Voices of The Dead

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is one of the first short stories I ever wrote; a mix of Victorian-Style phrasing, and what may seem to be a little "poetic" in rhythm.

Half of eleven, in the midst of the night -so far from reality, yet so far from a dream- doth this memory lieth within his mind. His name is Jeriko, and the last of his line- Vempyre of Ancient Times, and a warrior from the Darkness, in this world of thine.

No one knows the power of his woes, nor do they realize the stare in his eyes, when this creature of Night stands alone, for -in his “Life”- his greatest Fight.

In the midst of this Keep, and the depths of his father's Crypt, do his thoughts wander and stream -to the brink of insanity, do they resound- a power of thought so dark, eerie, and profound; this place in Transylvania, wherein his great-only grandfather was lain, for whom, there was no known name... but “Esthovaac, Prince of the Dead...”


In the heart of Egypt -in Ancient days- was the base of Jeriko's family. A history of which he had not yet come to know. Four hundred years of age, and Jeriko knew, only what he had been told of his family -from those who had heard of his grandfather of old- a power of which not even Jeriko's own father, Dumac could ever display.

Standing in the midst of this ancient grave, Jeriko didst see a demon come to him, from the depths of the earth, speaking a language only Jeriko knew:


“Why have you come here, Jeriko, son of Dumac -beast of Night? Have you no fear of the creatures that lie in wait of your plight?”

Here, came a reply, from Jeriko -heedless of danger, in his eagerness for answers- nigh trembling, nor angry, but still filled with aggression;

“To the tomb of my family, Wolf-Demon, I will to pass. And I intend to let nothing -not even You- keep me impasse.”


By this, impressed he was, and allowed the Vempyre to pass, unhindered -but not without a warning for Jeriko, that he, upon entry to the tomb, to dust would be withered. But Jeriko cared naught about the warning, as he feared nigh evil, nor good. ~I pay no heed to Evil nor Good, upon any ground I tread, for my guides, creature, Are the beings of the dead,~ he thought to himself, aloud, allowing this Wolf to hear his words -high respect, in no fear, did he show, and feel, even by when his feelings were at their worst.


Upon seeing the resting place of his father and grandfather, Jeriko thought to himself, as he looked around the room;

“What manner of place is this? IT isn't meant to keep anything in OR out -but to keep something hidden from view, to me, it doth seem. Dare I ask the meaning of this? No wall, nor door, to separate father from son?”

What a thing to keep the mind keen- the room was dark, and the torches were dead, making sight for him the best it had been. But still, the eeriness of this place filled his mind, and made his thought difficult (even for him, upon the entry of this plane) to interpret. What was this place? And why was it here? Was there something more to this place -an aspect he did not see? A theater of the dead, from which his spirit seemed to stem? Whatever it was, he could hear a voice coming from the corridor to his right, above a slab of steel and stone, upon which only a symbol lay etched,-a pentacle over the floor- by this symbol did Jeriko's father stay within this Crypt of the forgotten. To Jeriko this voice did call, into the heart of the Crypt, in the depths of the Keep, from whence a light shined clearly through the cracks and creases of the stone-brick walls.

Through the hallway of this corridor, he did venture, to follow this voice he could hear- vivid as a vision in the midst of day, as so it was so clear.

The voice of the dead, as it did seem, was of a woman to the eyes so keen -her face soft as silk, yet marble-stern, and at her side sat of bronze, the statue of a Wyvern. An eaglet sat at her other side, perched proud, like the old bird of prey (the raptor which it was and is to this day.) To Jeriko's great surprise didst she sit at the foot of an altar, shrouded in mist, as the Wyvern 'slithered' and glided over the mantle-seven-sided.


“I have a message for you, Jeriko, angel of Night- Son of Dumac~” she did say.


“To what do I owe such pleasure, in addressing the Queen in the nigh black?” Jeriko said in honor to repay.

Within his heart, beat an incredible eeriness and a strength he'd not known- for so much Light already, had this woman shown. Neither Light nor Darkness, within this room truly stood, for canceling one another out was the way to coexist, by which they would. Nothing stood between them, as Jeriko and this woman -Jenna- stood, positioned in the room.

The altar -as a Ram and a Crow- above the twin horn stood a statue of the Christ, and beneath the wings, a serpent of venom. Not made of Gold was this altar, but made of granite stone, so strong and slanted that it stood like a pentacle, above the ground -suspended as though floating.


“You seek the answers to your past, young man -answers that you cannot find here, but in the next world.”


