Fractured Remembrance: "A Tale Of What Came Before"

Chapter 5: The Wendigo's Whisper

I remember the first time my father taught me how to box. It was the summer of 1925, and I was just nine years old. My father, Richard, was a strong and disciplined man, and he had been a boxer in his younger years. He always said that knowing how to defend yourself was important, especially for a young boy like me.

"Alright, George, listen up," my father said, as he stood in the centre of our backyard, the sun casting long shadows across the grass. "Boxing isn't just about throwing punches. It's about discipline, strategy, and knowing when to strike and when to defend."

I nodded eagerly, my small fists clenched in anticipation. I was excited to learn from my father, who I admired greatly.

"First, you need to learn how to stand," he said, demonstrating the proper stance. "Keep your feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and your fists up near your face to protect yourself."

I mimicked his stance as best as I could, feeling a little awkward and unbalanced.

"Good, now watch me carefully," my father said, as he began to show me the basic punches and combinations. "This is a jab, and this is a cross. Remember, it's not about throwing wild punches, but about precision and timing."

For the next hour, my father patiently guided me through the fundamental techniques of boxing. We practiced footwork, head movement, and various punches. As we trained, he shared stories of his own experiences in the ring, teaching me valuable lessons about discipline and perseverance.

"Alright, George, that's enough for today," my father said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Remember, boxing isn't just about fighting. It's about self-control and knowing when to pick your battles, and when not to."

I looked up at him, feeling a sense of pride and gratitude. "I understand, Dad. I'll keep practicing." As the sun began to set, we walked back to the house, and I knew that this lesson would stay with me for the rest of my life.

Henry POV:

I came flowing out of a sewer tunnel, landing hard on my ass and I grungily got up to see I've ended up some kind of underground sewage plant, and I'm drenched from how wet I am "Hello?" I call out, seeing if I could locate George.

I didn't really care about Louisa, she was Cyrus's secretary and even though she's claimed to not been involved, I don't believe her and I'm not naïve like George is, I checked my shotgun making sure it wasn't broken or damaged.

Luckily for me it is in perfect condition, I glanced around this joint looking for a way to get out except the ladder to a upper platform is gone and meant I'm stuck here, until I heard "Henry" and it was the voice of Louisa.

Louisa stood on the upper platform, she was wet and her dress skirt had been torn a little "Great, I'm stuck with Cyrus's lackey" I sneered, crossing my arms

"Oh, ain't you a gentleman" Louisa stated, the look of disgust written over her face "I might as well leave you here to squaller in misery.

I shrugged "Makes no difference to me, honey cakes. I don't trust you and I never will" I say, eyeing her up

Louisa throws up her hand, until she would be grabbed from behind by someone, and I lowered my arms, seeing this and the unknown individual started beating on her. Despite my hatred I wasn't going to stand for that.

I wouldn't be able to reach the platform from where I am, but I chose to throw my shotgun up onto the platform, Louisa managed to fight off the attacker, grabbing the shotgun and killed the attacker with a pull of the trigger.

Louisa staggered up using a railing to prop herself up, I could see the terrified expression on her face "Hey, it's okay" I reassured, and I could see the fact her top was half unbuttoned leaving no imagination on what the attacker's intentions were.