Fear Of The Dawn

Boredom can be the most vicious of motivators.

Lust, even more so.


1. Chapter One.

Adrian Mors was never one to back away from a fight. Even as a young lad growing up in the bracket and bramble of the Irish countryside he would stand his ground when he was confronted by danger, no matter how large his opponent, which, of course, resulted in black eyes and busted up lips far too frequently for his mother's tastes. 


It was, some might say unfortunately, the only characteristic that seemed to have persistently followed him through his adolescence and into his early adulthood. And, though his early years may have seen him face off to school yard bullies and, on one particular occasion, a rabid dog, the last few years had seen him grow into a wily young man who could be found, more often the not, frequenting any one of the many bars in his small home town, getting pissed with his mates, taking swings at drunken bastards and showing off to any relatively pretty girl who would look his way twice. 


If you were to ask anyone in the town what they thought of the young lads antics, the would have probably shrugged it off as boy's simply 'being boys'. He was growing, they'd say. It was natural that he'd focus his pent up animosity on things like booze and fighting and sex. What else was there for a young man living in a tiny coastal fishing town to do? Jack shit, that's what. 


Unsurprisingly though, this didn't sate the young's mans thirst for a fast paced lifestyle for very long. Having fucked almost every girl he could get his hands on, having fought every other fat, beer soaked man in town several times over, it was inevitable that he'd get bored eventually. And, while his former friends turned to moving away and finding reliable jobs for themselves, Adrian started to crave something else. Something rich and primal and raw. Something suffocating and sensual at the very same time. Something terrifying and all too intoxicating.


The opportunity to let loose this carnal mayhem surging inside him came the night that Lucila Moragan, one of his latest conquests, came to him to announce that she was with child. His child. Adrian was only surprised this exact situation hadn't happened sooner, but it did allow whatever broiling, blistering, scorching heat that it was inhabiting his very soul to surface and in a blind fit of pure, unbridled rage, he grabbed the closest thing at his disposal, a rather hefty candle holder, and bludgeoned poor Lucila to death.


The fog in his mind cleared only in time for him to see his ageing mother enter the room. He'd have to act quickly in order to stop he from screaming and alerting the whole town to his atrocity. The mania that now bubbled just below the surface of his mind quickly rose again and washed over him like a tidal wave, consuming him once more. Bloodied candle stick raised above his head, ready to strike, he advanced upon the only woman he'd ever truly loved and bludgeoned her to death as well. 


By the time the sun rose over the hill tops, Adrian Mors stood over bodies of his two helpless and completely innocent victims and felt...nothing. Save for a small pinch of remorse tucked away in the back of his mind which compelled him to quickly and quietly go out into the backyard and dig two very shallow graves, before making off with the last off his late mothers cash as he fled from the place he had called home for 17 long, long years.


And just like that, the young man slipped away into the early morning mist, seeming to evaporate from all existence, just like a ghost. A phantom, running from the dawn.



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