It is inescapably dark. Cold seeps into the recesses and crevices and hallways that cannot be seen with the eye. A man, pale and slender, lies supine against ground so smooth it could be polished ice, eyes open wide but lacking focus. His pupils dart and dodge chaotically. It is so dark, however, that no one would notice this man's presence except for the harsh sound a desert might make in a strong wind storm. Sand grating against sand. Violently. Endlessly.
And on occasion – the cry of a horse.
Pitch, paralyzed by his own element, had cast out a fair piece of himself, strewing his newest creature with memories, goals, and power as desperate payment for escape. The price had been steep. Nightmare sand constricted more tightly on the man's form, an army of darkness focused entirely on one immortal. His only chance now stood yards away.
The shadow watched him from within this dark field, stretching itself into a definable shape uncertainly. It thought hard on the form of Pitch Black, surrounded by nightmare sand waging fierce competition with it's various parts, prolonging his rare instance of fear. Not a millimeter of chance would be given to wake him from his moment of failure. To free him.
An unnerving nausea grew inside the shade until felt forced to crawl and slink out of the netherworld enveloping it's greater self, the man trapped in stagnant fear, and tried to form a solid shape. All it desired for now, was simple definition.
Exiting proved easy. The remnant of Pitch did not fear the nightmares, but neither did the genuine article, it was the failure with the Guardians that had brought the speck of fear they fed off. A single moment repeating.
A feeling barraged it outside the safety of the dark pit it had left, overwhelming its senses upon experiencing the world for the first time. Its equivalent of eyes rolled to the partial moon above. From the scythe shape came a thickly frustrated sensation of firm disapproval which, curiously, brought an sharp ache to the heart of the shadow. Go back to your origin, it seemed to plead.
The creature shuddered and looked away.
Out in the spring night warmth bathed it, exotic and welcoming as it struggled with it's first interaction with the Man in the Moon. Night embraced it like a security blanket, reassuringly familiar. Distraction leaked in, noises and lights making themselves apparent from a distance, coaxing it to explore as it tried again to visualize a solid, rather than unstable, existence since waking . It felt like alphabet soup that wanted to be a novel.
Delicacies of the five senses awarded it upon entering the outskirts of the town flickering and moving about. Shadows sprawled lazily, with a few warping themselves to speeding cars and brisk pedestrians with cellphones. People called to it like walking appetizers.
It hunted for them.
A group of teenagers exited a theater and it scrambled behind them. They were delightful, draped in blacks and surprisingly bright colors where you least expected, even adorning their faces with gaunt colors below their eyes. Mixed genders paraded. A boy in baggy pants jingled as his decorative chains tossed together with his gait. Piercings scattered about his various cartilages and even eyebrow ridges. A girl wore a dark, striped, fedora with a red feather, shirt lacing about her shoulders. But it was the third boy that it payed the most attention to. He too covered himself in the jewelry and makeup, but wore a billowy trench coat with buttons and more intricate chain work and clips.
It followed them, enjoying their presence and vitality while focusing. Really focusing. One does not go from two dimensions to three easily as a sentient stain on the sidewalk.
First came limbs and torso, the body lacking a head, and then came a poor representation of the trench coat, a few chains added to appear more accurate. An odd site followed the teens. A shadow grew from the cement, morphing into a slender three foot representation of a human. It's cloak billowed only slightly and the dark chains did not rattle but slowly a head did appear. It kept following, watching the girl's fedora. Eventually it too formed, though lacking a red feather, and it rejoiced in it's completed form. A three foot tall specter at their heels.
Yet something still lacked -power.
The shadow followed them until something drew it from it's first companions like night chasing a fleeing boundary of sun. Someone hiding in a park.
Gold tendrils began appearing through town. They were beautiful and eerie at the same time, causing the remnant to temporarily soak in the view. Sandman had arrived. Surely he'll not notice one small thing in the dark, the remnant mused confidently.
Manic laughter burst from a bench hidden under the shade of numerous trees, blocking moon and street lamps. A boy of fifteen quieted suddenly and then snickered softly, clenching his fists open and closed as he watched a woman pass by twenty feet away without noticing him. He drew the remnant close. Something was wrong. Terribly so.
The creature could sense emotions, but unlike it's first encounter with young adults, this child lacked fear of any type – replacing it with amplified imaginations and pride, nothing bringing things into proper proportion like fear should. Nothing held him back. Even brand new upon the earth it could see the twisted workings of his mind and disapproved of him in a manner familiar of the moon in regard to itself. This notion gave the shadow pause.
What a strange relationship we all have, it thought briefly. A cautious look was thrown to the graceful streams of gold far in the the distance. The boy's foot tapped nervously when the woman glanced in his direction, highlighted by soft street lights. A quick scan, nothing more.
Dark jeans ruffled as it climbed to the young adults knees and reached for his face with outstretched claws. No, that wasn't right. Holding a new form would be something to master later. The creature's hands pushed against the sides of his face, sending a tingle up and down the boys spine as his eyes drooped and he leaned into the dark invisible thing on his lap.
The teens imagination was brimming with thoughts unusual, seeming to excite and nauseate himself at the same time as people passed unwary of his patch of darkness, protected from moon and streetlamp alike. He grinned as wide as humanly possible. I am the darkness and I am what they fear when they walk down the streets at night, echoed thoughts narrating the dream the shadow creature had forced him into. The words caused an equivalent of an enraged outcry in the shadow of Pitch. This has to be fixed. Rearranged and put back back into place – no mortal should confuse himself with the king of fear, it would destroy him. In more ways than one.
