Status: Testing the waters :)
Sanctuary
In the Past
He struggled to push the object past the undergrowth. Vines and branches grabbed at his ankles, begging for him to notice them as he continued his trek. The box he forced onward seemed to grow heavier with every step. Luckily, he was almost exactly where he need to be.Maybe if this stupid thing didn't have to be filled with holy water it would be easier to push, he thought. The front end of the box broke through the last of the trees into a large clearing. He stood back in the shadows, fearful of continuing. Well here goes nothing. Sunlight attacked his senses as he moved forward. Shielding his eyes, he glanced up trying to pinpoint where the exact center of the clearing was. Dragging the box into his estimated spot, he looked around once more before stripping off his clothes.
If anyone saw me they would think I was a loon, he thought. And they would have every reason to. What was a teenage boy doing in the middle of one of the darkest forests in the United States with a giant fish tank- like box filled with holy water, stripped to the knickers no less? If only they knew his reasoning, if only they knew this was the only way for him to survive the fate destined to him. How would he explain to someone the so called "silly superstition," that had surrounded his family for the last two centuries. His cousins hadn't believed, nor his uncle according to his father. Hell, his father didn't even believe. But he wanted to live and be rid of this curse, hence the situation he was in at the moment.
He pushed the lid halfway off the case and glanced inside. The surface of the water gently rippled, little waves pushing outward, begging him to join them. An ocean for ants. He would have chuckled, had his mind not been racing as fast as his heart. What if this doesn't work? Either way you'll die, at least here you have a fighting chance to change things for the others. Only one boy from his family had to perform the ritual, but none of them had taken the chance. They rather go on not believing then try and make it better. They'd rather suffer than take a chance. His uncle, smashed flat by a trunk in a hit and run accident. His cousin Arnold, shot and killed during a mugging. His cousin Fred, falling to his death through a sidewalk grate. And many more- car accidents, amusement park ride mishaps, botched robbery attempts. Anyone on the outside of the family would have just thought it was several coincidences, strange deaths from a rather unlucky family. If they would have strung facts together, they would have seen it wasn't so coincidental. You see, all these deaths involved a young man, the first born son to his parents, and it always happened on the eve of his eighteenth birthday.
I don't want another kid to have to do this. I want them to live- to be happy, find their place in the world. This was what kept his determination up. The months of planning, of gathering every bit of information from his mother and grandmother. It was funny to think that the curse involved the men of the family, but it was the women who believed. The women of the family kept record of the curse, attempted to lift it hundreds of times, but there was only one way. The way the old witch had fore spoken, the way his however many great grandmothers ago had recorded. His mother had helped him, or tried to anyway. From the moment he turned sixteen and had learned of the curse, he had been trying to break it, and she was his number one supporter.
She was the one who had sat there in the evenings with him, pouring over the journals that had been kept. The one who helped him learn the Latin necessary for the incantation, and the one who fronted the bill, all the while keeping his father in the dark about their doings. She suggested to his father they take a vacation to the state in which lay the darkest forest in the Americas, convinced him the hunting was fantastic there and he would love the challenging game. She would be the one to throw the police off his trail, should something go wrong and he not make it back. That very morning, before he made his trek, she kissed his forehead and murmured the lullaby she had once sang him when he couldn't sleep.
Tears threaten to spill over his cheeks as he lifted his leg over the side of the box, attempting to get the other in so he could slide in without pushing the lid completely off. He managed to weasel his way in, giving himself a wonderfully wedgie in the process. He cursed once before adjusted him self, settling back into the water. He half expected the holy water t burn him, fortunately it felt the same as being in a lukewarm bath. His body was submerged, his head alone was above it, thanks to the lid still allowing him have his head up. He knew once he closed the lid there would be no chance of breathing. So this truly is the end of me. He thought, leaning his head back on the rim. Most people would be sad, angry, or out of their minds when they die. Him? He felt almost at peace. He supposed he had known from the beginning this wouldn't end well, but it was how it had to be. At least if he died and this worked, the boys to come after him, the other first born sons, would have a chance to grow up.
Tomorrow, he would be a officially man, but it was tonight, he truly felt like one.
He was making the sacrifice, the one so many before him should of made. He cursed his ancestor, the one who had brought this on them. Young Cornelius Woodsburough, who just couldn't keep it in his pants. He courted a young maiden, supposedly the most beautiful in the village. He loved her, but just couldn't wait until the night of their wedding to have her be his. He was able to suppress his urge until one fateful night when he went out with some buddies and came home in a stupor. She couldn't fight off his advances, and, in the dead of night, he took advantage of her. Little did he know that his beloved was from a clan of sorceresses, she happening to be one of the most powerful of her time. His actions robbed her of her beauty, she felt, her purity, so she robbed him of his life. And to ensure the others in the family would feel her wrath, she curse the first boy son of any who shared blood with Cornelius. The son would never live to see his eighteenth birthday, just like Cornelius.
