Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28428152-20181008055258

Chapter VI

Ben’s alarm clock read that it was 1:58 am. Sighing, he slid out of his bed sheets and changed out of his pajamas and back into his day clothes. He grabbed The Book of Agony, the leather hot against his skin, and eased his way without sound to the closed door of his grandparents’ bedroom. He put his ear against the crack, listening to their snores.

The coast was clear.

He made his way out the back door, cringing at the loud creaking of the wood. Zipping up his coat, he trudged through the light snow and went to the shed, grabbing a red can of gasoline. Checking his pockets, he realized that he’d forgotten the lighter.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, his breath hanging in the air like a pale ghost.

He grabbed a dirty heavy flashlight that lied on a counter that ran along the walls of the shed, the amber light flickering to life as he turned it on. To his fortune, he found a dusty box of matches in the back.

Easing the shed door to a close, he continued on his way deeper into the woods, the frigid silence biting at his nerves. He reminded himself that no matter what happened, the Nameless was not Mohamed. He might look like his late friend, but if worst came to worst and Ben had to make a move… it was not Mohamed.

The trees thickened as he went along in the lonely February night, their bony branches tangling themselves around him. He couldn’t figure out if they looked as though they were trying to keep him at bay or trying to strangle him.

After probably ten minutes or so of increasingly dense forestry, Ben came across a sudden clearing, the one which he had been searching for, having discovered it on his occasional explorations. The sky beyond the thickets of barren branches above was bright and clear, but the shadows of the trees darkened the area and preyed upon Ben’s imagination, revealing monstrous shapes that surrounded him.

Failing to suppress a shudder that had very little to do with the cold, Ben gritted his teeth and shoved past the trees and stomped his way into the center of the clearing, determined to put this all to an end, and threw the book onto the frozen earth as hard as he could, ignoring a cry from an owl nearby. Setting down the box of matches, he raised the can of gas and was about to raise the gas can to douse the book, but he heard movement behind him and froze. After hearing nothing else, he told himself that it must simply have been a deer and began to pour the gasoline on the book, but—

Snap!

He whirled wildly on the spot, his eyes searching frantically for the source of the noise. From behind, he heard the owl cry again. For some reason, it sounded as though it was saying his name.

It was hard to discern anything in the darkness, but he thought he saw a dark shadow move in the bushes. Gulping loudly, his breath scraping against the air like rusty nails, he turned back to the book, the owl screeching violently and flying overhead. More than panicked, he fumbled around with the matches, trying to bring the dead sticks back to life. It was difficult, but he eventually managed to get one to stay ablaze.

BEN!

The two voices had resounded within his own head, that of a man and a woman’s speaking simultaneously. The suddenness of this made him jump, and the flaming match fell from his fingertips and down to the book. In that split second, he saw what appeared to be a mangy, large mountain lion emerge from the bushes, his fur matted in such a way that the mountain lion appeared to have vines growing from his body, and the shape of a great owl flying over the mountain lion.

But after that split second, Ben was sent flying into the air, his body spinning violently until it slammed into the hard trunk of a tree close to where the owl and mountain lion had appeared. Dazed, Ben tried to focus his attention past the exploding pain ricocheting through his body and onto the fire in the clearing. He did a double take, blinking and refocusing his eyes the best he could.

Ben had been successful in lighting the book on fire, but that was all that could be said for his endeavors, for while a great fire blazed in the center of the clearing, everything about it was completely wrong. The flames rose high into the air, a black blazing tower of the night. The smoke it emitted was thick and noxious, racing outward past him and into the trees beyond, burning his eyes and nose. He coughed, but the smoke seemed to burn the inside of his mouth, even.

And all around the spreading flames, the light seemed to glare in a pale hue, sucking the color out of the forest around him. He noticed to his horror that the flames were quickly spreading outwards, rampaging through the clearing and towards the trees, towards him.

