by D A Rice
Crimson Snow
D.A. Rice
Mori Jones
Crimson Snow
COPYRIGHT © D.A. RICE
Independently published in U.S.A
Cover by: Maria Spada
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED BY ANY MECHANICAL, PHOTOGRAPHIC, OR ELECTRONIC PROCESS OTHER THAN FOR “FAIR USE” AS DEFINED BY LAW, WITHOUT PRIOR WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, BUSINESSES, PLACES, EVENTS, LOCALES, AND INCIDENTS ARE EITHER THE PRODUCTS OF AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR USED IN A FICTITIOUS MANNER. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, OR ACTUAL EVENTS, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
Carve the heart,
To stop the singing,
Carve the heart,
To keep from bringing,
Carve the heart,
To stop the kiss,
For if she wakes,
Your heart you’ll miss.
Chapter 1
The forest was dark, morbid branches gnarled and twisting, casting haunting shadows among the tall, moss-covered trees. Fog coated the forest floor, painting everything a dull, monochrome gray. The only living creature that could be seen was a young man, standing as if in a trance, ice-blue eyes glassed over as he stared into nothing. He was a silhouette of himself. Where was he? His mind wondered briefly, before lulling back into numbness. Who was he? He couldn’t remember. All he could hear was the eerie singing that echoed around him.
Feminine in nature, it called to him, caressing his mind and tugging him toward the unknown figure to whom the voice belonged. He didn’t move- he couldn’t, for this place was only in his mind. But oh, how he longed to be in this forest. This beautiful forest with the beautiful voice. He didn’t need to be anyone else than who he was right now, he thought as he swayed gently in the non-existent breeze. He couldn’t see the danger he was in; he couldn’t see the shadows reaching its long limbs toward him. He was oblivious when the dark tendrils caressed his ankles before slowly moving up his legs. The singing grew, and the young man closed his eyes, a smile touching his lips.
And, as he was overtaken by the shadows, he couldn’t stop the blissful numbness that dragged him under like a drug. When the shadows dissipated, the young man was no more.
Eason bolted up in his bed, his sheets twisted around his ankles, his body covered in sweat. He ran a hand down his face, blinking away the nightmare. His white shirt stuck to his chest as he struggled to free his pajama-clad legs from the blankets. He sat on the edge of his bed with a palm supporting his head, his knees bouncing with an overwhelming anxiety.
He took a deep breath, clasping his shaking hands together in front of his distraught face. Why do I keep having these nightmares? They were always the same. The forest, the man within, the shadows that took him, and the eerie song that touched him. He was so helpless every time it happened, and he knew instinctively that the young man was himself. That thought alone terrified him, that feeling of defenselessness, that something else was controlling not just his body, but his mind. He felt violated now, but in the dream, he always felt so content, even with the knowledge of how unnatural it was. These dreams made him numb, as if he were being influenced from the inside out, and he hated it, even while he craved it.
Eason raked his shaking hands through his white-blonde hair. Sometimes he wished his hair was more natural-looking. It was odd that not even his parents knew where he got the platinum from. It made him self-conscious, and was a thought he couldn’t help having, even with the escalating nerves the dreams gave him.
He snapped up onto his feet from the bed, needing to move. He paced his room, shaking out his hands and rolling his neck, cracking it. Finally, he started to calm. This dream, it haunted him. He wished he could just shrug it off, but it had been coming to him so frequently it was disconcerting. With considerable force, Eason pushed his worries down and got dressed.
At 23-years-old, Eason still lived with his parents, but he rented out the basement. They wouldn’t mind if he didn’t pay for all that he helped them with, but he respected them more than that. They’d supported his decision to go to college full-time; it was the least he could do.
He paused as he glanced at the marbled counter lining where his version of a living room met the tiny kitchen. They’d re-modeled the entire basement to make it more of an apartment, separate from the house upstairs. He hadn’t gone straight to college after high school. Him and his dad worked on that kitchenette together instead, putting in a bar as well as a small fridge he could only put a few things in. He glanced back towards his room. They’d added the room on separately, as well as a bathroom. Eason smiled, remembering all the bickering as they rebuilt the entirety of the space.
