|A Nightmare In Cravenshaw (standard:horror, 5723 words)|
|Author: G.H. Hadden||Added: Jan 02 2006||Views/Reads: 1915/1345||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|What Craig remembers came back in the dark, and he faced it alone in his bed last night. A truth so terrible it cannot be real. It revisited him in REM sleep, when all dreams are as vivid as life—and a kid’s nightmare of death is doubly so.|
A Nightmare In Cravenshaw By G.H.Hadden Craig lay safe on his own bed again, first time back in his own room in over a week. His blood boiled with the bitter words Sharon spoke, making him want to leap up and scream into her pretty young face, wanting to yank out her blonde curls and make her see that it was NOT Dillon's fault! But how could he ever hope to maker her understand? He can hardly make sense of it himself. She was wearing that same pleated schoolgirl mini-skirt and mauve sweater she had on in church this morning, the outfit he liked her in so much, the one that nicely accented her figure (by far the most advanced of any girl in the sixth grade) and often gave him a stiffy in class. He used to fear the way she made him feel—-the mere sight or smell of her was sometimes enough to make his stomach knot and a bolt of static charge shoot down his spine to shock his heart alive. "Pheromones." Dillon used to say; that quiet and studious albino kid with those strange pink eyes. A natural talent with a rifle—-he once stunned Jimmy's dad when he drew a bead on a crow at nearly 200 meters and blew it clear out of the sky with almost flawless follow through. He probably knew too much for his own good. And Nate: the pragmatist, a self confessed atheist (who was always the dread student in any Sunday school class) whole-heartedly agreed. Just as he loved to argue with Mrs Walsh over God's creation of Earth in seven days, so too did he say love was nothing but a bunch of chemicals in the brain that turned teenagers into horny fucktards like his sister. If Dr David Suzuki said it was so, well then, no use in even trying to argue the point. He was the practical one all right, but how could a kid so interested in science possibly suck so much at math? His grades were nearly as bad as Craig's before Dillon worked his magic on them all, turning two hopeless jocks and one would-be brain surgeon into solid C mathematicians. Back then love was something that Craig just wasn't ready for. He tried his best to deny it("Icky, gross girls!" he would say to Jimmy. "Hell, NO! I don't like Sharon! No, I don't stare at her all through math!"); to ignore it—-look away—-before someone saw and the teasing would start... "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Craig with a baby carriage!" Of course, this inevitably would lead to a friendly war of Do-too-Do-not, after which they'd both laugh about it and Craig would give his bestest bud Jimmy a tap on the shoulder. This in turn led to some wrestling and horseplay before the end of lunch saw them all safely back in class for another afternoon of learning. But not now—not even dressed as he was in his favorite sweats and an old T could Craig even think of getting a boner. His mind was elsewhere this evening, even as her face and hair glowed in the soft lamplight like an innocent angel. Outside the window a gorgeous sunset unfolded before them, with a shroud of purple clouds foretelling of heavy spring rains to come. Her light scent was intoxicating as always, a fresh field of Easter Lilies, only now he could feel her agitation in the rhythm of her heartbeat. "How could he do that?" She was saying. "What kind of a coward kills himself in front of his friend? You were his friend! How could he do that? How could he kill his whole family like that and say he's sorry to YOU!" BUT IT'S NOT HIS FAULT! He wanted to shake her, make her understand. AND HE'S NO COWARD! He's...just a boy. A boy who acted with dignity—-a boy who's time on earth was enough to show Craig that indeed there must truly be a God in Heaven, because he had seen the hell on Earth, and to think that this life was to be the only chance we got was something his twelve-year-old mind would not allow. Not now, and not ever again. He saw the frustration in her face and shushed her with a finger to her lips. He was quiet and pensive—-and, perhaps still in a state of shock. It's been a full ten days since that warm and sunny Thursday afternoon when the secret was told and consequences brought to bear. More than three weeks since Jimmy's disappearance, near a month since the last Click here to read the rest of this story (482 more lines)
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