Author warns you!

The chapter contains disturbing imagery and an explicit depiction of violence. Skip to the next chapter if you are uncomfortable! Take care!

River woke up to darkness and screams.

It was the guttural cry of an animal clamped between the unforgiving jaws of a predator. The poor creature was unleashing one desperate shriek after another, with no rhyme or rhythm. They iced River’s blood in his veins.

Sharp nails of torment plucked on each voice cord to the edge of snapping, producing the cacophonous tune of suffering. It was a wail only a wounded beast could make as it stared into the cold eyes of death. River tried plugging his ears, lest they rupture and bleed, but he was paralyzed. His body obeyed no commands, and he could only wait helplessly.

The shrill lament made his insides squeeze and cramp in visceral terror—the kind that grated his nerves raw. His throat closed, restricting air from entering his lungs. He tried shutting his eyes, hoping it would block out the sounds. His eyelids seemed to be ripped off his face because, no matter how much he tried, he could not even blink.

The wails subdued to pathetic whimpers like a jarring musical performance entering its outro. Then it died.

River stilled, not daring to flick a single eyelash. His ears rang in the aftermath of the abuse it suffered, yet he listened in anticipation. When silence persisted, he let go of the breath he had been holding onto for a semblance of comfort.

River was the cured skin of a slaughtered animal, stretched thin by the iron grip of fear. Now he was pounding to the tempo of panic. His thumping heart and hammering pulse held hands as they deliriously danced to the beat,together.

When he felt like he could breathe again, he turned his eyeballs, glancing around to see where he was. Above him was a low stone ceiling, festered with an insidious mold that crept across the grained surface like a malevolent curse. Drips of stagnant water occasionally fell with a soft, echoing plink. It carried the essence of decay from above and tainted the air with the moist, laden stench of rot. He had no clue where this claustrophobic hell hole was.

You know where it is.

He heard the rain outside. Violent gusts of wind were tugging on a window pane. The hinges clattered, forcing themselves to hold on tight. There was a deep rolling of thunder and a howling of waves. They were merely ambience like sounds from a dream or a different lifetime. They were faint, muted, and not real enough to ground his mind.

There's a storm coming—a fucking  big one.

Another shriek sliced through the air—a bloody knife stabbing into the silence. River’s skeleton jumped out of his skin. The heart that had just slowed down broke into a maddened sprint again.

The fresh bout of screams was louder, sharper, and rawer. They were accompanied by a nauseating, wet squelch. It was impossible to pinpoint the source of the sickening noise. It was akin to the slosh raw pork loins make when being seasoned . Or a mischievous child playing with oozing mud. He did not know what it was, though.

You know. You know what it is.

It was a vile harmony. The sloshing conducted the choir of screams, guiding it to a quivering crescendo. The animal huffed and grunted, heaving in between cries, begging to be relieved for a second to breathe.

It was only granted enough air to unleash another blood-curdling screech.

Make it stop!

Next second, everything stilled.

The air around River was pulsating in the wake of the nightmarish screams. They lingered, echoing off stone walls like the bitter aftertaste of poison. Then it died a second time.

River inhaled and smelled a blend of metallic tang and an acrid undertone. Salt blessed his nostrils, the scent of the sea enveloping him in a comforting embrace. In this winding tunnel of dread and confusion, there was a glimpse of warm day light.

The soundlessness smothered him like a sweaty palm clamping over his mouth. The silence got heavier and heavier with anticipation. River held his breath to quieten his heart, afraid that its pounding would shatter the pregnant quietness. He waited for another cry or for something to move. Something. Anything to stop his mind from scratching itself into a bloody mess.

He was all alone in the darkness, with the silence.

And another pair of eyes.

River’s skin erupted into gooseflesh at the sight of them. How long had they been there? How had he not noticed? They were hovering above him—an ominous constellation in the moonless night sky. They held the dark brown of an aged, dry oak. Watching him. Silently.

