Eternally Sombre: Eternally Sombre, #1

By Reptilian Studios

In a world filled with darkness, there are a few stories that we're buried and forgotten, tales of the people who suffered immensely and just wanted to be a part of the world that cast them out for being different. Wendy, a lachrymose witch goes through life demoralized daily as she tries to focus on the only thing that matters to her which is her beloved Sasha as she's chased through her life by a faceless demon who wants to kill everyone that even gets close to her. Wendy wrote down her bizarre life story with blood as she was not a sesquipedalian or an educated person. Each joyless emotion was described to the best of her ability in this intoxicating gothic tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Reptilian Studios
• Release date: Jun 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227987013

Book preview

ETERNALLY

SOMBRE

I

Chapter 1

If you’re here for a happy story, you’re in the wrong place. If you’re expecting horror, death, and a cursed romance, you came to the right place. My entire life, I danced on the line between love and death. How? You’re about to find out. Through all the pain and tragedy, I wish I could say it made me stronger or at least wiser. But sadly, it didn’t. The only thing it did was break me. Break me so much I have multiple different opinions and firm beliefs about everything and yet not a single one. It sounds stupid even as I write it, but it’s just how it is. Let me explain. People, or at least what society sees as normal people (whatever you deem to find normal) have one firm opinion about each subject, but when your life is a roller coaster of different emotions, you tend to have different opinions about everything depending on how you’re feeling at that time. If I express different thoughts towards the same thing, know that it’s not because I’m crazy but more because my opinions are changing as I shift through different emotions. It makes me sound stupid, repetitive, and hell even insane, but once and if you read my story, I hope you’ll understand why. All I’m trying to say is it’s going to be a bumpy ride, so please don’t leave. I want to have at least an illusion that someone's with me as I atone for my sins and wait to see my beloved. I am not evil, and I never meant for all this death and misery to start because of me. All I wanted was to be left alone with my beloved, to live in isolation away from darkness of this world but from when I was a kid, since her blood dripped from my palms unto that old wooden floor next to her post-mortem body, I knew that my life will be challenging because that night changed me. That night my loop of feeling eternally sombre started and I was never the same again. My name is Wendy, and this is my story.

What’s the most important thing in your life? Food, money, family? To me, there’s only one thing in this giant graveyard of a planet that’s worth more than anything. That’s worth so much that I would gladly sell my soul for her. That I would gladly rip out my heart, tear it to pieces, and crawl through bone fragments and my own blood just to kiss the feet of the one I hold most dear as I’m taking my last breath with my hand in the air, giving her my slowly dying and barely still-beating heart. Does that scare you? Death, I mean! All people have different thoughts towards it. Some people want to die; some want to live. Vikings embraced it for they wanted to go to Valhalla; some believe it doesn’t matter if they die because they’re going to be reincarnated. Whatever you choose to believe, just know, it’s all bullshit. If somebody told you you’re going to die in an hour, what would you do? Laugh? If you’re about to die a slow and painful death as you were just reminded of all your sins, would it still make you chuckle? Death is a scary thing, if not the most frightening of all, but most of all I think that some aren’t afraid of death as much as they’re afraid of what comes and that’s something that no amount of money, love, or anything can offer you. In the moment of your death everybody thinks about one thing and that is what comes next. My entire life, I’ve heard people say that in your last moment you see a loved one. You see a shiny light reaching for you, or a fiery pit that opens up around you and swallows you whole. Nobody’s there to consider the fact as an at least possible reality that all it is, is an infusion of chemicals making you hallucinate what you want to see as your body shuts down. If you believe you are going to heaven, there’s a strong chance you’ll see a form of heaven made up only by you, and the same goes for hell.

Fuck, I’m a strong person. Okay, maybe not but I’ve been through so fucking much, so why am I crying right now? Am I scared of death? Why? I’ve got nothing left to live for. If there’s a hole of depression and sadness in existence, I’m probably the center of it. It’s probably orbiting around me like the moon’s orbit around the Earth. I fear that if it disconnected from me that there would be nothing left. I’ve lived my life in pain. It’s all I know. Maybe I want to live. Maybe the fantasy Sasha and I made still has a strong effect on me. The two of us in the middle of nowhere surrounded by miles of forest as we live in a small wooden home away from everything, only accompanied by dark brooding classical music as we sit on the porch and gaze upon the stars in each other’s arms. That’s all I ever wanted! Am I selfish to ask for it? Am I still considered selfish to only want the love of my life with me?

