“Did you find it?”
Rolling his eyes John continued feeling around blindly in the dark, his hand tracing the smooth wall of the basement.
“Are the lights on?”
There was a pause from upstairs.
“No,” shouted Salem down to him.
“Then I haven’t found it.”
His foot brushed something hard and unyielding and he nearly tripped. He caught himself with a curse that he tried to keep under his breath.
“I heard that.”
“No you didn’t.”
“You promised,” she chided, her tone suggesting she was playing, “we can’t have kids if you aren’t going to watch your language.”
“We can,” he said feeling along the wall again, “they’ll just be well versed in the common tongue.”
He heard his wife giggle and he smiled. His hand brushed against something metal and he felt it carefully.
“Found the breaker box.”
“The lights aren’t on.”
John shook his head as he found the latch and opened it.
“Yeah give me a minute.”
His hand explored the breakers and found every one of them had been tripped. Leaning his arm against the switches he flicked them all at once.
Nothing happened.
“Salem?”
“What?”
“Did anything turn on upstairs?”
“No…why?”
John frowned and felt the breakers. They were all flicked to the correct positions. He didn’t understand why the lights hadn’t turned on. Last time they had, at least he thought they did. This house was so old and rickety Thomas Edison was probably the one who installed the lights.
“John?”
He went to take a step back and bumped into that hard object again. This time he was unable to regain his footing and he went down hard.
“Son of a-,” he cut himself off and took a deep breath, “gun.”
“Thank you…you ok?”
“Yeah just tripped.”
“Need help?”
“Yeah you have a light?”
“Ha ha smartass.”
“Hey,” he called back as he felt his way towards the stairs, “remember the kids.”
Salem giggled again.
John found the stairs and started climbing up them.
“So what do we do about the lights?”
“I don’t know, must be a power line down or something.”
“It’s a good thing we bought those flashlights like we planned to a year ago.”
John chuckled, though it was laced with bitterness.
“I have a surprise though.”
“What’s that?”
There was a scratch and a flash of light as Salem lit a match at the top of the stairs. Grinning she placed the flame against a tall candle she was holding. To John she looked like an angel on a candlelight vigil.
“Where did you get that?”
“I remembered finding them in that box we found when we moved in. I told you they’d come in handy.”
Reaching the top of the stairs he smiled and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m not sure how God would feel about you using a prayer candle so casually.”
“It’s not a prayer candle.”
“The Holy Mother was on the wrapping.”
“For us it’s not a prayer candle and I think he would be alright with us using it under the circumstances.”
With a shrug John stepped past her and into the living room. He fell onto the sofa with a sigh.
“Hopefully the company is fast about getting the lights back up.”
She settled next to him.
“What’s the rush? It’s not as if we need power while we’re slee-.”
When she remained silent John looked over and saw her staring into the darkness, her head tilted to one side.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “thought I heard something.”
John growled as he pulled her in close.
“Don’t start with me on that horror movie nonsense.”
Salem giggled, though John felt it wasn’t as heartfelt.
“You want me to check don’t you?”
“Sorry.”
“Alright I’ll go check.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“Nah,” he responded, waving as he stood up, “it’ll just take a minute.”
“Well here,” she said standing up and walking into the kitchen.
He followed her and she quickly pulled another tall white candle from underneath the sink. She handed it to him and quickly lit it.
“There, now we both have one.”
“Thanks hon, be back in a minute.”
Turning away he walked to the front room as his wife settled back onto the couch. Looking back at her he marveled at how beautiful she was in the candlelight. Thoughts on how to make the night more special started crossing his mind, but he knew none of them would happen until she was confident that the house was secure.
Walking with purpose he quickly checked the front door and confirmed it was locked. Moving methodically around the house he checked the windows before heading upstairs to the top floor.
They rarely went up there since they’d bought the house. The first month or so they had the master bedroom up there but quickly realized they weren’t fans of going up and down the stairs every day. They’d quickly moved everything down to the bedroom on the main floor and vowed to make the upstairs the kids’ rooms. At least when they got around to having them.
Arriving at the top he pondered on the dilemma of kids. He and Salem seemed to flip flop on when to have them. They both agreed they were ready, but the years rolled by and they never got around to trying. If he was being honest John felt it was his fault.
He made a good living as a pest exterminator and they were doing well financially, but the doubts about his beliefs held him back from fully committing to children. How could he justify brining a child into a household that couldn’t agree on God? Salem was a devout Christian, but he was an Easter and Christmas member at best.
Arriving at the last bedroom upstairs he paused after checking the window and stood by himself in the room. Salem knew about his doubts with religion and was patient with them. But he wondered how patient she’d be if she knew the full picture.
