Drafts
The crooked Wretches of Albury Bay
Part 1: The Lost Shepard in search of his sheep
Dear Father,
The ever tormenting voices of my past have ceased as the dark goddesses have finally pierced my heart and soul through their beautiful hymns. They have swayed me from my false prophets and made my eyes open to the wonder and beauty of all that she may offer. Their gentle skin and somber tone have made my body immortal in my desire to uphold her will. Through eternal salvation in the arms of their seductive family, her delightful embrace, and the never ending ecstasy of their end, I have found piece in Albury Bay.
If you wish to become one with her too, might I warn you my father, there are only so many seats at their luxurious table. To gain ones seat you must rip it from another as I have already done. I tell you this for it has taken away my pain and grief for mother, as I suspect it will do for you.
Sincerely,
Your loving son Joseph Shepard.
Que les déesses s'embrassent libèrent ta douleur
(May the goddesses embrace release your pain)
The untimely letter Jonathan Shepard had received through the small slit in his splintered oak door that fateful morning came as an instrument of terror upon his soul. As he perused its contents his heart sunk deep into his stomach, tears beginning to form under his cold blue eyes, methodically streaming down the wrinkles in his face onto the crinkled page. It had been almost a decade since the voice of his son had last graced his mind, the letter reigniting memories of his calm and warm demeanor. Whilst entranced he could almost hear the laughs of his sons echo down the hallways behind him, like they did many times years ago. As the contents of the letter truly buried their way into his psyche these fond memories quickly faded, replaced by the horrid ones that led to his current state of existence.
As he looked up from its pages, towards the pale door which the letter came through he collected himself, having broken himself out of his trance. After wiping away the still flowing tears he searched his surroundings, now seeming so distant after this revelation. The room was dim, lit only by the somber light coming from the dust covered windows that straddled the grand entry way. As he arose from the marble floor his hand brought with it a thin layer of dust, dark in its appearance and soft in its touch. On both feet once again, he looked at the letter he had received and began to move his way deeper into his domicile.
Traversing his villa, he past rooms both empty and decrepit, filled with the possessions of people who have long since called them theirs. He peered into some whilst staying indifferent to the inanimate inhabitants of others, with the peeling wallpaper swaying as he moved by. Arriving at his destination, he firmly gripping the gold and silver nobs placed upon the old wooded entryway, using them to bring himself forth into the room. Standing in the doorway he searched around, the pitch-black interior making it difficult to find the light switch. Eventually finding it he brought light once again to the room, revealing the paper lined floors and tattered bookshelves that complimented its now lightened interior.
Taking a seat at the cracked and dried leather chair, paired well with the drown Cambara wood desk, he took to rummaging through its drawers for a specific item. In time his light and graceful search turning into a desperate and ferocious endeavor.
"Where the fuck is that stupid map!" Jonathan exclaimed, his vitriolic words bouncing down the hallways just outside his studies wide open doors. "I swear to god if that map isn't in here, I'll tear up this whole god damn office. What the fuck is the point of having a study if I can’t find what’s in IT!”
Suddenly getting up from his seat Jonathan threw one of the drawers across the room, slamming into a book lined shelf. As the contents of both the drawer and shelf spewed onto and mixed with the floor’s papers, he fell back down into his seat. Recollecting himself after his outburst of rage he muttered quietly under his voice a single word, “Fuck.”
His breath coming out heavy, visible in the air in front of his crimson face, he stood still whilst staring blankly at the wall he just assaulted. As suddenly as his rage had overtaken him, he bolted across the room towards the new addition of clutter to this office floor. With tears once again forming he tore through the pile of debris and clutter, like an animal desperately digging to escape its collapsing den.
“Marie”, he somberly stated as his digging ceased. He raised a picture frame, the light glimmering off the shattered glass separating its contents from Jonathan’s fingertips. “Since you’ve gone, I’ve. Not been able to keep my temper”. His voice cracking as his words become overtaken by a slowly growing whimper, goring in the back of his throat. Gripping the photograph, he smiled and shared with it his revelation. “It’s Joseph, our son, he’s alive, but I don’t think he is doing alright.” Looking once again at his surrounds his smile turning into a frown, the wrinkles compressed on his ageing face.