He tried to stand, but a great blast of the black flames smashed into his chest, knocking him back onto his chest. To his right, he could see the mountain lion snarling and hissing at the dark inferno. He closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, he found that the tree he was pinned against was now too on fire. Instinct kicking in, he tried again and again to escape, but every time he was knocked backwards by the flames, slowly being engulfed by them.

A lean, shadowy figure emerged from the midst of the flames, hunched over and shimmering like a mirage. It made a noise, a noise that made Ben’s hairs stand on end, and began to charge at him, long sharp fingers extended towards him.

The owl flew out in front of Ben, hovering in place and screaming at the figure, while the mountain lion charged at it. The mountain lion sunk its teeth into the figure, but it wriggled free and resumed its path towards Ben. The owl tried to claw at it, talons the size of ben’s forearm, but it pushed through the attack and wrapped its claws around Ben’s head, forcing him to stare up into its tiny, white glowing eyes.

*  *     *     *  *

Ben awoke with a start, gasping for breath and strangled in his sheets. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer trapped against the burning tree and that he was safe in his room, with the yellow morning sunshine peeking through the frosted windows. He sighed deeply to ease his nerves and wrangled himself from his cocoon. The chilly air bit at his sweat-soaked skin, and Ben hurried to his closet to change out of his pajamas.

Wait… pajamas? But hadn’t he changed back into his clothes the day before? The memories of the dream washing back over him, he checked over his body, seeing no burns, cuts or scrapes. Surely, it hadn’t been a dream? It had seemed so real, more real than any nightmare he’d had because of the Nameless. It was branded into his skull just as sharply as the burns he’d suffered the night before.

No, the burns he’d thought he suffered.

He laughed at the situation, realizing that it must have just been a dream. But his relief was short-lived because it was then that he realized that if it had been a dream, horrible as it was, then the book still survived, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right time for him to stumble upon it. But had the fire actually destroyed it?

No, of course it didn’t, he thought to himself. Because it was just a dream. But… where is it now?

He nervously glanced around the cozy bedroom, scared he might see it suddenly lying on his bed. Or… was it possible that he’d somehow dreamed the book the whole time? No, he’d been haunted by that wretched thing and the Nameless for months, now, there was no way he’d dreamed all of that. But… perhaps he hadn’t dreamed it, maybe he’d simply imagined the whole thing… a delusion plaguing his mind brought on by grief.

The thought that he was crazy made Ben’s heart skip a beat, though soon a calm seemed to wash over his body. Because if it hadn’t been real, then there was nothing to be afraid of. He almost laughed with this newfound relief.

Yet… there was an odd, empty feeling in his chest, as though it had been carved out by the knife of a butcher. He felt a peculiar sense of loss that had nothing to do with anything he had yet experienced. It was as though… as though—

A piece of me died.

He shook his head. Stop it, he commanded himself. ''Just stop it. You’re being… CRAZY!''

He giggled at this thought. He embraced this newly-found sense of self: Ben the Crazy Kid! Who knew what kind of stories he might come up with next!

Giggling uncontrollably as though he’d gone silly from lack of sleep, he changed clothes and went into the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush, freezing in the mirror, his giggling halting abruptly.

There were sticks in his hair.

Golly gee, he mused lightly, waving his initial fright away. ''Those twigs must have been in there all day, yesterday. Why didn’t anybody tell me?''

Ben ripped the twigs out from his gnarled hair, wincing.

That Friday was wonderful. He found himself suddenly talking to just about everyone he sat next to in his classes, joking and goofing around as though he was the most popular kid in school. And why shouldn’t he? He had a mother again, he lived in a home that actually felt like a home, and he’d come to realize that the nightmare the past few months had been was merely a grim fantasy. But deep down, he knew that the grim fantasy was a reality. He knew that he was just too terrified of the reality to face it head-on. And it was because of this that he finally let slip a glaring hole in his denial that afternoon when he came home: if the whole thing had been an invention of his imagination, then how had he been able to show his grandparents the book? Or, for that matter, how could he explain the dog that’d been strung up in his bedroom, causing his father to inflict the injuries that still made his movement stiff?