A shiver ran through him as he imagined her reaction when she told him about the dark thoughts that would sometimes cross his mind, the violent urges that seemed to seize his body, the vivid imaginations of destruction.
Taking a moment he let the dark thoughts pass freely through his mind before he took a deep breath and flushed them away. They didn’t completely leave him, they never did, but he felt better. The one thought that lingered in his mind was how Salem would react if she ever knew about the darkness in him.
Sighing he glanced around the room before stepping out and heading back to the stairs.
“No scary monsters,” he said loudly to be heard across the large house, “let me just check the back and we’ll be good to go.”
Stepping down onto the main floor he turned into the living room and froze.
“Salem?”
The candle was lying on its side in the center of the floor, the flame dancing eerily and casting strange shadows on the wall. The sofa was overturned and Salem was nowhere to be seen.
“Salem?!”
John backed up to the front door and reached for the entryway table. Yanking open the drawer he reached in and pulled out the pistol they kept there. Setting his candle on the table he kept his eyes on the fallen candle as he felt underneath the table. His fingers located the clip they kept secured there and he tore it free with a loud rip.
With shaking hands he loaded the clip into the gun and loaded a round into the chamber. He hesitated for a moment before deciding to keep the safety on. Picking the candle back up he stalked his way back into the living room, the gun aimed low as his eyes swept the room.
“Salem?”
He heard a stir in the bathroom back by the kitchen and started making his way back there. The hairs on his neck stood up and sweat started forming on his brow.
“Salem?”
His wife suddenly stepped out of the bathroom and gasped when she saw him.
“John what are you doing?!”
John lowered the gun to the ground, letting go of the breath he’d been holding.
“What is it,” she asked frantically, “is everything ok? What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” he said shaking his head, “I just saw the candle and -.”
“Oh, the stupid thing just dripped wax on my hand and burned me. I came in here to wash it off, but that only works if you have hot water.”
“So you left it laying on its side?”
Her eyes widened and she rushed past him.
“Oh, the darn thing must have fell when I set it down.”
She quickly picked it up off the floor and headed back into the kitchen.
“Here,” she said holding out her hand, “let me take yours and I’ll put it on a plate or something.”
John handed the candle to her, his heart still struggling to settle in his chest. Salem glanced at the gun and gave him a quizzical look.
“So what did you think happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly, “I just saw the candle on its side and you weren’t answering me. I figured it couldn’t be good.”
Holding both candles she walked over and planted a kiss on his cheek, smiling.
“My hero.”
As she walked away John looked down at the gun he was holding, feeling rather foolish.
“Let me put this away real quick.”
John walked back into the living room shaking his head for jumping to conclusions. The light from the candles was bright enough he could see into the living room and saw the overturned sofa.
He paused and looked at it curiously.
“How bad did the wax burn you that you kicked the sofa over?”
“That wasn’t her,” said a hoarse, masculine voice from the kitchen.
John whirled and the light from the candles both flickered out. In the last moment of light he thought he saw Salem smiling at him from the kitchen.
“Salem?”
There was a shuffling sound and John aimed the gun, flicking the safety off before lowering it hesitantly.
“Salem talk to me.”
“She’s not here John,” said a voice to his immediate left.
John turned and instinctually fired into the darkness. The muzzle flash lit up the room for a brief moment. In that time he saw Salem crouched on the floor, scuttling towards him like a crab.
His mind was playing tug-of-war with itself as part of him wanted to fire on the threat and the other part of him hesitated at the possibility it could be his wife. Instead he fired off to the right towards the kitchen.
The muzzle flash revealed the room was empty, at least where he had been looking. He whirled on his feet and fired again, this time at the ceiling.
Salem was standing mere feet in front of him, her eyes empty sockets and a dark liquid dripping from the corner of her mouth.
With a shout John backed up and swung his left arm like a club. It met empty air and he continued flailing it in front of him as he made his way to the kitchen, stumbling along in the dark.
“What’s the matter John,” taunted the same masculine voice, “didn’t you vow in sickness and in health?”
“Who are you,” John shouted into the darkness.
“Oh come now John,” said the voice to his right before speaking again from his left, “surely you remember me.”
John’s back collided with something low in the dark. He panicked for a moment before he realized it was the countertop. Feeling along it he made his way to the sink.
“But maybe that’s the problem,” said the voice behind him, “your memory isn’t what it used to be is it?”
His fingers felt the outline of one of the candles and he quickly grabbed it. With his other hand he felt for the stovetop. Finding one of the dials he grasped it tightly.
“Let’s see if we can jog your memory.”
John’s skin prickled as he felt the breath on his neck. Flicking the dial to one side the burner lit up instantly casting the room in a bright glow. He was immensely grateful they had an older stove that didn’t need electricity. He whirled around expecting his wife’s haunted face to be in front of him, but instead he found only emptiness.
