Next

Through the crackling of the fire, surrounded by the bricks that fortified its internal inferno, it was quite apparent that the man’s soul burned with. Till both the fire and his soul extinguish, so will his ambitions to live forth. Both flames that once stood firm with the roots surrounded by his personal library amongst the walls. Many who he breathed life into just to one day take away.

The old man, James Henswitt, once a respectable and upright citizen of the small town of Fairview. A town which was once of luxury and pleasures to the eye. Where beauty should’ve been taxed, as it was considered a privilege to dwell in. All was set into motion to be passed as a bill but swiftly taken away when the beauty of dwellings was met with turmoil and loss. Such unforeseen events of sudden vanishings and occurrences that no one can comprehend or start to explain. All who lived in this quiet and pleasant town became suspect. A time of dark which will once see light for the first time. Skeletons and boogeymen coming from the darkest part of our closets and deepest depths from under the beds of the most innocent. No one was safe neither were they found to be guilty.

James Henswitt gathered his flickering oil lamp and placed it ahead of his window, with drapes open wide, he gazed upon the mob whose path was no surprise. Making their strides around the blocks once again, as it was no different from all the other nights. James pulled out his stopwatch from the front of his pocket of his vest, checking the time as he has done so any other night when they passed by. Knowing he was in a place where he was as guilty as the next. As they passed he looked himself in the reflection of the dim glass. Catching hints of black in his eyes and shades of dark orange that lit up part of his face. His own boogeyman coming to the surface of the depths of his soul he once wanted to extinguish. Now he was in a moment of embracing the hidden parts of his soul with remembrance of satisfied thirst. Was it satisfied? He thought to himself as he made his way to the bookshelves that contained his most prized works of art. He stood there motionless, his eyes trickling down the numbered and titled books. Asking himself if he was truly satisfied or if one more and the final piece to his collection would simply close those doors for good.

James sat down into his leather chair, overlooking the crackling fire. Slumped over into his seat while pondering over the very question that would become the blockage of unease and wonders. He whispered with curiosity amongst himself. His question softly echoing in a room with his hidden blackness. Both intertwined to become whole but were destined to be damned with all that was ultimately light.

“Must I waiver further with such temptations or merely become victim to close quarters to what could’ve been? Left to die with all that will leave with me before the dawn touches the pines. I shall see once the flames seize to flicker with such remanence, whether my once idle hands become new again.”

Spirits were then poured into a glass that sat empty on a round table beside the leather chair. Light brown swished back and forth like the waves of sea. Thunder and the roar of lightening blared as he took the drink in one and poured another. Waters become calm and still. Untouched like the eye of a hurricane but soon to be revisited.

“Speak to me you foul beast! Why is it you must depart from my presence in times of question?”

James sprung up from his seat and quickly gazed over all the books and started to swipe off the shelves and onto the black and white tiled floor. The same floors he has danced with the beast hand in hand on during the silent masquerade. The floors that were once danced upon with his beloved Mors. As eloquently as they danced and fluttered through the echoing halls and chambers of slumber, James remembered. It was a love once had and a love once he let take flight away from this fateful world. He brushed away the other numbered books and took the dust off with a blow and swipe on the hard cover. His thumb flicking through the untouched pages that were not visited for years. His very first publication of art titled “My beloved Mors.”

James sat down and slumped back into his leather chair, reading over the contents of the pages. Remembering the times, she has written to him as he has written back.

My love Mr. Henswitt,

I write to you in hopes that this will not trouble nor dismiss any time needed for your works. Even though we have not seen one another for so long I pray greatly and many times I foresee such things I wish to speak to you about. quite weary I become without your presence but know well that I have not succumb to privileged pleasures, nor have I come to a time I see no time without. I wait patiently for your touch as I have waited for your arrival. I write this to hand my greatest deliverance to leave what has bestowed upon my heart. Which is all.

Mr. Henswitt then closed the book and placed it beside his glass onto the table. He looked up in utter defeat and sadness. He then spoke into nothingness.

“Beast! Speak to me as you said you would. Especially in times of guidance!”

James sat there looking at the book in remembrance then peered off into the fluttering flames of the fireplace. He looked there steadily and looked quite oblivious. Drunk as he was he got up yelling from time to time.

“YOU DON’T KNOW!” what he meant we wouldn’t know, but he got up as he heard a growl in the corner of the room. A whisper of hoofs and snarls of a beast. He could not see.

“So, you’re here. Finally?” James asked as he bobbed his head back and forth. He slowly got himself up from his fall from the chair and told himself he was that drunk, he just wanted to sleep, but he had business.

“So, tell me! Since you’re here!” James yelled.

“Quid Attuleris” It whispered in the side of the room. It was lucidum as it stared back at James.

“I knew you were the one!” James launched from his position, entangling the beast in his own.

“So, what do you want from me because.” James broke down from his drinks and questioned all that he was known for. He was a broken man and a broken husband to his beloved Mors.

He then slumped back down into his chair looking at the eyes in the corner telling as he was in demand, but little did he know it was the other way around. He spoke to match.

“anima mea pro veritate” James said in demand and when the Beast heard.”

The room went quiet. The stopwatch was placed on the window as quite as can be for the Mob ahead walked past. There James Henswitt stood, grinning. Out the window looking at the foolishness of many that they won’t find his 26 victims. But it wasn’t him… it was the beast.