Eason couldn’t imagine going to school like he was without his parents to help him. He turned towards the door at the bottom of the stairs, hefting his backpack over his shoulder before he left the basement behind.
The neighborhood around them was spread out, almost private, with a large, rolling field just beyond Eason’s picket fence. They lived in the foothills, and it took him at least half an hour to drive to school from where he lived, but he wouldn’t live anywhere else. He loved the peace of it, the solitude. Trees were common where he lived, but it wasn’t exactly a forest, and it wasn’t like the forest in his dream. Where one held disconcerting numbness, the other was peace-filled and strengthening.
Eason bounded up the stairs to the main floor, skipping two at a time. Bursting into the kitchen at the top, he almost knocked over his mom, who found herself unwittingly in his path. “Eason Grey!” she started, catching the pot of coffee in her hand before it spilled over onto him. He ducked out of the way, maneuvering around her.
“Sorry, mom!” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek. His actions elicited a frown from her as she placed the coffee pot and mug down onto the counter next to her.
“Woke up late again, didn’t you?” She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest as Eason poured himself a small glass of milk and returned the jug to the fridge. He swallowed it down in one gulp, earning a distasteful grunt from his mother.
“You should wake up early so I can make you a proper breakfast,” she scolded lightly, pouring herself some coffee now that Eason was safely out of the way. “Your father is the same way, just rush, rush, rush! It’s like you two can’t stay still for long.”
He smiled at her before pecking her cheek once more as he passed, swinging his book bag onto his shoulder again. “I know, I know, but I really have to go. Thanks for keeping the fridge stocked!” Then he was out the door, stumbling to his little car as he surfed his pockets for his keys and patted for his phone. Maybe class time will finally take my mind off this dream. He thought as he pulled out of the driveway, having thrown his bag across the passenger seat. I think I’m going crazy.
~
Throwing himself into his studies, Eason managed to push the dreams from the forefront of his mind. It helped that it was a beautiful day, as he sat in the community college courtyard, scribbling in his notebook and reading over the philosophy book in front of him. One day, he would teach the things he knew to others. He wasn’t sure how it would all play out yet, but he had some time to decide. Eason erased something he wrote and rephrased it as he pondered his textbook. He paused, face thoughtful, one leg folded underneath him, the other swinging off the stone barrier. The barrier fenced in an area of grass just above the concrete sidewalk students used to meander from building to building.
“Studying hard, I see,” said a feminine voice above him, before a soft thud echoed from behind. Eason grinned to himself, before glancing over his shoulder once with an eyebrow raised. Callie Jenkins had invoked her idea of best friend privileges, leaning
back against him unannounced. She was already pulling a sketchpad from her backpack as he returned to his studies. “If you work too hard, you’ll get an ulcer,” she commented, a strand of her black hair whipping his face in the breeze.
Eason chuckled, “seeing how you, freebird, are all play and no work.”
Callie poked him with her pencil, turning slightly to meet his gaze with her aqua-colored eyes. “I resent that. I’m an art student.” she gestured to her sketchpad. “This is my work.”
He snorted teasingly, forcing his thoughts from the paper he was writing to glance at her again, smiling. “Is it work when you’re not actually doing it for class?”
She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to her sketch. “The world is a pallet, Eason, someone’s got to capture it in a way that gives credit where it’s due.”
Eason paused in his writing, wondering briefly if she could capture a world that didn’t exist. He shook the thought free, refusing to think of his dreams again. Callie caught his look anyway and set her pad in her lap before turning to him. “You had them again, didn’t you?”
He sighed, setting his book down beside him and turning to face her. “I can’t shake them, Callie,” he responded, lightly.
