ONE DAY HORROR
It was a beautiful morning, full of blissful blessings. The mind thinks that on such a wonderful day, the gods themselves forbid sorrow. The rainy grief of life had passed in the night, bringing a new light to the world.
My eyes opened, waking me from my squashy little bed. I squinted, making sure I was truly awake. A helpful hand, a young lady's hand, offered me a vessel of grey milk. I drank it as if I had never tasted a drink before. Nay, your thought is tilted. She was not my mother. That was the maid. A pretty thought, to imagine I am wealthy as hell, but I am not. This is not my father's house, nor is it the house of anyone related by my blood. Strange, is it not?
I am living in the home of a merchant, Velvean Demorel. He adopted me, or so I think. My real father was also a merchant, but his true interest was in the bliss of gambling, in drinking, and in shovelling away his money. I remember his name, but I will not think of him. He was the filthiest man I have ever met. I cannot conceive of the things he did in his life. Everything has a fallout, and so did he, but he took us with him. My mother, Iskawa Morass, his wife… he sold her in a gamble to a royal. She died in her sleep, some say from a dream of her husband's terrible act. But the real truth, I do not know, because he sold me also. That is why I am here.
One and a half years have passed since that incident. I know not if that damned man is dead or alive. I pray he dies choking while chanting his wife's name.
When I think of my past, I find I have started to like this place. The daily routine is simple. Wake up, eat, go to school, go to play, go to help Father Velvean with his work, and then to sleep. A simple life. Velvean adopted me, but a dark thought sometimes crosses my mind. If he found me through some gambling affair, then is this man also a wrong sort? He is an unmarried merchant, but well-reputed. What lies under the skin? Bah, how can I think such things of him? Forget it. This new life is lovable. I hope it stays so. And I truly love my late mother; it is why I took her name, Morass, so she might never leave me, not even in memory.
(Monologue ends here)
A sound from below cut through my strange thinking.
"Son… Morass… come down." It sounded like Father Velvean, summoning me.
When I was on the down floor, Velvean called to me gently. "Look who is here! Mr. Reppen Schale, do you know him?"
The man, Schale, spoke up. "Come now, don't put the little boy under stress. I'm Reppen Dellin Schale."
"I do know you, sire," I said. "You work under Vanguard Husky."
Velvean corrected me. "No, son, that's not how you should remember him. He is now the Vanguard of the West Region."
"Oh, pardon, sire," I mumbled, feeling small.
Schale gave a gentle smirk. "No, no, don't interrupt the child's image of me. He is so generous and thoughtful. I wish I had a son like Morass."
Velvean answered, "Yes, perhaps you will." He then looked at me and took me to a corner where Schale could barely hear. He said quietly, "Ms. Jelin has to go to another home."
My heart sank. "Why, Father? I have just gotten to spend time with Ms. Jelin. I was starting to play with her better than with my friends."
Velvean answered me, "Yes, son, I understand. But think of this as a matter of fact. You are eight years old; you can act like a man. Later, we can get another maid for you to play with, just like her."
"But I want her," I insisted, my voice tight. "She is the only one who can feel what I feel."
Velvean's smile was strained. "Please, son. We will discuss it later. I have to go make a deal with the king, a deal I have sought for a long time. I really want to grasp this opportunity. Please cooperate."
"Fine," I relented. "But you have to come back early, before I come home from school."
He smirked again. "Yes, I promise. I will come before you get here from school."
Schale called out, "Hey! I am not taking your father from you, Morass. I will bring him back. Now, Velvean, let us go."
Both my father and the Vanguard of the West departed for Quertnest, where the king was staying, far from our city of Loergyl. Father had been planning this meeting for a long time. In the capital of Pasrelwhill, no one would dare approach the king directly. But to solve the great flood of Quertnest, King Ozzes Devotass had come all the way from Pasrelwhill, as both places were in the same central region of the eight regions of the Pasrel kingdom.
