Gast: Volume 1: Dead to rights. (Gothic Horror) (Completed)

Pretend We're Dead : Extract 3 - The Art Of Being Blind

James groaned as the prodding sensation in his chest robbed him from the depth of sleep. Prod, prod, prod. Prod, prod, prod. With every prod, every groan, more of his reality swam back into focus, he could feel the dewy grass beneath his buttocks, feel the bitter caress of the Autumnal wind, and hear the birds sing. Prod. James winced, as a sharp painfully withdrew him from the amniotic depths of sleep. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. His brain throbbed something terrible, and he had a strange taste in his mouth. A chalky taste, a bitter taste, oddly sulphurous. Eyes still focusing he gazed up at the dark clouds that were forming before his eyes. Prod. This time he fully registered it and his eyes darted to the source. Sat on his chest was a Crow. It was plump, much larger than the usual Crow. It stared him in the eyes and watched him with a morbid fascination. They stared at each other in silence, neither moving.

The crow broke first and prodded him once more with its beak in his ribs. James spasmed a protest, the same wiggly and jerky protest seen when someone discovers a spider has crawled on them. The crow took flight and circled above, calling out as if mocking.

"Sorry to disappoint." James hissed as he attempted to sit up.

"Caw."

"I know, I know, that was misleading of me."

"CAw"

"I don't hold it against you."

"CAWW"

James smirked and flipped the crow the bird. The crow descended and hopped inches away from him, more brazen, not that it wasn't brazen, to begin with.

"Shoo."

The crow stared at him and hopped forward.

"Shoo!"

As the crow bounded forward, the rock sailed from James' hand and hit it.

"CAWWW" It screamed before taking flight.

James laughed, it was that or he'd admit to himself how close he was to waking whilst a crow removed his eyes from his head, and he couldn't quite bring himself to think about that just yet. He groaned as the first icy drops of Autumn rain burst from the black bulging clouds above. He tried to stand and collapsed onto his knees, his head was pounding like never before and his feet had lost all coordination. Kneeling in the mud, dizzy and disoriented, he touched the back of his head, reaching out to the source of the pain, of the discomfort and throbbing. His hand came back wet, but not from rain, nor dew. With blood on his hands and black spots in his vision he finally diverted his gaze to the hole he had dug and the grinning skull expectantly waiting to be discovered.

"What the?"

Thunder clapped and struck a nearby tree, just to the left of the pitch, to the left of the house that overlooked it. In the flash, James saw a figure watching him from the distance.

"Hey!"

He yelled, his hands cupped. The figure pointed at a finger at him, ignoring the burning tree that the lightning had ignited. James pulled himself to his feet and found the needed strength and coordination that his legs were lacking. He charged towards the figure who was motionless, finger pointed, features obscured. Closer and closer to the figure, he could make out more details. A man, late 50's, liver-spotted, balding and newly weaned from heroin.

"George?" James stopped. George was still motionless, except for the fact that his eyes were bearing into James.

"George? What the hell?"

James stepped closer to George, expecting him to move, to talk, to do anything other than to point. The thunder clapped and struck again, James instinctively turned to watch it, this time it was much further away. He remembered George and was about to turn back to face him when two icy cold hands gripped his shoulders tight in an iron grip from behind.

"George?"

George tightened his grip on James' shoulders and the intensity of the cold washed through his core being. It occurred to James as he remained under that Icy grip that he had never been so cold before, not even hypothermia compared to this coldness and James knew from experience.

"George, let me go before I do something that you'll regret."

"James ..."

The voice sounded far away as if George was in fact inside a deep endless tunnel.

"Yes?"

"Tell them that I'm sorry..."

"What?"

"Tell them that I was young and stupid... That I was just following orders..."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

It took James more than a second to realise that the icy grip had ceased, he turned slowly and stared at nothing. The street was empty, empty just like this town.

"George?" James called out to the silence and waited, nothing happened.

As he walked away, heading back to the bones that he'd unearthed, he saw a rustling newspaper carried by the wind. James didn't know why but it called to him, lulled him into stepping on it and retrieving it. The paper was dated one week ago, that was the first thing that called out to him as strange, the second, that it was open at The Obituaries. The rain had smudged the ink, the page was unreadable and close to tearing under his grasp, all except one small section, near the bottom, "George Washington was a good man." the rest of the text was unreadable.

"George?"

He dropped the newspaper and his feet guided him to the safety of his new lodgings, he walked on autopilot, absorbed in what had happened to him, or what he suspected had happened.

"George, you're not?" he asked and shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts from his imagination.

"That's what I get for hitting my head." James scolded himself and walked to the front porch of the newly cleaned house. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize that from the moment he headed home George was ever-present, and always exactly ten steps behind him. James didn't notice Ashley watching from the attic, he didn't notice the crows perched on the rooftops, a murder of them, nor did he notice that the empty streets were not so empty after all. Not yet at least, the noticing would come later, as would the remembering.

James shut the door on the outside and stretched before kicking his shoes off and wandering over to the fireplace. Shit. He'd forgotten the firewood and any wood would be far too damp now to bother with. He collapsed into the couch and felt the gentle persuasive embrace of slumber reach out to him. He shut his eyes and opened them at the loud thump coming from upstairs. The room seemed darker than it was seconds ago and his muscles felt stiffer. James eyed the ceiling for some time before finally sighing and pulling himself to his feet. He wandered to the stairs and took them one at a time, gingerly, awaiting more thumps.

He'd made it to the top and took several steps on the upstair carpet before his anxiety of not being alone faded. He still had to be sure though, so he checked the upstairs rooms one by one. It wasn't until he made it to the attic latch that he discovered the source of the thump. The stairs had unlatched themselves and James stared up into the darkness of the attic with distrust. He still had his flashlight equipped to his belt, so he ascended the stairs of the attic, trying his best to quell his imagination. What he did discover made him laugh, inches from the open attic entrance was stockpiled firewood.

"Thank you." he laughed, nervously, he didn't know why he had spoken out to the darkness.

James retrieved what he could carry and descended the attic stairs, taking the time to return the stairs to their latch before descending back to the living room fireplace.

"You're welcome, James." A voice responded from the darkness of the attic.

Ashley sighed, her legs drawn to her chest as she sat in the darkness of the attic. James was unique, special, she knew it, they all knew it, it knew it. Ashley stared at the darkest darkness of the attic and smirked.

"Just you wait."

The darkness didn't respond and yet it did. It responded with two small orbs of light, and to the nearest imaginative mind, they looked like glowing amber eyes.

"Just you wait," Ashley repeated with rage and continued to hum a lullaby from the shadows. "Hush, Little baby, don't say a word."