Callie nudged him with her shoulder, swinging her legs, “I’m no psychologist. You’re the one who studied it for a semester. Maybe it’s just your inner psyche holding onto something that traumatized you, or, I donno, thoughts your mind stored up and twisted.”
“Like what?” Eason shook his head, “my parents have never hurt a hair on my head. We’ve always had financial stability, and I’ve got a job that I love. What could possibly have traumatized me that much?”his voice quieted thoughtfully. “As for the rest… I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible. Maybe the stress of school is finally starting to get to me.”
Callie shrugged, looking down towards the concrete, “I think, either way, your subconscious mind must be telling you something.”
Eason started, glancing at her in surprise. She wasn’t wrong on one account, those dreams scared him. Was there some kind of message he was trying to tell himself? He honestly wasn’t sure. All he knew was that something about them clung to him like the mist in the forest. He shivered involuntarily, turning his mind back to Callie, who was studying him with concern in her eyes. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Maybe you’re right,” he whispered.
She sighed, hopping down off the enclosure and gently landing on her feet. “Maybe it’s time you talked to someone about them--other than me, that is,” she smiled teasingly, tucking her sketchpad into her book bag. Eason nodded again, gathering up his own books and papers. She ruffled his hair affectionately while he stooped over. “I just worry about you, Eason.”
He looked up at her and smiled. “Don’t.” He tucked his books into his own bag and stood, shouldering it. “Come on, let’s go grab some coffee. I’ve got to get to the Book Shop soon.”
She smiled and bumped his shoulder with her own, then looped her arm through his, thoughtfully. “Remember when we were kids and we played King of the Hill in the field behind your house?”
Eason smiled in remembrance, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You always won. My mom used to laugh because I came home dirty and bruised. You kept shoving me off the hill. I was so much smaller than you, so I would just roll.” He glanced at her. “We both know she adopted you. The daughter she never had. She was never gonna side with me. She legit laughed at me being beaten by a girl.” He stuck his tongue out at her.
Callie’s lips twitched up. “Yeah. That’s what you get for being an only child. Me? I grew up with far too many siblings. You didn’t stand a chance.” He laughed, and when she spoke again, her eyes softened. “I don’t know what these dreams are, Eason, but I know you. If you’re strong enough to take me on in your backyard, you’re strong enough for this.”
He knew that her concerns about him were valid. Maybe it was time to seek out some help before these dreams ruined him completely.
~
The Book Shop was small and old, but it was Eason’s safe haven. As Eason stepped up to the store, framed by two maple trees on either side, its age showed, but it was lovingly cared for. He could see where Mr. Campbell, the older gentleman who owned the store, had cleaned the windows recently and checked the sign hanging just above the windows. Eason smiled as he took in the recent shine Mr. Campbell had even given the letters there, spelling out the simple, yet effective name he’d given the place: “The Book Shop.”
Eason couldn’t help but love the man, combover and bowtie included.
The bell tinkled as Eason stepped through the door and glanced around. He took a moment to acclimate from coming into the musty atmosphere from the clear air outside. Books were stacked everywhere, and Eason took a moment to breathe in the smell of knowledge tickling his nose. He’d been here for close to 4 years, yet that need for more, the need to delicately run a hand over every book he could, still gripped him.
Even as a highschooler, when he’d first come here, this place had been home. After a moment, he made his way through stacks of books people had left, before setting his bag down next to a door. Mr. Campbell’s tiny office wasn’t much, and it had no door, but it was perfect for this little shop. Eason rapped his knuckles on the door frame and Mr. Campbell grunted from his desk, not bothering to turn around, “Eason, I assume that’s you.”
Eason chuckled lightly and stepped just inside. “Yep! Where do you want me today, sir?”
“Front room,” the old man grumbled, slapping the side of his computer and saying nothing more.
