Damien is a good boy as far as good boys go. That's not to say he never does wrong, it simply means that he does more good than bad. You know, just a regular boy and this same, regular boy is heading down the stairs of his house, his sock covered feet padding upon the wooden staircase.
It's a typical morning in his household, far too early for any but the most devout television watchers to even consider being awake at this time. A rumbling of his stomach declares aloud a demand for food in as short a duration as possible. Specifically, a sugar loaded cereal that is more candy than breakfast food.
He's in the midst of his usual trek to the kitchen when a queer feeling comes over him. Something's not right, he can feel it in his bones. "Mom? Dad?" he calls aloud as he looks over the banister. "Is anyone here? Jamie?"
Slowly, darkness begins creeping in, pouring down the sides of the walls as though a malignant blight that has infested the house. Damien feels it before he sees it, making him shudder. All at once, his simple, cozy house becomes menacing and frightening. Every corner, every angle seems to reach out, trying to take hold of him.
The boy runs the best he is able with his padded feet slipping and sliding, giving him little traction to make a proper getaway. Though it doesn't matter, there's nowhere he can run to get away from the house that's turning upon him. He can hardly think, he's so terrified, but one thought does come to him, a possible way out.
He dashes down the long hall, keeping to the narrow rug that allows him adequate traction to keep himself plenty mobile. He reaches an absolute obstacle and takes hold of the handle to the front door, but no matter how many times he disengages the latch, nor how much he pulls, it simply won't open.
He turns about, the darkness is gathering and the house is bending towards him. "Mom! Dad!" he screams, tears streaming down his face. "I need you!"
Slowly, with his back still against the door, he slinks down further and further till his body can collapse no more. He enfolds his arms and buries his head, hoping against hope that the terrors will all go away.
Damien feels a touch on his shoulder and retreats even further from fear, but the unexpected contact makes him feel good. Summoning his reserves of courage, he raises his head and can't believe what he's seeing. A stark white, porcelain, doll face with cracks across its surface is all he can see, frozen into a smile.
The face helps the little boy to his feet by offering a hand which seems to materialize out of thin air. Now he can see the entirety of the strange person which is a tall figure draped in a strange garb that is loose enough to obscure their outline, excepting they are a woman, but tight enough to allow for freedom of movement. All of which is white on one side and black on the other with boots to match.
The doll-faced woman holds a massive blade, too large in fact to be wielded with any kind of proficiency and behind her is a tear across the ceiling of the room. The rupture allows light to pour into the room, but nothing compared to luminance cast off by the thing in her other hand which she holds quite tightly.
These two lights, in conjunction with one another are like a rushing liquid that coats everything and pushes the darkness back into the recesses from which it came. In this manner does the environment change back into its normal perception, until the darkness is all but gone and the house is back to normal.
Damien has a million questions, but the woman and oversized weapon begin to slowly dissipate, as though she and it are suddenly made of sparkling dust while a sudden, strong wind blows it away. The boy reaches out, but the loose particles that are the woman are gone by then. He's perplexed, uncertain of what he had just witnessed.
The boy awakes in his bed, his mind reeling from the strange dream and subsequent nightmare he just endured.
"Hey there champ," his father calls from the doorway as he opens the door. "Ready to start the day?"
Damien rubs the sleep from his eyes, he's already beginning to forget the strange dream. Only one detail sticks in his mind, the cracked, white, dollface.
*
Thomas loves the sea, not as much as his parents, but it comes in at a close second. He enjoys the sound of a rain storm and relishes the idea of one while being caught up in a typhoon. The sea breeze splashing in his face while he's buffeted by hurricane force wind sheers that threaten to topple him, but never succeed.
He's enamored by boats, or ships, to be more accurate. He's enthralled with the craftsmanship that goes into each one, the very notion of humanity's bid to repulse the facet of nature that dictates water swallow them whole. It is a testament not only to the ingenuity of the mind, but also the tenacity of the human heart.
Of course, there is also sailing. The very skill that has been honed throughout the centuries of maritime history and passed down on a personal level. The art of rope tying and the many applications upon which such expertise can be applied. As well as, knowing when to give the sails to the wind and when to fight against the current.
But out of all of this, he most loves pirates. He's poured over every book he's able to on the subject, within his age range, both historical and fantastical. He's watched all the nautical movies and documentaries he can. And out of the two schools of thought, he prefers the more romanticized version to the far more bloody and adult oriented reality.
For Thomas it is all about the very idea of the ever elusive concept that is the gentleman pirate. The one who treats all people as equals, be they high born royalty or a lowly slave. Upon the ocean we are all children of the great, mother Earth who regards us all with an indifferent demeanor, for we are all claimed by the cold embrace of the sea.
