As soon as I utter the words, I feel the tension from my left leg release.
I'm unchained.
A brief respite washes over me—only to dissipate as I realize I'm no freer now than I was seconds before. Now granted mobility, however, I begin to further examine my surroundings.
Walking away from the dark beast, I make a realization:
The farther I move from the swirling mass of darkness, the darker my surroundings become.
No—it was more than that.
The very ground I walk on seems to lose stability, shifting beneath my feet.
Not wanting to test my luck, I return to the dark beast.
Ironically, it seems to absorb the darkness surrounding it—making for quite an odd "light" source—explaining why I'm able to see somewhat. At least if I stay within what I estimate to be a ten-meter radius.
My exploration is cut early as the Voice rings out once again, this time rather coldly:
"Enough."
I freeze promptly, listening for what more terrors the Voice might reveal.
"Your first fight will be in two days. You will be provided one meal and a glass of water a day," the voice drones, sounding as if it were reading from a script. "You will be granted means to fight by contact with the darkness dweller."
My chest tightens.
I have to touch that thing?
"Means to fight?" I question the Voice.
Sounding somewhat displeased, the voice responds:
"Find out yourself, prisoner."
Turning toward the dark beast, my thoughts race:
A weapon possibly?
A curse?
Or is this all some cruel joke—and I'm meant to be swallowed whole by this creature?
Nevertheless, I approach the swirling darkness. Much to my unease, the closer I get the more apparent its deep breaths become—each breath a stark reminder that this beast was alive.
Slowly, I extend my trembling arm. Taking a deep breath myself, I brace to make contact with the darkness. As my arm extends, for a few moments I feel nothing but a chill. It seems as if the dark being is intangible, with my hand seeping through the swirling shadows.
As I glide my arm through the beast, the cold deepens—becoming sharper by the second. I immediately try pulling my arm out of the chilling beast, but my efforts are futile.
A few seconds of agony pass as the beast's icy fangs bite deeper.
Then—nothing.
Suddenly, air rushes my eardrums as the shadow beast consumes me.
***
A Life
I hear the buzz of the television coming from the living room as I morph the clay under my hands. Seems some tragedy has struck a school in Chicago.
I couldn't care much.
Does it make me a selfish person?
Probably.
No matter, I think to myself, completely focused on turning this shapeless lump into something beautiful.
The clay clings to my fingers as I manipulate it, as if begging for mercy.
As the clay transforms into my desired shape, I marvel at my growing proficiency. Compared to a few months ago, the clay doesn't fight me quite as hard anymore.
Somewhat satisfied with my progress, I slow down the clay wheel and place my work on the drying board.
A charming vase.
As I wash my hands, I tune back into the television.
"Twenty-four students and one teacher have been found savagely murdered at Parkin High," says the news reporter.
Now hearing the tragedy in detail, I wince in repulsion.
"Good Lord!" I hear my grandmother exclaim, baffled by the tragic news. "Damn devil's walking among us, I'll tell ya!"
Drying my hands, I leave the earthy smell of the pottery studio behind to join my grandmother in the living room.
Looking bewildered, Grandma glances up at me and points at the TV, exclaiming:
"James, look at this shit, boy! Ain't this the school you and Jerome went to?!"
Sure enough, my older brother and I did attend Parkin High—though I didn't stick it out.
"Yeah, Ma, we went there," I reply, coming over to sit beside her on the couch.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Ma lets out a deep sigh. "Can't believe your mother tried to send you back there!"
Much to the dismay of my mother, I dropped out in my junior year of high school—a year before we moved to Georgia from Chicago.
Not long after the move, I decided it'd be best if I stayed with Ma instead of my mother. She stays a few miles south of here with her boyfriend. We don't talk much.
Or at all.
With Jerome off at university, Ma's the only family I have.
Ma's run a two-story pottery shop here in Georgia for as long as I can remember. The shop doubles as her home. After shit in Chicago got complicated and we moved down here, I chose to live with Ma and help out at the shop—learn the craft from her.
Not that I have any complaints. That school shit was never right for me anyway. I feel much more comfortable here, givin' Ma a hand.
Damn studio's the only place I got some control.
The news reporter continues:
"According to the crime scene, an eighteen-year-old male student by the name of Arin Fletcher has gunned down all twenty students in his classroom, along with his homeroom teacher. Authorities are searching for Fletcher's whereabouts..."