There were crackling embers of a manic high in them, threatening to set him ablaze. They were bottomless and hollow. River felt as if he were a lone firefly being swallowed up by an abyss as he stared in at them. He felt his light being snuffed out.

"Shh..shh" A dismembered, silky voice soothed. "It's okay"

The animal that was howling till now started whimpering the way canines do in distress.

"Take your time." The eyes narrowed yet softened, like they were smiling. They held the gentleness of a mother for one second. Hunger of a starved beast the next.

Slick fingers brushed away a strand of hair that was stiking his face. They feathered over his skin, the feeling as revolting as the hairy limbs of a large cockroach on his face.

River struggled,desperately, to squirm away from the touch. Yet he was glued to where he was lying,unable to move an inch. Bile rose in his throat at how skin caressed skin,leaving a trail of warm wetness.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw that the fingers were connected to a pale forearm, adorned with an inked symbol. The pattern was of two intertwined, blossoming Forver vines, curling in opposite directions.

"You are doing great," the voice cooed.
"You are such a good child. I love you so much."

The animal puled and choked as if it could understand what the voice was saying.

Where was it? It was close.

Very close.

Too close.

There was a deep sigh above him. "Let's start over."

The animal sobbed. River was almost sure he heard it say no.

"An easy verse, okay?" The voice cleared its throat. "It goes like this:
Seek not vengeance, nor dwell in despair."

The eyes bored down at him expectantly,waiting for him to complete the next line. He did not know the rest of the poem. So he kept silent.

You know.

The animal spoke.

"I -I don't -don't ..please"
Its voice was nasal and pitiful. It was  a child. Feeble. Weak. Exhausted.

Broken.

You know. How can you not remember?

"Try again," the voice urged, sounding as sweet as honey-glazed fruit.

God's embrace is impartial and fair.

The child slurred something, but it only came out as a gurgle. Maybe something was caught in his throat.

"I'm waiting"

"Soul-soul red-"

Ding -ding! wrong!

"Ding, ding, wrong!" The voice was as cheery as a song sparrow.

His right-side vision blurred as his eye struggled to refocus on a sharp point that was being held above it.

River could not blink. He could not shut his eyes, even when his spine convulsed at how the tip almost grazed his eyeball.

From his left eye alone, he could make out the shadow of a rusted nail, bent out of shape.

"Say thank you." The voice commanded firmly yet gently, like he was a toddler who received a toy and forgot his manners.

The child sobbed violently, and River's sight was flooded with tears.

"Don't start crying. You can't cry."

The child choked, "Than-k y-ou."

With a crunch, his eye socket shattered under the hammer, and the nail sank into his eye.

River screamed and woke up to darkness.
*            *              *         *        *

How can you sleep like a dead person through a storm,brother?

The hatch window of their cabin was rattling and moaned as the tempest outside lashed at it. River could hear nothing over the clamor of the ocean. The lightning exploded every minute, followed by the deafening rumble of thunder.

It was indeed a big fucking storm, just like Raven Alistair had prophecied.

River wiped his face on the hem of his nightshirt. Seeing how disgustingly sweaty it was, he ripped it off his body. The cold wind licked away at his skin,cooling him down.

Wolfram was fast asleep like a baby, his hands curled into fists under his cheek. He had kicked his covers off his bed and was shirtless.

Despite knowing the man could survive buried under a tall pile of snow, River pulled his covers up for him.

River exhaled, exasperated. Throwing on a dry shirt, he pulled his hair into a bun. Strands of hair were glued to his sweat-drenched neck, and the pulse under his jaw was still galloping.

He needed cool,fresh air. He needed to go outside.

The storm, be damned.

The author has something to say.

This author just turned 22 yesterday!! That is why she was gone!

The author has nothing funny to say.

Also, the author found a song that matched the tone of the story, so she inserted it. Even though she is not a big fan of that. She personally thinks it disrupts the reading, but she really wanted to share it.

Adios!

Comment and vote!!