VII; Sunset Sigel

  The sun had nestled itself upon the black walls of Sigel in much the same way it did in the morning. No longer was the sky blue, nor was the world gold. Everything was orange now. The black tower, the black dorm, the brown trees and the green leaves. It was all basking in a glorious marvel.

  Sat upon the rails of the upper balcony of our dorm, I watched the sight. With one leg dangling below, I clicked my fingers and hummed a weird melody. A melody which I don’t think I’d ever heard, but one which I knew—somehow, for some reason. It was one of those things that you think everyone knows, then you tell someone and they act the fool—or they are the fool.

  Somewhere along the timeline of this odd moment, footsteps entered my thoughts. Not behind me—inside the dorm, as one would expect—but down below, on the cobblestone and the gravel, clanking as whoever it was walked.

  Clanking as in metal hitting each other, mind you, not … not whatever else I just thought clanking means—it’s an odd word, clanking. It has a weird aura that masquerades as a weirder connotation, yet when I think—truly think, I mean—I can’t find anything weird about it.

  Maybe I’m just a fool who thinks more than he understands. Regardless of my pitiful mind, however, the footsteps and the clanking had gotten louder as someone emerged from the woods to my right. The woods in which the cobblestone path from the tower that cut through the lawn of our dorm broke into.

  This someone who had emerged had the look of a knight. With grey plate armour and curled, oily black hair, he walked with the aura of a hero—or a villain, I should say. Heroes don’t wear black—that’s just common fucking sense.

  Behind the knight was a girl. There was a girl behind the knight. There was a girl behind the knight with red hair. Red. Crimson hair. Scarlet strands. There was a girl behind the knight. I didn’t really notice it at first until it was really happening, but my heart was beating out of my chest—and not in a good way. Not like when I saw Alice or something. Not like Alice. Not like this, not now. Not right now.

  The girl with the red hair, red, had red hair tied in a red bun. A loose bun, same as Alice did on this very balcony last night, funnily enough, but Alice’s hair wasn’t like hers. And Alice didn’t make my heart beat like this.

  She smiled at me.

  I… I don’t like this. Flailing my hands about, I threw myself onto the balcony, crashing on my back. They’d probably heard that and saw that, but I didn’t care. I don’t care. Red.

  Crawling along the balcony, I dragged myself inside while coughing up blood, practically splattering a trail of crimson drops along the top floor of the dorms. What the fuck’s happening? Red.

  Red hair keeps flashing through my mind. Red hair. Red. Red hair, tied in a bun, like Alice’s, yet not like it. Too red, red hair. Crimson red, scarlet strands. Who has hair that red? Why don’t I like that hair? What’s happening to me?

  “Come back to me, sweety…” the voice of my mother whispered.

  I yelled, kicking myself into the rails of the upper floor. Trying as I might, I couldn’t lift myself up—and it looked like I was kicking the floor. But the ground wasn’t wood anymore… now it was flesh.

  Mouths were screaming at me! They were fucking screaming! Mum! Where are you! Why are they crying…

  The rail behind me gave out and I fell back onto the table my peers ate on last night—yet, of course, the table wasn’t wood. I don’t know what it is, but it ain’t wood. I know what it is, it’s red. It’s fucking red! It’s flesh!

  “Gram!” someone shook me, and the world faded back to normal. It was Alice, she was holding me. “Are you alright?”

  I was laying on the dining table in the dorm hall. How’d I get here? Was that real? “What happened?”

  “You…” Became nothing. Her words became nothing. Her lips moved, and I knew she spoke. I knew, at that moment, she spoke. Yet I couldn’t hear her. All I could hear were the drums of war. And blood. And death and woe. One two! One two! One two!

  Why was the dorm dark? Why was it lit by candles? Why were the windows barred and the door I’ve never seen closed shut? Why can I hear the drums? Why? Why? Why… why, Gods, why?

  Alice had backed off from me, and now she stood by the door. When had she let go of me, I wonder? When did she leave me? There she stood, like a husk, watching. Ever watching. Like stone. A stone angel, my stone angel. She’s not mine—I barely know her.

  She had a… a smile about her. A smirk—but not like the smirk she does. That sweet, sweet smirk. This was something devious. Something foul. This was evil. I’m in hell, it must be so. This must be hell. I’m in hell, and I’ve been here before.

  Somehow, I’ve been here before.

  Alice began to cackle like a witch, and with it the doors came down. Plank after plank, withered, ghoulish hands clawed through the holes. They were coming for me, I knew. In my heart of hearts I knew.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Rolling off the table, I scrambled to the stairs and ascended them. As I got half way up, the ground became slippery and wet, my bare feet made squeaks and splashes as I tumbled head first into a stair, smashing my teeth. The stairs were bloody—from my teeth, I don’t know. Surely not. It couldn’t be. Not that much blood. There was too much blood. Red.

  Gagging on my blood, I clutched whatever teeth I could and tried to put them back into my mouth—to little effect.

  It’s just a dream. It’s just a fucking nightmare. It’s not real.

