The Lost Days - Origins

Chapter 1

It is the kind of night where the wind, thinking itself welcome inside, whistles under the cracks of doors rather than instigating its usual chaos and whirling leaves and debris around the shivering bones of the homeless.

Blue, brown, green and grey swirl in the darkness that flickers in blinks.

Perhaps it is the low hiss through bald branches or the howl of this cold intruder that wakes him. Or, perhaps it is something more, sinister. But the first thing to catch his attention is the frost. The way it webs itself to the outer pane of his window....It is almost, surreal.

Outside, a nest of Cape Sparrows bicker. Their chirps growing more and more insistent until their chatter drowns out the seagulls' demanding yells for fresh fish, and the ever consistent slap of waves against the thick rock of the cliff face.

The blues and greens flash. The owner of this anthology of colours huffs. Shoving his down duvet from his bed he strides to a large seamless door that seems entirely constructed from glass. Pausing, he sniffs the air. His forehead immediately scrunches up in concern. The early morning is bleak with a heavy fog that crushes against the mountainside before exhaling the sickening scent of arson into the wind.

His forehead falls. His eyebrows rising as he breathes in the deadly fumes. His brain is still sluggish, having taken a moment too long to relay the message that the smoke may have put him into a lethal coma-like state. If it were not for the sparrows and the gulls rousing him from sleep...

He shakes a lock of dark hair from his eyes. His heartbeat accelerating with each breath as he comes to the realization that there is a fire life-threateningly close.

He grabs a crumpled black t-shirt from the foot of his bed and throws it on before racing from his room, his socked feet sliding on smooth tiled floors. He cannot ignore the site of the mist, having waded in from the blue bottle infested sea to make itself comfortable in his bedroom, as it coils around the wooden legs of his bed and desk chair.

He doesn't expect the density of the smoke as he thrusts open his door. Coughing painfully he retreats, spluttering. His mind is alert despite the quickness of his breath that may give a stranger the impression he is on the verge of a panic attack. He leans against the door searching his room for something he can use as a gag. His eyes freeze on his black cotton pillowcase. The cover is still warm from his body as he tugs it off, chucking the inner to the side. Balling the thin fabric up, he places the wad over his nose and hurries back onto the landing and towards the stairs.

The smoke seems to have intensified. It burns and stings at his eyes that begin to run with tears. He wipes them with his free hand, taking care to keep his breathing even as he repeats to himself, "dad forgot to turn the stove off...Again. It's fine, it's only burnt popcorn...Everything is fine." But something internal, a gut instinct, warns him that he cannot be more wrong. This feeling has him pulling off his socks so he can increase his pace without the continued threat of slipping on the white tiles beneath him.

The multiple story house has been built into the edge of a cliff. Each level housing a specific room that interconnects with a Grecian style labyrinth of stairs. Stumbling awkwardly he turns into the room where his father sleeps, his bare toe catching on the sharp corner of one of the many canvases' that cascade around the home. Most of them are kept in the cellar. Theirs is the only house in the area that has one. Granted, the previous owner had used it to store wine. Nowadays, it is the art studio of Michael Valentine. A studio for the dead to this world, and the dead inside...

Michaels sleeps fitfully with his lengthy, dark hair flared out around him. He strides towards his father's shape beneath crimson knit blankets.

As he walks his shadow stretches and leers against the backdrop of the stucco wall. Grabbing hold of Michaels' shoulders, he shakes him roughly. Michael wakes, spluttering and confused.