DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

The Dark Night • Matthew Thrush

THE MOON WEPT.

Sheets of ice fell from puffy clouds. The forest floor was covered in a cold blanket of white. A frail whisper of life hissed through the wind. Trees creaked as their limbs strained to and fro. The snow glistened in the dimness of the night, unscathed, unadulterated. The smooth surface spread for miles without a single flaw.

Darker clouds in the east crept their black fingers closer to the horizon. The moon's tears were lost in the ensuing darkness, the trees moaned beneath a new force. Silence swept over the land and the wind ceased.

Darkness gazed into his world. The night was his realm and everything that fell beneath its black shade. The storm clouds overhead fumed with his magic. The wind billowed and rose with every inhale and exhale. His chest rose and fell. Rose and fell. The cold sting of the air dug into his lungs, igniting the blizzard of blackness that lay within. Darkness crouched to the earth and placed his hand against the white snow. A dark ink seeped from his hand and coated the soft snow in black. The tar-like liquid continued its course along the white tarmac, coloring the white landscape in shade. The frail holler of a cockatoo pierced the night air. Darkness's ear twitched.

He felt them before they came into view. The ground shook with the pounding of their hooves as they beat against the frozen ground. They were heading his direction. Darkness released his cursed grip on the snow and the blackness ceased. His own booted hooves cut through the two feet of snow in the direction of the horses. The cockatoo's song tickled his right ear. There he sat, fettered to the branch caked in ice. Darkness locked eyes with the white bird and a match of wills ensued.

"Come to me," Darkness whispered in the night.

The cockatoo's head bent sideways as it marveled at Darkness.

"Perhaps you do not recognize me," Darkness encouraged.

With a twist, Darkness transformed. Black wisps of air and fog, shade and void, now became flesh. Black leather lined the fleshy appendages, and heavy boots clung to the snow. The bird's tongue danced in short white bursts as it sang its tune.

"Now you see me," Darkness said. He outstretched his gloved humanoid hand to the bird. He bade it come with a flick of his finger. After mild hesitation, the cockatoo obliged. Its claws dug into the leather gloves as it flapped its wings for balance. With his other hand, he stroked the little white bird along the rim of his yellow scalp. The bird continued its song evermore until the wind carried it to every surface of the forest. Darkness's eyes turned black suddenly, and his grip on the bird tightened.

"Stop your singing," he spat.

The cockatoo sang on in blissful ignorance, unbeknownst of who's hand he dare cling to. Tighter and tighter the gloved hand compressed until the tiny white bird's beak squeaked its last tune. Darkness tossed the flattened feathers to the snow.

"There will be no more singing in this forest as long as I'm King," Darkness said.

The air grew colder, the clouds darker, and the weight of the world pressed down on all the world. The branches suddenly danced and shook violently. The roar of voices echoed just on the other side of the chasm. Darkness flung his cloak over his shoulders and stomped towards the noise. Just as his black boots crunched through another two-foot sheet of snow, the carriage raced into view.

Four muscled stallions, white clouds puffing from their nostrils, hauled the square car behind. The round wheels sliced through the snow like warm milk, shooting large flakes of battered snow in it wake. From the front seat, a man dressed in a heavy coat, snow clinging to his beard, squinted into the night and snapped the reins.