• Indifferent, Inhuman Instincts

    Chapter#1 Demon Spawn

    Children are celebrated as God’s creatures, his children, and yet…from time to time you come across a child who is shame in God’s eyes, how does such a thing occur? Many accuse them as a shame in God’s eyes, a mockery of all his wonderful creations, when in reality they are only such a way in the person’s perspective without realizing and let the blame fall in God’s hands. When he was born…he gave a new meaning to this, he was not only a shame, a mistake made by God’s hand, but also a monster that would soon put Dracula to shame.
    …

    “Do you have any last words demon?” A man asked gruffly, his wickers moving as his face was frozen in a smug frown, his eyes squinted, a look of pure hate scarred onto his face. A man, no older than thirty was tied to a post, buried up to his knees in dried wood and grass cloaked in a cloud of gun powder. His skin chalk white, his hair as light as snow, his eyes…like gems of rubies. He chuckled lightly under his breath, “What do you expect me to say Mayor…that’ll curse you, kill you after I’m long dead like all those accused witches?” The Mayor’s lips pursed, he gripped a nearby unlit torch, threatening him.

    “I’ll ask you again…do you have any last words demon b*****d?” He hollered a man beside him lit his torch with his already lit one.

    The demon chuckled darkly, “Just one…death is a beautiful thing I hope you all enjoy it…” The rope around his forearms, wrists, and chest fell to the ground as gasps erupted from the crowd gathered around the scene. In sere surprise and fright both Mayor and citizen dropped their torches, “Come my pet, it’s time we feast!” The ivory man screeched to the heavens as the slaughter began. A cloak figure emerged from the shadows…as necks were snapped, bones torn from bodies; blood spurting to the ground like rain from the heavens, a murder of crows flew overhead…oh the irony…
    …

    A child, no older than seven stood in the doorway of his father’s study, wide curious eyes spread, scanning the room, his lips were carved into a thin line upon his face. “Father,” He whispered his voice small and empty. The oak door that separated the study from the hallway slowly shut in his face with a screech. He suspected it was worse having the door slowly close in his face than having it slammed…maybe because with each passing second as the door closed it was like another stab to the heart. Maybe if he had just slammed the door, the hole wouldn’t be so large and permanent…maybe he wouldn’t feel so hollow. “Father…” he slouched down the hallway, the looming depression was fresh in the air. He peered inside a room located ten feet down from the first, his eyes dark and narrow. The young man inside slowly rose from his mattress, the squeaks growing smaller until it was completely silent and he was off the furniture, a knife and small branch balled up between his fists as he walked over to the door and firmly shut it, a pause…then the low sound of it locking.

    “Ambrose…” The whisper went unheard and unnoticed.

    Confusion burned inside of him, too young to understand the feelings that dwelled inside of him. It was enough to make him sick. Words of hatred slipped from his mouth under his breath like hot air in winter. He slumped from the hallway, to the kitchen, to the den, to the cellar, and then as his mumbles began to rise in his throat, to the point where he was almost screaming his self hatred to the world he found himself in a trance in the library. Surrounded by knowledge he was left at a standstill. It was like a maze, every shelf of books placed in such a matter he was beginning to question where he had come in at, he decided then on he had two options…runaway from things we can’t understand or confront them. In the long run, he had confronted knowledge. Running the tips of his fingers of the spines of the books, cold to the touch, but hot against his mind as he soon began lost in a trance of knowledge that fled into his mind. His mind swelling with Shakespeare’s to Jonathan Swift’s enticing plays and essays.

    A need to be alone in solitude with his knowledge soon became an obsession, hours into the night he was lost in an abyss of reading. His fidgeting fingers dancing over each sentence, each line, processing each word in his young mind. His hands upper torso began to shiver as he held a new possession in his palms, the excitement taunted him so as he inched closer to opening the cover, savoring the thrill.

    “William,” A sour voice called, drizzled from exhaustion.

    “Blanca…” William muttered, dropping the book, landing on its spine and falling over to reveal the cover… “Time for supper child,” Blanca half-heartedly yelled. “I’m not hungry,” He called back, his voice stained bittersweet.