Needless to say, but I'm going to anyway, the sea is the boy's life and its lifeblood flows through his veins. Should it really matter then that his physical proximity to the nearest, sailable body of water is so far remote? One day he will remedy this inconvenience by moving to a coastal town and living on a boat, but for now he is just a boy and such matters are beyond his ability to remedy.
But hardly any of that matters now, for upon his proud vessel stands Captain Thomas, bedecked in his favorite, pirate costume. It isn't strictly accurate as it is a mix of the different elements he finds most appealing, but it makes a statement and that is the most important aspect. With hand upon the helm, he steers the ship as the waves grow fierce.
"Prepare for rough waters!" he shouts aloud and grips the wheel that much tighter.
"Aye, aye Captain!" his crew responds as one and set about their individual tasks.
This be the life of any salty dog what calls the sea their home! (I'm going to stop now.) The sea breeze in his face and running about all the borders with the saline infused air pushing the sail fiercely and crusting the skin. For Thomas, and others of his like, this is sheer paradise. But it is not to last.
Darkness begins to fall with the roiling, storm clouds, an unnatural kind of pitch black that saps all the light from even the crackling lightning. One can hardly see their hand in front of their face at this point, let alone navigate the shifting environment. Even the moon hangs like a darkened sun overall.
"Crew!" Captain Thomas calls aloud while straining his eyes as he stares the best he can down the length of the ship.
One by one his crew turn toward him. "Aye, aye," they speak with sinister intent as their eyes glow a sinister red.
They all are composed of skeletal bodies sticking out of period inspired attire with decaying flesh hanging from their rotten, broken bones. A real skeleton crew. (Buh-dum-tish.) Slowly, the terrifying crew creeps toward their captain as they draw their pistols and unsheathe their swords. They're thirsting for blood, his blood and they will accept no substitute.
Thomas' blood runs cold and a shiver runs up and down his spine, causing him to loose his hold on the helm. It is only now that he truly looks upon those who inhabit his craft and realize this is not his crew. Further observation reveals that this is not his ship either and he starts to wonder what had changed so radically from only a moment ago.
The captain can feel his insides turn to ice as he retreats as far as he is able before he bumps against the railing and the absolute limit available to him. He scrambles to pull his pistol, but finds it is not tucked against his hip where it normally sits. So he goes for his cutlass, but it too has gone absent without leave.
All alone and with no weapon to aid in his defense, the boy will have to face the coming marauders. To his credit, he does all he can to muster up the courage to fight back against insurmountable odds, but he is still just a child and he is not prepared for a more adult conclusion to this coming bloodbath.
Upon the air drifts particles and it's these loose bits that blow toward our outnumbered buccaneer. The tiny bits gather together and slowly begin to form a solid body. A woman dressed in a black and white mariner outfit with a white, dollface stands now before the desperate officer. In her hand forms a rapier and she stands ready to employ it while in the other is a piece of light.
The newly appeared swashbuckler wastes no time taking on the advancing threat. She exchanges strikes and no matter how many of them attack, she keeps them all at bay while dodging every clumsy shot aimed her way. One by one she disarms her foes and swipes off their skulls, the loss of which causes them to fall into no more than bones and cloth.
At long last, the final crewman falls to pieces and with the conflict truly at an end, the swordmaster sheathes her blade. Thomas is simply in awe as he can't believe the dazzling display he just witnessed. The woman spins about and gives a bow, before leaping off the boat and into the water.
The boy hurries to the side of his ship to get one final look upon his saviour before she is consumed by the waves in sparkling particles on the surface. All at once, he falls forward as his legs feel as though they're mired in mud. He can't understand what is happening nor why he is falling so slowly that he can see what he is meant to impact before it happens.
Thomas hits the floor full force, but all he feels is an inexplicable softness which cushions the blow so he does not feel any pain. Slowly, he gains consciousness and finds himself laying securely in his bed, his body sprawled out all over the covers. He rises from his retired position and looks all around him at the dark room.
"What are you doing up?" his sister, who's returning from the bathroom, asks him.
"I don't know," is Thomas' response, his mind settling on a single aspect from his dream, the mask.
*
It's a great, big, birthday party extravaganza! A festivity that is simply bursting at the seams with all the activities that have been made available for those in attendance. A large throng of children mill about, going from one attraction to another, be it face paint, or caricature drawing, or ring toss, or sack race, or, well, you get the point.
All of it, the festivities, the games, the clown, the magician and of course, the cake, all for the skinny girl, Amy. She can hardly believe all the other kids of the neighbor have come out to celebrate her day of birth. Normally, they are too afraid to play on account of the Hepatitis-C coursing through her veins.