No… what was he talking about? He’d clearly imagined giving The Book of Agony to his grandparents, and obviously, no dog had been hanging in his bedroom. Ben must have done something else to upset his father. He just had to figure out what it was.

Reaffirmed in his insanity, Ben drifted off to sleep easily that night, a blanket of security falling over his mind.

*  *     *     *  *

“No! No! No! Take me back! I don’t want to be here anymore!” Ben wailed.

“Be quiet, you,” the Nameless snarled, “and get a move on.”

The Nameless kicked Ben smartly in the back of the head, sending him face-first into the rough snow, the rocks and twigs scraping against his raw face.

Though Ben’s memory of what had transpired after the shadowy figure charged at him was foggy and dribbled in blood, he had suddenly found himself lying in the snow of the clearing, both legs broken with the Nameless scowling from above.

“You done fucked up, kid,” he’d said. “You done fucked up.”

The Nameless had then picked Ben up and thrown him into the snow, ordering him to crawl. Ben hadn’t dared cried. Not once that whole day he was forced to crawl on broken legs. And especially not now, even though the night air bit harder than ever.

“Why?” ben whimpered.

“Because you’re fucking tediously slow, that’s why, you worthless scum.”

“No,” Ben corrected, angry at the insult. “Why are you doing this to me?”

The Nameless leaned down and grabbed Ben by the hair and growled in his face, breath reeking of iron, “Because I fucking can. Now MOVE!”

Ben didn’t bother arguing but instead resigned himself to keep crawling at his snail’s pace, the night seeming to grow even darker than before.

“Ben,” the Nameless suddenly said quietly after what surely must have been two hours at the least, “if you want this to end, then you must come to us. Start by going to the clearing.”

“But… but we just came from there!” Ben gasped. He didn’t know how much more of this he could endure.

“I’m not talking to you,” the Nameless spat, letting his spit fly onto Ben’s face.

“Wh… what?”

The Nameless stared into Ben’s eyes with a cold glare, and said, “Open your eyes, Ben. And wake up.”

*  *     *     *  *

Ben awoke and turned to his alarm clock. It read that it was eight.

“Helen, honey, I think we’re out of Count Chocula,” he heard his granddad rumble from the kitchen.

“Hey, Ben,” Charlie said from the breakfast table when Ben came into the kitchen a few minutes later. “How’d ja sleep?” His voice was groggy and his eyes still puffy from waking up.

“Alright, I guess,” he lied. He didn’t like lying to him, but he didn’t know how he could possibly tell his grandparents what had happened. He was afraid it would be too bizarre for even them to believe.

“Good, good,” Charlie mumbled, munching noisily on the last of the Count Chocula.

Ben peered into the cereal cabinet for a moment, not really looking at the boxes.

“You okay, Ben?” Helen asked, jerking him from his trance.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, grabbing at the Lucky Charms. But they were out, so he settled on Cheerios instead.

“You not want the Lucky Charms? I thought you hated Cheerios.”

“Oh, um. They’re out.”

“Could’ve thrown the box away,” Charlie said, staring down at his cereal.

“You sure you’re okay, Ben?” Helen asked again as she threw away the empty box of Lucky Charms.

Ben didn’t respond immediately but instead thought carefully about his words.

“Do you remember that book I showed you a couple of months ago?” he asked tentatively.

“The Book of Agony?” she asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

“Yeah.”

His stomach plummeted, distraught by this blazing hole burned in his delusion.

“Why, yes, I do, Ben. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” he muttered.

They tried to press him for more information, but his tongue was tied. Eventually, he retired to his room, closing the door quickly behind him.

It was just a dream, he thought frantically, pacing around his room ferociously.

Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. It was just a—

A clump of snow fell from a branch and smacked him in the head, the snowfall from the night before piling up around him.

What the hell am I doing? He asked himself. ''I’m not going to find anything. Should just stop and turn around right now.''

