Split

Prologue - A Silent Night

I'd like for you to imagine yourself in the surroundings of the picture above. Picture yourself following someone forms a close distance, but not too close, and doing so very, very carefully. Now focus on a late autumn night, and you can feel the breeze envelope you as you take quiet, little steps towards whoever it is you're following. Then keep the feelings circulating through your veins as you read. 

He moved through the shadows like the still wind of night, ignoring the sharp bite of the crisp fall air. The air that hinted of dying things.

Autumn had always been one of his favorite times of the year for that very reason.

No, it wasn't the fiery colors that crept up over the leaves, it was the satisfaction of hearing the crunch of them under his boots, so much better than that of snow, which packed the snow underneath it together, making it harder and therefore stronger. The sound of the long-dead leaves under his boots reminded him of the crunching of bones, a sensation that sent pleasant little shivers down his spine. He didn't allow himself even to make that slight noise as he walked along the pathway next to the trees, longing to lie down in the crinkled bed of death that smothered the yellowing grass underneath and just become one with it all. All he wanted was to relive the rare moments of peace over again, if not for just a minute.

He was tall and brown-haired, with hazel green eyes and a straight, tight-lipped mouth. When he smiled it looked more like a grim little secret he was trying to hide, and succeeding fairly well with. His eyes were downcast as he trudged along, still silent, silent as the moon, silent as the stars, even as he shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. 

After another hour of walking or so, he stopped at a small beaten down house that looked like it hadn't been used for centuries, and he bit his bottom lip hard before twisting the knob to the side and shakily, ever so slowly opening it a crack. 

The hinges wailed in protest.

He jumped.

A twig snapped.

But it stopped there, the noises all stopped so quickly that it could have only been his imagination. He held his breath and dared to open the door another inch, still keeping a strong grip on the doorknob.

Another squeal of the hinges.

Nothing more.

The boy gritted his teeth and swung the door open, wincing hard at the elongated creak of the joints, and then he stepped in.

The floorboards were nearly as bad as the door, groaning at each and every one of the boy's cautious steps. But he advanced to the small corridor leading into what looked like an empty walk-in closet despite his frustration, every step feeling as if one was throwing stones onto thin ice from a distance. 

And then, just as he reached for the frayed rope that was meant to turn on the light, he heard the footsteps, felt the cold bite the tip of his nose and sensed the figure behind him. 

He had forgotten to close the door.

Ever so slowly, he turned around to see a woman standing in the doorway, straight blonde hair glowing eerily in the light of the moon, seemingly floating in the still air. What the moonlight failed to illuminate, yet he knew she had, was the silver dagger strung through the loop of her belt.

She was his worst nightmare.

Now look back at the picture. Can you see it?

Tonight is a silent night.

A silent night indeed...