Alone in the Dark

A series I started on my blog, but the posts have become a little erratic to follow and find, so I wanted to put them together. Let me know what you think! Title is a work in progress :D


6. The Sanctuary Ship



Why do you keep waking? What is this? There doesn’t seem to be an end to this constant waking. You aren’t afraid. It’s the new norm. Your eyes are painful and dry as you crack the open. The old man is seated by your makeshift bed.

“What happened?” you mumble, sighing, your throat parched.

The old man grunts, “Does it matter at this point?”

“What is this?” you croak, “What is this? Why am I here? Who are you people?”




A minute.

Two minutes.



Anger burns through you. You jerk up, seeing red; naked as the day you were born – your rag falling from your shoulders. The old man gazes at you, solemn and unmoved. You notice the girl is leaning against the doorframe some way behind him, her mouth twisted into a scowl.

“I want some answers!” you scream at them.

The girl tuts, and turns her eyes from you, “Answers…” she mutters under her breath, “You’ve come to the wrong place for those.”

You leap from your bed, your bear feet on cold marble, slapping down as you run towards the girl and slam her against a stone wall.

“I didn’t come here!” you yell into her face, “I didn’t ask for this! I want answers!”

“Pfft,” the girl scoffs, throwing you a snide smirk, “Join the club, you epileptic fuck.”

You grit your teeth, digging your fingernails into her skin. Your mind races for the answer these… people are holding from you. You try to understand what the girl is trying to tell you, but your distracted by that nonchalant, unfeeling smile she keeps on her face despite your rage.


You feel a hand grasp your shoulder and you turn slowly, the cold hitting your skin like sparks. The old man looks down on you, the madman – his son – not too far behind him.

“Release her,” he says to you in a calm, disarming tone.

You fight the peace that sweeps through you, “No!” you choke, “I want to understand! I have so many questions! Where…? Why…?” a sob breaks from you and you tremble.

“Careful,” sneers the girl, “Don’t faint again.”

Your reaction is instant. Your hand cuts through the air before you can even think and slaps her across her face. Your palms singe from the impact and the girl tumbles with the force, sent crashing to the floor.

The old man grabs your wrists, and you are trapped in his iron grip. You struggle, kicking and biting and head-butting and flailing and falling. Crying. Just crying. Crying on the dirty, cold ground, unable to speak, unable to think. There’s an animal inside you that wants to claw and tear everything – everyone – to pieces: but that animal has rolled over with its tail between its legs, howling in the hopes of calling back what it has lost.


“Where am I?” you moan, tears and mucus streaming into your mouth, “Why am I here?”


The old man embraces you. Tight. As if he hears your pain and somehow wishes to silence it. You hear the girl, whimpering some way from you and the madman mumbling: “Don’t cry, don’t cry…” to her.

Still in his embrace, the old man asks you, “How did you get here, to this dreadful place?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper back to him, “I don’t know anything.”

He lifts you from your place, and carries you to the bed – placing the rag around your shoulders once more. You look up at him and for the first time notice how pale his eyes are as they bear into yours.

“What do you remember?” he asks you.

“The woman...” you say instinctively, “The woman and her… children! God… God of the New World...” It all comes flooding back to you and the words begin to get caught in your throat. Your breaths become more jagged as if your lungs refuse to allow air into you. You remember what you saw… You remember what she said… You remember what she did.


The old man taps your arm.

“Forget all that,” he says, glancing back at his son. The madman was eyeing you, anxious to say something. The girl was curled against a wall, faced away from you.

“What do you remember?” he asked again.

You look at him, confused and distressed. “I don’t understand,” you tell him.

“You were dreaming,” he tells you, “What did you dream in your fitful sleep?”

You stutter, “I dreamt…” you focus, trying to rid your mind of the things you remembered, “I saw a ship, on a sandy bank. It had tall white masts, no flag though. It was docked near… a rocky surface. The ocean was lapping and frothing over its hull, the skies were blue and clear – no cloud in sight. I could hear birds… seagulls, flying somewhere above, screeching to each other,” you look at your hands, “That’s what I dreamed.”

The old man regarded you for a moment and then nodded.

He smiled all of a sudden.


“Well,” he announced, “It seems we had better start making a move.”


He moves away from you, pulling the girl to her feet and gesturing for the madman to stand also. He turned to you then and asked, “Are you coming with us, or not?”



The dreams continue here.

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