voices.  Yet it did not phase George, if they hadn’t been like the creature he fended off and killed, they could easily been shot dead from one lead bullet.  Nearing the door he made out the shadows of the two speaking to the other, their next words making no sense whatsoever.
“We have made our mark.  She who had given us life beyond reason shall be upheld in the deepest regards.  For we are her workmanship, to do what she desires.  By the blood of the mother we are made nigh.  By her grace, we are shown the way into her kingdom.  By her wisdom, we are given the knowledge of foresight.  By her presence, we shall walk with the gods themselves.”
Sounding like some sort of biblical hearsay, it reminded him of an almost blackened prayer.  Whoever these two were they talked as if they had conjured or incanted something not of this world.  Too much had it reminded him of the creature, with those darkened eyes and sharp canines.  He placed his shoulder into the door slowly opening it more until his figure stood in the doorway.  The one man stared blankly as George appeared in the doorway, his eyes coming to a widened surprised glare.  The other had his back facing George stood squarely and turned vaguely to enquire their unwelcome guest.  Both men stood upright, their well tailored suits and proper attire standing out as if two fawn caught a glimpse of their designated hunter.
“Quite a handful of words.”  George uttered as he raised his cattleman.  His revolver coming to rest on the closer well dressed man.  The two men showed no sense of urgency or faltering stances.  They just looked upon the intruder with the same impending look as if to tell him to run and leave before things get out of hand.  George took a step inside, and the two backed away.  Noticing no pistols or weapons of their own, he paced back and forth still the cattleman never wavering. 
“We do not care who you are or the threat you impose.  All that has been said was for you and you alone.  Our foreknowledge into the abyss sees all.”
“And knows all,” the other man stated firmly, “do not think you have stumbled upon this sanctuary by accident.  The father has been waiting for you and he is quite disheartened.  The time has been prepared for.”
Out of the shadows came another man with a wooden beam and struck George across the face.  His world going black and dark and cold as he fell to the ground.
When his eyes opened he saw the most distorted face before his own eyes.  Nose upturned, eye sockets hollowed, lips curled upwards baring fangs, ears coming to defined points.  It barked and howled at the waking George.  He felt his arms tied behind him with thick rope.  The smell of the creature had returned, the smell of rotting corpses.  The thing snarled and backed off as George noted his surroundings.  A large empty room only lit by a few candlesticks.  Ahead of him had been an altar built out of the same ornate wood of the staircase.  Weird and esoteric symbols decorated a fine pattern into its crevices.
Behind the altar resurrected an inverted pentagram that appeared to glow, but it had been the red tinge of blood that gave its hue.  Many armaments lay flat on the altar, some of them being daggers, another a sword, and a large scythe.  The monstrosity backed away temporarily giving way to five different beings appearing almost like ghosts behind it.  They walked in similar fashion to an unheard chant that could be heard in the room’s balcony.  More beings appeared behind the banisters of the second story.  Wearing hooded cloaks and robes that had the same insignia upon the shoulders, their hands rested on the banister, the fingers tightening along the rail with apparent golden and silver rings upon them.
The five men had not been dressed like the others, they wore simple uniforms that reeked of elegance and distinction.  Two of them had been naked from the waist up, with markings and tattoos etched on their bodies and forearms.  These had been Injuns since their long dark hair was tied back with bamboo, each of them baring rudimentary carved blades and spears.  The creature backed up even more so with the five men parting as it stumbled backwards on hind legs.
Once it reached the altar the monster stood on two feet.  Its chest puffing outwards, and it clawed hands reared in the air.  And when it made this motion, the rest of this unholy congregation raised their arms as well.  Its hollowed eyes began to glow and George could feel lightheaded from this glooming aura.  The creature contorted, bent backwards and forwards, its jaws breaking, bones cracking and reforming.  In due time the creature hunched forward, completing the process and then stood before the crowd as just a mere mortal man.
“Oh God no!”  George screamed at the top of his lungs.