After waving a final goodbye to my father, I went for my bath and other such things. Later, I went to Jelin's room. I knocked on the door. She opened it.
I started at once. "Why are you going to another home?"
She looked down. "Oh, the master told you then. Yes, I will go to the next village."
"Where?" I asked.
"I do not know," she replied.
"How can you not know? And why are you going there?"
"I just told you, Morass…"
My voice began to tremble. "You are the only person who talks to me with gentleness, who makes me happy! Who else will I tell about my day? And how can I tell another person not to call me 'sir' or 'master' like you do?" My eyes filled with crumbling tears, making the world a colourful blur for a moment.
She wiped my tears away and said softly, "You can make friends quickly, Morass. You can play with your friends, and with these little bullock-carts. You can even buy others."
"My friends are little morons," I muttered. "They are jealous of me, I don't know why."
"Don't talk like that," Jelin chided gently. "A nice merchant's son should not use cuss words."
"That's not a cuss word," I insisted.
"Okay! Okay!" she said, sighing.
"What do you want? Money? Is it about money? Why aren't you trying to stay here? Is my father unable to pay you?" Without waiting for an answer, I ran to the third floor, gathered all my gold coins, and returned to spread them across her feet. "I think my treasury will pay you to stay here! I want you here. I really want you! The reason… I don't know… but something deep inside my heart feels like I can see my late mother through you."
Seeing this, Jelin began to cry, pulling me into a hug. She said through her weeping, "Sorry, I cannot do this anymore. I have to go."
A cold suspicion gripped me. I spoke, my voice low. "Did Father sell you?"
"What?" Jelin pulled back, shocked. "How can you talk like that?"
"Yes, I can see through it," I pressed on, the terrible idea taking root. "Maybe he bet on you and lost you, right?"
"That's awful," she whispered.
"That is the only reason you would leave me alone! Why can't you be free from this slavery?"
Jelin spoke calmly now, her face pale. "This is not slavery you speak of. For me, this is freedom. Cheap creeps like me cannot live in this world. I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain. This is just something I must do."
"What is the reason for going to an unknown place you know nothing about? What chance of living do you have there?"
She gave a sad smirk. "That's life, son. If I do not go there, I may end up dead here."
"But I wouldn't sell my mom," I said, my voice breaking.
"I am not your mom," she said firmly. "I can't be. And I have no attachment to you."
Her declaration struck my heart like a dagger. I began to weep openly, my defenses shattered. Her instincts took over, and she pulled me onto her lap, stroking my hair until I fell asleep. Before my eyes closed, I heard her whisper, "I will not go until you come from school. And I will meet you again."
"Promise me," I said, my voice thick with sleep.
She smiled faintly. "Yes."
I went to school. It was a nasty little day, feeling empty and hollow. When school ended, I was walking with my only friend, Charel Gorse. I told him to come to my home in the evening, to help me convince Jelin not to go. Then I went to play with some other friends, but they started saying cuss words at me. I don't know why it was happening. I had done nothing wrong. That, I suppose, is the source of my own cuss words.
I went hiking for a while to spend time, to make sure enough time passed before evening so that Father, Jelin, and Charel Gorse could all meet at the same time to discuss this matter. My heart was trembling with hope and fear.
Then I went home. I opened the door to Jelin's room. She was not there. Of course she wasn't. I was right. She left while I was at school. I should not have gone to school today. A cold dread settled in my stomach. My father had not come back either. Neither had Charel. I went up to my floor.
I opened the door to my room. There, sitting upon the floor, was the man from the morning, Reppen Schale.
"Hey… sire from the morning," I said, confused.
"Hey, Morass," he replied, his voice flat.
My eyes were drawn to his fists. "Hey, why are your fists so red-coloured? Was there some colouring at my home?"
Schale looked at his hands, then at me. "It's blood."
I froze. A wave of cold washed over me. "B-blood?"
