[I woke up in a dimly lit, greyscale hallway, candles flickering like they had little life left. Getting up was a pain; my body was screaming all over(not literally). And not to mention the headache that followed-it felt like seven men hit my head all at once.]
The boy cursed in pain as he clutched his head, which was throbbing like his brain and heart switched places. Looking around, he silently cursed under his breath, walking forward despite the pain.
"Where am I?", he muttered in the darkness, walking out slowly, shoulders tense and braced for any threat. He took a corner, hoping there'd be a door to the outdoors. He was so confused, he didn't notice the attire he put on-a coarse wool tunic and a hooded cloak, although he redesigned it to be a normal shirt with a hood(for warmth). Slowly walking down, he felt a sense of dread. The candles flickering, brought about a brilliant sense of fear in his body.
"Okay, seriously, where the fuck am I?", he muttered again, each step echoing in the hallway.
Then the growl.
The boy stopped in his tracks. That growl felt inhuman, demonic, and unsettling. And wrong in all the wrong ways. He turned to the sound in the darkness, heart lurching like it wants to take a headstart. The air went still, as if waiting for its presence to emerge. The boy could've run, but something about the growl made him freeze in place.
Then, it came out. Grotesque, big mass of flesh, bones, and blood. It had no eyes, but was hyper-aware of everything around it. And that included the boy.
Silence. Then, without thinking, the boy turned and ran.
The grotesque creature spotted him and went after him. Every muscle in his body was screaming in pain as the pursuit continued. He took a corner, silently hoping he would lose the monster.
Then-BOOM!!
The monster burst through a wall, and the boy was back to square one.
"Dammit, what is this place, a labyrinth!?," he shouted as the monster closed the distance.
[I was still running. I could feel fumes steaming out of my ears. The ground felt like concrete under my shoes as I ran and the creature closed the distance.]
Then the windows.
He heard multiple cracks forming on the windows, then in a tense silence, they all shattered. Rain droplets of blood started to gush through, painting his whole body red. It came in torrents, almost building up to reach his ankle level, making his sprint slightly sloppy. That was his disadvantage.
[What I feared most was that it was giving the creature the advantage, looking at its streamlined, yet obese and flesh-filled body. It couldn't stand on its feet, so it had to crawl. And looking at the gradual blood domain, it started to swim. And it was fast.]
By then, the blood had reached his knee. Taking, slow, waddling steps, he reached the door, taking slow measured breaths although his heart was beating like an engine. Then suddenly, his heart dropped.
He tried opening. It didn't budge.
Then another.
Third time the charm? Nope.
He was trapped. And no one was going to help him.
He started banging on the door rapidly, each strike of his fist becoming more desperate than the last.
"Help!! Anyone out there, help, please!!," he screamed at the top of his lungs, the blood reaching his torso. The creature was almost close, and the boy's hope was slowly diminishing.
The moment the creature lunged at him, the only thing the boy could do was scream for his life.
[Then everything went black. Pitch black. Then suddenly, light returned like an atomic bomb.]
The boy suddenly woke up. On his makeshift bed. In his battered and mouldy room, which could cost less than a slice of bread.
"H-huh? Another... dream?" the boy panted, his body in a sheen of sweat. His heart was beating endlessly, lungs breathing in and out like he just finished running a marathon, despite being stuck in a bed.
Getting up was a problem. His fingers sank onto the bed like glue. He couldn't even raise his head.
Then suddenly-a sharp knock on the door. The boy froze on his bed.
"Oi! Sit your ass up, boy! Those rich folks ain't gonna wait for ya!" a voice boomed from outside.
The boy groaned in protest. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to stay in bed, but the voice grew more frantic, more impatient. Impatient enough for the boy to haul his ass off the bed and get it over with.
"Don't keep me waiting, boy!!," the voice shouted.
"Oi, oi, I'm coming. You in a pile of shit, or what?", the boy replied. Opening the door, he was taken aback as he met the foul stench of sewage, sweat, and something distinctly scummy. What really surprised him was the man standing before him—Mr Dinghy.
A middle-aged man with the temper of a hurricane, he used to be a well-respected man, and a slim one, to be honest. He was blessed with a wife and two kids, and he had all that he wished for. Until one time, he fucked up and eloped with a stripper. And now here he was, standing in front of the boy, obese, clad in a black tux, which was so strained, it had gotten accustomed to his wide frame. But the fedora, unsurprisingly, remained in good condition.
"Mornin', kid. Are you ready for pickpocketing or are you too chickenshit to show me what you're capable of?" he asked.
The boy sneered. "Oh, give me a break, Dinghy. I've shown you all the time."
"Yet, not one time have you reached my expectations!" he shouted, grabbing the boy by his collar. "I need my handkerchiefs and wallets! You're showing me wasted potential!"
The boy suddenly cursed under his breath and broke free from Mr Dinghy's grip, glaring at him.
"Don't give me that bullshit," he muttered.
Mr Dinghy almost fumed, glaring daggers at the boy. But the dark circles under his eyes and his weary expression caught him off guard a little.
"You look like hell, kid. You slept well?" he asked, his voice begrudgingly soft.
The boy grew defensive. "Yeah, I did. Any problem with that?"
Mr Dinghy looked at the boy, face contemplative, then shook his head.
"Nah, kid. Now come on, the rich have better places to go. And so do we."
He sighed. "But... if you want to rest for today—"
"Don't," the boy cut him off. "I'll be fine. I can do this."
