A Whisper in the Dark

Fighting. The idea of two people of opposite opposition settling thier difference via some requested dispute agreement. As a child I thought fighting meant there would always be a winner , who won because they were righteous in thier belief. The idea that those who lost were something less because only heros were winners , the right people , the right idea. But somewhere along the way those once idealistic heros came with some bitter truths. Heros could be wrong. Heros didn't always win. Heros didn't have magic that reeked of death and darkness. I was 10 years old when the shadows began whispering thier taunting tales. Sweet thick words that edges my wild erratic behavior as a child. To my normal human parents I was a wild child associated mostly as a possible spawn of Satan with all the hell I tended to raise. Out of ways to punish me or even help me by the time I was teen , they did the only thing they could think of, they sent me to granny's. Granny was a lone woman in the mountains who swore she leave the day the dirt turned to mud. It was Granny who taught me how to tame the shadows. Granny said the shadows were a promise of magic given to folks of the mountain. It was generational and fostered thru years of cultivation and pruning for when the old ones returned and needed the magic back. Of course I had millions of questions all of which Granny refused to answer, stating simply The Old Ones return when the whispers disappear. Lord knew who the old ones were , or what they did to give people a whisper of thier power but as my teen years raged on, so did the whispers. As a child the whispers were dark voices encouraging wild behaviors that was rewarded with an overwhelming euphoric feeling. Granny said that's what power tasted like and the shadows would use it to lure you in, until nothing but madness soaked your heart. Granny gave me as a crash course on how to resist temptation and the sweet seductive whispers. Grannys teachings all seemed like a bunch of hocus pocus. After all back then the shadows were just harmless whispers. Almost like having an uninvited third party constantly chime in about your life in a narrating tone. Then one day it wasn't. I had woke to my first period and the screaming voices of the shadows. All day I fought the loud noise and snapping at anyone and everyone at school. Most steered clear until one didnt. They taunted me to a fight and finally the voices relented as I gave in to the rage of this person confronting me. Before I knew it I was scraping it out with some random chick. Fist flying , nails scraping soft pink skin and spit spewing straight the face of the unseemly. Somwhere in the scuffle the whispers turned into literal shadows that exploded into tight tendrils down my arm and into the nasal opening of the girl. I remember her gasp and wide eyes before the shadows exploded into the veins of her pale face before quickly draining it of color as it swiftly cascaded down her body. Before I knew it the girl was convolsing beneath me. I remember scrambling off her and watching in horror as the shadows bleed from her body and slithered toward me like snakes. I remember people screaming , or maybe it was me. When the shaodws re-entered my body the whispers became sedated. That night Granny told me the girl died and the whispers became more than voice in the dark but a creature begging for bloodshed. I remeber I cried for forgiveness. I remember Granny shooshing me and telling the only way to pay forgiveness was to ensure I could hold the shadows in till thier rightful owners came to claim them. I was quickly outcasts in my local community but all of it seemed dim in comparison to the knowledge Granny was teaching me about my shadows. Over the years I learned when the shadows were strongest and hardest to control. I also learned how to soothe the shadows and thier thirst for blood. All under the watchful eyes of my Granny with her withered smile and soft aged touch. At one point I was convinced I'd live the rest of my life with Granny in these mountains. She was my anchor and greatest savior by this point in my life. I had manage to find work at a local grocery store in town and while folk seemed leery of me , they mind none just the same. Eventually whispers of the dead girl grew to hush breaths of nay sayers as I walk passed but I payed it no mind. I didn't need no one as long as I had Granny. Then one summer the dirt turned to mud. It was a rainy year , one that made the moutain dangerous as rapid water fall caused the dirt to shift and slide unexpectedly. I was at work when the warning blurred thru the local radio station. I remeber shouting something to my boss before taking off into the storm. Granny lived deep in the woods of the mountains. The ride into town on a good day took the better half of an hour due to the rought dirt roads. In the storm it was damn near impossible. In my bones I knew this was what Granny had meant all them