I Swear On the Moon
In the early 1700s, boys from Burgess grew much quicker than now; fun days were replaced with field work or hunting. Days that naturally as a child would have been spent frolicking around in snow were now substituted with shoveling it and finding wood to keep cottages warm. That was how things naturally followed through, an idea no one ever truly went against. That is, except for one boy who though considered a man at that time took no action to support such label.
"Be careful," a woman with short hair and around her mid thirties exclaimed as she bid farewells to her son and daughter. She held onto the doorknob of her small home and watched as the two, hand in hand, distanced from her.
Quiet laughter chimed as the boy turned to look at her, "We will," he said, stealing a glimpse at his sister. She was excited and wanted to go, but before they did, he turned around once more and with gentle eyes gave a last look at his mother. It felt like a goodbye that never would have a hello following it, or at least that was what the woman thought as she softly shut the remaining gap between them.
Releasing her hand from the knob, she felt trepidation somewhere deep inside her but faith fought back the urges of calling them back. "They'll be fine," she murmured to herself as she walked towards a fire that glowed at the center of her house, "Jack is there."
Jack was a mischievous lad that found joy out of making others laugh. He had chin length brown hair and soft caramel eyes. He was tall and slim, his constant smiling causing faint wrinkles around his eyes. When he was ever to gather firewood, he would climb the branches of trees, releasing his grip as he held on with only his legs. Jack would rush and hide behind large bushes when the echo of his friends hummed in his ears and popped out when they were near. It was all fun and that was his main priority. Nevertheless, there were times when Jack would too become serious, taking action with not only words but also fists if it were necessary.
"Jack," the frantic figure of his younger sister Emma trembled in front of him, "I'm scared." The two had run with excitement to a frozen lake not so far from their house. Once they had reached their spot, they sat on a mount of snow and quickly strapped on their ice skates. Their merry play had come to a halt when they noticed the ice had begun to melt.
"I know, I know," he said twice, once to let her know and again to reassure himself. The ice cracked beneath the pressure of the girl, she was not safe and Jack knew that but his mind had gone blank. Naturally, he would have thought of something but this was not an ordinary case. With one wrong action the ice could all together fall apart and pull Emma down to her death. His words could either save her or hurt her.
The frost in which Jack stood upon was sturdy; it had yet to waver under the warmth of the evening. He crouched down and swiftly removed the skates he had been wearing, chills running from his feet to the tip of his nose as he met the ice. Extending an arm, he took a step forward but paused as the ice splintered. Shutting his eyes, he sighed, "I just want to help her," he thought, "That's all I want."
"Is that really all it takes,"a strange voice echoed in Jacks head. He tried to open his eyes but could not. "All I have to do is save her and you will do whatever I want?"
"Yes," the words escaped from Jacks rosy lips before he could stop himself. He cared for no one else but Emma at this point. He was not sure who was speaking, or why he could not see but that was not his main concern at that moment. Nothing but her safety rattled him.
A rough hand crept in front of Jacks eyes and when they were removed from place, he could see again. His eyes adjusting to the sudden scenery change, he could finally tell what was going on. In front of him stood a tall, yet lean man, skin so dreary that it resembled gray. With swept back, jet-black hair and silver-golden eyes watching him, he spoke in a teasing manner, "Is that so?"
Looking around, the lake was nowhere in sight. Neither a chill nor a breeze ran through the air. It felt as if they were standing in midair, slowly suffocating by a dark blanket of nothingness. "Where's Emma?" Jack yelled as he frantically searched for an exit.
"She's here," the man responded casually, running a hand through his lockets.
"No she isn't," Jack growled.
"Oh but she is," the stranger clasped his hands together and with a heartfelt laugh stopped midway, "not in this exact place but here."
His words confused Jack. Cocking his head to the right he could not help but feel odd. "Who is this man," he asked himself as he stepped back.
"Oh no," the man smirked as he shook his head, "don't be frightened Jack. See I am only here because you called for me." His words came out smooth, almost like that of a mother comforting her child.
"I-I didn't call for you," Jack stuttered. He felt a cold feeling creep up on him once again, just like when he had stepped on the ice with his bare feet.
"Did you not ask to help your sister with fear in your heart?"
"But I didn't call you."