    “You’ll starve child!”

    “Better left dead than alive,” William whispered to himself, his eyes dark and drily, his shoulders slumped. “Child, stop muttering, tant no one can understand yeah words when you’re always muttering!” Her rich accent was tainted in concern and was slightly hoarse. “They don’t understand or listen when I’m speaking…I see no point to make conversation when I’m unwanted.” His voice was slightly higher than a mumble but still went unheard to Blanca. “Yeah sure child, you don’t want any supper?” William refused to reply, he felt all was said and that he was done wasting his breath in pointless human interaction like, having conversation. As her light retreating footsteps began to fade he found himself sighing in relief, ignoring the rumble in his lower stomach, he resume his reading, reaching over to the new found knowledge leaking pleasure.

    “Utopia,” He whispered to himself picking up the book, like most of the books in the library held a thin track a dust upon it and was cold enough to send shivers up your spine, but this book, this book seemed unusually…colder. Somehow, in a small way, seemed just slightly colder when he held it in between his palms…it was bizarre…

    The word was foreign of his tongue, he was deciphering when it came to the title of the book, and this book held a strange atmosphere, a foreign word, and felt like winters first mark of the new season. The book itself, he could tell without even lifting up the cover to read what lies away, was disorientating. It wasn’t nefarious, or appeared to be in any form. He wasn’t positive his mind could comprehend what the book was about, his mind still young and uneducated, he knew of many that could, but refused going to any of his family members and beg to read “Utopia” to him, they wouldn’t anyhow. William knew of a middle aged woman who would and be willing, but with his family’s constant neglect to him began to pry at him, questions began to place doubt in his mind. ‘Will she even be willing to read to me?’ ‘Does she even care about me?’ ‘Will she just reject me and lock me out too?’ Would he really be willing to risk more rejection just to discover the plot that lies away waiting to be read? Was it even worth it?

    William silently cursed under his breath, a habit he gradually picked up from his father. William gripped the spine of the book and pushed his body off the ground, ‘It’s worth a shot,’ His subconscious told him, ‘It’s not like I’m not use to reject anyway…’ He silently agreed. Exhaustion loomed over him but his curiosity wouldn’t allow sleep. William scampered into the hallway, nearly tripping from the lack of light. ‘Winter nights so cold, so dark,’ William’s subconscious poetically sang in his head. William wandered aimlessly around in the dark mansion, during the day it was just a regular house, but when dusk approached it dissipated into a mysterious mansion that almost had a ghost appeal going, with the creaky floor boards and silent hallways and rooms, it was quite peaceful…When the ravens didn’t haunt him outside the windows and the shadows began to sneak about the house like ghouls in the night; nefariously, awkwardly…spooky.

    William managed to subdue the shadows with his conscious as he wandered into the kitchen corridors, when the slaves who made all primary meals and snacks slept at night. He reached for the doorknob, uncertain of the outcome that lies away; he cracked the door open an inch, peeking his narrowed eye inside, desperately trying to see what beckons before him. Only the soft light snores gave away any traces of life. That’s when a crack appeared in his not-so-well-planned-idea…how he would be able to find her hadn’t crossed his mind. William muttered a curse under his breath. If his mother saw him now, shame would be permanently stained onto her face; William restrained his scoff at the thought of a family member actually showing some kind of affection. ‘Really how many slaves could father have just to make daily meals two, three at the most?’ William’s subconscious stated rhetorically. Drawing up his courage, William stepped into the small, cramped corridor; he paused about a foot in, trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the bleak dark room, he silently crept up to each bed-which in fact was just a small blanket underneath each person with another over them and worn dirtied pillow underneath their head- checking, searching their faces, but found no familiar appearances. That is…until he reached the back where a figure that lay curled up in a ball. He knew, he found his story teller.

    Approaching the figure, William began to gentle poke and pry at the figure until a most unusual groan erupted from the pouch, the figured turned over and William stood dumbfounded as a male slave stared drily at him, slightly befuddled. The man hadn’t had time to ask questions for someone else had… “Samuel? Master William? Child what are yeah doin’ down ‘ere?” A middle aged woman whispered lightly to them, both dazed and confused.