But his feet wouldn’t listen to him; they plowed through the slushy snow. He should have been there by then, but he tried not to think about time. But it was stupid. Pointless. It’d just been a stupid dream, yet here he was, blundering around in the woods getting his feet wet. And even though it was February, he was sweating underneath his coat, because for some reason, the sun had decided to blaze on like it was May, but Ben didn’t feel like carrying his coat, so he endured the Middle Tennessee weather inconsistency nonetheless.

This is stupid, this is stupid this is stupid, this is—

He stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t quite reached the clearing, but he knew he was close because every tree was burned to an absolute crisp. They towered over him, stretching out their long black fingers towards the clearing ahead, as if daring Ben to progress into their charred domain. Nonetheless, he crept forward, stumbling through the snow, until at last, he was behind the bony bushes surrounding the clearing, spying a dark stain in the center.

Warily, he stalked forward like a cat approaching an unknown kitten. But Ben knew that this was no kitten. Ha! If only it was. He’d be a much happier boy. A much happier boy, indeed. But alas, there, atop the stain, was the black gooey remains of the plastic gas can, with the ashes of the matchbook next to it. But completely untouched, in the center of the stain on the ground, was that wretched fiend, the stalker of his living and dreaming nightmares: The Book of Agony.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!” Ben shrieked to the trees around him, hurling the book at the nearest one.

“I NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU!”

Ben stomped his foot into the melted gas can, smooshing the solidified remains into an even more indistinguishable pulp. He went over to where he’d thrown the book and punched the tree as hard as he could, and recoiled from the pain, cradling his bloody fist.

He’d never felt rage like this. The closest he’d ever come was when he beat the kid on the bus who decided to smart off to him, but that didn’t even closely compare to this. He wanted to break. He wanted to tear. He wanted to kill.

“You—stupid—piece—of—fucking—SHIT!” he screamed, ripping out a page with each word.

“How’s your stupid book now, asshole?” ben yelled to the air around him, laughing like a maniacally.

He kicked at the book even more, pages flying around him in a blizzard of torment. He put his fists to the trees again and again, at first ignoring the pain, but then letting it fuel his rage. It was all he knew to do.

But eventually, he grew tired and gave the book one last kick before storming back towards his grandparents’ house. How could he have been so fucking stupid? God, to think he was so pathetic as to actually think that none of it had been real. He punched himself in the jaw a few times, hot tears prickling his eyes, blood from his knuckles staining his face. What was wrong with him? Jesus fucking Christ, what a goddamn scum-sucking piece of shit. There was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. Because he was too weak, too pathetic, too stupid to figure it out. The only thing he could possibly do would be to roll over and expose his belly to the grizzly claws of the Nameless like an obedient dog. Because that’s all he fucking was: a mangy dog.

He fell to his knees, sobbing even though no tears came out. They’d been used up. He had nothing more he could possibly give. This was it, this was what his life had become.

He’d been reduced to nothing.

*  *     *     *  *

All Ben knew was that he was somewhere dark, chained to a wall, the grips tight around his prickling wrists. He could see nothing. The broken bones in his legs felt as though they might break even more, but the cold, damp, stony floor helped to numb the pain. He had no idea how he had gotten there. All he knew was that somewhere along the way, in that expanse of wintery woods, he had eventually passed out from a culmination of pain, exhaustion, hunger, and thirst. And now, here he was. Alone.

“Well now, this isn’t right, now is it?” a voice chimed in the darkness a few feet in front of him. “Let’s get some light in here.”

A faint orange light appeared as a figure slid open a slat on a window beyond Ben’s reach, bars blocking them from the outside world, just enough light to barely illuminate the cold dungeon he seemed to be in. Every inch of the cell was covered in dirt, mud, mold, and grime. And in front of Ben, there were bars dividing the room, rusted green and orange. Ben noticed that blood also seemed to be splash haphazardly across the room. Directly across from him was a dark wooden door, medieval in nature.

“Come, now, old buddy. Don’t lie there, all crumpled up in a heap.”

The Nameless stepped out of the shadows and squatted down in front of him, Mohamed’s features distorted into a terrifying shape.

