5. Where the Darkness Lurks

Chapter 5

It was in the dead of night; pitch-black darkness surrounded Amal. He suddenly found himself standing upright, wearing all black. Every step he took in this strange world, echoed all around him, and rang through his ears. He gritted his teeth and willed himself to wake. It wouldn’t work. His eyes, the ones he can pinpoint targets from miles away, are blinded and shut from the blackness that stands before him. His own personal void.

Suddenly, a sharp blade shot out from the void. Instinctively, Amal deflected it using two fingers. The blade clattered to the floor, it’s metallic noise piercing through the cold of the night. Amal squinted his strained eyes towards the direction of the thrown blade. It was as though he was blindfolded and was relying solely on his bodily instincts. “Who is there?” he yelled into the void. There was no answer. He glanced over to the dagger that remained abandoned, on the floor. Amal picked it up. It had a chilling feel to it, as if it were submerged in ice for a while. His surroundings were murky and devoid of any light; however, the dagger was easy to see. As though it itself was a light source. Amal brandished the blade around the area; light began to seep through it much easily. It lit up a path for him to travel across. The path was sandy, with several vines and roots struggling to grow through it. They were slowly dying.

Amal stood in place. He glanced at the blade of the dagger. He viewed his face through the reflection of the surface. It was grim, his facial expressions exposed a lonely, scared child. He stared until his vision blurred a little, the face inside the blade becoming more serious, more determined. Amal looked away and glanced at the path again. He took a step, the vines crunched under his rigid boots. Another step, and then another. His footsteps leaving his shoe imprints behind him. Amal quickened his pace, walking faster within his line of sight, the light emitting from the dagger guiding the way. Soon, he was running. Racing as fast as he could. He felt the cool breeze sweep passed him as he ran, leaping over a two-foot boulder that stood in his way. His heart began pumping harder; Amal could feel it beating inside his chest. His surroundings blurred as he passed them. He sensed trees passing by as he ran, the dagger glowing brighter with each step. The path was much more visible to follow now. The winds, however, seemed to sharpen as fast as he ran. They cut into his eye, producing tears. Still, he continued to dart through. An attempt to escape the night. It was becoming difficult to peer directly at the dagger, it’s light was much stronger. This light, Amal thought, is it showing me where to go? Amal scanned his surroundings as he dashed along the path. He was in a forest of some kind, the skyscraper trees loomed over him as he raced through the landscape.

The entire landscape flickered for a fraction of a second. Amal had the impression that things weren’t what they seemed.

His breathing became uneven, his vision suddenly blurred for a moment. Amal continued to race through the path. He glanced into the distance. A bridge was approaching. A rickety, old bridge. It was narrow and had no railings. As Amal drew closer, the bridge spanned a few dozen metres, and Amal couldn’t make out what was at the bottom. He slowed down, catching his breath. He was now nearing the bridge. Amal shone the light of the blade closer to it, trying to find the bottom of the bridge. There didn’t seem to be one. Hesitant, Amal put a single foot down; the bridge swayed under the light pressure but seemed sturdy enough to walk across. A single drop of sweat trailed down the side of his cheek.

Amal’s head suddenly turned behind him; he sensed someone approaching. Someone. A wave of nausea and despair crept its way towards him. Amal quickly turned around, aiming the blade from where he’d come from. Although the gleam from the blade illuminated his surroundings, nothing could be seen. He sensed that whatever was chasing him, it didn’t have an ounce of good in them. Amal gulped and turned back to the bridge. He walked towards it and put his full weight on it. The bridge didn’t break, it seemed somewhat supportive. He took another few steps, travelling cautiously along the new path. His surroundings were eerily empty now, he couldn’t sense anything miles away. Still, Amal couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something dangerous lurking nearby. He continued travelling. The bridge swayed, but Amal managed to keep his balance. His boots seemed to grip the wooden panels of the rickety bridge.