Many years later, it is said, the witch felt remorse and offered the family a chance to redeem themselves. She told them to perform a rite, to utter an incantation and sacrifice one of their own, and the curse would be lifted. They had simply laughed in her face before slamming the door.
Thanks guys, he thought, shaking his head at the stupidity of those before him. Taking a few deep calming breaths, he stared straight ahead at the bark of the tree before him. It's jagged pattern was interrupted in some spots, carvings decorating it. The one most visible to him was a heart with two sets of initials. Z.M. + A.C. He grimaced at the thought of a young couple finding him in this position. Oh hey guys, sorry to claim your usually make-spot, but I'm sort of in the middle of breaking a curse placed on my family. Mind coming back later? Shaking his head once, he began to mutter the words taught to him.
"Dimitte quae fecimus nos," he glanced around. Nothing seemed to be happening, yet. "vetus domina nocte." Still nothing. "Nefanda sunt crimina mea et patribus inremissibilem." Was it just him, or did it seem to suddenly get colder? Despite the sun still beating down on him, the air around him seemed to drop some degrees. Goosebumps began to decorate his arms and legs. "Caesar faciendo proximis misericordiam tuam," mist slowly crept across the clearing, long tendrils reaching towards his container. There's something you don't see everyday. "Ritus in me mundare spe malorum," a peal of laughter cut through the woods. Birds rose from the trees in flight, startled by the outburst. It was a sweet giggle, one he would have associated with a young girl. Sure the spell was working now, he continued with the last part. "in meo sanguine."
And with that, he sucked in the largest lungful of air possible before pulling the lid into place over his head. He felt himself sink to the bottom of the glass...well...he might as well call it by what it was. Coffin. He sank to the bottom of the glass coffin. He felt his back make contact and with that, he opened his eyes. The sunlight cutting through the surface of the water made the most beautiful patterns across his skin, making it look almost flawless. The world was adorned in the underwater haze and looked more alive then he had ever known. The edges of his vision was slowly being eaten away, as the last f the oxygen pressed out of his lungs.
He glanced once more to the tree in front of him, wishing the lovers good luck in their endeavors. A flash of purple caught his attention right before his consciousness gave way. It was a girl, standing partially concealed by the tree. Her gown was purple with what appeared to be gold rune-like symbols decorating the front. Her hair was a dark halo around a pale face, her eyes wide as she watched him. He couldn't tell the color of them from where he was, but he got the sense that they were dark, perhaps almost as dark as her hair. She smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the edges and all, and mouthed something. "Bene Facis." Thank you, his mind translated. He let go after that, finally giving into the warming embrace of darkness.
If anyone saw me they would think I was a loon, he thought. And they would have every reason to. What was a teenage boy doing in the middle of one of the darkest forests in the United States with a giant fish tank- like box filled with holy water, stripped to the knickers no less? If only they knew his reasoning, if only they knew this was the only way for him to survive the fate destined to him. How would he explain to someone the so called "silly superstition," that had surrounded his family for the last two centuries. His cousins hadn't believed, nor his uncle according to his father. Hell, his father didn't even believe. But he wanted to live and be rid of this curse, hence the situation he was in at the moment.
He pushed the lid halfway off the case and glanced inside. The surface of the water gently rippled, little waves pushing outward, begging him to join them. An ocean for ants. He would have chuckled, had his mind not been racing as fast as his heart. What if this doesn't work? Either way you'll die, at least here you have a fighting chance to change things for the others. Only one boy from his family had to perform the ritual, but none of them had taken the chance. They rather go on not believing then try and make it better. They'd rather suffer than take a chance. His uncle, smashed flat by a trunk in a hit and run accident. His cousin Arnold, shot and killed during a mugging. His cousin Fred, falling to his death through a sidewalk grate. And many more- car accidents, amusement park ride mishaps, botched robbery attempts. Anyone on the outside of the family would have just thought it was several coincidences, strange deaths from a rather unlucky family. If they would have strung facts together, they would have seen it wasn't so coincidental. You see, all these deaths involved a young man, the first born son to his parents, and it always happened on the eve of his eighteenth birthday.
I don't want another kid to have to do this. I want them to live- to be happy, find their place in the world. This was what kept his determination up. The months of planning, of gathering every bit of information from his mother and grandmother. It was funny to think that the curse involved the men of the family, but it was the women who believed. The women of the family kept record of the curse, attempted to lift it hundreds of times, but there was only one way. The way the old witch had fore spoken, the way his however many great grandmothers ago had recorded. His mother had helped him, or tried to anyway. From the moment he turned sixteen and had learned of the curse, he had been trying to break it, and she was his number one supporter.
