PROJECT JANISSARY: Book 1
SHADOWS OF FEAR: AE 2025
Saved from a life of child prostitution and murder, Shadows is the story of Benny Grey trying to come to grips with a past which haunts him and, if the present is any indication, a future he will not live to see.
Shadows of Fear
in the beginning:
Sweat ran off his body in sheets of liquid ice. He tossed, muttered a low groan.
Harmony, Trust, Respect
Without it, life is just another ugly bitch
And then you die
Of shadows in his dreams to match
A nightmare life
The Folded Books of the First Mother:
I saw the adversary cast from the Aka:Adohi:yi, the Forest of the Sun, falling as like a star to this yi, the earth.
Hear me, my Children. Above all spirits, beware the Asgina:Buu, the Rabbit, the Rattlesnake, for they are evil, seeking your destruction. Buu, the Owl, is master of murder, feeding on humanity. Rabbit is the lord of disunity and perversions. Rattlesnake is the god of cowards and deceit. Of these three, you must beware Owl, for most of all he craves the destruction your happiness and love.
Rusting springs creaked, groaned. Benny tossed on a sagging Army surplus cot. Tangled, sweaty sheets wrapped around his body. In the bone deep chill of the loft bedroom, he wrapped trembling arms around a shivering, quaking body. Breath choked in his throat. On silent wings Death twisted out of the night to wrench him away.
A scream tore from Benny's throat. He bolted off of the cot to stand before a panel of cracked oak.
"What the freek?"
Confused, Benny looked down. Faded and milky, a glass knob lay under his hand. Of its own accord, the door groaned, opening. He blinked. A dark hole, the doorway cast out all light, all hope. Something cold drew him, something disdainful of anything living and mortal.
Seated at a card table was a tall, gangly skeleton. With the noise of damp chalk grating on chalk, the skull turned to Benny. It nodded. A bony hand raised to gesture for him to enter. Benny spotted the color of rust. A knife, the tip broken off in greenish, yellowed bone. There, where a heart once beat. If the thing ever had a heart, something Benny doubted with all his being.
Empty eye sockets regarded Benny in a cool fashion. He walked into the red-black room and took a seat. It took out a pack of tobacco and rolled a smoke, an ugly, misshapen thing. Benny shivered at every dull rasp of bone grinding against bare bone. It held out one hand. Benny's Army lighter clattered into it.
Grandfather Greylov hand-signed at Benny, Good smoke.
Benny took the cigarette and the skeleton held a poker deck. Eye sockets seemed to glow with the light of malevolent, cold amusement. Teeth and body were green, mossy, as with bones long exposed to the light of day. Still damp, sandy-red grave soil encrusted the hand. 7-up? A dusting of reddish orange clay sifted from the hands, trailed by a choking odor of mold.
Winner take all. OK, kid?
Tobacco smoke curled up around his face. Benny shrugged, then nodded. Life, the kind he was forced to live, man, sometimes it just wasn't worth the effort. So long ago. Ten lousy years. Since the night Grampa tried to murder him, only to wind up dying instead, and at the hands of Benny's mother. A smile flickered over Benny's face, eased some of the tight fear. Mom still regretted the loss of a good butcher knife. And the Witch Stone yet hungered and waited for Benny's soul.
Seven cards, face down. Benny raised an eyebrow. The skull nodded.
Benny flipped one over.
Deuce.
The skeleton took its turn. Ten. Beat that, butt punk. It leaned crumbling elbows on the table. Benny scowled. He flipped another.
"A four, you moldy rack of bones. Gimme my free card. And none o' your bullshit."
Huh.
A card flipped down. Benny looked at it.
"Ace. Cool."
The skeleton flipped his. Four; another ten. A pair of tens, stud.
"Up yours. If you still had a 'yours.'" Benny flipped a card. Five of hearts. No-va, baby. A six, a three, jack, a ten. Last card. He crossed his fingers and hoped for a straight.
Remember, my boy, should I win this hand, I win everything.
Benny's teeth began to chatter. Clamping his jaws shut, he touched the card, unable to turn it. If the old man won this hand, it was the last hand for Benny. Maybe his last one ever.
With a grim, cold smile, Benny stared into maggot cleansed eye sockets. The thing snatched up Benny's card. Old man Greylov howled with laughter. A deuce.
You lose. But then, you half-breed abomination, you always will. Die for me, Grandson. Die so I can live. Laughter whispered over Benny.
Arms snaked out to give Benny the embrace of death.
"No. Wait." Benny scrambled out of reach. "Can't I see how bad I lost? Lemme see your cards."
The skeleton hissed and slapped the table out of the way.
"OK. Not polite to ask, maybe. But you don't have to get weirding-way on me, Grandpa Greylov." The arms lashed out. Benny ducked under them.
He bolted for the door. The skeleton followed more slowly, almost leisurely. The knob, stuck. Benny wrenched on it. Bone clattered on the floor behind him. Cold, moist bones of a hand closed over his. Benny spun and his elbow snapped hard. The skull shattered. A terrified rat squealed and ran. Benny stared at the headless skeleton.
Laughter began. Faint, deep in his mind, to boost in volume until it screamed.
With one final jerk, the door was flung open and Benny darted out. The door slammed behind him, but he was lost in the maze of his soul, deep within that shadowy well of terror that creeps out to haunt us.
It is his past. It is his future. It may become his tomb.
Soon Project Janissary would take the boy. I'm doing this because I love you, Benny. All sanity ripped apart by humans worse than even the master of the game, Benny would die. Do you love me? Then the real work could begin. It mocked Benny's dreams. It destroyed Benny's hopes.
Die for me, you 'breed bastard. Die.
Flaming skulls, chains and slavery. Benny rolled over, let the cold sweat on his face soak into an already saturated pillow and prayed for the peace only death could give him.
New Moon
Warte, Warte nur ein wielchan,
Bald kommt thy Mohawk:Buu auch zu dir,
Mit den kliene hackelbielchan,
Macht er Pokelfliesch Aus dir
Im den Tufelgeist-Tal
soon comes Owl for you, dear
The skeleton leaned back to look upon the work of his hands with a greedy joy.
Welcome, my children, to the Shadows of Fear.
©2002 StoriesByEmail.com
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