Silence.
"But remind me why I'm doing this again?" the boy suddenly asked, much to Mr Dinghy's surprise.
He cleared his throat. "You're getting handkerchiefs I can sell to make money, so I can pay you for your services(although I pay you less than usual)."
He nodded. "Oh... right."
"Why, got memory loss, or something?"
"Hell if I knew," the boy started to walk away. "I'll be back before lunch."
Mr Dinghy suddenly shouted, "And get the expensive ones! I don't care if you get caught!", as he left. Looking at him go, he felt contemplative before turning around and walking away.
"Poor kid," he muttered to himself.
The boy was like a snake. Weaving through the corners and alleyways of the slums, he reached East London within minutes. And the rich were loitering around like they owned the place. Jackpot, the boy thought. And they were unaware of their surroundings.
That was the best thing about pickpocketing—you come and go unnoticed. But the boy knew he had to dress the part for the seamless robbery to commence. Wearing a black coat and hat, he skimmed through the crowd.
Wallets, gone.
Handkerchiefs, swiped.
Gone before they even knew it.
The boy's huge pockets were filled with wallets and expensive handkerchiefs. Mr Dinghy's gonna make a fortune, he thought as he felt a sense of victory. He knew he would get a bigger pay today.
Then, as if he had angered God, everything went south instantly.
There was a Reverend Father whom the boy had set his eyes on. The only risk was that there were two policemen some metres away from his side, so that meant quick and easy. But, two things hindered him from doing so, and one stood out.
First: he wore a cassock.
And second: He didn't look like a typical Reverend Father at all.
"Huh? Since when did a Reverend Father wear sunglasses? Is he blind or something?", the boy muttered as he went closer. "And the haircut... a low taper? They don't have tapers in London."
Walking forward, the boy acted discreetly, hands in his pockets as he advanced closer to him. The father had his back turned to him, oblivious to the impending robbery. Just when all was going well, one of the policemen caught sight of him.
"Oi! You there!" he blew the whistle—hard. The boy froze. Suddenly, the Father had his head turned to face the boy. Instead of shouting to the police to hurry, he stopped dead. Under his sunglasses, his eyes widened slightly.
"You..."
Silence.
The boy wasn't told twice. He took to his heels, leaving the Father behind as the pursuit commenced, policemen running past. He ran past alleys, roads and across the streets, but they were close, too close, like they were running as one.
That was the unsettling part.
Spotting a fence, the boy soared high and caught hold of the edge. The policemen were right behind as he used all his strength to climb over. He finally reached the top, slowly climbing down, until he lost his footing and slipped. The moment the body hit the ground, everything turned black.
[Ms Williams: Was that it?
Boy: I think so...
Ms Williams: Surely there was something else that happened.
Boy: I'm trying to remember...
Ms Williams: Retrace your steps. You'll get there...
After a moment...
Boy: Yes, I remember.]
He groaned as he got up, eyes wide as he realised his surroundings.
Black. Pitch black. No sign of life or air around him.
"What the—? How did I—?" he muttered, scared to the bone. His first time in this state, he felt helpless and alone. He was about to regain the rest of his senses when a sound in the shadows stopped him.
Then, much to his dismay, another sound echoed after the first.
"C-c-come out! Show yourselves!" he screamed, bringing out a knife from his left pocket. Then, as if on cue, two figures stepped out of the darkness. All muscle, no eyes, no mouth, no nose. Just a smooth surface for a face. And to the boy, that was the most of his worries, despite the bones that sprouted from weird sides of their bodies, and the sounds that echoed from them. Every instinct, every nerve in his body screamed at him one word: run.
So he did.
The two figures followed the moment the boy took the first step, running after him like they had lost their minds. He didn't know where he was going; it was dark. Too dark. The humanoids, right behind him, were still on his tail, running as a unit.
He thought the figures were close to killing him when the unthinkable happened.
They vanished. Out of thin air. He screeched to a halt, scared and confused. Just when he thought it was over, a voice rang in his head.
"You shouldn't be here. You're not ready yet."
The voice was demonic, inhuman and terrifying. The boy had no idea where it came from, and it petrified him.
"What are you doing here?", the voice asked.
"Huh?", the boy looked around, searching for the source. "Who are you!?"
"You're not ready. You have to tap in. You have to embrace it."
"Embrace what?!"
"Embrace it."
The boy was stuck. He couldn't move.
"What?!"
"Embrace it," the voice grew louder, angrier.
"Embrace what!?"
"Embrace it"
"Goddamn it, you aren't helping me here!"
"Why won't you embrace it? Why are you resisting, boy?"
"Leave me alone! You can't tell me what to do!"
"Embrace it," the voice muttered again.
"Damn iiiiitttttt," the boy clutched his head.
"Embrace it."
"No!"
"Embrace it."
"No!"
"EMBRACE IT!!!!"
"NO!!!"
Silence. Utter, pure silence. Then, suddenly, as if a light switch was flipped, reality popped back in. The boy was dazed, not realising he was in the middle of a street. The moment he realised his senses, he couldn't react to the next events.
The truck.
The screeching of tyres.
The sound of a body hitting metal.
The numbness of his body as he flew like a rag doll.
The boy didn't even realise he was knocked down until he felt his body crash into a wall. Pain seared through his ribs and leg as blood seeped out of the gashes. Losing consciousness, the last thing he saw was the truck driver running before he sank into oblivion.