Before The Dawn

CHAPTER SIX

The Dark Harbor was a gigantic house, a castle of archaic origin. It has two Towers on the right and left side of the castle and history regarded it as the Twin Towers. The countless rooms and the unending stretch of the corridors didn’t give the perimeter of the castle. The few outlets in the castle provided illumination during the daytime and at night, when the sun had walked to its resting place, terror roamed the corridors with the screeching sounds that penetrated the crevices of the silence. That, the Dark Harbor, in history was regarded as Dawn of Peace and Dusk of Terror.

Jackson was in one of the towers, cuddling around a corner. It had been him and darkness all long. In the day, he stared at the reflection of the ray of the light from above, and at night, he heard voices that petrified him, the familiar voices of his family.

The tower bell rang ominously, and it evoked indescribable feelings in him. That was the first time the bell would ring since his arrival. It rang continuously until it made four final notes. Four notes of the bell had a meaning, it’s four O’clock. But morning or night? He looked up above the tower, there was no reflection of the sun rays and he concluded, it was four O’clock in the morning. The terror was about to be unleashed and a soul was ready to ascend to heaven.

It began with silent whispers of voices filling the room with decibels of noise. He was terrified, his pants already soaked in his own urine. His eyes dizzied and it seemed the lower ground of the tower had lifted itself up, and there in his front was a door, the very first he would see since he came. He ran towards the door as the voices closed in, jamming the door behind him with the thought that he had escaped, but that was just the beginning of the haunting nightmare.

At the far end of the corridor, the whistle of the wind transported a voice to his ears, it was a feminine voice. He was stuck at a point, he didn’t know what lay ahead, all he could see was darkness. Just the moment his mind thought of light, the chandeliers above that stretched along the corridors flared up and he walked, like a bride being walked down the aisle, past the chalices on the windows’ frames to the feminine voice that served as his compass.

“This way Jackson,” the voice said and he began the unending tiring walk.

“How far do I still have to go?” Jackson asked after he had walked few meters and his legs began to shiver. His movements were flabby for he had little energy left in him. “Can we take a rest here please?” he furthered

“No son, we just have to keep moving!” the voice replied, and this time it was a doubt, but rather the voice was familiar.

“Mum” Jackson called “what are you doing here?”

“To take you home my son!” she replied.

August 10, 1993, in the city of Babylon, the Pearson family were organizing a get-together party to celebrate the return of their son, Dennis. It was a beautiful evening with the Stars and moon giving the world the luminescence that it deserved. They were the richest family and all Babylonian always associated with them because of the good reciprocate gestures.

Dennis was a bully and an uncultured boy, he grew up in a city faraway from his hometown. The horoscope surrounding his death was one that made his parent take him faraway, from the hands of the grim reaper. Dennis was flaunting that evening, boasting of the lives he lived in Venice to his younger brother who listened attentively. Before he only heard stories from his about his brother in the faraway land, but now, he stood in front of him, telling him tales of adolescents as his friends’ brothers did to his friends. He enjoyed the evening until Dennis suggested they play dart. He wanted to object, but how could he decline the offer of his brother, he missed him and he wouldn’t want their first encounter to go sour, so he accepted.

Dennis rushed to the kitchen and returned with a chopping board, fixed it to the wall with a nail and stepped backward to take position.

“You hold it like, stretch yourself, breathe in then out before releasing it” he explained to his brother gesticulating with his hands. “If you hit it right in the middle of the chopping board, you win” he furthered, bringing out a pocket knife.

“This is a knife Dennis!” his brother objected, retreating.

“Don’t be a douchebag dude, it’s just to improvise” Dennis howled dragging him forward “You’ve come off age brother, you have a girlfriend yet?” Dennis asked but his brother shook his head in response and a wild laugh filled the air. His brother was irritated from the scornful look on his face, he looked at the pocket knife and Dennis simultaneously, the rage in him gloated, looked at Dennis again and moved forward, slowly to the standing point. “let’s do this Dennis, but you begin first” he said, taking deep breath before handing over the knife to Dennis.

Dennis took position and stroke, it hit the middle and he smiled “it’s as easy as that!” he commented giving the knife back to his brother.

“Breath in, breath out. In… out, now release!” Dennis instructed, but the naivety of his brother made the knife slipped out his hands, but rather than landing at middle of the chopping board, it made its final halt on the neck of Mrs. Pearson, his mother. She slumped, and lay in the pool of blood. They scooted toward her, she was losing life, she wanted to hold firmly onto her sons, but she lost her grip.

“Jack..son” she gagged till she said no more. Jackson retreated, his hands drenched of blood. He couldn’t believe he just killed his mother, to him it was a nightmare.

“wake up mother, please” he muttered silent prayers but it’s a prayer that couldn’t be answered. Dennis looked at Jackson with a poignant face, indignation ran in his veins and he matched forward with the knife on his hand.

“Stop Dennis, it’s an accident. You know it yourself” Jackson said retreating backward but rather, Dennis launched a ferocious attack, Jackson weaved it, but not after it made a cut on his arm. Blood dripped immediately, yet his brother wasn’t backing out, he had no choice but to defend himself. He picked the metal scrapped beside the flower vase, and trudged forward toward Dennis.

“Don’t let us do this Dennis” Jackson implored but on deaf ears of Dennis it fell, the Lucifer was in control. Dennis attacked again, aiming at his eyes but then, Jackson put to practice the moves he had learned in judo and gave his brother a resounding kick on his hand, and the knife displaced from his hand. He lay on the floor unconscious. “you’re no match for me Dennis” he said moving closer to his body to raise him up, but then the knife had stabbed him in his stomach. The worst of his nightmares conjured that evening, two of his family members died from his hand.

Jackson refrained from there bodies, he watched them from afar, sat on the balcony and forced the tears out of his eyes. The blissful evening of his family reunion had turned sour and the haunting nightmare of his life would perhaps be that day.

Jackson stopped short, the nightmare came rushing, substituting for his blood that ran through his veins. The morning was coming slowly, and the little glow of the light from the chandeliers was fading.

“Come on, Jackson!” The voice said again in a fierce tone.

“But you’re dead mom, and there’s no home to follow you to!” he replied and the figure turned to him fiercely. The figure was a skeleton cloaked in a black robe, the hollow socket was a burning fire, and the nasal cavity dripped of greenish liquid. The mandible and maxilla made an oscillatory movement when it talked and blood gushed from the cervical vertebra, accentuating where the knife had cut her long ago.

“How dare you say I’m dead! After all you’re the one who killed me!” she replied

“But we both know it wasn’t deliberate” Jackson added, sobbing.

“To hell with deliberation! You killed me and now you must pay for it!” the strident of her voice echoed along the corridor as she charged forward to attack Jackson. He picked race, running towards the door, but it was a dead end, there was no door again. He slumped to the ground as the figure moved closer, and a terrifying whirlwind followed.

“I’m sorry mum!” he pleaded but the door of forgiveness had already closed. He buried his face in his palm awaiting the punishment for his crime, death. Her hands rounded around his neck strangling him, his soul was departing his body gradually, his face whitened, but just then, the bell from the tower rang and the figure vanished. He gasped for breath, and a smug smile filled his face. He had survived, but just to live for another hour of torment.