His eyes searched the room expecting her to pop out at any moment and wondering what the hell was going on. With a trembling hand he lit the candle he was holding with the burner and planted it firmly on the nearby countertop. With both hands he gripped the pistol firmly, trying to remember how many shots he fired to determine how many he had left.
“Salem?”
The gun suddenly seemed irrelevant. What was he going to do? It didn’t matter if he had one bullet or an entire clip left he wasn’t going to shoot his wife. Assuming the thing skulking around was his wife still.
There was a loud buzzing in his ear and he waved at it distractedly thinking it might be a fly. A strange thought occurred to him that it might be the thing taunting him so he turned and saw the door leading to the garage was open.
John eyed it warily as he reached out and grabbed the candle with one hand and held the pistol with the other. He laid his gun arm over the top of the one holding the candle for stability and walked forward.
The candlelight slowly revealed the hallway as he went, but the garage remained stubbornly dark. He was mere feet away when he noticed a shape in the darkness.
“Salem,” he whispered, “honey what’s going on?”
The shape seemed to move as if responding.
“Talk to me.”
A warm drop hit his hand and he shook it distractedly cursing the candle. When another drop hit his forearm he froze and looked down at it.
The drop was dark red.
Slowly he raised his gaze to the ceiling. His eyes came face to face with his wife’s empty sockets as her head hovered inches above his.
“Hello again John.”
She dropped from the ceiling on top of him, sending both the pistol and the candle tumbling to the ground. John screamed in horror as his wife’s arms and legs seemed to be striking him like she was some feral deer.
A sharp pain exploded in his right hand and he howled as he grabbed at her flailing body and flung it away from him. Something ripped free from his hand and he felt the blood trickling from the wound.
In the darkness he could hear her flailing around before growing silent. It only lasted a moment before he heard the knocking of footsteps and what he assumed were hands on the bare wood floor.
John quickly regained his footing and started backing towards the sink as the thing scuttled towards him. His hands reached out for some kind of weapon to defend himself with and found a cupboard on the counter. Yanking it free he lashed out with it.
There was a satisfying crack of wood and the skittering stopped. He waited for something to happen and nearly leapt out of his skin when something laughed to his immediate right.
“Not fair John!”
The cutting board was ripped from his grasp and a voice that sounded like his wife’s mixed with the masculine voice started cackling from that direction. John’s hands scrambled around on the countertop again searching for something, anything to use.
“Remember John?”
His hand closed around something sharp and he winced as it cut into his palm. Realizing it was a knife he cautiously felt for the handle and closed on it, ignoring the pain radiating from the cut in his hand and whatever happened to his other hand.
“Remember!?”
The voice was practically in his ear and something scuttled off the counter onto the floor next to him. Pain blossomed from his leg as he felt something tear into it.
Screaming John struck out with the knife and felt it sink into something. The thing released his leg and scuttled back onto the counter, hissing and laughing.
Continuing to scream John reached out and grabbed the assailant, pinning it to the counter. It thrashed back with legs and arms but he held it fast as he stabbed again and again. After several stabs the thing went still under his arm but he continued sinking the blade into its body over and over, screaming as he did.
Amidst the fear, rage, and confusion was a new emotion. One that slowly took over the others and grew stronger with each stab.
Pleasure.
Eventually his arm grew tired and he simply couldn’t lift it again. Panting and out of breath he sank to the floor, the knife clattering out of his grasp. With deep shuddering breaths and sweat pouring down his face he heaved against the cabinet, shivering with pleasure.
“I knew you’d remember,” said the masculine voice with amusement, “I knew you would.”
John’s head suddenly grew heavy and he fell to one side as if the sudden weight was tipping him over. By the time he hit the floor he was unconscious.
#
There was no telling how long John was on the floor when he came to. His entire body ached as if he’d just completed an intense workout and the wounds that had been inflicted were throbbing.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, surprised at how much effort it took to do that simple act.
The house was bathed in darkness as the commotion had turned the burners off. The only sound was the slow drip of what he assumed was a leaky faucet.
As the memories of what happened resurfaced he pulled himself into a standing position. His knees wobbled and he held onto the countertop to keep himself upright. With his free hand he felt around for the stovetop and turned one of the burners on.
The light from the gas-lit flames revealed a body lying on the counter. There was blood everywhere and a slow trickle was dripping off the countertop and onto the floor.
Seeing the gory remains was a bizarre experience for John. Part of him felt that he should be feeling horror, rushing to the sink to throw up the contents of his stomach, or that he should be slumping to the floor in a sobbing mess.
