DWINDLE: THE NIGHT’S SYMPHONY (9)

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May 22, 2013 by misterblank22

9NINE9

November
1875
New York

When a child dies the world dies along with it. The strongest man will tremble with sadness while those hidden in shadows creep out to mourn. Even the wickedest man has to hold back a burst of tears. In the end every death is that of a child’s.

Stones stood everywhere that evening as if they flocked to Hoover. Some were littered with delicate flowers while others were left barren. Trapped firmly between Hoovers trembling hands was a lush bouquet of flowers. Lines littered his face as if age had finally caught up to him. Every lie ever told and every dream he ever had was carved deep into his skin. Birds chirped in the trees and seemed to mock each step Hoover took. His hat crushed his graying brown hair, which he had let grow to his shoulders. Dirt littered his tall boots as his footsteps trailed off behind him. He had been there several times within the previous years; it was a place he often came to when his mind was too much to bear.

Hoover tried his entire life to escape emotion. When his father died he brushed it off as if it was part of his daily routine. Tears never trickled down his cheeks and no one ever offered a comforting hug, he seemed to not need it. But if anyone were to see Hoover where he was, bent over sobbing at the base of a headstone they would not believe their eyes. A lifetime is never as long as it seems. Hoover never saw himself in such a state; he never thought that he could miss someone in such a way. When a person dies it’s their childhood that will be missed the most. A child saw the world as a joyous place and each felt there was a purpose, but when death finally wins the opinion changes. Innocence dies.

December 27th
1859
London

Hoover set on the rail of the balcony. He watched the sun rise with an apple in his hand. Tranquility set in, deep in the back of his mind he worried for the mutilated little girl and even what would become of him but for that brief moment he was calm. Lilith’s voice had been whispering in his ear for the entirety of the night, her words varied from comforting to foreboding. Hoover could not tell if it was all just a bad dream or if Lilith had physically been there.  He accepted it as a dream in hopes of enjoying his time.

Appearing behind him like a ghost was the small girl whose face had been destroyed by Joseph Dylan. She wore a loose white gown and her face was covered in bloody bandages. “Mr. Adams.” The girl said in a gentle voice. Hoover turned and was stunned by the figure that was standing before him.

“Oh hello, how are you feeling?” Hoover set his apple on the iron ledge of the balcony. He bent down to eye level with the girl whose eyes were filled with pain.

“I’m in a lot of pain Mr. Adams but I don’t blame you, I know why you came here and I commend you for it.” Hoover rubbed her arm.

“But you’re hurt and I am to blame.” Hoover gently smiled.

“Don’t carry this burden yourself Mr. Adams, we are all to blame, even me.” The little girl said. Her words were noble which made Hoover admire the strong will of the small child. Before Hoover could speak his praise a figure moved in his darkened room.

“Did anyone come here with you, to my room?” Hoover quickly asked of the little girl.

“No-no why?” She turned to look as Hoover stood. He paused in his movement to pull out the small gun the author had given him. The little girl gasped and Hoover turned to her.

“Be very quiet, hide under the table please. You’re going to be fine I promise.” Hoover said in a demanding tone. The girl quickly complied. Hoover slowly entered the darkness of his room. He felt a cold chill take him over as if he entered the home of Death. In the corner of the room was a candle that frantically flickered. The blackness that surrounded him did not appear to be one solid wall but made up of several figures that enclosed him. Though features did not appear on the faces of those black shapes he could almost see their large mouths. A slight hiss came from deep within the obscurity. Hoover felt uneasy as if every bit of strength had been sucked out of him. He dropped to his knees and began to vomit. The hiss began to grow in density as if it was angered or simply aroused.

From outside the little girl could see that the room was engulfed in shadow. The candle could barely be seen; she quickly climbed out from underneath the table.

Hoover called out in pain clutching his chest. He fell to his side as the candle flickered rapidly before turning into a puff of smoke. Hisses echoed in a tone Hoover had never heard before. Pain engulfed him as his chest began to tighten.

In the doorway the little girl stood, she shivered with fear. “Hoover!” She called. The hissing greatly increased causing Hoover to gasp in pain. The little girl took matters into her own hands and darted deep into the shadows that surrounded Hoover. Before she could reach the weakened Mr. Adams everything in the room turned to her.

“Get out of here.” Hoover screamed but it was too late the girl quickly began to burn. Steam engulfed the room as her skin bubbled and boiled. The bandages fell from her youthful face. The hissing reached a higher level to match the screams of the girl as if a thousand children were burning. Hoover struggled to stand but his feet could not hold his weight and he fell back to the ground. Tears filled Hoover’s eyes as the girls screams grew in volume; the shadows hissing matched that volume as more of her skin fell from her body.

“Hoover!” she cried. No matter how hard he tried Hoover could not reach her. Soon it was all over and the shadows dispersed leaving only the girls bandages for Hoover to hold.

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