"You might as well have," the man had begun to grow bored, "I feel like this game has hit a stump my boy. Shall we lay a card and move on forward?" Without waiting for a response he continued, "I am Pitch Black, perhaps you've heard of me? I appear in closets and dark corners of nightmares, you mortals refer to me as the boogeyman or the monster under the bed." There was a smile creeping on Pitch's face that grew more sickening at the sight.
Things were not making sense to Jack and his anger was building up. All he wanted to do was save Emma but instead he was speaking to a man named Pitch that spoke in quick short sentences and riddles. "I just want to help Emma," Jack groaned as he shut his eyes in hope it would return him to his sister. When he opened them, he was disappointed to find that he still stood in darkness.
"I can do that," Pitch nodded, turning on his heels. He stood there with his back to Jack for what felt like hours but was really a mere minute.
The quietness began to chip at Jacks sane self. "How can you?" he gave in and asked. Perhaps he was really hallucinating; he struggled with himself to decipher reality from lunacy.
With a smile of joy, Pitch dissolved before Jack, his body becoming sand, only to appear once again behind him. "Make a deal with me, you see. Promise me with a seal, the soul of thee," he whispered near his ear.
Puzzled, Jack stared at the only thing he could make sense of, his feet. "Am I understanding you clearly," his voice was shaky, "you'll help me save Emma if I sell you my soul?"
"Is that what I said?" Pitch asked as he pouted. He was a tease and very much a villain and these traits had become obvious to Jack by now. "If that is what you say I said then yes, I can do what you want me to do."
Jack's mind was working quicker than usual as he tried to stay on key with Pitch's words. "I'll do it but could you really save her?"
"Of course, I swear on the moons name." With that, at the blink of an eye, the sun beaded over Jack and the coldness of the ground supported him once again. Inhaling, the scent of pine tingled at his nose. There was not a single sign of him ever being somewhere else and if it had not been for the dark voice in his head, Jack would have sworn he had made everything up.
"Tell her it is going to be fine, that she should not fret," Pitch's voice wrapped themselves around the corners of Jacks mind, merging with his own.
"Don't look down. Just look at me."
"But Jack, I'm scared," Emma responded. It was as if nothing had ever occurred since the last the two had seen. To her he had been present, only Jack had wandered.
"You're gonna be all right. You're not gonna fall in," the words began to spill from Jack as quickly as Pitch did, "We're gonna have a little fun instead!"
"No, we're not!" Emma hiccupped as a tear glistened down her cheek. The ice was still cracking but Jack knew how to respond to everything now.
"I promise," Jack smiled and to his own surprise was able to conjure a chuckle, "You're gonna be fine." Excitement ran through his veins; Pitch's voice had become a sense of hope. "We're gonna play hopscotch!" Jack declared as he counted out loud, taking one-step to the right, followed by another. At the third, he crouched down and curled his fingers around a staff he had found with Emma on their journey to the lake. He could still remember, even at such time, the look he had received when he had tripped over it. "Alright, now it's your turn."
Concentrated, Emma slid one foot forward, Jack encouraging her from afar. The ice cracked but she went onward, only stopping to panic once.
"That's it," Jacks words hugged her as she took her second step.
She gasped, looking straight at her brother and then back down to her feet. As Jack said three, he extended the staff and hooked her, pulling her in and then throwing her to his left where the ice was sure not to break. As the two siblings balanced themselves, they both gave breath to a laugh but as Jack attempted to take a step towards her the ice beneath him shattered to a thousand tiny cubes.
"Jack!" Emma shouted as she watched her brother fall.
"Emma?" the cold water burned Jacks lungs as he inhaled. Something told him his actions had been foolish but something even stronger told him that perhaps the path he had chosen had not been entirely bad. The image of the moon looking down at him took the shape of his sisters.
"Jack," laughed Pitch as he held onto him underneath the glacial water, "Did I not tell you I would help you save her? I'm really not a bad man am I?"
There was not a single other word uttered from the quivering lips of Jack and if he had cried the tears went unnoticed. Instead, he held his breath and stood still as the lights around him dimmed.
Rumors are that in the mid 1700s of Burgess, fun days were replaced with sadness. Days that as a child would have been spent ice skating on frozen lakes and playing pretend vanished with time. That was how things ended, and everyone knew why that was but they all chose to stay silent. That is, except for one girl who though pitied the most by the town, never once dared to believe the truth. Even after a man in a black cloak and paste skin had sang to her of the deal made by a boy with him.