Put off by the tragedy, yet mostly uninterested, I get up to busy my hands in the studio.
"And where the hell you goin', boy?" Ma stops me, turning down the TV.
"To work some clay, Ma," I answer, turning back to face her.
"Not without me, you ain't," she claims, rolling up her sleeves and getting up from the couch. "I needa get my mind off this devilish shit."
Ma's pottery is beautiful.
The intricacies in the designs of her works are something I chase daily in my own.
I guess that's what you'd expect from someone practicing their craft long as she has.
As we walk toward the studio room, Ma pauses.
"What's the matter, Ma?" I ask.
"I forgot something down in the shop," she replies. "I'll head downstairs and check on it. Go on, boy, don't wait on me."
As she heads downstairs to the shop, I continue walking to the studio room. Pictures of Dad—from baby to adult—frame the beige hallway walls. A bit of longing grips my heart as I walk past, remembering the man.
I make it to the studio door, and just as I reach out to grab the doorknob—I hear a loud bang from downstairs, followed by Ma's groaning.
"Ma!" I yell, turning back and rushing toward the stairway.
Halfway down the stairs, I see Ma sprawled on the floor behind the shop counter.
"You alright, Ma?!" I cry out, running over to help her up.
"Aghh..." she groans as I lift her. "I'm fine, boy... quit all that hollerin'."
Ma grunts as I help her onto a nearby chair.
"What happened, Ma?" I ask, feeling a bit calmer.
Ma covers her face, sighing. "Bones ain't gettin' any younger, that's for sure. Just up and tripped is all, James." She stifles a cough, looking up at me with a little smile.
Ma was a bad liar, but I didn't press further. After a few moments of silence, Ma lets out a deep breath, as she asks, "Help me to my bed will ya, James? All this ruckus has got me feelin' tired."
I help Ma up and begin leading her upstairs toward her bedroom. As we walk, I look around at all the pottery adorning the walls and shelves. I wonder which could be more fragile.
These creations of hers—or Ma's own very life.
***
Alice
I wake to the greeting of a searing headache.
My ears ring deafeningly as I rise from the ground I'd been lying on and glance around. My new environment is just as dark as the one I'd grown accustomed to—darker even, without the shadow beast's presence.
To my confusion, my clothes are damp—and I realize I'm not only slick with sweat, but also the thin layer of water flowing across the smooth ground. The cool air licks my skin as I pull off my soaked black t-shirt, tying it around my waist.
I pause for a few moments to let my eyes to somewhat adjust to the darkness, but my visibility doesn't improve. I think back on the Voice's words:
"You will be granted means to fight by contact with the darkness dweller."
Sighing, I crouch down to the ground, pressing my palms to my eyes.
One hell to the next, huh?
As the ringing in my ears subsides, I notice the faint trickling of water nearby—noticeably distinct from the shallow layer beneath my feet.
I rise from the ground, warily heading toward the sound of water.
After walking for a few minutes, I finally see it: a black pond sits in the distance, even darker than the lightless space surrounding it. It seems to share a similar presence as the dark beast—greedily devouring any darkness daring to approach it.
A cold shiver runs down my spine as I stare at the pond for a second. Taking a deep breath, I force my legs forward and reach the edge of the pond.
The pond's surface is unnervingly still. Though there's no light to speak of, as I gaze into the black mirror, I see my own dark eyes gazing back.
My face is streaked with dirt, and my black hair looks as if it'd been hiding a bird's nest. My dry throat burns as I watch the pond.
How long have I been here? It must've been at least a day now, right?
I'm so, so thirsty—
"Wouldn't drink that if I were you."
I whip around, fumbling in the darkness.
"Wh—who's there!"
A figure emerges from the darkness beyond the pond's faint 'light.'
Squinting, I make out the owner of the voice—a girl, passively staring at me.
Long, black hair flows down the girl's pale face. Her gray eyes pierce through me, as if seeing something beyond. The most striking detail, though, is that she's nearly naked— clothed by dark cloth, wrapped only around her most intimate parts.
Heat rushes to my face as I cover my eyes with my hands. Stammering, I yell, "Wh-what the hell is this? Who are you?!"
Her footsteps echo as she gets closer. After a moment, I feel smooth hands grasp mine—pulling my hands from my face.
A ghost of a sad smile dances on the girl's lips.
"Alice."