Lost Boys of London [EN]

Chapter 3 - The Lost Boy

"Come with me where you'll never,

never have to worry about grown-up things again."

- Peter Pan, JM Barrie - 

Cold night air rushed towards her, blowing blonde-brown curls out of her face. Horror makes her freeze in motion, and her thoughts run blank. Eyes widening, she stared at the gruesome image before her.

The window casements were wide open, allowing a glimpse of the numerous shingled roofs, rising smoke, and the night sky. The stained curtains were billowing like ghosts in the incoming wind that howled mournfully. A dark shade loomed against the dull moonlight like a grotesque play of shadows.

His little head was arched to one side at an unnatural angle, and her boy's eyes were wide open in sheer shock. His mouth was slightly opened as if he wanted to call out for her. Blood had streaked from his throat down his chest, wetting his clothes and dripping from the child's toes onto the wooden floor. A rough rope looped around his neck, and it gave a groaning moan as the body rocked gently back and forth in the breeze.

Nausea pressed into Mrs. Darling's stomach like a punch. Her lips opened. She wanted to scream. But the shock left her unable to utter a tone. Then, with a shudder, the movement came into her body.

Her footsteps rumbled on the floor as she rushed towards her child. Her fingers fumbled rigidly for his toes, at first wanting somehow to lift him or hold him. Mrs. Darling could only give choked and pitiful sounds. Her mind was unable to form a single lucid thought. It felt like she was suffocating herself, and the rope was around her neck.

"No... nonononono...!"

Desperately, she drew up a small stool and pulled like fury on the rope tugging on the wooden beam like she was out of her mind. When it finally gave way and gravity pulled on the boy's body, she barely managed to grab him so he wouldn't hit the floor. Staggering, she sank to the ground with her child's corpse in her arms.

"Micky..." Panic-stricken, her fingers fumbled over his neck, tugging at the rasping, tight noose. "No... no... wake up... oh God, please..." A pitiful wail escaped her lips.

Hot tears poured down her pale cheeks as she stroked his golden-blond hair tremblingly. The usually bright brown eyes were wide open and looked as if they had half popped out of their sockets. The eyes of her boy, her dearly loved boy, stared blankly and accusingly at her.

"Micky... please... wake up..." she pleaded into the suffocating silence. But he did not reply. Not a single breath. There was nothing but the rush of her own blood in her ears and her frantic heartbeat.

This could not be true. It had to be a nightmare. One of his stupid jokes and pranks.
She shook her boy by the shoulders in sheer, bottomless panic. His head swayed back and forth haltingly, like a puppet with cut strings. 

"Wake up... please... please wake up...!" 

Blood poured from his slit throat, flowing over his collar and her fingers, still warm.

Her chest felt as if it were constricted, and it heaved up and fell in heavy, rapid gasps. Her eyes darted around, always clinging to different things without finding a foothold. She did not know what she was looking for.

HELP. PLEASE.

Anyone!

The window, the rope, all that blood... her boy. Her beloved boy.

She couldn't think straight.

The few seconds dragged on cruelly.

As her gaze fell on the wall, an uncontrolled shiver seized her.

LOST BOY

was written there in smudged red letters of blood.

At last, a bloodcurdling scream came from her throat and plunged into the night like a knife.