I believe everyone has a story, not some happily ever-after Cinderella fairy-tale where life's problems disappear with a mere wish-upon-a-star. I mean real-life scenarios with traumatic aftermath, one where the bad guys really want to kill you, and you've just… got to survive. Make no mistake, for some, according to fate, the story may be a fortunate one filled with bright golden rays of sunshine, or a utopia of never-ending showers of blessings. For others, however, it is a dark Gothic tale of horrors, a remorseless Hades of excruciating pain and anguish, with tragedies of broken relationships, and the constantly reoccurring scars of shattered dreams that plague your troubled soul, as you utterly languish in what seems to be a neverending loop of misery, with no hope for the brighter side. Unfortunately, I happen to find myself among the latter whose stories are found amidst the beaten pages of a dark Gothic tale.
My name is Natasha Magus and my story began four years ago in the capital city of Bucharest, Romania, when I witnessed my entire family get brutally massacred by a certain group of bloodthirsty religious fanatics; an event that took my life through a dark turn that utterly changed its course.
It was a dark, stormy night; I was just twelve years old. Following a series of equivocal trials and false witnesses, my mother was wrongly accused of meddling in the dark arts, and falsely declared a witch. This meant the city was no longer safe for our family. We had not more than twelve hours left until the final verdict's execution, one that would ultimately condemn each one of us to a lifelong jail term at the pernicious underground penitentiary of Russia. My father, Victor Magus, fueled by his unrelenting desire to protect us at all costs, devised a plan for us to flee the city as quickly as possible before the draw of dawn.
As we packed with haste and urgency, a few necessities like food, water and extra sweaters to use during our uncanny journey, there came a sudden knock on the door. The entire house immediately became so quiet that one could almost hear a pin when it dropped. There was a whole different atmosphere now, one that no household would ever hope for. Down to my eight-year-old brother, Damien, we were all on high alert. Since we weren't expecting anyone at that hour, there were only two possibilities; either the jury had decided not to wait till the next morning, or it was just some random visitor, but at such an odd hour it was less likely to be the latter.
"Who could that be?" mother whispered.
"Shh…" gestured father with his index finger as he stealthily tiptoed towards the door and quietly peered through the peephole. His every movement was so carefully precise that if I hadn't already known him I would have argued he was a trained spy.
Returning his gaze, there was a sudden odd change in father's facial expression and entire body language. First, he was frozen still, then he quickly backed away three steps from the door in an almost staggered manner, the look in his eyes was wild and his breathing suddenly appeared to be way harder than usual. I was in extreme confusion and shock, I'd never in my life seen him in such a fidgety and apprehensive state. He barred the door at once with the two wooden crossbeams. We were all quite anxious and immensely terrified at this point. Mother asked him repeatedly what he saw, but there was no response.
"Talk to me Vic, is it the agency?" she asked.
There was still nothing from him, just the wide horror-struck stare in his eyes as he frantically fumbled through the drawers. It was as though he didn't even hear her. He soon found what he was searching for; a shotgun, and a red-butted revolver. He began loading the weapons. Watching him panic made me even more stricken with fright. We had no clue who was knocking furiously at the front door, but seeing father literally prepare for war, we needed no soothsayer to tell that there was big trouble. Mother couldn't bear the suspense anymore; she approached him where he stood and demanded an explanation.
"Melissa, there's no time for talks," he spoke to her in Romanian, finally breaking the silence, his eyes glaring with urgency. "There are no government agents out there; it… it's The Reapers." His voice trembled at the last part.
Mother shuddered upon hearing his words. She had a considerable idea what he meant, I could tell, yet still found it difficult to comprehend or accept. Personally, I had not the slightest clue what he was saying, yet I sensed from my mother's reaction that somehow the people at our door were even far worse than government agents.
"But it can't be," she muttered, her head shaking with doubt, as beads of sweat spread over her brow; "they got disbanded centuries ago, you said so yourself…"
"Lower your voice!" Father cut in with a low, forced tone.
There came another knock on the door, but this time around it sounded more like a thump and it was followed by a deep gravely masculine voice demanding for the door to be opened.
Father held mother closely by the shoulder, "Look at me," he said, "I know what I saw".
"Here," he handed her the loaded weapon.
"Hurry, go with the children through the back door, head northwards towards the city square," he instructed.
"Victor… I can't, you know that," replied Mother, handing back the gun.
"Just take it," he insisted, "…in case".