    “Blanca,” William stated, his voice low but held his childlike demeanor with his high pitched vocals. Blanca, kneeled down to William’s level, William grabbed her wrist with his smaller hand and placed ‘Utopia’ in her palm. Now, she understood. “I want you to read to me, Blanca.” William said bluntly.

    Blanca gave a puzzled look before placing the book down and lifting William off the ground by his armpits and cuddling him towards her chest, he instantly stiffened at the touch. It was obvious he wasn’t use to such contact at all. Samuel was still, to put it blankly, lost, confused, and more than a little exhausted, he wasn’t going to ask questions, so he well back into his curled state. Blanca guided her and William across from where Samuel lay, sitting upon a ragged blanket of cloth and pulling another, longer with the same width as the one that lay under them, over them both as she placed William comfortably-if not a little awkward on his part- on her lap.

    “Child…I don’t know how ta read,” She paused, staring down at the nearly expressionless child as he desperately tried to hide his disappointment. “Why’d yeah wanna have me read to yeah, yeah smart, yeah go ta school don’t yeah?” Her voice was sweet but his stiffness was cold.
    “Father refuses to let me go to school; he says the children will be frightened by my appearance and try to burn me…” William whispered the latter half of the sentence.

    To say shock overwhelmed Blanca as she heard the depressing, almost sadistic words fly from William’s mouth, was an understatement, she hugged him closer to her, trying fight off the demons that seemed to swell around the child; he was clearly…not a normal boy if such harsh words could slip from his mouth without much thought. It became clear to Blanca that William was obviously used to such hard criticism on his behalf. That is most unusual. Blanca decided it was best to change the subject. If his parents thought keeping him locked in this hell hole and tell him other children were going to set him on fire…well, they might as well be in an asylum back in London. “You’re a smart child, yeah can read!” Blanca desperately tried to lighten the mood. “I can…but I don’t understand the title, how can I understand anything about it when I can’t understand the title!” William murmured aggressively his voice rising past its high pitched tone earlier, angered at his own ignorance. Blanca sighed, “Well, darlin’…what’s the title called?”

    “Utopia…”

    Blanca pondered this for several seconds before replying, “Utopia?” She repeated, “Utopia…” They said simultaneously. After a minute, Blanca’s rich accent voice piped up again, “Don’t worry ‘bout that child, ‘tis just a book, yeah just a lad, when yeah older I’m sure yeah will have a full understandin’ of it.” William was silent, but he began to cling to Blanca, she merely sighed and rested her warm cheeks against his thin locks.

    As light snores began to fill from the child’s mouth, Blanca smiled a sweet half smile, even though exhaustion was making itself very clear with her sore wrists, back and knees, she found the last bit of her strength and holstered herself and William off the rag of a blanket, and swaggered out of the chamber. Trudging along the semi-endless hallways, Blanca couldn’t help but feel her maternal instincts take over, she was halfway between going back and shielding William under her cloth blanket, but if she did she would surely received a punishment far worse than a whipping from her master for kidnapping his youngest and most unwanted son. The commentary behind this was not a theory, it was a fact.

    Letting out a small, laughable grunt, William snuggled deeper into Blanca’s warmth, his small hands clinging to the fabric of her tattered clothes like a new born infant might. Blanca didn’t suppress her smile at the adorable sound the young lad. It appeared to be the only joyous sound in the contemptible shadowed hallways, which was indeed not a very surprising development considering that even those unwanted shadows and board squeaks could send shivers down anyone’s spine at night. That and the atmosphere and moonlight lighting made the hallways appear endless.

    “Charles?” A voice echoed through the hallway near the beginning, the voice was quite foreign to the young boy, but to Blanca, the voice meant a whipping…

    “Mistress…” Blanca whispered, she was tempted to run the ten more feet ahead to William’s room, but that would only give her away, maybe…maybe it she crept over to the shadowed wall farthest from the window, maybe just maybe, she’d be unseen by her Mistress’s hawk eyes. She could only pray, her eyes were too drowned in sleep to remain in focus for much longer.