Instead he felt, satisfied. It was as if he’d accomplished some marvelous task and now had it on display, like a caveman dragged a kill into the cave so the other members of the tribe could congratulate and thank him.
He shivered, a smile creeping onto his face when his eyes landed on one of the feet of the body laying before him.
Underneath the blood splatters he could see the soft brown slipper he’d bought his wife for Christmas when they first bought the house.
The smile left his face as thoughts started colliding violently in his mind. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten entirely about Salem, where she might be or if the eyeless monster that had haunted him may have been her. In the feverish frenzy he’d felt when stabbing at the creature Salem may as well not have existed.
But now that blood splattered slipper brought everything into focus.
“Salem,” he croaked out in little more than a whisper.
To his relief and horror the body moved slightly and he heard something between a whimper and a moan.
John rushed forward peering into the darkness. He couldn’t see the face so he ran back and flicked all the burners on before grabbing the last candle in the sink and lighting it. With a trembling hand he set it next to the figure’s head.
Salem’s eyes were barely open and she seemed to be having difficulty breathing. Her eyes seemed to be struggling to focus as they gradually settled on him.
“Oh Salem.”
The eyes opened a little wider and she made a gurgling sound, blood bubbling from her mouth. Her entire body shuddered and her eyes closed. After several agonizing moments her eyes opened to mere slits as if she were struggling to hold them open.
“Salem I’m so sorry,” John wept as he gently placed a hand on the top of her head, “I’m so sorry.”
There was another gurgle punctuated by a shudder and her eyes closing. This time however as her body stilled the eyes remained closed and the weak breaths died on her lips.
John was unable to speak as he watched her body go still in disbelief. Looking down at the myriad of wounds he remembered his hand plunging into the darkness and to his utter shock he felt that dark feeling of satisfaction rising up again.
Screaming in horror he pushed away from the countertop and fell to his knees. Shrieking in agony he resisted the pride trying to flood his body and smacked his hands against the floor. Pain shot through his wounded hand interrupting everything so he bashed it against the floor again, and again, and again.
Sobbing he buried his face in his trembling hands as he let the pain flush the dark thoughts out of his mind. Soon he was left with an empty shell that was struggling to grasp anything that happened as it resisted the knowledge that his wife was now a bloody mess on the counter.
He slid his hands up to the top of his head as he sank to the floor and let his forehead thunk against the hard wood. His sobs became lung splitting spasms and the tears flowed freely down his face.
Then just as suddenly the crying stopped. A strange thought entered his mind as he slowly sat up, his hands still on the top of his head. He stretched out with his fingers exploring every inch of his scalp.
He was bald.
It was such a meaningless fact that his mind kept trying to deny it had any significance, but another part stubbornly hung onto what it considered an oddity. Soon he lowered his hands and stared at them in confusion.
He had never been bald, not once in his entire life.
“What is this,” John said aloud, “why am I bald?”
His mind suggested that maybe he was going insane and had merely forgotten, but as he plumbed the depths of his memory he couldn’t remember anything leading to his baldness. He had a full head of hair his entire life. Not once had he shaved it on a dare or had anything remotely like cancer that would cause him to lose it. It had always been full and thick, to the point that even Salem would get jealous of how soft it was without him putting any effort into it.
Yet as he ran his hands back over his head there was no denying, not a single strand of hair anywhere on his head. The more he thought about it the more a strange and overwhelming thought entered his mind.
“This isn’t real,” he murmured to himself, “this isn’t me, this isn’t real.”
Clinging to that thought he slowly stood up and was only mildly surprised to find that nothing hurt. The pain in his leg, his hand, nothing. All the while his hands rested on his smooth scalp.
“This isn’t real.”
John closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side repeating the words as sort of a mantra.
“This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”
There was a noticeable shift in his surroundings and John’s chanting died mid-sentence. The heat from the burners was gone and even the floor felt noticeably different. There was also something approaching a breeze, but it had a slight odor to it. Something that reminded him of fish.
Opening his eyes John was shocked to find the house had disappeared. In its place was an empty void. He was standing upon a flat rocky surface that was pitch black and it extended as far as he could see in either direction. There was no light, but he was able to distinctly see where the black sky met the black stone and he could see the vague outline of his feet below him.
His fingers were nestled into his thick head of hair and he yanked a strand out with a hiss. Rolling it around between his thumb and forefinger he murmured quietly to himself.
“It wasn’t real.”
Author’s Note:
I hope you’re enjoying Darkshield: John’s Arc 1. A new chapter comes out free every week and next week’s chapter will be available on October 5th 2020.
If you decide you can’t wait that long then you can find the entire book on your favorite retail site for $3.99. It comes with all 10 chapters of Arc 1 and is much more convenient on your ereader. If you’re interested click here.
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