There standing naked in front of a legion of men was his brother, Ryan.  His naked body seemed ghostly lacking any beige pigmentation.  Completely white and opaque his brother stood before the group of seemingly dedicated men, smiling wickedly.  One of the five handed Ryan a pair of black slacks and as he put them on, he walked down the center aisle towards his brother.
“How…?  Why…?What…are you?”
Ryan swayed back and forth from his brother’s response.  His somber eyes looked down at his own flesh and blood.  His naked torso breathed like an ordinary man but George knew better that it had been nothing but an illusion.  This was not his elder brother before him but a creature disguised as him.  The tears fell down his cheeks as he rocked from his sitting position.  Just then he noticed this had not been an empty room but a church.  A church of the damned, filled with wicked beings and degenerate followers.  The candles were being lit by a few of the hooded figures that walked out from closed doors, and the room brightened with a sense of unforgiving darkness. 
“My brother, how far you have come.  I am so glad you searched me out.”
“Nothing but a shadow that lies within the dark.”
“Strong convictions from a man that is burdened by mobility.”
George incessantly tried to break loose from his bondage.  He peered into his sibling’s eyes, the dark oculars carrying so much weight.  The energy radiated was penetrating, a terrible odor seeping through ghoulish skin.  Veins protruded on the outsets of his neck, his jugular moving up and down due to an unquenchable thirst.  As Ryan lifted his hand the five men backed away from the two brothers, moving towards the altar to grab a hold of the weaponry.
“You are probably wondering brother why you are here.”
George’s head turned to glance at the five arming themselves. “Crossed my mind.  More so…what are you and what have you done with my brother?”
Ryan smirked and kneeled before George.  His eyes holding a distinct darkness to them.  That eternal fire boiling inside to share and bare all to his one and only brother.
“I have always been your brother.  We share the same father and mother.  The same sister.  The same family.”
“You knew what was going to happen at the farm.  Well before the creature ever came, you knew.”
“Indeed I did.  I was the one to invite it.  To welcome it.”
George’s eyes stared blankly at his brother in question.  His mouth ushering out deep breaths of sadness and despair.  His brother held a menacing posture, his hand reaching out and gripping George’s shoulder.  It buckled under the pressure, feeling his muscles jarred.  The grip was immense and powerful, the bone felt as if it was becoming undone.  Then he loosened and broke his hand away, George panting.  Ryan brushed his hair back, his eyes closing temporarily.  He brought out a small knife and pricked George’s skin, the flesh bloody and inviting.  He raised the knife to his mouth and licked the salty discharge. 
“What kind of creature takes and drinks the blood of the living?” George winced at the cut and stared helplessly as his brother roused over the taste.
“The kind that can only survive off the life force of others.”
“How long have you been like this?  What exactly are you?”
“It has been quite some time, George.  The Injuns that worked for father, that befriended you, they have their customs.  They have their ways.  They have certain…rituals.  Incantations you would not believe.”
“And this is what this all is?  An unholy ritual, a blood canticle of the damned?”
“If that is what you believe, then your beliefs are slanted, brother.  They showed me many things.  Otherworldly things.  Specters from far beyond.  Gods among men.  And they reward gifts to those who are worthy.  They grant immortality.  Gifts beyond imagination…those of strength…of wisdom…of sight and of sound and of touch.  All things heightened and glorified.  To drink the nectar of life and live eternally.”
George’s eyes widened at what he was hearing as he tilted his head back a bit.  His teeth clenched at the thought of his brother, at the creature festering inside of him.  He thought of how he allowed his family to be butchered by a monster similar to that his brother was speaking about.  To understand that his brother had similar traits dumbfounded his mind.  How could he have done all of this and for what reason.
“I understand what you are.  I understand your little procession here.  I am not as stupid as you believe.  What makes my skin crawl, Ryan, is…why?”
Ryan reared his head back harkening a laugh.  That was when the other five devotees had circled around the two talking brothers forming a pentagram at all given points.  The room held the same old dread, of ongoing darkness.  The hooded figures merged from side rooms, taking their place in front of the altar, standing and facing Ryan and his brother.  They all removed their hoods to reveal pale faces, shining devilish eyes in the color of crimson.  Their teeth bared and all at once they let out a choired sigh.