  But why does it feel real?

  A thousand cries passed before I reached the top of the stairs, my memory a daze. I’d dropped the teeth somewhere, but I didn’t need them. It was just a nightmare. A bad dream. Nothing more.

  I staggered along the top floor, past the dorm rooms. I. II. III. IV. V. VII. VIII. IX… I missed one. Fuck. Fuck. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Just keep pressing forward. Keep moving. Don’t look back. Gods, don’t look back.

  The balcony door was barricaded shut, like the windows and the door below. I tried, with my teeth, to chew the nails away, but the plan died when I realised I didn’t have any teeth. I lost them. Remember? On the stairs that never seemed to end, yet somehow did. I lost my teeth.

  I’m trapped. I’m trapped here…

  My knees gave out as I slumped against the balcony door, sobbing. Sobbing like a girl. Sobbing like a bitch. What would he say, if he could see me now?

  “I see you!” a high-pitched voice squealed in ecstasy, blowing apart my eardrums. Clutching my ears, I screamed back, hoping to quell the echoes that remained.

  And from my right ear, I felt a piece of metal. Grasping as best I could, I twisted it—and my mind turned with it. Spinning, ever spinning. What the fuck… I mean, what the fuck? What is this? Where am I?

  With all my strength, I tore the metal from my ear. Satisfaction filled my thoughts as spurts of blood sprayed from the side of my head. Stretching my toothless jaw, my forehead pressed against the balcony door, I began to giggle—but it sounded so foul. So filthy.

  For half a moment, I’d thought the hell had died with my ear … but that wasn’t the case. Why would it be? For half a moment, I thought I was free. Free from the terror.

  “Terror!” the voice squealed again, mocking me. My left ear began to pulse, and so I dashed the side of my head against the door. Splash! Splash! Splash! Squelch!

  I could feel the cold blood pouring like a fountain on my left shoulder, but I didn’t care. Anything to not hear that voice again. That horrid, dreadful voice.

  “Voice!” it giggled.

  It’s not in my fucking ears! It’s not. It’s in my fucking head…

  Just make it stop—the fucking metal! With the side of my head on the door, I eyed the metal in my hand. It was a pick. A war pick. Like the pick from now. Before, I mean. From earlier in the day. It’s a fucking war pick with a sharp edge!

  Using the door for support, I rose from the ground and pulled the pick back, laying a clean hit into its frame. Again and again and again. The wooden bars, the wooden planks. The nails and the wood. A wooden door, locked to the core, locked no more!

  In that moment, at that time, I felt myself a God. A reprieve from the terror and the shame. The fear. In that moment, I felt as if I could strike down the Gods themselves, and raise myself in their place.

  Soon enough, the door was broken enough for me to climb through. As I raised my leg, a shrill, calloused voice called out from behind me: “Gram…”

  I know that voice, I thought to myself, although I don’t know why I thought it. When have I ever thought about things? I simply am, I’m not… I’m not some thinking husk, narrating my thoughts and my desires and my lust and my madness. I’m not…

  Slowly … very, very slowly, I turned around. There, on the ground of the upper floor of the dorm, was a bludgeoned corpse. You couldn’t recognise its face and you certainly couldn’t recognise its form. You couldn’t recognise it, surely. I couldn’t recognise it, so why would I be able to? You. You. You.

  “Gram … don’t go,” it pleadingly gurgled through its crimson gore. “Please … Gram … save me…”

  My mouth stuttering, I tried to speak. I tried to tell him I was sorry. I tried to say he deserved it, and I deserved it, and there was no justice and no crime, for vengeance is but a continuation of the madness, and I tried… I tried… I fucking tried to speak—but I couldn’t.

  Raising the pick up before my eyes, I saw it bloodied. So much blood. It was my blood. It was my blood on the pick. Why am I repeating myself? Why? Why? Why?

  For the first time, I closed my eyes. I blinked, like that! And with it, the blood disappeared and the dorm vanished and before me were a dozen weapons within an unfurled cloth. I was holding a pick for who knows how long.

  Was I … staring at this pick. When was I doing this?

  “Gram?” a voice I knew called out.

  I raised my eyes from the weapons and saw Professor Riscard, standing there. As I looked at him, I felt my face devoid of being. It didn’t feel normal and it didn’t feel right.

  “You alright?”

  My mouth agape, I tried to collect myself, looking at the ground. The others were behind me—and Ran, I think, was closer than the rest. I didn’t want them to see me.

  “I - uh … is this all?”

  “What do you mean?” he questioned, and I could feel his eyes on me.

  “Is t-this all you needed us… for?”

  I heard a chuckle behind me. “Why’re you stuttering?” Gett asked. “Have you never seen a weapon before?”

  “Yeah,” Professor Riscard answered me, crouching down by the weapons. He quickly glanced at my eyes before grabbing a sword and throwing it into one of the crates. Picking up the crate, he handed it to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Keeping my eyes on the ground, I nodded. Turning around, I kept my eyes on the ground and walked back to the dorms, never looking up.