Craaven

Prologue: Day 1 Watford England 1977

Day 1:

My Dad finally gave in to letting me get a new journal. It's been a while since I last wrote so I'm expecting the grammar I knew then would be different now. Two years have passed since I last picked up a pencil to write, and as I write this I'm thinking of leaving to go to the park and clear my mind. Especially since my Dad just got home a few minutes ago after hours at the nearby pub; he's been drinking a lot more since my Mum left five years ago.

The park is a lovely place that's filled to the brim with plants and wildlife. When one enters, they are immediately greeted by the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and birds chirping melodies to their mates; this sound is amplified by a silence that is absolutely golden. The smell that accompanies the scene is the fresh scent of pine leaves and freshly cut grass, with a hint of wet sap. All around, one sees only trees and bushes for miles, and occasionally they will see a deer or a family of foxes rummaging through the grass in search of food. But, like all good things, nothing can be perfect. All things have their downsides, and in the park's case; it is a creepy old man named Charles Hawkins.

This man must be in his nineties; he's so old looking. He has long, thin, silver hair that goes down past his shoulders and a scraggly beard to match, and in some places on his scalp, hair is missing. He has weather-beaten skin dappled with liver spots and scars. The tired look in his faded chestnut eyes is enough to tell someone how much history and pain he's seen.

The man props himself up on an elaborately carved wooden cane. The cane is carved into a dragon's claw with abstractly engraved scales. I have to admit, despite Hawky's strange personality and even stranger appearance, he does have nice accessories, and on occasion, I'll draw them. Some of these drawings include the cane he has, a few knives I've caught a glimpse of, and a bird necklace I've seen only once. This necklace was made of bones and I was very intrigued by it. Sometimes I even wonder if I can get away with knocking the gross man off his feet and stealing these things but I never act on these thoughts.

One time my old friends and I actually discovered where he lives; it's an old decrepit cottage right next to an old willow tree. We tried to spy on him whilst he did some strange incantations. We all thought he was a crazy witch or even a satanist. Unfortunately, we couldn't stay too long; we got caught and were sent home. That was the scariest night of my life and because of it, Dad rarely ever lets me outside. He even nailed the windows shut to keep me from sneaking out.

However, a few times when my Dad wanted me to run an errand for him, I would encounter 'ole Hawky. Usually, he just stares at me from across the street or passes by me with a harsh bump on the shoulder; sometimes he'll say some provocative words at me if I look "suspicious" to him. It always makes me uncomfortable and I try to avoid him lest he should curse me or hex me in some way.

I honestly don't know what I ever did to Hawkins; this grudge he has is absolutely ridiculous. It all started when Mum brought him in to give him some food when I was only three; I could barely speak or walk so I don't know what I did that was wrong.

Speaking of Mum, I don't remember much of her anymore. I remember her always being kind and soft-spoken but I don't have many memories of bonding with her or being with her. It was always with my dad and the moments where my mother was present, seemed vague. I'm looking back on it now and I realise her absence was probably why my parents divorced.

I always saw my dad as an unhappy person. I grew up thinking that was his personality, and, as a child, I didn't think much of it. I saw him as a cartoon character, actually; he always reminded me of those stereotypical depictions of grumpy old men who always frowned and told kids to get off their lawn. I thought it was entertaining then, but now that I'm older, I realise he actually has a problem. He's always been unhappy with my mother, specifically, and I never understood why and frankly, I still don't. I've made the assumption they just didn't love each other as much as I originally thought.

Before the divorce, Mum and Dad fought over who would get custody of me. I was too young to understand anything that was going on, but I knew the situation was bad and it scared me. Dad ended up winning custody over me for whatever reason, I'm not sure, and a few months after everything seemed to settle down, I never saw Mum again.

I don't know where Mum went. I waited for several years to see if she would come back... but she never did. So, I eventually assumed that she just didn't care about me anymore and moved on. But still, I try to have hope that she'll come back one day. I miss her even though she wasn't really around in my childhood.

I don't have much to remember her by; I've almost completely forgotten what she looks like by now but it doesn't bother me much anymore. I mean I know she exists and I know I lived with her, but now she is more like the memory of a dream; you're not sure if it happened or not but it must've existed at some point in time for it to even exist as a memory. All I have is a family photo on my desk, taken when I was just a baby. This is the only thing that helps me remember the time when our family actually smiled and the times when we were happy.

But now those times are past and now only Dad and I remain.