I know that there’s nobody listening, but I just want that. It’s all I ever wanted. When you’ve heard as a kid appreciate something before it’s gone did you completely understand the premise of it? Or did you need to learn that the only way you truly know how much you care for something is in the moment you lose it? To me, it didn’t matter. From the first time I laid my eyes on her to the very last, Sasha was and still is everything to me. My reason for living, my only star in the sky, my graveyard waltz partner at 3 AM, and the very glue that kept me whole. I’m cold, so cold! I don’t know why I am writing this; I don’t know if anyone will ever read it. Probably not. But it’s giving me an illusion like someone’s out there listening to me like someone actually relates to my pain and what I have to say.

Stay! Please stay. I want to feel a warm touch against my cold skin. I want to know that I’m not truly and utterly alone. You must be wondering how I got here. How can a person be so alone, so depressed as she finally grasped the true meaning of her very own mortality? Well, I’m about to try to tell it if you care enough to read it. If you’re one of those people who doesn’t have the stomach for gore, depression, and death, or you even think you can comprehend the reach that depression can take on a person, you’re in for a treat. For most of my life, I came off as a self-obsessed and self-centered person, but it’s best to keep yourself away from emotions and unnecessary human contact. I tried so hard not to care, but that’s not how life works. Ultimately no matter how hard you try not to care, somehow, you end up caring most of all. My sanity crumbled as I bled and shed rivers of tears for just a little bit of love. It’s easy to hide but very hard to ignore. I guess in the end; none can escape emotion’s no matter how fucked up you are.

Like most depressing and dark stories my story also began on a night when I was 12 years old. The sky was drowned in the dark macabre clouds that seemingly indicated that something wicked followed. It was pitch black. The only thing that availed the dark grey clouds was a powerful thunder that appeared every few seconds. I still don’t know where the thunder comes from but they’re simply so darkly majestic. I was next to my window, looking at it. Oh, how I remember that night, my room. Oh, my room. Purple walls with white coloring on the edges, a white bed with fresh put-on sheets radiating the smell of lavender throughout the house, and shelves filled with children’s books and toys. At that point, they started gathering dust because I wanted nothing to do with toys. I felt that I was way too mature to play with such childish objects, but little did I know that I was going to miss the feeling of being a child. Now, my room is nothing but a wasteland! My mother and I got into a fight earlier that night. I wanted to sleep over at a friend’s house, and she didn’t let me. I regret that fight to this day. I wanted to act so maturely, but in reality, I acted like a spoiled, ungrateful brat to a woman that didn’t deserve it. The night was so deep and mysterious I got lost watching the thunderstorm. It was almost as if there was something that was calling me, drawing me in to the center of darkness in it. My mind was clean of everything. Not a single thought went through my mind until that loud break. No sound on earth scarred me more than the sound of that ceramic plate breaking on the wooden floor. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the echo of it shattering. My mother’s beautiful plates. One day we were at a store, and I told her how fun it would be if the two of us had two same plates just for us. Two days later, she bought us custom-made plates that had on the edges written: rock on. It was so surprising because she never cared for my taste in music, but it proved just how lovely that woman was. Even if she didn’t care for something I’m doing, she still chose to accept it just to make me happy.

As the plates broke, I turned around as I exhaled the air out of my lounges with surprise and slight fear. What I saw was a shocking image. Smaller, lighter objects around my room were levitating a foot up in the air from their original place. It was almost like there wasn’t any gravity for certain objects. My small, fragile mind couldn’t cope with it, so much so that I forgot to breathe. My body remained in the same position as my arms were pressed on the lower part of the window behind me. The only thing besides objects in the room that were moving were my eyes going left to right with disbelief. The feeling I never felt before overtook me. Something like powerfully trapped oxygen formed around my palms. A powerful pressure that made me feel frightened and confused about it. I know it’s weird, but it felt like someone’s holding my hands with a tight grip even if there wasn’t anyone there. Putting slightly too much pressure on them like a parent in front of wild traffic waiting carefully for them to cross the road with their child. My body was paralyzed, and then it happened.