"Wait, what about you?" she asked.
"Don't bother, I'll try to stall them here; buy us some time," he said. "Wait in the city square the moment you get there, I'll meet you…"
"I am not leaving you here," she protested, knocking off his hand. "In God's name, Victor, why would you ask me to do that?"
"Melissa, listen to me," he pleaded, "this is our only way of protecting the children, protecting you."
"Wait…wait…wait, can we just think this through for a moment," she insisted, pacing uneasily across the room.
"Mel, the enemy is already at our door, we do not have the leisure of time," he said.
"Well, if they're here then maybe staying isn't such a good idea," she replied, "I mean, there has to be some other way."
"Melissa, you know what these people are capable of, what they are after, stalling them here is the only way I can make sure they never get close to you and the children."
"Bu…but what about you?" she whispered eagerly, "would you have them take you from me?"
"No, love, nothing in this world could ever keep me from you, yet this isn't about me; my only duty is to protect my family," he replied, "no matter the cost ".
"But it's my duty too, isn't it, shouldn't I have a say in this?" she demanded.
"I'm the one they want aren't I, let me stay instead,"
"Melissa… stop," he muttered.
"Don't you do this Victor, I swear to God…" Tears were already forming in both her eyes.
"I'm the one they're here for, not you, I should be the one to stay," she pleaded.
"You don't owe them Mel, I've seen you give everything for this city time and time again only to be shamed, demonized and falsely accused, I will not let you give your life as well," he said.
Right now, the hinges of the door were crackling, and the metal hooks holding the two wooden crossbeams were starting to pull out of the wall because of the intense pressure from the outside.
"Unbar this door at once and hand over the witch!" a voice roared impatiently from the outside. "This is your last warning!"
"Melissa, please, we're running out of time," pleaded Father with wide desperate eyes. "Let me protect us, you do not deserve this!" he added.
"Oh, but I do, don't I?" she lamented, fully bursting into tears. "I always knew that a day like this was inevitable, that I'd put my little babies in danger. This is my doing, I brought this doom to our doorstep."
Father's eyes were all misty now, while even I myself was still in a desperate struggle to hold back tears. He consoled her in a tight embrace.
"It is not your fault," he said, "it's the world."
"But It's not fair," she wept, "I was only ever good to them."
"I know. We're the few against the many, so we must remain strong, for our children."
"I love you," he whispered, "I will always love you."
"I love you," she replied tearfully.
She let go of him and dried some tears off her face.
"Okay, we'll go," she said, "but you better come back to me".
The tears were already flowing down her face again before she was even done talking. Father gently dried them with his palms and lightly kissed her lips.
"I'll try," he whispered, "I promise."
It was at this moment; watching her weep, that I knew clearly what was about to take place right before my eyes, and momentarily, I lost all potency to summon even the smallest ounce of emotion. I just stood there, numb, with the thought that I might just be witnessing my last moment with my father, and there was certainly nothing I could possibly do about it. I couldn't get myself to believe it, much less accept it. Father was going to stay behind to buy us more time while we escaped, knowing fully well that he might not survive. He would make sure the killers did not come after us while we fled. He would risk his life for ours.
"Are you… going to die, Father?" I finally asked the hard question in my typical low voice.
"Natasha," he called out to me. I couldn't look at him. He held me in both arms. "Forgive me, my child, I do not know what fate shall bring, but whatever happens you need to stay strong for your mother and brother, for yourself, for all of us."
"Look at me… please."
I managed to lift my gaze from the ground.
He smiled; "There's a light in you, child; promise me that no matter what happens you won't let it get suppressed by the darkness."
A drop of tears finally escaped my eyelids as I nodded with reluctance. I wasn't at all satisfied with his answers but I had no words to express the weight that I felt in my heart. He dried the tears off my face, then took off his silver chain and put it around my neck.
"Here, you hold on to this for me," he said.
At this moment, I finally could see that this wasn't just a see you later.
"Melissa," he called out to Mother as we were about to leave, with raw doggedness in his eyes, "if I tarry so long while you wait in the square, you must go on without me."
There was no more time for further sentiment. Mother took Damien by the hand and headed towards the hidden exit, while I raced along carrying the small brown backpack containing our supplies. Not long after we had passed through the door, there came a loud rumbling sound from the living room. Mother quickly slammed the door shut, gripping us tightly close to her in the rain. After a while, we heard loud rumbling sounds followed by gunshots. It was my first time hearing the sound of a gun that up close, every shot had my heart pounding. It appeared the bad men had eventually broken into the house. It sounded like there was now a literal firestorm inside.
