Darkness: The Chasm

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's strange how quickly a peak can transform into a valley...

Submitted: December 09, 2010

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Submitted: December 09, 2010



As the sun falls from the sky, sunbeams glimmer across their modest home. The spirit-hued walls, surrounded by a small, ghostly fence, are illuminated by the sunlight. The blades of grass sprouting from the earth flutter in the wind, greener than the deepest of forests.

Within the hearth of their home lies two mere mortals; lovers deeply entwined with one another. In her womb lies another, a boy undoubtedly destined to become tall and rigid, with dark green eyes, just like his father. Not without her influence, it would be no surprise if he were to be every bit of an angel as his mother before him. Jack places his hand against Chelsea’s abdomen, sensing the life within.

He looks up, locking his gaze within her tawny eyes. Her dark hair arches around her illustrious crown, a raven-colored frame surrounding a palette of beauty. Gliding his hand through his brown hair, he gently places his head near her own before tenderly pressing his lips against her. They stare into each other’s eyes, lost in an uncharted realm.

“Sam knows you,” she whispers. “He speaks to me everyday. He can’t wait to meet you.”

Jack’s smile grows greater as the soft words escape from within.

“I’m sure he already loves his mother just as much as I do.”

“And how much is that?” she asks.

“For as long as the oceans stretch across the earth,” he says. “And as far as I know, that’s forever.”

- - -

As they lie next to one another in their bedroom, Jack caresses his developing offspring within the womb as he drifts into repose. He envisages the day Sam enters the world as the final piece of their family puzzle. But as he falls into slumber, the images within his head diverge from hope and alleviation to despair and sorrow. A dark figure of indeterminable size and origin stands before him. Shadows of his past seek to confer with him. A wretched, toxic amalgamation of his previous fears, mistakes, and deceptions sneak upon him. His epoch of hope had passed. A new dawn awaits.

He could never escape.

Jack snaps from his drowse, screaming in palaver. He glances down, noticing the dark red liquid that stains his black undershirt and moon-print sleep pants.

Overrun with confusion, he feels no pain. Surely, this isn’t his blood. He slowly turns his head toward his love.

Jack’s eyes widen as he slowly realizes she is bereft of life. Her body lay lifeless upon their chaise. A painful cry escapes his lips. He mourns not only the love of his entire vitality, but also the absolute purpose of his otherwise meaningless existence: his son. His back flattens against the headboard. He clutches his legs, unable to cognize the dire circumstances that lay beside him.

He remains in his orb-shaped trance as time soars past. The blood begins to cake upon his vesture.

- - -

Jack regains his awareness, though he cannot resist the endless flow of tears. He climbs from behind his blanket, edging toward Chelsea’s half of their chamber.

The being that was once held within her abdomen has vanished. What remains is a fleshy crevice, which consistently drips blood. The child was ripped from her.

From the corner of his eye, he notices a cryptic message scrawled on the wall. In a dark red hue, not unlike the blood gushing from Chelsea’s stomach, lay the words “THAN TO HAVE NEVER LOVED AT ALL.” Jack whimpers and backs into the corridor before rushing toward the front door. In exasperation, he comes to find it locked. He haphazardly twists the lock, but only realizes the door is barred from the outside. He springs toward the nearest window in a desperate attempt to escape, but it, too, is locked.

He turns around, dropping to the floor. A strained, frustrated scream escapes from his lungs. He weeps, forsaken by whatever unknown force that compelled him to become the being he is. He crawls into a close-by corner as his eyes become weary.

- - -

Trapped within his grief-stricken stupor, the spirits of his wife and child haunt every fiber of his mind. Captured by a lonely cycle, the deafening silence awakens him. A daunting ambience fills the room as barely audible screams bounce throughout his prison. A dark blue mist fills the air.

Drawn toward the Chelsea’s corpse, he shambles toward their room. A trail of blood in the hallway captures his attention. The trail, leading from the bedroom to the basement, seems to be lined with afterbirth…or what would have become afterbirth.

Jack attempts to open the basement door. Like the front door before it, the door is locked. He narrows his gaze before retreating to the bedroom. He grabs an axe from the closet, stomping toward the basement.

With numerous furious swings, the door crumbles in front of him. He cautiously steps over the debris, noticing the blood trail’s continuation into the darkness. With darkness surrounding his every movement, he inches, following the trail. As he draws close to the center of the cave-like den, the trail comes to a sudden end. A wailing, whisper-like gust of wind seems to pour from where the trail ends. Trapped in utter disbelief, Jack realizes the trail ends within an enormous chasm. Jack grabs a proximate cinder block and drops it into the abyss.

Seconds pass, then minutes, before finally, the echo of the cinder block rupturing echoes to the surface. Jack retreats as the depth of whispers within his prison grow sharply. As Jack exits the basement, a sharp repetition of breaths resonates from the end of the hallway. Jack fixes his gaze toward the sounds of exasperation. Though the strange sapphire mist found within his vault proves difficult to pierce with vision, a ghoulish figure stands before him. The ghoul shambles, taking each step toward Jack at an agonizing pace. Jack, in a fit of terror, crashes against the wall at his heels. The ghoul opens its gaping maw as it draws near. Just before it reaches Jack, it vanishes, nowhere to be found.

- - - Jack’s once-unbreakable gaze has now become corrupted into a soulless scowl, no longer aware of his own existence. His state of consciousness has become ravaged by plague; plague of the most condemnable kind: torment.

Jack stumbles into his bedroom, only to discover his wife’s body is missing. What remains is but a large, red stain on the bed. Jack gently sits on his side of the chaise, bending over to reach beneath the bed. He clutches a shoebox and opens in. A small revolver lies within. Jack places a bullet in one of the chambers before replacing the shoebox. He pulls back the hammer and places the handgun to his temple. He slowly closes his eyes as the hammer clicks.

- - -

An unknown amount of time passes. Sirens wail from outside the Terrix household. A knock on the front door shakes the quaint and benign domicile. When no answer arrives, a thunderous smash rings from outside, followed by another. Finally, on a third strike, the door collapses, allowing a small team of police officers to enter. They notice the trail of blood leading from the bedroom to the basement. Handguns, drawn, the officers investigate the bedroom. They find Jack’s body, covered in blood, with a bullet wound in his right temple. Next to him lies Chelsea’s body; a crimson rupture torn into her abdomen. By her side lies a small, underdeveloped child: the fetus that lay within Chelsea’s womb. Written upon the walls, in blood, are the words: “IT IS BETTER TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST THAN TO HAVE NEVER LOVED AT ALL.”

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