Page 2 of Craving Darkness

“What-” I began to ask before being immediately cut off.

“Quiet,” Mother snapped and pushed me toward the bed. “Lie down and do what you’re told before I leave you to your punishment for another two days.”

My lower lip quivered as I did what she said, slowly kneeling on the edge of the mattress and crawling to the center of the bed. I sat there in confusion, looking up at her for some kind of explanation or another command that would indicate why she was sending me to my bed in what seemed to be the middle of the day.

She walked to the edge of the bed and leaned over, grasping my wrist and pulling it toward the headboard. “I said, lay down.” Her tone was angry but calm, the way she usually spoke to me, as if she were doing her best to stay composed as a lady should be at all times. I swallowed hard but did as she said while keeping my eyes on where she held my arm. As soon as I was on my back, she slipped something over my wrist and pulled.

I gasped when I realized that she had tied a rope around my wrist. I tried to tug on it as panic began to make my heart race, and I felt another hand touching me from the other side of the bed. I jerked my head in the direction to see a face I recognized but never expected to see in my home, let alone inside my bedroom.

The priest from our church smiled down at me as he pulled my arm above my head and secured it the same way my mother had my other arm. “Shh, sweet child. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”

It didn’t feel like anything was okay. I was being restrained to my bed by the local priest. I was hungry, and I had to pee so bad I was scared I was going to wet myself at any moment. I turned my head to look back at my mother. “Please, Mother. I have to use the restroom,” I whispered, putting as much pleading into my voice as I could so she’d understand how desperate I was. If I wet the bed, I could just imagine what she would make me do as a punishment.

She glared down at me without a word and moved to my feet. At the last minute I attempted to pull them away, trying to bend my knees, but it was too late. My ankles were grasped tightly from both sides, and the ropes were firmly attached to my ankles, securing them to the bed tightly. I attempted to test the ropes, but there was very little slack and I couldn’t do much but bend my knees enough to place the heel of my foot against the mattress.

The fear began to kick in as my eyes moved around the room wildly, taking in the candles and the priest who had stepped back. He was wearing robes similar to the ones he wore at church every Sunday, but somehow, they seemed so sinister on him now. He picked up a book and opened it while doing the sign of the cross with his hand held up in front of him.

My mother stepped back toward the door and held her hands together in front of her waist the same way she always did when we were on TV standing behind my father as he spoke to the crowds about his policies and promises for the city. It was the way she had taught me to stand, too.

The priest began to speak, but it wasn’t a language I understood, though I was almost certain it was Latin. I was pretty sure that was what priests spoke when they did the prayers at church. When he picked up a small bottle and popped the lid off with his thumb, my breaths started coming faster and faster. He was terrifying me with what he was doing. The whole situation was scary. I thought about calling out for my dad, but it had been so long since he’d spent any time with me. He used to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight, but then he got too busy with his work, and I barely saw him anymore. He never smiled at me the way he used to. No, I couldn’t call for my father. He probably wasn’t even home anyway.

I turned desperate eyes on my mother, hoping she would see that I needed help, that I needed to be free. I was scared and needed the comfort of my mother. When I remembered that she’d never been the type to comfort me, was when the tears started falling. Once I started crying, I couldn’t stop. All my pain, desperation, and terror just poured out of me. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be paid attention to. I wanted my mother to tell me I had done a good job or to brush my hair.

I was trying to ignore the way my snot had gathered in the corner of my nose and was about to slide embarrassingly down my face when a splash of water made me flinch. The priest was splashing me from the little bottle in the same motions as when he did the sign of the cross. After he was finished, he turned and set the bottle down on the dresser, and then he picked up a piece of rope. I could see enough through my tears that it was red, and I briefly wondered what it was for when he stepped to the side of the bed.

I watched as he pulled his arm back and then brought the rope down across my legs, which were exposed by my school uniform skirt. It didn’t really hurt, but the shock of being struck had me gasping out loud. His chanting got louder as he pulled his arm back and struck me again repeatedly. Over and over, he brought the short piece of rope across my legs and belly until it began to sting.

I turned my head to look at my mother. “Please!” I begged. “Please make him stop. Why are you doing this? What did I do?”

“You have the devil in you,” she hissed as her fingers tightened on each other until her knuckles turned white. “You need to be cleansed.”

“Don’t speak to the girl.” The priest admonished her in a severe tone. “The demon will try to trick you. You must not engage.”

“I’m not a demon!” I cried out at the rope sliced across my upper thigh in a spot that it had already struck several times, making me hiss in pain. “Please! I’m not a demon, I swear!”

My whole body was shaking uncontrollably as the fear grew. I heard my mother gasp and turned to look at her as she stared at me with her eyes wide with horror. I had no idea why she was looking at me that way, but it made my fear unbearable. Suddenly, she threw her hand up to brace herself against the wall. It wasn’t until I heard the priest grunt that I looked at him and saw a piece of the ceiling fall and hit his shoulder.

The whole room was shaking. I looked up at the ceiling to see there were small cracks across it leading from the center of the room over my bed and spreading outward. The cracks grew larger as I stared, transfixed. I watched as small bits of plaster fell, and dust rained down, covering the bed and my body.

“Be gone, demon!” The priest bellowed at me when I turned to look at him, but it was my mother’s scream of pain that had my heart freezing in my chest. When I turned to look at her, she had her hand on her forehead, and there was a small stream of dark red blood dripping from between her fingers. The sight had me squeezing my eyes shut and begging everything to stop.

The room stopped shaking abruptly just as my bedroom door flew open.

“What the hell is going on in here?” my father bellowed as he glared around the room. His gaze landed on my mother as she sniffled before squaring her shoulders back.

“She needs help.”

He sighed as he looked over at me, trembling, covered in welts from the rope and dust from the ceiling. I was also wet from my bladder, losing control some time since it had all started. I couldn’t even remember when I had peed, but I could feel it as it soaked through my clothes and bedding.

“Of course she does, Vanessa. But in our home? It’s going to take some quick talking to explain away these kinds of repairs.”

At his words, the last bit of hope I had in me faded. I wasn’t going to get my old dad back. I was truly alone now.

Chapter 1

Valen

There were only two eras I had lived through so far that I truly enjoyed. The first was at the beginning of the new millennia when the Roman Empire was still the ruling government. Not because I had any love for the Romans. No, it was because they knew how to have a good time. My favorite part of the era was the Colosseum. There, I could just be another faceless, nameless fighter. The crowd didn’t give a fuck about me or the destruction I caused. If anything, they craved it.