    Huddling over to the shadowed wall she crouched down and clutched William to her chest, smashing his face to her so maybe her Mistress wouldn’t spot the pale children tightly bound in her servant’s arms. “Charles, dear is that you?” The Mistress called; no response, it wasn’t the first that much was clear, that her husband had disappeared into the night. With a slight creak, the Mistress retreated back into her chambers, but lost in the depth of the night, a faint, almost soundless sigh escape her lips and drifted aimlessly through the halls, not entirely reaching Blanca’s ears. Once she was positive her Mistress was locked away in her chambers, Blanca left out a sigh in relief and slowly slid her way off the floor with help from the wall behind her. By now she was almost positive William had awoken, not only from his change in breathing, but his body had become quite stiff in her grasp. She ignored it. It was best to carry a semi-asleep child that had the dignity to fake sleep than to carry a wild, semi-awake child to bed.

    Trying to doddle any more than she already has, Blanca pushed forward, ignoring her aching muscles. With a half smile placed upon her crusted lips, Blanca took the last few steps slowly as she approached William’s chamber, careful not to disturb the slumbering child, Blanca slowly creaked the door open a few inches before slamming it forward with a loud but less long screech and walked through the darkened room, it was simple, very, surprisingly simple. No toys, no games splattered across the floor…the floors were piled with a centimeter of dust in some areas, along with the nightstand next to bed, neatly made…like a queen’s bed would be in the morning. It was an entirely improper child’s room, it appeared as a regular chamber, but to William…it must feel like a prison.

    Placing William upon the silken bed covers, Blanca gently pulled the covers out from under him and placed them with only a touch an angel knew upon him up to his chin, tucking him in the best she could in her sleep deprived state. Staring down at the young boy momentarily, she placed a gentle, almost soothing kiss upon his forehead…a kiss only a child knew from their mother, but to William was incredibly foreign, yet he couldn’t help enjoy the warmth upon him. “Goodnight…William…”

    As Blanca began to retreat from the child’s rooms, a faint voice picks up in her ears and she cannot help but let the faint lines of a smile forming over her face as he whispers them to her. “Goodnight…mo-Blanca…” She knew what he was about to say, and yet she couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming sensation of pride swelling in her chest and tears p***k at her eyes.
    “Goodnight…my sweet boy.”

    In the morning, William awoke curled in a ball, warm, and slightly restless. Though he wasn’t about to move, for some strange, odd reason, he had slept surprisingly well last night, though he couldn’t quite recall why. His mind clouded with morning drowsiness, he turned over on his side to face the blank wall behind him, opposite of the one he was previously viewing, the one that led into eternal silence, in here…even though with only he thoughts to keep him company, similar to the outside world, but in here, William had complete solace. William stared intently at the wall, recollecting his memories from the previous night. Like magic, though not as fast as a spark, his memories began to slowly fade back into his mind and he found himself questioning just how much concern and love for him they held. Did that make him selfish? To think his parents should put forth more care for him? Or were they the selfish ones? Denying him the love a family should normally show to their children. He supposed it could be worse…

    He could be like Blanca, a slave…but in reality he found himself loving the idea of working for a family, even if it meant to pick cotton for several hours in a day, and loathing the idea of suffering with his family’s negligence. William knows he shouldn’t think in such a way, let alone ponder if he’d prefer living in what might as well be hell or live with a negligent family, he found he didn’t care anymore about what is and isn’t right.

    Too caught up in his thoughts to hear the door screech open, he was surprised to hear Colette’s voice, but didn’t show it, Colette…another slave, not as lively as Blanca, or friendly…a nuisance, an infernal useless slave, she was not needed to him in the least. “Master William, breakfast has been served.” He doesn’t need Colette to wake him or remind him when breakfast is being served, why bother? No one wishes to see him. No one…except Blanca… “Master William.” Colette tried again, her attempts were in vain. All she received was a motionless body, he might have been dead. Did it matter? “Master William, Mr. Smith IIII has arrived and wishes to begin your tutoring early today.” She, still received no response, it would seem that the young child has lost all youth in his soul. With a low hum of the door shutting, William was alone in his sanity…or perhaps insanity. There was no use in trying to wake William he was already gone.