years ago about leaving the moutain. I refuse to accept it but as the roads became to wash out I begin to feel the shadows beat beneath my skin. I remeber the sting of rain , dirt and tree and limbs as I crawled my way up the moutain to my Grannys house. Grannys house sat in a small valley of the mountain and as I crested the top of the valley that lay behind Grannys house , I knew she was gone. Her house a once small but sturdy building standing lonesome in the crest of the valley was now nothing but a spewing pile of mud and debris sludging into the valley. I remeber my knees hitting the wet earth and whispering to shadows. Find her. I blacked out. When I came to I was in the hospital with my parents crying with relief and sorrow. Granny hadn't made it. But the shadows had , I felt them wake in the back of mind like a sad dog that had lost its favorite chew toy. The shadows couldn't save her. I couldn't save her. The next few days and weeks felt like motionless blurr as my parents shuffled me from doctor to homes. I was legally an adult now and while they loved me they wanted me to be a fuctional person. That meant while they planned Grannys funeral in a place she hated, the city, I was left to sort out a living arrangement. I found myself wondering the city restlessly. Almost as if on auto pilot as I ran down the list of places my parents told me to check out. Each place was as depressing as the next. One had little to no natural sunlight, another had no yard to plant herbs , another was perfectly fine but it just didn't feel like home . Meanwhile the shadows buzzed beneath my skin. Thier whispers growing louder and louder each day but to me it was muffled by the wall of grief threatening to consume me. What good was the rituals to hold these shadows when they couldn't even save the one person who anchored me to life. Some sick part of my brain secretly hope that by neglecting the rituals the shadows would consume me and I'd finally be where I belonged with Granny. I almost get that wish the day of her funeral. My parents had gathered people far and wide for her funeral , a stuffy event in a cathedral in the heart of the city. The city was a buzz of constant noise, the complete opposite of our quite valley. Granny would hate this, I kept telling myself as the service went on. Beneath my skin the shadows pinched and pulled at my skin. The whispers became harsh cries that slowly embed my wall of grief into a raging ball of anger and fury.Halfway thru the service I stormed out of the building. My eyes moist with tears couldn't make heads of where my feet carried me, only that the screams of those whispers began to ebb. Eventually I come to a stop and as I finally pull myself out of a sob I notice my feet has carried me to an empty ally. Above the sun starts to set, my phone buzzes in my back pocket and a neon sign lights up to my left. It's an open eye with a symbol of three moons in its center. The shadows beneath my skin pull me near the door beneath the neon. I wrap my hand around the doorknob, a small sane voice in the back of mind whispers loudly , is this safe to do. The door bust wide open, slamming straight into my face with a crunch while simtounsly sending back on my ass. I let out a blood curling scream as I grasp my body nose and glare up at big beefy dastardly of a man. He sneers down at me , a row of sharp pointed teeth flashing . " Watch it meatbag. " He growls at me. By now the sun has disappeared and the shadows of the ally way rush to me as blood seep from my nose. Bloooooddddd, The Whispers hiss to me. I drop my hand from my face and c**k my head to the side letting the power of the shadows wash over my skin. " Make me . " I spit back. The mean looking bastard snorts before swing his thick foot toward my face. The shadows pulls me to my feet and swiftly dodges the kick . The man blinks at my quick reflexes , the pause is enough for me to press the advantage with a hard upper cut to his chin. His head snaps back with a howl as he stumbles back. The whisper chant and suddenly the shadows pull my hands forward to wrap around his swinging fist. With strength I didn't know I posses , I twisted his arm in odd angle making him howl and kneel before me in pain. In voice I didn't recognize i whispered , " From blood comes blood." The shadows leeches from my skin and swiftly traveled down my arms into the man's skin. The shadows pierce his skin and suddenly the man's eyes fly open. They were an unearthly yellow and his teeth became elongated as black thick fur covered his body. He convolsed violently against my grip but the shadows wouldnt let go. Even as I became appalled, the once big burly man slowly turned into a giant dead wolf.Horor gripped me as the shadows begin to decend back unto me. The moment thier slithers of darkness rested beneath my skin I felt a new surge of power and awe. The man was a were wolf and as the whispers became quite they tell me with satisfaction, now so am I.