His voice was cold as winter stone. "It is your father's blood." He slowly raised a hand, pointing. "Look. Look at that window. There is a spear. And on that spear…"
My gaze followed his finger. There, impaled upon a spearhead propped against the window frame, was a round, dark shape. It was glistening and wet in the fading light, dripping a slow, terrible rhythm onto the floorboards. My mind refused to understand, but my soul knew with a certainty that stopped my breath. A sickness rose in my throat. The room seemed to tilt, the shadows on the walls dancing like demons.
"That," Schale whispered, his voice a venomous hiss, "is your father's heart."
For a second, my world spun and then stopped. The air left my lungs. My eyes saw nothing but a dark haze. My legs turned to stone and then gave way, and I fell upon the cold floor. Through the ringing in my ears, Reppen Schale began to speak.
"I thought your father was a good man. But something changed when he went before the king. He started to act weird. Your father came by my reference, so the king was calm for a while. But then he started arguing over some foolish subject, asking for changes in the law, about how slaves shouldn't have to wear clothes, some kind of shit like that. Then, when he went to ask the king for a pardon, he went near… and he spat upon the king! Ozzes Devotass himself! By that conduct, he was ordered to be killed on sight. He managed to escape, but because of that stunt… I lost my post, you brat!"
I was in a fricking bad position. A wave of nausea overtook me, and I started puking on the floor.
Reppen Schale watched me with cold eyes. "Sorry, son. He was buried so badly, only his heart remains. And he promised you he would come before you. So here he is."
His voice shifted, becoming a low, hunting snarl. "No, no… your father… your father…" I was stammering, unable to form words.
Schale's tone twisted into pure rage. "Your father was a fucking genius bastard! He deserved to die in shreds, piece by piece!" He lunged forward and shoved his blood-soaked hand into my mouth, forcing the coppery taste of death onto my tongue. "Look, lucky bastard! That's the taste of your father! Now you are guilty for killing him! You had the chance to stop him!"
He grabbed my cheeks with his free hand, his grip like iron, and punched me. Once. Twice. Each blow was a question spat through gritted teeth. "Why… you not… stop him?! WHY YOU?!" A third punch. A fourth. My soul crumbled with each strike, my body too weak to tolerate this. With each punch, his words hammered into me. "Your father was pitiful, just like your real fucking father who sold out your mom! Mentality can't change people! Look at your mouth! You just tasted the greed of your father! You created this chaos! That's why Jelin died by my hands! You did all this! For what? For fun?!"
Those punches struck so hard I fell into an unconscious world, hearing the words echo in the darkness… mom… father… fraud… I did wrong… you killed everyone…
I returned to the world in a blur of pain. That man, Schale, was standing on the balcony of the third floor, looking down to make sure no one was watching the house. As if guided by some cruel opportunity, my eyes fell upon a slice of a blade behind me, one I used for practice. Still lying on the floor, I grabbed it. Schale glanced back at me, and I froze. The deadly circle began again. I had to wait for an opportunity to kill him.
Schale leaned over the balcony, speaking to a child who was waiting outside the mansion. "Hey kid! You gotta go home! This kid killed his maid and died himself stabbing me! Tell that to your father!"
That child… waiting outside… It was Charel Gorse. My lone friend.
A fire of desperate survival burned through me. This was my only chance. As Schale turned his head back toward the street, I surged forward. With a cry torn from my very soul, I stabbed the practice blade deep into the back of his head.
He stumbled back with a guttural scream, eyes wide with shock, toppling over the low balcony rail. He fell three floors and landed with a sickening crunch… upon the small body of the child below.
The life of Schale was saved, but the boy he had landed upon… my lone friend, Charel Gorse… was dead. The trauma was a wave that shattered my heart. I did not wait. I started running from the mansion, the screams of guards rising behind me as Schale, though gravely injured, began to shout. I fled, running across the rooftops, carrying the blood of two fathers with me. The king's men were upon me. Everything was messed up.
A fucking messed up… a fucking crimson night.