The Cries of the Dead (A Moon Knight Inspired Fan-fiction)

Chapter Four: Tis the Season (Part One)

(This chapter contains strong themes, mild violence and a sex scene.)

       There were strange flowers brushing his ankles, as he walked towards the dying light. Suddenly, the flowers started to glow with starlight, making him pause. Wondering what would happen if he touched them.  

    The heat that surrounded him, as he had walked, slowly faded. As the frosty air began to envelop him. 

    In the blink of an eye, he was standing inside his home, staring out the window. Snow created a thin blanket over the streets, sparkling in the setting sunlight. It looked beautiful. 

    In a few days, his daughter would be visiting. Years had passed without them seeing one another. 

    He’d always regretted their strained relationship. His ex-wife poisoned their only child against him; so he just stopped trying. His daughter ended up being the bigger person, and chose to reach out. 

    This would be their first Christmas together since she was fifteen. 

    His grandson was the true reason his daughter reached out. She wanted them to have a relationship; she wasn’t going to deny her son knowing his grandfather. 

    As the man turned from the window, he noted the old Christmas tree. He’d pulled it out of storage, and decorated it a few nights ago. Having bought brand new lights.

    Feeling a shiver pass over him, he closed the blinds and turned to the old gas heater. Something inside him screamed not to do it, but his hands weren’t in control. Instead, he sighed as it clicked on, and the warmth started to seep through. 

    He then walked to the kitchen, to make dinner. Before wrapping presents. There were perhaps too many, and his grandson was only a few weeks old, but he would enjoy giving them to him. 

    As night pressed on, he felt sleep start to take over. It was already later than he usually stayed up, and he’d had a busy day. 

    Once again, something inside him fought against his actions; not wanting him to walk upstairs to his bedroom. He tried to ignore the feeling of de javu. Like this night had happened before. 

    He woke hours later, to the sound of the smoke alarm. Having thought he’d been dreaming, it took a moment for him to rise. 

    Walking to the door, he touched the handle and felt the heat. Smoke already seeping through the crack under the door, he coughed as it rose and began to fill his lungs. 

    Forcing the door open, the thick smoke cloaked the air, as he passed through it. Trying not to breathe it in, holding his hand over his mouth and nose. 

    Everything he remembered to do in an emergency like this, went out the window. All he felt was the sheer panic, as he attempted to calm himself. 

    He found his eyelids growing heavy, and it became more difficult for him to move. The smoke seemed to make its way through his hand and into his mouth. Eventually, he was on the floor, trying to crawl down the stairs. 

    It was no use. A flash of his daughter holding her little boy, came to his mind. That picture she had sent him, while she was still in the hospital. The one he’d framed and placed on his mantle. The one that he’d stared at for hours, when he’d first received it.  

    Stay awake for them, he pleaded with himself. 

    As his eyes closed, he fought desperately to win this losing battle. Yet, deep down he knew that he was going to die. There would be no Christmas for him. No day to connect with his daughter and meet his grandson.