Eason nodded before registering that the old man wasn’t looking his way. “On it, captain,” he added before picking his way back to the front where the register was. He immediately started to move piles of books around. Picking up one after another, he organized them into piles. Small, cushioned chairs sat in alcoves of bookshelves for reading, but sometimes books piled up faster than they could reshelve them. When Eason was assigned the front room, it was his task to sit at the register and organize the books. When he was in the back room, he was in the office working on the computer, and that usually only happened when Mr. Campbell got too frustrated to want to deal with it himself.
Eason paused, his hand on a book he didn’t recognize. Setting down the books in his arms, he picked it up gingerly. It looked old. On the cover was an apple surrounded by thorns, and the pages were gold-trimmed. The binding looked worse for the wear, but it wasn’t destroyed like he had seen others. Where had this book come from? He ran his hand down the worn leather cover and noticed a clasp holding the book closed. There was a design there. Holding the book closer to his face, he could see that the clasp was a heart with a dagger through it. His head tilted in curiosity as he grazed his fingers over the heart design. The dagger clicked and the book popped open, startling him. Soon enough, he found himself gently pulling the cover open the rest of the way.
What he saw on the page he‘d opened had him dropping the book and scrambling backwards until his back hit the counter behind him. The book dropped, the page he’d found moments before open in front of him.
Within its pages was the colorless forest from his dreams, with its cruel trees and dark mists. Confusion and disbelief flooded him. He found himself leaning forward again, the singing voice calling to his mind, whispering for him. That same numbness he felt in the dreams began to settle over his consciousness before a bang made him turn with a start, the fear returning to his mind in a rush. Mr. Campbell stopped near the register, his eyes taking in Eason sprawled on the floor. “You sick, boy?” he asked, probably seeing Eason’s ashen face. Eason remained speechless in shock, his brain scrambling to find words. His boss raised an eyebrow. “Go home, boy. I think maybe you work too much. I’ve been meaning to give you some time off. You deserve it.”
Eason shook his head, finally returning to himself. “No, Mr. Campbell, I don’t need time off. I’m ok.” He stood up slowly, his hands still shaking. His skin was swea
ty, almost feverish, but he didn’t just want to up and leave either. How could the forest be here?
Mr. Campbell wasn’t convinced that Eason was as ok as he claimed. “Go home. I’ll watch over the shop today. Go,” he said with finality, waving his hand towards the door.
Eason didn’t argue again. His eyes caught sight of the book still open on the floor as he nodded. Before the song could grasp his mind again, he grabbed his stuff from where he’d stashed it by the wall and fled.
Chapter 2
Dinner that evening was quiet. Eason really didn’t know what to say to his parents about why he’d come home early. Instead, he’d decided to get takeout and sneak into his basement apartment. There was a door directly into it via the backyard. His parents gave him his space, as if he really was a tenant, but they also liked to have dinner with him, too. It was family time they knew couldn’t last once Eason graduated from college and moved forward into his teaching career. Eventually, he would have to live on his own. For now, however, he liked the space they gave him, not asking questions when he snuck into his apartment by himself.
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it free of his pants, sprawling lazily on his couch and trying not to think about the forest in his dreams. Maybe he’d seen the book before, was that where his subconscious had picked up the dream from? Had his mind grabbed onto an illustration and run with it into something terrifying? He couldn’t help thinking how ridiculous these dreams, and the fears from them, were getting. Even now, he could hear an echo of that eerie, beautiful song.
His phone vibrated again, and he started, blinking away the singing voice in his head and moving to answer the call instead. One of these days, he thought, I’m going to get stuck inside my own head.
“Hey, Cal.”
“So, I stopped by the Book Shop tonight and lo and behold, guess who got sent home early for the first time in, what? Five years?” came a quiet voice on the other end. Her breaths were coming in quick as if she’d been running for a long time. He smiled, leaning forward over his knees as she continued. “Anyway, I wanted to make sure you were alright. Old Mr. Campbell seems to think he’s been overworking you lately. I told him it was news to me, but then again, with you not getting sleep like you should be-- maybe he was right to send you home.”