“Oh brother.  That creature you slain was one of our kin.  A devoted disciple.  A beacon of light in the oncoming storm.  Our family was destined to become great, to be the heralds of a new order.  An order that will take its place in generations to come.  To replace the one that ravished our lands…turned our ancestors to ash…bludgeoned us with stake and cross.  This world belonged to us and its lands were plush and livid…till we were exterminated and cast aside.  It was from people like you who banished us to the dark corners of this earth, to hide in underground tombs and catacombs.”
George listened dishearteningly and he gripped the rope with both of his hands.  His fingers worked on the tightened knot, thumb and middle working on the slipped loop.  His eyes glared at Ryan, anger and fear both rising in his lungs as he breathed quicker.  He felt the loop slacking a bit as he pushed the innards upwards and over, feeling the rope slacken just a bit.  Enough to undo it in due time, the weight of the rope lightening.  Of course after he was free he was going to improvise his escape, possibly attacking his brother in the process.
“No more shall we sleep.  I wanted to bring you…and Sarah into the fold.  To welcome you into what I have seen to be true.  To be more than just mankind…to be the makers of a world once lost due to incompetence and self destruction.  For I have given this coven…this sanctuary…preeminence into a planned foreseeable future.  I, along with others, will lead our kind out of the darkness and into the light…” Ryan was handed a sharpened cutlass from one of the five members which speckled with light from the candle’s reflection, “And now the circle has opened into the ushering of this great society…we will not be silent…we will not be damned…we will devour mankind to its last drop of eternal blood.  For the life is the blood…and we shall have it all, brothers…starting with my brother…the unsuspecting sacrificial lamb to the immortal mother of us all…”
When Ryan screeched out his last words, the rope fell upon the wooden floorboards.  George lifted up the chair, and ran straight into his brother, knocking him down in front of this ungodly congregation.  Most of the pulpit backed away but the five closed in on him.  George managed to sucker punch one of the crazy disciples right across the jaw, and ran towards one of the many openings the hooded figures came out from.
Speed was the name of the game and he could hear the five devotees sprint towards him.  Making his way down a long corridor, he stormed past the once seen wires giving power to the luminescent bulbs.  Storming into a nearby room he thought quickly and pushed the door closed, locking the bolt latch that separated him from this horrific group.  He heard the menacing footsteps run down the hallway and stop in front of the room he trapped himself into.  Loud banging thrashed at the door as two of them put their weight into it.  Glancing around the room he noticed some relics from an undisclosed past.  He picked one of the totems that appeared to be an ankh.  A crystalline vial encased in embroiled gold, and inside he knew it to be blood.  What was this society his brother spoke of?
Catching his breath he noticed his dust jacket in the corner, and right beside it was his cattleman.  Too convenient to be true, the kukri and his buoy knife was among the debris that was denizen about the room.  Throwing the dust jacket over his solid frame, he spun the cattleman revolver noticing all the lead bullets were still intact.  The buoy knife was grabbed by his free hand, and the kukri once again was reattached to his belt.  The limbs on the door unhinged themselves, and rabid fist broke through the wooden doorframe.
George plastered himself to the wall and slashed the buoy knife in front of the door.  A single hand was gouged and separated itself from the wrist.  Hearing one of the five tormented bastards yell out in horror, the others aided their so-called brother.  One of them still worked on the door, and George backed away.  With a forceful kick, he forced the door to knock the one down with an unconscious thud.  Another scrambled up from a hunched position tending to his brother, and quickly George lunged himself into him.  The buoy knife lodged right into the capillary of his stomach.  The other two backed away as George lifted up the cattleman and threatened.
There at the end of the corridor stood his brother.  Never moving but brooding in dead silence.  His dead eyes stared intently at George which only returned the favor.  The two men retreated back a few steps holding their hands above their heads initiating the surrender.  George took no chances and shot the one with a direct shot to the head.  The other just so happened to be one of the Injuns from before, and he unloaded another lead bullet right into his heart which sent him flying into the wall.  Ryan’s face became perturbed, a silent reverie showing respect to his fallen brethren.