Sudden rush, awakening like a dose of heroin shoot directly in your vein, infusing with the blood and starting to course through your bloodstream. A scream. A scream that was going to haunt me for years to come. It didn’t last long. It was a two-second scream of fear, but it gave me just enough adrenaline to break free from my paralyzed stance so I could move. I ran out of my room as objects fell violently on the place they were supposed to be. Some of them broke, and some didn’t but still made enough of a rough sound for me to hear them as I ran out and entered the hallway. Beautiful vintage hallway with photos of almost an entire family tree going back two hundred and fifty years. Fresh cut flowers in white ceramic vases. The wooden stairs never allowed you to sneak up on someone, as the fourth step made a squeaky noise every time you stepped on it. The first floor had an open plan. I tripped running over the last stair and fell right onto the first floor. I didn’t break anything, but I damaged my nose, and it made me lose a few drops of blood. I didn’t notice it because I felt the looming presence of someone or something. If you get quiet, really quiet you can even hear the tiniest noise made. When you’re afraid, you can almost feel the danger like electricity flowing through your body, giving you a chill. A cold feeling that embraced me and never let go. I lifted my body up with both hands as a few drops of blood poured out of me. As I turned around, I saw my beautiful mother. Covered in blood, lying on the floor. My voice absolutely cracked as I called out to her: Mom? With a small amount of physical pain and fear of what happened upstairs still having its effect on me for once in my life, I just let it go as I ran towards her and dropped to my knees. Her warm blood got all over me and within seconds it was everywhere and all I could see. I don’t know if it was my heart or mind, but something got broken at that exact moment. Like a long-waited curse finally got activated, bound by the following tear after tear that dripped from my eyes without stopping. Oh, how I cried that night. As I pressed my head on her chest, I hugged her with both arms and kept calling out for her with my broken voice. I didn’t yell before or something similar, but my voice broke from sadness and dehydration.

I sat there sobbing like an infant until the police arrived. Someone from the neighborhood heard my broken scream and called them. They were everywhere. All over the house, touching every single thing. I sat there in silence as the noises around me died out. There was only one thing before me, my mother’s body. Her blood formed into a small puddle of blood below my legs, and that was the only thing I heard for a moment until they dragged me away from her. The police were quite disgusted by what they saw. They were quite disgusted by the sight of me. They saw me covered in blood over my mother’s dead body with my face all wrinkled up from crying. They placed me in a corner and covered me with an uncomfortable green blanket. You know the itchy kind that nobody wants as I sat there in shock. Apparently, they didn’t want me looking at the scene of the crime or interfering with the evidence, but I know the truth. They just couldn’t stomach looking at me more, and neither one of them had the smarts or knowledge to talk to me after witnessing something like that. It was getting close to midnight. I bet none of them expected when they put on a uniform and go to work that this is what they’ll do tonight. It was a quiet town. So quiet that their biggest crime was vandalism like graffiti. This was probably the biggest case of their career, the one that would forever go unsolved but at end of the day it’s the police. Stupid pigs would sooner blame a small child then admit that they had nothing.

With nowhere to take me since my parents divorced they had to find a place for me until my father pick’s me up the next morning. I was going to sleep in a safe room at the police station. It’s used for kids escaping from child abuse or being ripped away from their families if their parents were illegally in the country. Those poor kids. It was a room where you’re supposed to feel safe, but all it did for someone like me is show that the world doesn’t need a reason to be cruel, dark, and disgusting. Fucking humans! They’re the worst species of them all. The filth and shit created by them is laughably painful and anything but good. The only good thing that was made was Sasha.

An hour passed since the incident, and I haven’t said a word. Ten or more thoughts started circling in my head, and yet I don’t remember any of them. It was one of those moments after you witness a tragedy, that your mind starts to come up with ways to rationalize what you saw. I do remember the feeling though. You hear or read about having a piece of you die, but you don’t believe it. You think it’s a metaphor, but it’s not. It’s true. I could have literally felt a hole inside my chest like there’s nothing there. The only thing that remains after it is pain. Pain that I want to suppress and push deep down where no one would find it. I believe I share that with other people. None of us want to deal with pain. The biggest irony in life is if you feel the pain, you are utterly miserable, and if you push it somewhere or find a way to suppress it deep down, sooner or later, it catches up with you. The best you can do is hope that it doesn’t come back. But it always does. I tried to ignore it over and over, but it found a way back. It’s like living a nightmare showing you just how much has your heart been raped. Showing