This is another very early piece I wrote (I’ve date-stamped it 12th April 1995!). My original summary of it describes it as “the madness of a dying Angel”.
Time passes slowly now. Everything seems to stop and start. Some people said once that nothing is truly smooth, they don’t understand how universally true that is. Nothing is perfect. From the exact moment of our creation we are already flawed, some more deeply then others. Time does not flow smoothly either. Clocks and watches have no sense or consciousness so they can see time from the outside and flow in the ebb of Time. I am blabbering. I have so much time to think now I just wish something would happen.
Outside my study window, the first signs of a storm are apparent. A strong gustily wind uproots and throws around a shrub like invisible men playing football. The sky is heavy and overcast, blacker then the darkness.
Inside my study I feel detached from nature. No wind blows my books, no clouds obscure the pale yellow light from the overhead electrical lamp.
I call to the spirits now, come to me, come in this storm. ‘Unsex me here and fill me from toe to top with direst cruelty’.
I hear the mad howling, of the wind through the chimney or through the empty corridors of my mansion. Will I always live?
There is a tingling sensation on my neck, the tiny white hairs start prickling. They are coming, the darkness is coming. I stand up and survey my study one more time. There on the wall is my sword; So long since I have grasped it’s steel hilt, so heavy. Now my beauty, we will die together.
The constant howling of the wind reminds me of the darkness screams which I vaguely heard in dreams. They taunt me, ask me things, tempt me and now they come.
I have left the study and I stand in the corridor. There is a sharp chill in the air and a draft. I guess a window is open somewhere. Perhaps the others will come when I die to try and save me.
The storm is growing in strength, maddening. Fluxes of some eerie tempest. Is this my flaw? The one given to me on my birth? Am I already part-taker of evil? A subconscious urge? I do not know. Perhaps. Perhaps.
Two thousands years of life, uncomprehendable to a Mortal, yet I have lived here, afraid to go on, afraid to join the others. Maybe this darkness has already destroyed them and ripped apart their sanctuary in hell.
What an obscure thought, perhaps the darkness is them and they call to me now to join them. How ironic it would seem that what can grant me release and transcendence I fear and loath?
That tingling sensation again, but the cold metal of my sword helps me fight the feeling. Is it wrong that I fear it? Yes! It is. I am not evil. I did not call you, go leave me and this place.
O! The window at my side has burst open and the rain splatters on my face, the whip of the wind hurts my face. There it is shut. My God that storm is strong. None human can reach me now and I cannot leave. I am alone as I always have been.
I slash with my sword experimentally in the air, one hundred years ago I think, was the last time I used it. Will the darkness kill me? I so long to know what is beyond the veil.
What is that I see? Just up there? No it must be a trick of light for now it is gone. Why do they taunt me? What have I done?
The illusion of flowing time is faded, the minutes become hours, each second amplified in the becoming night. They will wait until midnight, until the bell-tower rings, a bell-tower which hasn’t rung in fifty years.
I sit silently in the gloom, the electricity went out and hour ago or was it just a minute ago? I heard whispers in the gloom, I grip my sword my only anchor to reality.
I’m beginning to forget. I cannot remember my friends, how I came into possession of this house, all of it is fading but I do not forget the sword. What am I? Do I forget even that? They are coming it is not an illusion anymore. I know that now but I can’t remember anymore. Maybe I don’t care anymore, no I cant’, I must care.
It is the only thing I have left. Howl wind! HOWL WIND! I WILL NOT YEILD TO YOU!! Hear things that stop as soon as I hear them, I feel presences, like afterimages, like residues of spirits. I will not follow you, you will not take me back.
I hear a bell, oh God! Is it time already? A ripple of booming thunder? Now no light remains in my fortress, I am the Macbeth as he realises he has lost everything and is to fight a battle he will love. I will take as many as you as I can and drag you with me to what is beyond the Veil.
Oh God! Oh God.
A man stands in front of me, no illusion; he? he seems solid, real. He is tall, long black hair tied back, a stylish black trench coat and suit but his eyes are red, bright burning red.
‘Do you think, Daniel, Do you think it is over?’
I raise the heavy sword and charge towards the figure, I scram my battle rage but he stands totally calm and then? he? starts to laugh aloud.
‘Die Lucifer?’ I scream in this madness and his laugh gets more so lunatic.
‘No one calls me Lucifer, that is a mortal pet name.’ He smiles, his face contorting into some Maniac’s image and I can see his aura become fire, his eyes supernatural in their intensity and I realise my charge will never reach him, that I haven’t even left my chair!
I realise now the storm in no longer outside but around me, the darkness, an amalgamation of a million evil things gathers around me. The darkness has arrived; ‘I am tired, I am so tired and old.’
I have no space as it encircles and closes in on me, and over the sounds of the storm I can hear only the lunatics’ laughter. Oh God I pray to you?
I see an image as everything fades, the lunatic leers over me, ‘I am Magnus Lionheart now, Daniel,’ he smiles ‘Maybe we’ll meet again.’