Echoes were heard from beneath his feet, though Amal refused to glance down. A single wrong move could send him toppling down into the unknown. As he ventured down the narrow pathway, Amal looked ahead. The blade stopped growing any brighter, though the end of the bridge were beginning to come into view. The echoes began to grow louder, Amal shivered in fear as shrieks and straining voices were heard and echoing. The sounds bounced off each other and poured out of the murky darkness below him. His trembling suddenly made the bridge swaying more. It vibrated under his feet. Wide-eyed, Amal slowed his paced and inhaled deeper. The air was cool and fresh; it was clear he was in the middle of nature, devoid of any human contact. It also meant he had no help; he was truly alone. If he fell down, it would be the end of him. With that thought, Amal cautiously trudged along the bridge, gradually calming down and steadying himself. The bridge returned to being almost motionless, as hoped.

Amal raised the dagger higher, brightening his path. He was halfway across the bridge; his breathing became stable again. He quickened his pace, staring ahead towards the end of the bridge. Willing himself, pulling himself through the narrow path. As he grew closer to the end, the noise of below him grew louder as well. Screams and shouts pierced through his veil, shuddering as he pushed himself along the path. Under his weight, the bridge tensed and groaned. Suddenly, Amal heard a shriek behind him. An inhumane cry, that chilled him to the core. It was heard from a short distance away, creeping up to Amal like a chase between a predator and prey. Amal felt his heart beating faster again. However, this time, he perceived increasingly heavier waves of melancholy and depression. It was as if the voices beneath him called out for him to give in, to stop and give up on this conquest. Amal gritted his teeth and gripped the dagger much stronger. The bridge seemed to buckle underneath him. The distance between him and the end of the bridge seemed to lengthen, instead of decreasing. His breathing felt forced, straining. Amal felt a pit in his stomach, struggling to keep up with himself.

All the screams of agony below him, the waves of darkness behind him, and the impending sense of doom caused friction within his mind. Grinding and contorting. It caused him to tremble feverishly, as he raced through his path. The bridge swayed much more violently now, the steps uneven and unstable. The dagger shook at his side. It continued to grow brightly. Let go, cried the voice below, colliding with his thoughts. Give up, there’s no use, they said, the voices clashing and grasping at his sanity. His vision blurred again, this time for longer. Everything moved in slow motion, as if he was suddenly underwater. As though a vast ocean swept him up and rendered him paralyzed and motionless.

As though plagued with tunnel vision, Amal stared right ahead. The end of the bridge was right there, several metres away, he could leap for it. But before he could, his next step connected with only air. He continued reaching for a contact with the wooden panels of the bridge, yet the attempts were of no use. The swaying of the bridge led to him missing the target of his foot. He desperately grasped for something; rails, rope, something to pull at, something to hold. But there was nothing but air and emptiness. His left foot collided with the right side of the bridge, sending him thrust a foot into the air. A strike of pain on his fibula; a broken bone that sent electrifying pains up his leg. Everything moved so much more slowly now, Amal felt his body shifting to a point of gravity, one that lay on his right foot. Which froze motionlessly over the empty void in midair.

Instinctively, his arm shot up, a hand grasping tightly on the side of the bridge. The wooden panel groaned at the sudden pull of weight. His arm was wracked with pressure as he held himself up, his muscles working overtime. As he readily began to pull himself over the edge, Amal felt something grab his left ankle. Adrenaline rose high within the boy. With trembling eyes, Amal peered down below. The light of the dagger still lay in his right hand; His left hand tightly gripped the side of the bridge. He stared down, there was a smoky figure grabbing at his leg. Its face was nonexistent. Fear struck right into the core of the boy. Flailing and shaking. The ghoulish figure continued to grip at his ankle, as strong as Amal’s grip on the bridge. If not stronger. Amal grimaced in pain, as the ghoul clenched harder on his ankle, sinking its sharp claws into it. Amal screamed out in pain, tears flooding his face. Something had awakened inside him. The deep stab of his ankle began to numb down, leaving Amal’s vision more blurred and unfocused. He forced his left arm up, gripping the side of the bridge tightly as he managed to pull himself higher, reaching his chest. Still, the ghoul was tightly wound on his leg, creeping up. Amal closed his eyes, fighting through the pain. More tears spilled through the cracks.

