Dusk Harbor 1999

Just a Headache

Seeing the size of Jake's house never ceased to amaze Jordan. It was a beautiful mansion, something he and Mason could never in a million years be able to afford.

Jordan was merely a waiter who earned extra cash from parkour competitions. He didn't care about being rich. He lived for the thrill. While his brother was a blacksmith, making decent money but it would never be enough to get a really nice place like Jake's. So the two of them agreed to not try for better things. They agreed to stay in the trailer and stash the money for emergencies and equipment. They were always buying first aid supplies, and things to repair their costumes.

He was brought to attention as their old cornflower blue Subaru Brat screeched to a halt outside the mansion. The brakes creaked and groaned, and the body of the car shuddered as Mason switched it off. They climbed out of the car and shut the doors softly.

They couldn't slam them or the car would fall apart. Jake's recently detailed, big black BMW pulled up the driveway, and the white doors to the ten-car garage lifted open. The sleek, shiny car rolled into the garage, and was parked next to a bright, fire-engine red Ferrari. Jordan watched as Jake stepped out of his BMW, and lifted up a tiny grey remote. He pressed something, and the doors slid back down to the ground. Jake disappeared behind them.

A cool, wet breeze drifted through the air. Blew some trees around. Sent a chill down his spine. It reminded him of how tired he was. He remembered the dreams in flashes. They had started on Thursday night. At first, it was just images, pictures of wrecked cars and disembodied groans and screams. Then it became a movie. Then it felt real.

He was standing on the edge of a former battleground, long deserted, littered with corpses. Only ghosts remained. The sky was deep orange like it was on fire, and the air tasted bitter, and felt like broken glass entering his lungs. It filled him with a pure, raw, instinctual fear that was unlike anything he had ever felt, churning deep in his gut.

Mason prodded him in the arm, and together they walked to the front door.

He heard another car pulling up the driveway. He turned around and saw Olivia's midnight blue 1972 Pontiac GTO, the one she'd inherited from her grandfather, rolling up behind the Brat on clean white wall tires. It made his car look like a junk heap. Even though it was from the same year. The silver framed license plate bore the name of her grandmother, Rory.

The driver's side door swung open, and Olivia climbed up out of it. Shut the door before the cat could slip out. She didn't even crack a window for her.

"Stay," Olivia ordered.

The cat put her massive front paws up on the windowsill and gave an inaudible meow of dissatisfaction as Olivia strode away.

The three of them went into the house. Jordan took off his windbreaker and hung it up on a coat hook. Followed the others into the living room, and plopped down on the couch. Sank into the soft brown suede, and closed his eyes for a moment. It was so hard to resist the urge to fall asleep right there. It would have been so easy.

He opened his eyes again, and everyone had gathered on the L shaped couch. Mason was a cushion away from him, Olivia in a recliner, Jake on the short part of the L. He used a black remote to turn the television on. Switched to the sports station. It showed a baseball field, and their team, the Blue Devils, running onto it. Taking their places. As everyone settled up, the television made a hissing noise, and then the screen went to grey and black static. It snowed for a moment, and then it all went black. Turned off.

Jake banged the remote against his palm, and the television turned back on. Normal as ever. The baseball game was about to start up.

He felt a tingling in his skull, the implant in his brain that connected to his eyes, and allowed him to see started flickering. It was like he was blinking a hundred times a minute. His whole face felt stuck, and his temples pulsed with pain. He gritted his teeth and rolled his head back in an attempt to relieve the pressure, but it caused a stabbing pain to shoot down his neck. He sat up, and put his hands over his eyes.

"What's up?" Jake asked, his voice echoed in his mind. As if he were in a cave somewhere.

"Just a headache," Jordan lied.

The pain intensified, it made him feel sick. His hands trembled.

Then all was black.

Black as the screen at the end of a movie. Black as the bottom of the ocean. Black as the inside of a closed casket.

Except for a single name that flashed in his mind in bold, red neon letters.

Lord Daemon.