2 – Night Terrors

Twenty miles south of Bleakewood Village, there is a smaller village called Rose Mire. It was named for the white roses that grow in the bog on the northern border. Owen Sheffield, the village's night sanitation worker, stands under an awning waiting for the rain to clear up enough so he could light the last street lamp on this block. At first, the rain was a little drizzle, but after an hour, it became a downpour. To make matters worse, his work-mule, Sid, was spooked by the thunder and ran off down the street. He yelled out for the beast to come back, but to no avail. It is a good thing the pouring rain muffled his voice, or the old lady across the street would have heard some language that she finds, "Quite dirty."

Ten minutes later the rain slows back to a fine drizzle, allowing Owen the break he needs to get the street lamp lit. With the last lamp lit, Owen heads back to the load up the equipment. Without Sid, getting the cart moved will have to wait until morning. He figures Sid would have run back to his stall; it's where he always goes to hide when it storms. Owen stands there, absorbing the silence of the village. He takes his cloth cap off and wipes his forehead. The clouds broke just enough to allow the moon to come out. Its light begins to shine off the drizzling rain. Owen lets out a relaxed breath, enjoying the peace. He puts his hat back on his head, and leans against the cart. He pulls out his snuffbox to get a pinch of tobacco. After the first sniff, his sense of calm gets interrupted by the sounds of an animal howling in pain.

"What in the bleak hell is that?" Owen asks himself.

The animal screams seem to be coming from the alleyway that's between the bakery and tailor shop. Owen grabs the closest thing in the cart he could use for a weapon, a broomstick. The hairs on Owen's neck become stiff as the bristles on the broom, as the sounds get louder. With the broom in hand, he grabs his lantern with the other and moves closer to the alley. As soon as the lantern's light touches the edge of the alleyway, the animal sounds cease. Owen gets the feeling that he walked up on something that he shouldn't have. It is like the calm before a great and terrible storm. The only sound that comes to Owen's ears, is the shaking lantern in his hand. His nerves are becoming very fragile and are ready to fail him. His mouth becomes dry; all the moisture has begun to escape from his body. It forms a cold film of sweat exuding from his pores. The rats in the nearby sewer can smell the fear reeking from him. It is enough for them to stop eating the city trash and peer out the drains. They spot Owen standing at the edge of the alley, waiting. They know what is about to come, so they wait for the dinner bell.

Deciding this is not a good idea, Owen gets ready to turn and leave. As soon as he takes a step back, a large oddly shaped object flies out of the darkness and lands right in front of him. It makes a hollow like thud on impact, and then slides up next to his feet. Holding the lantern lower, Owen leans down to see what it is. A look of terror comes to his eyes. The calm is over, and the storm has come. The light of Owens lantern shines on the severed head of Sid the mule. Only Sid's eyes were left untouched; everything else looks to have been eaten by some wild animal. Owen drops the lantern; a weak whimper escapes his mouth. The ability to speak has left him. Owen can hear the sound of tiny pattering feet coming from the darkness. The lantern's light reflects off an uncountable number of eyes. Owen raises the broom high over his head, ready to swing at the coming danger. – "DAMN YOU!" he yells as the first shadowy creature leaps from the darkness.

Owen swings with all his might at what can only be, from his mind, small creatures that come from the pits of Hell. With each swing of the broom, he seems to hit two or three at a time. These hellish creatures continuously leap at Owen; the broom handle begins to crack from each hit, causing his hands to be cut up by the splinters. The brush head, soaked in blood, breaks off and flies behind him. What bravery Owen had is long gone, dropping the broken broom handle; Owen takes off down the street with the creatures nipping at his feet. A cruel and cackling laugh coming from the alley fills the air, causing every stray beast within earshot to flee in terror. –"What fun this place will be."

No one hears the final cries of Owen Sheffield, as the evil creatures tear into his flesh. As for the rats in the sewers, the dinner bell has rung.

...

Dear Samuel,

I am in need of your services. Please come to the Brimstone's chapter house in Bleakewood. I ask that you put aside your feelings on this matter.

Yours truly,

Beatrice Baxindale

...

"Just breathe," Samuel whispers to himself, "Just sit and breathe." It has been a month since he last heard from his aunt, the Baroness. –"Not near long enough."

Samuel knew from the moment the sound of tiny claws scratching at the bottom of his door woke him up from his latest nightmare. It is a hard thing to forget; those claws. They belonged to her ginger cat, Cornelius. It was still too dark for him to see properly. He yells from his bed, "Just wait a damn moment you mangy cat."

He feels around on the small table next to the bed for the matchbook. His fingers run over a pair of glasses, a candle, and finally the matchbook. He strikes one then lights the candle. A white light surrounds the room, turning everything from black to gray. Samuel suffers from a severe case of color blindness. To him, black, white, and gray are the only colors in the world. He has been like this since his aunt put the family curse on him. Of course, if she were to have a say, "It is a family gift not curse."

It was his responsibility to carry the curse on, a job that he never wanted. It turned his mother into a raving lunatic, who now spends the rest of her days strapped down to a table at Bleakewood Asylum. The whole affair is the reason for him leaving Bleakewood Village and starting a new life in Rose Mire. Using the candle's light, Samuel looks at the time on the mechanical clock. It is 4:15 in the morning.

Cornelius starts scratching at the door again. When Samuel answers the door, he spots a short man with green cat eyes staring up at him. The man gives Samuel a wicked grin as he hands him the letter.

Samuel takes the letter and see the front of the envelope is addressed to him. – Number 4 Appricot Lane, Rose Mire.

"You know Cornelius, if you would just knock instead of scratch the hell out of my door, I might be nicer to you." He looks back to Cornelius, but he was gone. Samuel sticks his head out the door and sees a ginger cat running underneath a street lamp.

Now here he is, letter in hand, having a panic attack at the thought of returning to Bleakewood. The sun peeked through his curtains at 6:15. Still awake, and his eyes are bloodshot, not that he would know looking at himself in the mirror. He walks over to his medicine cabinet and grabs a little glass jar with white pills. His psychiatrist, Dr. Mudgett prescribed him this new drug. He cannot pernounce the name. Regardless, it did not matter. He would take anything to suppress the nightmares he suffers at the hands of the so called family gift. He pours himself a cup of coffee and eats a bite of toast before he heads out fighting the crowd to get to his job at the Rose Mire morning was different, he did not know why, but he knew something was out of place. He looks back towards the letter laying on the writing desk, still unsure if he is going to do as she requests. This gut feeling he is getting makes him want to send a reply back telling her he will not come. Samuel puts on his special tinted glasses to block out the bright light of the sun, then shuts the door to Number 4 Appricot Lane.

At 7:00, everyone on Willow Street is woken up by a loud police whistle. They run to their windows to see a large team of Policemen cordoning off the street. Only a few people were able to make out what was going on. It took nearly an hour for them to remove the body of Owen Sheffield. The old woman, who spotted him, could only make out a bunch of rats crawling around on what look like a bag of meat dumped off by the butcher shop owner. Richard Allard was a photographer who lives a few houses down. He was assigned to the Police to take pictures of the scene, after the removal of Owen Wilson. He managed to get only two shots of Owen before the hauled the body away. He did this for over three hours, going back to the Tribune only once to retrieve another barrel of flash powder. He went through three small barrels worth. The pictures and the word of the press were to be kept under tight control until the Police could figure out what happened. Of course, that didn't stop Richard from smuggling a few photographs under his coat. He is hoping they will help get him a raise or at least a bonus in pay. He grabs his camera and rushes to the first cab he could reach. Richard yells to the driver, "Get those horses moving. I need to be at the Tribune post haste."