Bright lights glinted dully off plastic holding body parts and sharp tools. It should have been a nightmare, but to the youth it was all glory and pleasant fantasies of blood and organs. The creature did not count the bodies in his mind, strewn neatly in this dream world, only observed carefully in order to find the right order to move his thoughts towards fear and rein in his excessive freedom from restraint. It became abundantly clear at the beginning that this child did not understand how to bond with others, holding a shocking lack of empathy except for himself. Everyone had to go through the same door:fear was a gateway for connection within people. A misunderstood undercurrent of the world.
At first nothing appeared as material for such a door. The creature circled about, instinctively trying to figure out the workings of it's trade for the first time until all at once the answers clicked together and cleared the way. Pieces of a puzzle suppressed by an unruly mind unwilling to be restrained finally surfaced. Now the shadow had it's tools.
Carefully it took hold of the fragments and began stringing together a healthier order of mind, reworking the fabric of the young man's thoughts with the firm coils of darkness that broke down confidence. Anxiety appeared. Then the first hints of true fear. People would begin to be less alien to him in day to day life soon. Less like cattle. His dream altered course dramatically.
Creativity flowed from the claws of the creature, giving up on maintaining total human semblance while focusing on the task at hand.
The happy scalpel in the teens hand dropped as the body before him turned into his mother whispering lines of forgiveness and understanding. Her words repeated that it was okay to feel, to see the emotions and learn from them -he didn't have to run away, not with her and no matter what he had wanted to do to others for enjoyment. No harm no foul. A fresh start. Delicious fright took hold, his face contorting horribly and feeding the shadow like a midnight snack.
In his dream, the boy began to back away, freshly uncertain. He turned to run from the body as police sirens wailed with increasing volume, exaggerated lights flashing reds and blues against the white walls of his pristine kill room. Another room opened before him and he fell in, finding himself strapped to the table like his imaginary victims. They stood over him with his same scalpel...
His arms shook as he began to experience the flood of emotions he'd held back through years of lies to himself, spawned from his bright and imaginative mind, and channeled openly now through the perforations his fright made.
How many more are like this? Asked the shadowy hominid, almost finished, to the chaos brought to order around it, dream fast approaching it's conclusion. It soaked in the fear. Do the Guardians not understand our role in this world?
The dream collapsed on itself then. A hazy wisp of shining gold broke through, powerfully casting the creature back into reality. No, I'm not finished!
Terror vanished and the shadowy instigator experienced a falling sensation. The creature landed between two pale blue shoes, smelling concrete and the minty exhalations of the slumped over teenager. His own mind had twisted very far to reach this state of perpetual imagination, where everyday activities took sharp detours from reality for the worse. Now there was only hope to stop him. Maybe it was enough? Thought the shadow creature worriedly.
It turned to see Sandman staring, bright eyes narrowed and a full foot taller than itself. Above him scrolled a question of Pitch and his best representation of dream sand, his bright yellow hands balled into fists as it waited for retaliation.
Here a loss of words literally occurred. The creature did not know how to speak nor had any dream sand to manipulate into...well, let's be honest, an advanced form of pictionary between the two spirits. What little terror had been created with the boy strengthened the shadow, but nowhere near what would be needed to escape a Guardian. A long time passed. Sandy took a step forward, apparently thinking conflict was destined from the lack of communication.
Finally the creature shrugged, tipped the fedora in acknowledgment and hoped for the best. With a small leap it dove into the darkest shadow of the tree.
Only the portal didn't work. The creature didn't have any idea how to use them yet. The best distance mustered was to appear in a shadow a lowly five feet behind the Sandman, who whirled around to face the startled beast with a whip of gold coil. Sand pelted smartly against the creature's body, tearing the semblance of a trench coat. It's form faltered as it tried again to dive into a shadow and found a tendril of light around it's hat, pulling mightily against it's head. The fedora lost form like the creature and slithered out of the loop.
The next few scenes resembled an odd, immortal, version of whack-a-mole, where the creature formed two dimensional smudge on the ground and journeyed through the park trying to avoid the Sandman's whips. They burned painfully at contact. Finally on the fourth try the creature made a leap of ill placed faith: a dive into a cardboard box at the edge of the park and readily the darkest place available. Perfect for a shadow portal.
Sandy floated cautiously to the box and struck it onto it's side. Empty. A silent sigh came from the sandman as he readied to leave, observing the last of his dream sand returning for him to move to the next area of the globe. There was much to tell the Guardians. If this creature existed, then pitch must have escaped. He was no doubt trying to regain his power under all of their noses.
A soft breeze flitted around him in the night when he stopped mid turn. A whip lashed out and sliced the box in two as a precautionary measure. Nodding, he left the park and the boy. The child had not begun to dream after the assault by Pitch's creature, causing him unease over what could have been done to prevent even the Sandman from creating dreams in a person. None of his dream sand came to life after several long, stubborn, attempts. But on the child slept, devoid of a good night's wonder.
He left the box halves to the breeze.
authors whatnot:
Here is the beginning of my story. It's going to be a long one so settle in and I have a goal of two chapters a month to keep me on my toes. If you have any interesting things to comment on or think would go well with the story so far feel free to send me something!
Thanks for reading : D