“And what am I to do, milady, if I am to find these answers in that place? Am I to wither away and find no place here and now, for word?”

And with that, his memory of that age ended, and thus a new age began -two hundred years later, in the new world of the second millennium- filled with confusion, had turned him sour, while the world scorned him and made him demon of the hour.


“My name is Jeriko -says I- and here to wreak my vengeance upon your world is my life.”


No more does this being walk the earth, but trapped in the Void, for his next sentence -after awakening his grandfather from his Spirit-lying slumber (and in this world, does his temperament lie, with a rage so cold that not even the Devil can break the light of his eternal credence.) Where, now, does his loyalty lie? I'm afraid no one knows, as he lies in the deep sleep of December Night. And it is in this place, where his story doth end, and the new beginning of his great forefather begin, once again-


The name of the Pagan Gods, does this Spirit take, not in claim, but in respect for those who made him great. Taken heed from his past, does this Soul-Feeding Son of Anubis and Ra partake, as others mock, he doth break; the very mold by which he was made, and become the Guardian of this Realm, wherein our dreams may lie, and in his old slumber, outward, did his memories cry.


His name is Esthovaac, and “Voice of the Dead” is his wife -the very woman by whom Jeriko was approached. And in this tomb called “Death” are they bound to stay -by the Creed of the Hell and the Heavens, and to the Monster's dismay- by the credence of Life and Death are they bound, therein, as a whole, to the Night of Life.

“My Name is Esthovaac, My name is Jeriko -Our names are “legion,” as for we are one, we are all. The name of the Seventh Fabled God, and the grandson of the Shadow of Light-

Myth-ed and mocked, blinded by rage -and so, here, turns the final page of a story so short, that not even the unknown child of the Fabled God can tell it simpler-


Jeriko awakes one day, to find himself gone, but nigh betrayed -his strength has left him for the time being- but not before the grandson of the snake- but a Wolf he truly is, underneath, and a means to be reckoned with does he make.

Jeriko and Esthophaar -the grandson of Lucifer- and Esthovaac alike, but wherein does the father and son fit in? Simple to say, Dumac is the forgotten father of Jeriko, and the forgotten son of the Fabled God (let none else forget their names, for the sacrifice the grandfather made, by decree of his elder -the Father of all-


Upon this altar, didst she stand (the lost mother of Jeriko's birth,) and beneath the stone did Dumac lie, at the side of his father, the Fabled God of the “gates.” But how so does this story begin and end? Only they may know, as the history of their lives, as forgotten it has all been -for merely rubble has the true story been utterly lain.

Jeriko's mind -ravaged by anger against the Lupin Spirit- has become a breeding ground for Disturbance and Loathing. But more than this, still lies inside, his love for the family he lost, so long ago -four hundred years, to be precise- his wife and twins not yet born (a family for which he had grown so fond.)

His father forgotten, and the gates of memory, far beyond has he been left -no one remembers him, and this is the way he wishes to stay- for the betrayal of the life between he and his body's mind (reasons for which no one can rightfully state)-

How by now, can anyone placate the memory that has been betrayed -of a father and son, of all generations- does anyone dare try to recall? Or is it all just lost in the plethora of pain, wherein not even the eldest dare to venture -a path from whence not even the darkest of souls can explain the Loathing which has taken place, to mark these Spirits that lie in wait... for the war in which they have played part -a darkness lying within each of their hearts?


This is where, for now, the story must end -for not even the wisest nor most adept can remember the pain that has been instilled within their souls- a darkness profound, lost and found -a hatred within two of which, and a wisdom within the first that has been forgotten (by this entire world.) So much for truth and love, for only between Them, lies this Trust -a darkness known by few, and a Light known by One -does anyone have the mind or Spirit to believe? The question lies unanswered, and so, too, does the truth of their age. But One thing is for certain; their power of mind, body and soul away shall Never, Ever fade.


Rest in peace, Old Man Dumac, and son of his -Jeriko,- for the time o' yours to be father and son again -a time to raise your kin- will come again, at the side of the Fabled Being (your Forefather, by whom, at the side of his own Brother, did your Family, your 'Kind' begin.)

Submitted: October 09, 2013

© Copyright 2022 Omn1Sh4d0w. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


Taco Dan

This is really well crafted, the vocabulary is impressive! Things flow smoothly, and the rhyming makes dialogue engaging! Good work, ^.^

Wed, October 9th, 2013 2:55pm


Thank you. I never really thought about that, much. I just write as I have things come to mind.

Wed, October 9th, 2013 8:51am

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