The Prince Of Darkness

I Dream of Bones

Copyright © 2017 by Bret Tyler Skopek

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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 The Prince Of Darkness

Oliver Rain's ears ring while light-headed in the wet bathroom with one bath towel dripping wet with blood. He wipes a circle in the mirror clean. His fresh formed scar on his back, loosened in the shower. Since the attack, he's been suffering from chronic insomnia. He tries lying down on the air mattress of his empty apartment. His belongings are boxed, and rubber tubbed away in a sixteen-foot truck parked out front.

Without too much thought, he sets out for the City of Angels tomorrow.

His only trek to California was his recent senior trip to Disneyland. Three months prior, after graduation — he moved from a small town in the White Mountains to the enamoring heat of Phoenix. His heart aches already missing the friends and family he's about to leave behind.

His last weekend in town, he spent with his best friend, Lucy Glades. The two inseparable best friends laughed harder than they ever had (thanks to their many inside jokes like the left-hand). They found a fresh sushi restaurant and even got drunk together for the first time. Oliver dropped her off at the bus station earlier that day. He's thankful to have made so many great memories he's sure to last a lifetime.

A restless Oliver sits up from his bed. To combat his newfound insomnia, he'll take a late-night walk. By the time he makes it back around, he's sure to be exhausted and pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow. Oliver grabs his white headphones and slings them around his neck. He starts the song "Flash Of The Blade" sung by Iron Maiden.

Aimless wandering from sidewalk to sidewalk. Oliver has no destination in mind. Quite a few lawn sprinklers turn on this time. To cool off, he jogs up through water spray. In the mosquito and gnat doused muggy air, he manages to find an entrance to a park. The pathways spiral through a few grassy hills. Over the course of the summer, construction workers have finished the renovation of an illegal dump lot, to a fresh set of walking trails and grassy hills. He mouths along to the lyrics, passing the lone light post on the path.

"You live for the touch for the feel of the steel." The song plays.

At the end of the path, there's a seclusion of rocks overflowing with water. There's a pair of rain boots on a cement slab leading down into the water. Two wolf cubs prance along further up on the trail. The animals mind their business sniffing at the odd smells of the flowers and cacti.

On his way back along the other side of the trail, a maroon fog strolls in over the hills. The gust of air swirls the fog up, fluttering. With increasing speeds, the thick fog blows towards the young lad. He makes it back to the street lamp; feeling guarded by its light for a single moment. However, it burns out just as quick. A lurking presence lingers in the newfound darkness. Oliver removes his headphones.

"Glchhhlllluurgggh."

He dares his self to peek around his shoulder. The fog is gone, but in its place, there stands a brutish demon, straight out of Revelations. The towering naked beast snarls its split tongue, hissing, and growling. It kicks it's long hooves and stares into the eyes of Oliver's — akin a bull to a Matador. The demon sprouts two veining wings and lunges itself high into the air.

Oliver throws his headphones at the surprised beast giving him the chance to run. He sprints into the fields of grass not looking back. When he finally stops to take a breath, he finds himself in a field of white roses. Droplets of red splotches fall from the roses onto his bare feet. He bends down to examine the oozing flowers -- it is blood, dripping from the petals.

A wall of blue flames encircles him leaving him nowhere to turn. The fog reappears drifting through the flames unfazed. It curves up around his ankles, torso, and neck until he inhales the demonic fog. He collapses onto the ground. The soil beneath him shakes, unraveling the roots. He sinks deep under the dirt while the roots harness around his hands tight as handcuffs. He's escaping into the muted night.

* * *

In his dozing conscience, he hears a chilling prayer echoing throughout the stone corridor. There's a leather rope tied around his wrists. He feels them bruise as he's drug down the seemingly never-ending path. His assailants come to a stop. There's a sharp metal clang of an unlocking a barred gate.

There's a brief noise, and then a bright flame emerges from a newly-lit torch. Full of cobwebs, and large brown beetles trickle across the hall walls. The light from the fire unveils the assailants. Red velvet garments with gold patterns of Egyptian lettering. One assailant has a diamond-studded black crow mask. The other has a detached pig head loosely tied around his.

Out of his grogginess, Oliver becomes very aware. Red candles half melted lead to a grotesque pyramid full of skulls and bones. The crow-masked man strides over to a silver crank in the corner of the room. As its cranked- a large rusty butcher hook lowers.

With a swift thrust, the pig head pierces the sharp hook into his back, unresistant like a knife to butter. The masked crow man cranks faster, hoisting Oliver up above the pyramid of bones. The masked entity hideaway into the shadows. The poor boy — left to die alone.

* * *

"Have you called for me again? So so soon." a voice coos.

Oliver hasn't enough strength to lift his head. He can't tell who is speaking to him, or if there's somebody there.

"The Prince Of Darkness thrives on your crimson stained roses and utter destructiveness. He's ready to come looking for you." The Voice rings.

Strings of intestines pile out the lad, slithering down the tomb of bones. Oliver's body splits in two from his abdomen up. His blood pools into the melted red wax which fades the world into a sun-drenched watercolor Kincaid painting.