With sudden strength, Amal gripped the dagger in his hand, ready to wield. His pulled his leg up higher and pressed the blade into the arm of the ghoul. Shrieking out in piercing agony, the ghoulish figure shook feverishly on his leg. They loosened their grip on the boy, though not significantly. Gasping out of breath, and with sweat pouring out of his pores like waterfalls, Amal gripped again the dagger implanted on the ghoul’s arm and ripped it out. Another series of screams was produced from the ghoul, until Amal aimed the blade on the faceless surface of the figure. The target was acquired, the strike blowing significantly. The ghoul emitted no more noise, as it remained motionless and removed its grip from Amal’s leg. The dagger was stuck on the figure, and before Amal could retrieve it, the ghoul, along with the bright light of the blade, fell. They were thrown down deep within the depths of the void, the darkness that lurks. Amal watched as the light of the blade flickered as it sank deeper into the opening. It continued to fall, the light rapidly and increasingly becoming smaller, until the light of the blade couldn’t be registered anymore.

Amal rose back up on the bridge, it groaned under his weight, but still supported him. Amal winced in pain, as he took another step on the bridge, his ankle feeling as though it were ripped apart. Gritting his teeth, and with determination spilling through his eyes, Amal forged along the bridge, submerged in complete darkness. There was no noise coming from behind him, perhaps the other strange being was also toppled over the bridge.

As Amal continued trudging along, limping, he noticed a glimmer of light in the distance. He heard the metallic snap of a shooting blade, the same noise he’d made when wielding a dagger. Out of the distance and the dark, another dagger was shot out. This time, Amal caught it, right before it struck his chest, a few millimeters away from striking. Again, light began to seep through. Amal stared at it, dumbfounded. Then he smiled. Though the bridge was unstable, Amal began to take a few more steps, the bridge shuddering at the weight. And then another few steps. And then he ran, the bridge beginning to tremble at his feet. The light of the dagger, as before, slowly brightened up, as though an incandescent lightbulb, warming at his touch.

Amal raced through the rickety bridge, until his foot hit uneven pavement, stable land. And continued racing along the path. The blade continued to light up again, showing him the trees surrounding him. He raised the blade high up, illuminating the way.

In his path, several metres into the distance, a hooded figure appeared. The figure brandished a dagger, a glowing blade same as the one Amal wielded. Amal gripped the one he held, sneering in anticipation of the battle he would face. Amal noticed something he had on his arm. Several dark lines, like tattoos, seemed to appear on the surface of his skin. Amal suddenly sensed some sort of energy that passed over him. An evil energy. I shouldn’t stay here long, he thought. With that thought, Amal charged at the mysterious figure.

Their knives clashed, the metallic screeching noise echoed all throughout his surroundings, as though he were in a box. The figure seemed to mimic every one of his movements; Every parry, block, even the way they held the daggers. Every strike he targeted, was accompanied by the blade of the opponent’s; the clanging of metals was all the noise that emanated.

Hours had passed, until both Amal and the hooded figure were both equally tired. Finding an opening, Amal deflected the knife out of the opponent’s hand, which clattered to the ground. Before Amal could finish the battle, everything seemed to slow down again. Amal felt himself to be underwater again. As he inched his blade towards the unprotected chest of the figure, he heard the voices again. Though they sounded softer, kinder. Don’t do it, they said, don’t give in to the dark. Amal winced, they seemed to strike a nerve within him. Telltales and signs surrounded him, all displaying the same message. I can’t stop it now, he thought to himself. The blade now seemed to move on its own, plunging itself into the hooded figures’ neck, causing him to convulse and spurt out blood from the wound. Dreading the moment that would come, Amal took a few steps back. He looked down at his hands. He hadn’t touched the body, but his hands were covered in blood.

Suddenly, the hooded figure stared straight into Amal’s eyes, wide-eyed and solemn. The winds began to pick up speed, as though hurricanes were beginning to form behind Amal. The figures’ hands tightly grasped Amal’s shoulders. Amal stood in place, paralyzed, as tears trailed down his face. “Wake up”, the hooded figure said, grunting. Amal, still paralyzed, opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t utter a word. The winds struck like daggers, grazing past Amal’s eyes. The mysterious figure shook Amal’s shoulders, opening his own mouth. “WAKE UP”, the figure screamed, in Amal’s face. The wind struck the hooded figure, blowing away his cover, revealing himself. The face behind the hooded figure, was Amal.

Wake up…the voices cried.

Continued on: Killing Fields

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