And Joseph ran.
The church had a narrow octagonal spire, set back behind the embattled parapet. At the base of the imposing tower, was a clock face, methodically ticking in the silent night. It was the middle of October; usually, in the daylight hours, the autumn leaves cascaded downward from the serrated rise of the hills, producing a shimmering palette of red and yellow, but now the abandoned grassland, raised against the blackened sky, undulated like the spine of some gargantuan sea monster.
The young boy, barely passed year three, darted towards his epicentre of safety, his dazzling blue eyes still trained on the transitory ground beneath him. Not once daring to look back. His mind was a premeditated haze of adrenaline, veiled behind a visor of terror. Ragged breathing issued from somewhere behind him, alongside the tympanic rhythm of his captor’s boots as they beat against the hard earth. The windows, the most defining feature of church architecture, offered little light to refract and reveal the position of his malevolent follower.
Sheltered inside the foreboding building, hardly a place of sanctuary, Joseph tore towards the south transept and threw open the door, concealed in the side, to a place of quiet retreat. Or so he thought. Glancing around, the indistinguishable room that had become his place of short-lived rest screamed of familiarities. The child squinted; adjacent to the small row of unlit candles was a derelict cupboard, the entrance ajar. There was no other option. Quickly, he squeezed inside, listening vigilantly to the outside world. The silence was unnerving.
And that’s when he knocked on the door.
After a minute of quiet contemplation, Joseph ran his fingers through the few chestnut locks that had survived the barber’s wrath and hurled the duvet of his naked form, grateful that his breathing was now less shallow. Padding towards the en-suite, Joseph looked towards the mirror, the sides graced with the fine designs his ex-wife had chosen; the silver spirals were as constricted as he felt. His gaunt, yet smashingly handsome features hid a plenitude of suffering…
…It seemed everything reminded him of Evelyn.
Perhaps, it was the poignant, distant memories associate with it, or, maybe, it was the ghost sitting in the corner of the room.
Chapter One
Joseph awoke with a start, his body gripped with absolute terror. He jolted upright, each frantic breath he took quickening alarmingly in pace. His eyes darted towards the mahogany cupboard bordering the corner, the room surrounding appeared distant and vague - the clarity of the world imparting from within that closet. The muffled noises that still lingered inside reverberated for one eerie moment, before fading out of existence. Joseph tried to fight the endless miasma that deemed his search for the final ending futile; the nightmare was terrifying, but incredibly absorbing. But, in an instant, his will was broken. The past three months had sped by, each night ending with the same dream, each morning beginning with the same fear.
After a minute of quiet contemplation, Joseph ran his fingers through the few chestnut locks that had survived the barber’s wrath and hurled the duvet of his naked form, grateful that his breathing was now less shallow. Padding towards the en-suite, Joseph looked towards the mirror, the sides graced with the fine designs his ex-wife had chosen; the silver spirals were as constricted as he felt. His gaunt, yet smashingly handsome features hid a plenitude of suffering…
…It seemed everything reminded him of Evelyn.
Soon, the water was running, forming concentric rings across the top, and Joseph had fished the sanitizer from the metallic cabinet opposite. He cleansed his hands before dropping them into the sink and hurling the glacial liquid across his face, the cold crossing his skin with a welcoming sense of reprieve. Joseph hadn’t slept properly for months. This thought made him shy away from his reflection; he guessed the dark circles under his eyes prooved too disheartening to be seen. However, there was something else, something that made him recoil from the mirror.
Perhaps, it was the poignant, distant memories associate with it, or, maybe, it was the ghost sitting in the corner of the room.