    William lies alone, drowning, in a tub of insanity; in his bed for nearly two hours before the sound of footsteps begin the echo at the end of the hallway. William was prepared for what was to happen next, he took a deep breath of air, Blanca’s words repeating over in his mind. He was smart. He can read. He can go to school with other boys where he will be appreciated. Sitting upwards, William let his eyebrows knit together to show his anger and determination. He waited, facing the door, for his father to make his entrance. It was time he listened; it was time for William’s voice to be heard.

    The echoes creased and seemed to halt in front of William’s door. “William Josef Harrison…” Charles whispered grouchy, his temper that of a mother bear defending her cubs. His body stank of tobacco and wheat, his face redder than a ripe apple as he pushed past the door towards William. William, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed held his father’s aggressive glare, his body appeared fragile, but his stern fiery stare could put fire to shame.

    “Mr. Smith reported your absence today, care to elaborate?”

    Staring back was his only choice of words. Silence was his only talent. “Fine then, I’ll just bring you to Mr. Smith and you can tell him ye self!” His father’s word went unnoticed to William until he sprung forward gripping at the child’s leg and thrashing him to the ground, momentarily releasing the hold on his ankle to grasp William’s wrist and pulled him forward to his knees, William’s breath struggling to escape his throat with a scream, yelp, anything, but he held his ground. His chest ready to burst, William shouted the only thing he could…

    “No!” William screeched, his face flush. His father turned.

    “…What?” He piped out, his face ready to burst, his anger clenched between his fists.

    “I said no, no Mr. Smith, no tutoring, I will go to a real school!” William trudged backwards trying to free his arms. “I will learn, I will be normal, I will read!”

    That is how the argument would have fore played, if William had let his voice break through his only barrier: his father. “No…” William murmured, unheard under his father’s deaf-like hearing.

    “What?” His father yelled rather than asked.

    “…Nothing.” His voice slightly higher still remained lost to his father’s ears, his father didn’t respond.

    With a bruise beginning to craft along his wrist, William began to become loose and stopped fighting his father’s fierce death grip. The possibilities about the outcome of today were beginning to come crashing down upon William like a mental avalanche, yet his voice was caught in his throat and refused to budge. His mind demanded him to speak, but it was as if his heart knew the outcome and sewed his lips shut with a needle and thread. He steadied his steps to that of his father’s pace, and for now, decided to leave his mouth pried shut with barbed wire. He was laying his mental functionality on the line by keeping his mouth shut, but he knew either way, by the end of the day he was going to become Ophelia, mad, insane, and maybe if he’s blessed, he’d die by drowning, he might as well have been one of Shakespeare’s characters. Of course he wouldn’t be handing out flowers, maybe knives or sanity, surely not flowers though, too much of a fuss. A small smile perked onto his features at the thought, but quickly diminished in a flash of color as they entered the parlor Mr. Smith was currently seated in.

    “My delinquent has something to tell you Mr. Smith,” His father spoke but utmost politeness and generosity.

    Shoving William forward, Charles took a step back and watched with hawk eyes. Mr. Smith, elderly, polite to adults, scornful to children, never much of a people person in his age; “Well…?” He leaned over in his chair, his spectacles running over the bump upon his pointed nose. Unzipping what might have been the voice of an opera star, William released his angst and spite in a scream of life and desire of normalcy. “I refuse.” Planting his feet firmly on the floor, his hands balled into fists, his eyes that of an angered wolf. “What?” Mr. Smith’s outrage was an understatement, he couldn’t believe, wouldn’t! That such a spoiled child would refuse an apology or even explanation of why he had missed his tutoring. “Ambrose, he’s given everything, and I nothing, I demand nothing from you Mr. Smith or Father and yet I received nothing but anger in return, I ask for one thing and I demand it be given to me and that is a proper education.” A child of seven he spoke the words only an adult could have summed up. Too stunned by his outburst, Charles and Mr. Smith hadn’t the time to react.