There is a great deal that isn't understood about this particular illness, but that hasn't stopped the neighborhood parents from banding together and launching a boycott on the poor, sickly child. Their prejudicial and unfounded thinking is that the girl is contagious due to illicit drug use, through her mother most like, and will infect their children.
However, a quick internet search would reveal that only blood to blood contact can cause an infection and it has more to do with the liver than any illicit drug use. But that would require people care and not be given in to prejudicial thinking which is always looking for the next target of its unbiased abasement.
However, none of this matters to the birthday girl who's busy flitting about with all the others and having such a good time that, for a little while, she forgets all about her condition and just has fun like any kid would. During which time the others seem to forget she is the forbidden girl as they run, skip and play with her, without reserve.
It isn't long before it's time for the showpiece of the entire party, the cake. It was specially made by a local baker who created four whole tiers, on top of which are many, simple decorations to celebrate the occasion and enough candles to light up the night which is quickly falling, regardless of specific age.
Amy's mother, the hostess of the affair, calls everyone over to sing an overrated, commercially copyrighted song. All are more than pleased to join in the ritual and their voices rise into the air and mingle with one another, creating a cacophony that acts as canopy and centers around the blushing girl with tears in her eyes.
The song over, the woman leans in. "Now blow out the candles and make a wish," she instructs her offspring with a wide smile on her face.
Amy nods with great exuberance and blows out the many candles with just a single breath. An impossible task, but completed all the same and with them goes the light. It's now pitch dark, not even the moon shines from above dappled with the twinkling of the stars. It is as though the world has closed its eyes to all forms of light.
The little girl suddenly feels all alone when she had only moments ago been surrounded by wellwishers. She looks all around her, but there is naught but the void which consumes all sound so there is only the disquiet of silence to be had. She starts to crawl inside herself, but finds little comfort to be had.
All at once, pairs of bright red, glowing eyes pierce the darkness as they encircle the little girl with their unwavering stares that drive her to her knees. She starts crying and calling out for her parents, but it doesn't matter. The eyes are joined by hands that just keep coming from out of nowhere and close the distance upon her, like a cage slowly closing up.
There's a brilliant flash and as scared as she is, Amy just needs to see what is going on. She looks to the only source of light which is a glowing figure of a woman clothed in black and white, with a cracked white mask on her face. In her hands is a long handled, oversized mallet which she holds with the expert hands of one well acquainted with the novelty weapon as she clutches a source of bright light in the other.
She leaps from her perch and does not even land before swinging wide at the mass of red eyes, causing each hidden adversary to skyrocket into the air to become twinkling, little lights in the sky. This sudden violence causes the rest of the assailants dressed entirely in black to scatter and look for safety.
The clown's not having any of it as he steps forth wielding a pair of long sausages tied together like he's Bruce Lee. He swings the meat byproduct round about his comically fat body, snapping every couple of revolutions, mostly to intimidate his opponent while showing off the technical prowess at his disposal.
The figure of light dodges left, right and sideways while looking for an opening that simply does not exist so long as her adversary remains upright. This gives her an idea of how to proceed to victory and she reverses her weapon and uses the slim handle to poke the mirth maker in the oversized, exposed bellybutton.
He doubles over, drops his sausage nunchaku and covers his distended belly with both hands while looking to be in considerable pain. He freezes in place once he's realized the compromising position he's put himself in, but there is nothing he can do. His opponent simply cocks her head to the side before blasting him to the vanishing point with the business end of her mallet.
Amy is frozen solid from the shock of it all when the woman touches her on the shoulder. Her fears still have hold of her as she turns to this strange figure and isn't sure just what this stranger intends. As such she keeps her distance and shifts her focus to the menacing weapon that caused so much disruption to her party turned nightmare.
The woman drops her weapon and it vanishes into sparkling glitter as she squats down and extends her hand to the little girl while keeping a proper buffer zone. The girl looks to the extension of goodwill, takes a swallow and places her own within it. This simple action causes a surge of happiness to flow into the child.
It is then that the light returns and all the guests are made present, all of whom are acting as though nothing strange occurred at all. Instead, they are simply ecstatic for the serving of the delicacy that has all their mouths watering from sheer delight. A line forms in front of Amy's mother and she serves everyone in kind.
All seem to have forgotten the birthday girl entirely and do not appear to notice her savior at all. As such, the girl feels a squeeze of her hand and the woman stands up. All at once, she starts sparking all over the place and shoots into the sky where she becomes a massive firework that explodes brilliantly and throws glittering light every which way in the form of a mask before it all turns black.
The little girl wakes up in her bed in the middle of the night, according to her cute kitty clock. She hugs the stuffing out of her plushie, a blue pegasus, which lies within her clutches. Her eyes are moist from tears, but one thing keeps her from going into full blown crying over such a nightmare: It is the puzzle of who was that strange woman, who wore such a strange mask?