Tick Tock

The whispers on the wind howl past. The leaves on the trees scream as they rustle and the pale light of the moon glints off of the puddles that litter the ground.

A scream.

The shocking sound causes the nearby birds to take flight with haste. It raises the hairs on the back of James’ neck as he halts immediately. The lantern in his hand flails a little in the wind, the light from its candle flits across the ground, drowning out the moonlight in the puddles with a yellow glow.

He gulps. The cold air of this November evening brushes against his stubbled face, his hair blows across his vision for a moment too. He blows it out the way, only for it to become matted to his forehead once again. The sweat drips from his brow as he looks outward, to the treeline to see the dark silhouettes of the trees swaying back and forth. Then following the shapes of the birds as they fly off into the distance across the glow of the moon.

It’s silent. The quiet cuts to the bone sharper than the cold air or any knife. James knew what the scream meant, that his fate was on its way.

Wiping the hair and sweat away, he places the lantern down next to him. The candle within, dancing to the tune of the wind as he grasps the handle of the shovel once more. Then slides it deep into the mud yet again.

It must be here, it has to be. The thought races through his mind as he digs deeper.

An agonisingly slow dig, with time moving slower by the moment it seems. Yet his heart is thumping in his chest, he can hear it behind his ears. Like the ticking of a clock, his time is almost up.

Tick Tock.

Another shovel-full of mud, thrown to the side before diving in to take another bite of the ground before him. He can’t stop, he must keep going, compelled to find the answer to his salvation as it is so close.

Another scream. This time longer than the last at an impossibly high pitch. Then a deathly silence befalls the land once more. James looks up in the direction of the malicious sound, eyes darting left and right to find its source, but to no avail.

Just the trees, the wind and the sound of his blood pumping at a record pace through him.

Tick Tock.

“Oh God, it has to be here!” he exclaims to himself, panic starting to sink in more now. The hands of time drawing closer to his final moment… unless he can find it.

James lunges into the ground once more, this time only to be met with a solid thud. His heart almost leaps out of his chest, but there is no time to celebrate yet. There may be no time at all.

He digs another few times, then catches his breath for a brief moment before dropping to his knees, to begin wading through the mud with his bare hands. The dim light of the moon illuminates the sweat on his hands, there due to hard work and panic. Then he lays a hand on the wooden box buried in the ground, in the clutches of some tree roots.

Tick Tock.

A nearby crack of thunder as the clouds are rolling in, the breeze picks up and his long rain coat rustles with life at the sudden change in the air. He licks his lips with anticipation, grazing some of the stubble on his upper lip. Steely eyes locked on his prize at long last as he hauls it out.

At least he would but the roots seem to have grown a life of their own and wrap ever tighter around the box. James stands up, grabbing the shovel and jabs down at the writhing roots.

“Get away! You won’t deny me my future!” he yells out aggressively, while stabbing the roots with the tip of the shovel.

After several strikes, the roots slither away into the ground towards the tree next to him.

Tick Tock.

As his heart pounds so hard it almost hurts, he yanks the box out of the ground as a flash of lightning slashes the sky in the distance. He doesn’t care, he is about to be free. He fumbles at the latch, thick with mud until he eventually lifts the lid and there it is. His salvation.

The key sits there, all alone in the dark box. Only visible due to the moonlight. This was the night, the only night. A full moon was required for the key to be seen, it’s elven runes now glowing in the dark. The stark contrast of such a finely crafted key, offset by such a beaten down box was not lost on James. No one would think to look for it here.

He then reaches into his cloak and produces a small box, with a keyhole on the front. The rain begins to pitter patter around him now, the leaves of the tree next to him crying out from the beating of the water.

Placing the small box down, he grasps the key gently and glides a finger over the runes to activate the mystical key. It pulses with light as he slips it effortlessly into the lock and turns it.

Click. The box lid slowly opens up and there it is, the heart of the Wraith that’s been hunting him. Still beating, the charred heart is corrupt with evil.

“Ticckk Tocckkkk...”

The echo-like voice pierces any hope he had in that moment as he sees the shadow of a figure looming behind him. James turns his head and there, scythe in hand, it is.

The hooded figure gracefully hovers a short distance above the ground, cloak wafting in the air as it grips its weapon with such conviction.

A flash of lightning hurtles through the sky, closer this time but it still doesn’t illuminate that face. Nothing could ever light up the face of the undead.

“Time’sss up Jamesss.” It whispers to him, cutting to his very soul. But not as deep as the scythe when it slices down with perfect precision.

Not even a moment to plea with the creature. He collapses to the ground, the white-hot sensation of the scythe splitting him in twain, is almost a distant memory when he can see the tree waving above him.

It all falls away, the pain, the rain and the sound of his heart beating so loudly. The heart seemed so important, but now it is nothing as peace washes over him. Not even the sight of the wraith clasping its own heart seems important now, nor the sight of the pear tree above that he was digging under just a few moments ago.

Then it reaches for him, his world suddenly utter blackness when the wraith claims another soul and his life leaves him.

Tick Tock.