    “I ask for one thing, am I not worth taking a chance, even one spontaneous, or am I nothing to you. Dirt, rubbish, a child worth nothing, not even a shilling?” To adult in him began to reveal himself. He was more man, than child.

    With a pause, taking the time to adjust to the outburst of such a quiet child, Mr. Smith and Charles lunged forward and positioned themselves in front of William, Mr. Smith red as his blood, enraged, how dare such a ignorant, spoiled child insult him so? Had he not done everything in his power to teach the child? Kept his very existence from the world and this is how the child repays him? “Y-You…ungrateful child,” Mr. Smith and Charles hollered, if they facial expressions didn’t give way to their aggression, their voices did.
    “Have I not taught you all the basics?”

    “Have I not provided you with everything your little bloody heart desires? You should be grateful I let you live in my house!”

    “You know more than a regular child, all because of my teachings!”

    “You should be glad I keep your delinquent arse in my very presence!”

    It was oddly amazing how their words ranged in similarity. William seemed to go unfazed by their words though. Ignoring their words, William decided he deserved a part in the tragedy-in-the-making. “I want to go to school!” He shouted trying to reach a part in their mind, where maybe they’ll listen to what his voice has to say and see him for who he is: a brilliant young boy. He stopped their rants but what was to come next was far, far worse…

    “No…” Mr. Smith started before cutting himself off.

    “Wh…” William attempted his voice higher and angrier than normal. “Why not,”

    “Because…no school will ever take a child like you…” Charles stated, his eyes dark and his fist clenched, he appeared ready to strangle his own child. “Why not?” William cried, demanding an answer instead of another question. “No school will teach a child spawn of the devil…” His hollow words tore shards of glass through his body and time seemed to freeze. Trying to adjust to his father’s words, more of make out the hidden meaning; William managed to croaked out a few words, though they didn’t form a proper sentence, Mr. Smith would be ashamed if it was any other day. “W-Wha…What? Huh…wa…?”
    “No one would ever teach a demon child such as you.” Why was his father continuing to explain in the most painful manner, he trying to understand yet, his father’s words wouldn’t stop shooting arrows into his body and mind like a helpless kill that had been long dead? Maybe he was just cruel by nature?

    “You would easily be abhorred. The townsfolk would burn your demonic little devil body before you stepped one foot on human land.” William wasn’t he listening to the last of his words as he tried to process his father’s previous words.

    ‘Demon…devil…demon…devil…’ The words repeated inside his mind…he loathed being right, his sanity would diminish before the day’s end.

    Tears lined his eyes as he shot forward knocking Mr. Smith off his feet as he shot into the outside air, “William no!” He heard his father yell, his father’s only concern was his reputation. William didn’t respond, nor even peer back as he shot off the porch and ran into the cotton field. Trailing behind him his short stubby childish legs seemed to dismantle themselves from him and were replaced by a pair of tall slender legs, his hair shot down to his shoulders, and his body grew taller and leaner; he shoved past his father’s slaves, and shot forth towards the woods that lay outside his father’s farmyard. Collapsing under a tall oak tree, he began entranced in the world around him as he pounded his fist into the cool ground, staggering to a kneeled over position; he swaggered forward until his fell down in front of a small lakebed. Tears pricked at his eyes, he would not cry, not ever.

    Taking a slight risk, his eyes opened his bloodshot eyes, and stared down into the murky waters edge below, it was barely clear, but he could make out himself in the green water. Beating his fist across the water, trying to rid the image before him…staring back at him was a sad, little boy. He may have the intellect of a man, but he was born a boy. His wide bloodshot childish light red eyes, his chalk white skin smooth without a callous or hair in sight, his loose short white/blonde hair hung low above his eyes. He was no man, he was a demon child. He let out a cry of anguish before his head hung low and his body sunk into the shallow water. Touching the bottom, he floated aimlessly in the meek water, waiting for the world to change…For in a world that isn’t his own, men rule all, and boy’s have no place in that world.