“This is not over, brother,” Ryan’s voice echoed throughout the illuminated hallway, “There are more…plenty more…waiting in the darkness…biding their time…haunting and unraveling.  This is just the beginning.  You have your warning.”
With what was said George was not ready to back down from a fight, not ever.  He stared into what was an impending darkness, a foresight into things that would come into fruition.  Knowing what he had done had trickled down a series of events that would soon unravel, he placed his cattleman back in its holster.  Two brothers standing on opposite sides not just of the corridor, but both representing opposite sides of a wicked pendulum that was stuck somewhere in the middle.  The two of them meandering through various thought patterns, knowing full well where that pendulum might swing.  One symbolizing a dreaded opening schism of unparalleled darkness and the other upholding generational bloodlines of dedicated truthful hunters bathed in righteousness.
“A warning is all I need.  I will never forget what transpired here and will always remember.  I will not back down from your kind…not now…not ever.  Forever I will be a thorn in your side, brother.  My children’s children will continue this fight of ours if need be.  That is my vow right here and now.  Take it or leave it.  Till next time.”  And with that thought George sprinted in the opposite direction making his way down another hallway and out a door that led into the neverending abyss.
He plummeted through high thick grass that encompassed unfolding fields before him.  Stopping he looked back only to recognize where the drain sewer led him, and the shock took him to that temporal schism and back.  His lips slackened in awe and his eyes widened in unbridled terror.  What lie before him only brought the fear out for a moment then sunk back into the pit of his stomach.  The outside was being reconstructed into a well received and prominent vestibule of the most high.  Pallets of stained glass, wooden floor boards, beams, and concrete were strewn out in carriages in front of newly constructed church yard.  Silver and gold ornate crucifixes lain in defined stack piles, those ranging from small to large.  And on the top of steeple, the bell that conglomerated those eager to praise and worship the sovereign God that his father had raised his brother and him to place their faith in had been destroyed and replaced with a gigantic crucifix.  The image of His only son had been finely sculpted from opaque glass hanging from that cross that was symbolized all that was good and decent.  And underneath that ironic blasphemous image was the title: 
First Catholic Church of the Roman Papacy
Turning on his legs he bolted from his position.  Out here he was a target.  Those hooded figurines peered through darkened window panes and stained glass silhouettes.  Running even faster he passed cement figurines and statues being crafted from this congregation’s hands.  Ones that were newly painted, half constructed, ones missing fixable limbs and arms, half pristine and half tarnished, half deconstructed only to be built again.  Through this endless field of jutted statues of deceased pagan symbols George picked up his pace.  And he swore he could feel those eyes, those glaring damnable eyes, gazing at this running sweating piece of meat just waiting to be eaten.  He could feel them all around him, not just through stained glass prisms, but through the forest, through the woods, through the windows of store shops and houses, hidden within the fields and the dampest of alleyways, through the drains in newly built sewer systems, through ravines turned into water reservoirs, through city landscapes and the lush countryside.  Everywhere that darkness loomed, that empty feeling dissolving into every direction, as his legs pumped tirelessly. 
The moon dipped over the horizon casting the last rays of nighttime.  Knowing all to well what was hidden behind those sulking rays of moonlight.  He understood now that the darkness was foreboding and unrelenting, the skies separating the cumulus from thunderheads.  He could see his brother’s eyes dead ahead, squinting and antagonizing through returning ultraviolet beams.  The feeling of the haunt and the terror and the pain burst through the light drizzle that made the fields grow.  He would never escape this…not now…not ever.  Foot falls pushed through the oncoming puddles creating drum beats that echoed through his head.  The beat of his heart carried him further, further than he ever ran, and he never looked back.  He would keep running…moving…fighting…until his lungs would give out on their accord.  This brooding darkness would never end, but the more he ran he felt his faith regain composure.  Through the years he would understand how to push back and finally subside the tides of hell from ever seeping through.
May 5, 2021

Submitted: May 06, 2021

© Copyright 2021 mnicorata. All rights reserved.

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