23 May 2012
Death. It changes people. It changed me. It can force people to attempt wild things in the name of hope. When you are put in a situation like that, anything that could help to put your fears to rest seems like a good path to take, even if it is really not…
I was a peaceful young boy, living a simple life; I had never committed any crimes, or harmed anybody else in my small, isolated but comforting village in North-West England. At the age of 12, a forest fire that had started burned down my village, leaving it in ruins. Staggering out of my destroyed home, I was lucky to be alive. Sadness overthrew me, as my village and all of my family and peers had had their lives snatched away from them. I had nowhere to go, so I began to recreate my village…
Finally, ten long years later, the village had been fixed. Throughout the entire village, not a single singe mark could be seen, and everything looked pristine and tidy. In my mind, it was still a flaming wreck, without anybody to fill it up. The events that had taken place played back in my mind thousands of times a day.
During a dull and gloomy autumn day, I was cutting down some trees when I noticed a narrow path. I had never seen this path before, and curiosity took hold of me and led me down the path. As I reached the end of the path, I saw a large church. There was already one in the village, so I did not have any idea as to why it was here. I saw some slight burn marks on the large, grey and stony walls from the church. Shuddering, I recollected that day once again in my memory, and was filled with an odd sensation of fear. Deciding to set my fears to rest, I travelled further on, to investigate the church. Luckily, I had a small box of matches in my rucksack, and had a shotgun, to protect myself from anything that might be lurking in the dark walls of the church.
Suddenly, even though it was only three hours past noon, the sky turned dark and was covered with clouds. Lightning poured from the heights of the behemoth sky. Running to cover under the light roof of the vast, chilly courtyard, I took some deep breaths and rubbed my hands together for warmth. Noticing a dry, large fountain in the centre of the courtyard, I decided to investigate it. There did not appear to be anything of interest near it: The fountain appeared to have not poured a drop of water for months, if not years. However, some odd words that were engraved on the sides of the fountain stuck out in the corner of my eye. As I turned and studied them, I noticed that they were Latin and read: ‘Cave malo cubilia’ several times around the rim of the fountain. Moving on, I slowly parted the huge, marble doors that lead into the mysterious church…
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Beware Of The Lair - #1 • Opuss № I