Fan Fiction ❯ Dead Men Arise ❯ Dead Men Arise ( Chapter 1 )

Dead Men Arise

 

Grey trees loomed over all, as their last shadows were cast upon the dimming plain. The final stunning rays of sunlight crept down the craggy mountains, bringing all to pale darkness.

Under the deep forest, flowers of every hue sprouted their proud heads. Spring was fading, yet despite the warming weather, a chill would haunt these woods. Breezes would drift, and twirl around the dark branches, making the woods seem perilous.

 

All knew this tale, but one. All feared these woods, but one.

 

One foolish boy wandered under the dark leaves, which would whistle softly as he passed. That breeze would follow him. That breeze was blowing his long hair in front of his eyes, yet to that, he took no notice. A fool, he was, yes, but a wise fool. He would not be easily laid into a trap. His mind kept sharp, and his wit, dreary.

 

Rare was a smile to meet his lips. Rare was joy, to meet his thoughts.

 

He walked his nighttime stroll, in unawareness. The breeze would not rouse him from his thoughts, that breeze that whispered words into his ears. Its calls brought no fear to his mind, nor his eyes. He walked, to where he did not know. He followed his heart, yet his heart told naught directions. His heart only guided him deeper.

 

No one had asked him to walk these woods. No one but himself could make him walk.

 

His eyes saw nothing but black, yet his hands remained at his sides. No guidance, he needed to walk through this hell. He was not aware of the presence that watched him.

As if time had stopped still, he was numb with fear. He suddenly fell to his knees, as something rushed through his soul. The moonlight faded from his eyes. The trees disappeared. All he saw was a tongue of flame.

He stood, surrounded by what he could not tell. Unclear shapes pranced around him. Shadows danced near and far. What was this place? Where had he strayed? A fire burned in the center of this unholy place. From behind the flame, he could see a figure signaling him to come. He walked on unsure feet, to the flaming mess that lay between the two. Upon his arrival, what he saw, he could not describe. Human remains. Bones. He was looking at a live corpse, he decided. No heart burning within its chest. He invited him to dance; to dance with the dead. He obeyed, and he danced, and he pranced, with the lifeless figures. Death had come knocking at his door, and he cringed with fear to that thought. Yet he danced with them. Hundreds of those thin figures, clicking their bones as they jumped around the fire. They had ascended from Hell.

Weariness caught up with him. After several hours of dancing, he collapsed. One or more of the carcasses picked him where he had fallen, and pushed him to dance some more. Their slender fingers, shot chills to his heart. Yet, one of the figures started a quarrel, for reasons he did not know. A wrestle broke out on center stage, and more and more of them joined it. Our fool saw this as an opportunity, and ran. He dared not look back, for harsh shouts echoed. He ran, and ran. His energy boosted by fear. His teeth were clasped together, and his eyes were shut tightly. He ran, until his legs could no longer follow. He collapsed onto his hands and knees, and lay, breathing heavily. He heard no sound following him. No bones clicking, no growls echoing.

`Get up, Mathias… just get up.' He told himself, as he stared at the wintry ground. He pushed himself up, and gazed back, trembling violently. Nothing had followed him. He stood in that same forest. The forest that had brought him to that conflagration. How did he get back? He could not even answer his own burning questions. No one had been there to witness what happened to him. Not a soul would believe he went dancing with the dead.

 

To this day, he will never be told, why they let him go. But he knows, to not go dancing with the dead. When you wake from your dreams, to go dancing with the dead, you know your time is near at hand. Drink, and say a prayer to it, before you take your sleep.