Ben asked the first question that came to his mind: “What are you?”

The Nameless laughed, a sound that his ears were not prepared for, and he recoiled from the monster before him.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been following you around for a while, now.” He cast his eyes to the ceiling as if lost in thought. “Oh, how well I’ve come to know you, Ben. We’re like old friends, you and me. Why, I’d say that I know you better than even you do.”

Ben gritted his teeth, insulted.

“Perhaps you still think I’m the ghost of your old pal Mohamed Halabi, eh?”

“Mohamed was never cruel.”

The Nameless laughed. “Ha! Well, I would know. You know, I got to know him a bit myself, before I came to you. He was a good kid. I can see why you two were so close. It’s a shame I had to kill him.”

“You what?” Ben roared.

“Oh, yes. I most certainly did. It was no hate crime, like everyone in that stupid town thinks. No, my fun with him was over. I needed to move on. I had to get closer to what I really need. And wouldn’t it just be my luck that you, my good sir, were such a bright candidate.”

He sighed and grabbed the bars and slumped his face against them.

“I like you, Ben. You’ve got a lot of sand. Well, maybe ‘like’ wouldn’t be the right word. I fucking hate your guts. But… I respect you. It’s taken me a long time to wear you down.”

“Is Mohamed here, too?” Ben asked, afraid of what he might hear.

“Oh, my, yes. There’s a lot of people here. A lot of sad little souls like you. But… you’ll never get to see them. No, not ever. Never ever ever ever ever…. Never. Alone forever.”

He eased himself up, standing over Ben, hands in his jeans.

“I suppose you’d also like to know why I’m doing this?”

Ben nodded.

“Hmph. Well, I suppose I can grant you that. I’m feeling a bit generous at the moment. Though, I don’t like what you did to my friend, the book. I always found it amusing that if people think something’s cursed, that an easy fix is to just burn the damn thing. Hah! No, the book can’t be destroyed like that. Takes a lot more…. A lot more. No, all you’ll do is piss it off. Which you did. And then it cuts right to the chase and ends my fun. Because that’s why I do it, Ben. Because watching people suffer is the greatest joy I can ever experience. I could easily just find somebody and immediately get what I need from them. But that kind of life just sounds miserable. I like to grin people down to their cores. It’s amazing what people can do if you push them hard enough. And that’s all you are to me, Ben. A toy. I’m like a cat. Hiss!”

Ben jumped, which caused the Nameless to chuckle mildly.

“Glad you know what to be scared of. Though, I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t ask what it is that I need from people.”

“I thought it was all for fun?” Ben asked.

“You’re slacking, Ben. I said that’s why I torment people. But remember, I did say that I could always cut the crap and just take what I need.”

“Then what is it you need?”

“Psh, I’m not telling you. I was just disappointed you didn’t ask.”

“But… I just realized, I never answered your first question, did I?” Do you remember what it was?”

Ben shook his head, too exhausted to remember.

“You asked what I am. I admit, it caught me a little off guard. They usually ask where they are, first. But people fear ghosts, yes?”

Ben nodded.

“Well, let me put it this way: I am what ghosts fear. I am what lurks in their nightmares. Tears at their soul when they hear something shuffling in the dark. I have never been alive, yet at the same time, I am. I am my own, and nothing can get in my way. Nothing.”

The Nameless straightened his back, and resumed in a sudden business-like tone, “Anyways, chit-chat aside, Ben, let’s get to the chase. I need you to do something for me. Just one small little favor. Hell, if you do it, I might even let you go. Let you free and leave you to do whatever you please with the rest of your life.”

“What is it?” Ben asked, his heart racing. He had come to expect nothing but the worst.

“Well, you see, because you decided to try to burn my book, I can’t really have much more fun with you anymore. But… I’m still hungry. Hungry for more. Hungry for blood.”

“Wha…?”

“Benjamin Ross, if you want to walk out a free man, and not stay here for all of conceivable eternity, then you must do this one last favor. You have to kill your grandparents.” 