“I know these last few years have been hard, with you not around I can’t seem to keep my temper, and the boy’s being gone doesn’t help.” Pausing once again he looks at the broken shelf, recollecting the memory of when Joseph had helped him put up the newly lacquered boards that he had just destroyed.
After a deep and deafening silence Jonathan stood up once again, using the pile he had made to force himself off the unstable floor. Leaving his study, he returned to the main entrance of his once hallowed home and turning sharply ascended one of its grandiose stairways. Like the path he took on the main floor he once again found himself at a set of large doors. As the door creaked open the light of the room forced him to squint as he walked into it. Making his way to a bookshelf opposite of the wall lined by his bed, he made space for the shattered frame amongst many others. Taking a step back he peered over the sea of photographs that covered the shelves that lined the wall. To the left and right of this new edition to the shelves collection were picture of the himself and his family.
To the right was a family photograph, taken on the stone steps leading to the entrance of their home. With Jonathan and his wife Marie in the middle, sporting the fanciest of their attire, the hottest clothing you could buy in 1904. In front of them from oldest to youngest sat their sons Jacob, Kennedy, and Joseph, all of which wore matching white suits. Jonathan chuckled as their white outfits greatly contrasted the deep burgundy color of the massive estate that created the photos background. A mistake he thought at the time would make it a throw away, but now in his old age something which only made him cherish it even more.
On the opposite side of the new addition stood two photographs that did not share the same affection as the one he longingly stared at. In each frame was a picture of a neatly uniformed man, sporting a cap displaying the markings of the thirty-sixth Canadian Infantry Battalion. Inside the frame, beside the photograph, gleamed a metal for service in the Great War between 1914-1918. Under each of these photos, which Jonathan dreadfully recited aloud, were the name of his two eldest sons marked as Private Jacob Shepard and Corporal Kennedy Shepard.
“I’m glad you never got to see those letter come home Marie”, Jonathan once again looking at the shattered frame featuring his wife. “When the officers came that day, long after Joseph had left, I was devastated. I couldn’t even keep my composure in front of those two young men, my legs just gave out as they presented me their metals with those tightly folded flags.”
Jonathan turned away, his back now facing the wall of photos containing smiling faces from a long time past, his eyes firmly locked on his nightstand. He strode over to his bedside facing the window, the yellow tint of the light shining through giving a nasty color to the already dirty sheets. His hand reached out to grab a container, nocking over bottles and papers along the way. Once firmly on his lap opened it and placed the contents withing his mouth, his vision slowly blurring as the contents soon began to take their affect. As his consciousness slowly faded, he slumped deeper into the bed, whispering out in his final waking moments a few heartfelt words, calmer than any other that had come that day.
“I’m going to find you Joseph, fathers going to bring you home.”
The lively noises that festered the Shepard estate in the early morning of the following day were in stark contrast to the ones that had followed it in past years. The creaking floor boards that dotted the halls and rooms of the estate masked the grunting and muffled swearing as Jonathan gathered a collection of tools, items, and possessions into a small but sturdy rucksack. From clothes, to money, to a unique gathering of family photographs filled the sack, only kept in by the meticulous organization of its architect. It sat dormant yet so lively in its eclectic contents in the centre of the entryway, its position almost consumed by light descending from the rising sun of the early morning.
The Malady of Calvin Cooper
Sleep.
Sleep!
They tell me I must sleep!
They tell me I must close my eyes, rest my head, slowly fall asleep in bed.
Sleep!
I cannot let them make me slumber.
I cannot let them make me fall.
In the trance they make me dance.
A puppet at their darkened ball.
Sleep!
Their smiles crawl from ear to ear when I make their acquaintance.
They sing and dance, rend my mind and my flesh, make me wish I never slept.
When I rise in cold and wet, evidence of their torture while I rest, I cry and cry despite my very best.
Sleep!
They tell me it was but a dream, they shake me hard, they always scream.
Their smiles look a lot like theirs, but only echoes when compared to the nightmare of their twisted stares.
Sleep!