She was the one who had sat there in the evenings with him, pouring over the journals that had been kept. The one who helped him learn the Latin necessary for the incantation, and the one who fronted the bill, all the while keeping his father in the dark about their doings. She suggested to his father they take a vacation to the state in which lay the darkest forest in the Americas, convinced him the hunting was fantastic there and he would love the challenging game. She would be the one to throw the police off his trail, should something go wrong and he not make it back. That very morning, before he made his trek, she kissed his forehead and murmured the lullaby she had once sang him when he couldn't sleep.
Tears threaten to spill over his cheeks as he lifted his leg over the side of the box, attempting to get the other in so he could slide in without pushing the lid completely off. He managed to weasel his way in, giving himself a wonderfully wedgie in the process. He cursed once before adjusted him self, settling back into the water. He half expected the holy water t burn him, fortunately it felt the same as being in a lukewarm bath. His body was submerged, his head alone was above it, thanks to the lid still allowing him have his head up. He knew once he closed the lid there would be no chance of breathing. So this truly is the end of me. He thought, leaning his head back on the rim. Most people would be sad, angry, or out of their minds when they die. Him? He felt almost at peace. He supposed he had known from the beginning this wouldn't end well, but it was how it had to be. At least if he died and this worked, the boys to come after him, the other first born sons, would have a chance to grow up.
Tomorrow, he would be a officially man, but it was tonight, he truly felt like one.
He was making the sacrifice, the one so many before him should of made. He cursed his ancestor, the one who had brought this on them. Young Cornelius Woodsburough, who just couldn't keep it in his pants. He courted a young maiden, supposedly the most beautiful in the village. He loved her, but just couldn't wait until the night of their wedding to have her be his. He was able to suppress his urge until one fateful night when he went out with some buddies and came home in a stupor. She couldn't fight off his advances, and, in the dead of night, he took advantage of her. Little did he know that his beloved was from a clan of sorceresses, she happening to be one of the most powerful of her time. His actions robbed her of her beauty, she felt, her purity, so she robbed him of his life. And to ensure the others in the family would feel her wrath, she curse the first boy son of any who shared blood with Cornelius. The son would never live to see his eighteenth birthday, just like Cornelius.
Many years later, it is said, the witch felt remorse and offered the family a chance to redeem themselves. She told them to perform a rite, to utter an incantation and sacrifice one of their own, and the curse would be lifted. They had simply laughed in her face before slamming the door.
Thanks guys, he thought, shaking his head at the stupidity of those before him. Taking a few deep calming breaths, he stared straight ahead at the bark of the tree before him. It's jagged pattern was interrupted in some spots, carvings decorating it. The one most visible to him was a heart with two sets of initials. Z.M. + A.C. He grimaced at the thought of a young couple finding him in this position. Oh hey guys, sorry to claim your usually make-spot, but I'm sort of in the middle of breaking a curse placed on my family. Mind coming back later? Shaking his head once, he began to mutter the words taught to him.
"Dimitte quae fecimus nos," he glanced around. Nothing seemed to be happening, yet. "vetus domina nocte." Still nothing. "Nefanda sunt crimina mea et patribus inremissibilem." Was it just him, or did it seem to suddenly get colder? Despite the sun still beating down on him, the air around him seemed to drop some degrees. Goosebumps began to decorate his arms and legs. "Caesar faciendo proximis misericordiam tuam," mist slowly crept across the clearing, long tendrils reaching towards his container. There's something you don't see everyday. "Ritus in me mundare spe malorum," a peal of laughter cut through the woods. Birds rose from the trees in flight, startled by the outburst. It was a sweet giggle, one he would have associated with a young girl. Sure the spell was working now, he continued with the last part. "in meo sanguine."
And with that, he sucked in the largest lungful of air possible before pulling the lid into place over his head. He felt himself sink to the bottom of the glass...well...he might as well call it by what it was. Coffin. He sank to the bottom of the glass coffin. He felt his back make contact and with that, he opened his eyes. The sunlight cutting through the surface of the water made the most beautiful patterns across his skin, making it look almost flawless. The world was adorned in the underwater haze and looked more alive then he had ever known. The edges of his vision was slowly being eaten away, as the last f the oxygen pressed out of his lungs.
He glanced once more to the tree in front of him, wishing the lovers good luck in their endeavors. A flash of purple caught his attention right before his consciousness gave way. It was a girl, standing partially concealed by the tree. Her gown was purple with what appeared to be gold rune-like symbols decorating the front. Her hair was a dark halo around a pale face, her eyes wide as she watched him. He couldn't tell the color of them from where he was, but he got the sense that they were dark, perhaps almost as dark as her hair. She smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the edges and all, and mouthed something. "Bene Facis." Thank you, his mind translated. He let go after that, finally giving into the warming embrace of darkness.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hope you enjoyed it :) Feel like dropping me a comment if you did?