The rain was getting more intense by the moment, so much that we could hardly see across the yard. Mother led the way as we hurried along the lawn towards the picket fence at the edge of the garden. I thought I saw a couple of moving figures advancing towards us but I wasn't certain enough. Soon as we were at least halfway across the lawn, we clearly spotted a couple of armed men coming out way. Since they had already spotted us themselves and were already a few feet away from us when we noticed them, there was hardly anything we could do.
"Whoa, look who it is!" a voice teased, "It appears Christmas just came early!".
As they advanced towards us, we could see them much more clearly. They both wore these strangely fashioned red tactical uniforms with a black hood over their heads. They had on several weapons including blades and guns, one even had a crossbow strapped on. Mother drew a weapon from her sleeves and aimed it at them before they could reach for theirs. I was in shock.
"Stay back!" she barked. "Do not come any closer, or I swear to Christ, there will be instant regrets!"
It was the revolver that she had refused from father earlier, I didn't even notice she took the gun with her. Now, our last hope of escape was in the little old gun within Mother's frantic grip. Slowly, they both carefully put their hands away from their weapons and raised them slightly above their heads. Seeing the look in Mother's eyes, they needed no soothsayer to communicate that she meant every syllable that proceeded from her mouth. I just stood there behind her with Damien as my heart kept hammering so hard and fast within my chest.
One cackled awkwardly to himself.
"How ironic your choice of defence for a witch," he snarled, "where are your powers when you need them?"
"Magic was meant to heal the world," answered Mother, "not hurt it".
"You're pathetic," he replied; "It's a shame this wouldn't be as challenging as we anticipated."
"Aye, just spare us the bother an' hand ower thae wee devil spawns. We'll make it quick for ye, I promise," the second man said with a sly grin.
Mother was fuming with rage.
"How dare you! I could have your life right now for that!" she roared, still holding the gun at them, "I could have both your lives!"
"Whoa, whoa, let's no' get aw feisty now," he said. "I dinna doubt ye can dae that, but I wouldnae if I were ye."
"Ye might want to turn around now," he added.
Three more individuals in the same weird attire had been standing about five feet behind us all these while with their weapons already aimed at our backs; one had a rifle, another; a crossbow. The third man stepped towards us, he was the only one unarmed.
"Stay back!" Mother warned, diverting her gun at him. Her voice quivered.
He paused immediately. Slowly, he took off his cloak, revealing his face. He was a balded middle-aged man with a partly grey ruffled moustache, a thick covering beard, and brows that perfectly matched his permanent scowl. The various scars around his face made it so that the very thought of him smiling would seem sacrilegious. The most sinister of his facial details was the inverted triangle mark etched at the center of his forehead, it hinted at something ominous. He was most different from the rest of them, no doubt he was their leader. The mere sight of his death stare and bloodshot eyes caused an icy shiver run down my spine.
"Why are you here?!" Mother demanded; "What do you people want from us?!"
"Mellisa Esperanza Morales! Daughter of Santos Morales!" He called her by her full name.
"I am Elias, son of Ivar! I have come to fulfill the deeds of our Lord, Marcus, and of all those that came before him even up to the days of the mighty men; to cleanse this present world of all impurities and corruption brought upon it by the damned. Melissa Magus, you have been tried by the dark order and found guilty. You are a witch, an offspring of utter abomination, and a solitary propagator of all things vile! Tonight, you shall be punished for your sins by the unholy flames of everlasting Pandemonium, along with your filthy seeds." His voice was cold and stern, his words reechoed in my head with horror.
"No! I have done nothing wrong," Mother objected, "I've never harmed a soul, or performed any act deserving of death, unlike you, who have unfailingly and remorselessly hunted down and massacred the innocent. You will neverrr have my children, I will not allow it!"
I didn't even notice that four more men had joined the two behind us, each armed to the teeth. Overall, there were now a total of nine men that surrounded us. We stood there defenceless with weapons aimed at us from every angle, like prey about to be devoured. They knew we were hopeless, there was nothing we could do to escape what was coming. Mother was devastated, she couldn't save us anymore and that alone was enough to break her. The most logical thing we could do at this point was to either look to the sky in prayer or fall on our knees and plead for our lives, but as mother would say, 'Never let them see your tears,' we knew better not to choose the latter.