Wiccan Act One: Occult

27 | Nightmare Fuel

Dedicated to 

Aiden

XXVII

Being in another person's room alone made Aiden's skin crawl.

He ran his hands along the bedsheets taking in the silence. The room held the faintest scent of old newspapers and vanilla from the cologne Christian put on this morning. Outside, the trees next to the house rustled, sending a stray leaf inside now and then.

It had was an upgrade from his cell but Aiden couldn't shake the tightness in his chest. His eyes stung from the lack of sleep, barely able to keep themselves open. The sheets clung to his hands as they dragged over them, luring him to sleep but that was not an option.

What transpired last night played through his head repeatedly. Every night he spent in that cell, his dreams were plagued with darkness. A cold lonely abyss where all he could do was scream and no one would hear him. The walls would materialise to form a box around him and dirt would trickle down into his mouth and fill his lungs. No matter how hard he pounded on the walls or fight to stay conscious, the outcome stayed the same. He would panic and scream until the last breaths of consciousness left his body and if he were lucky, he would wake up covered in sweat. If he wasn't, flames would erupt from his body and surround anything close.

Last night he made the mistake of lying on the bed. Aiden almost forgot what a bed felt like, immediately succumbing to his fatigue. When he finally woke up, he lay there petrified, unable to trust his subconscious. What if he had set the bed on fire while Christian was sleeping?

"I am scared Aiden will be unable to control it. He is bound to hurt himself and others." Those were the words his father wrote in his journal. Page after page detailing the incidents of Aiden's childhood. From boiling the water whenever he was in the bath, to setting all his toys on fire. It got much worse as the years progressed, now was no different.

He couldn't stay here. Sooner or later the worst is bound to happen. The cell was tiny but at least there was no one there he could hurt.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Aiden leapt off the bed and found Christian's jacket hanging off the back of the couch. He threw it over his shoulders taking in that familiar vanilla scent before forcing the basement door open. Immediately there was a thud on the other end as the door refused to open fully.

"AWWW WHAT THE HELL?!" The door screamed.

Cyrus revealed himself grasping his nose in agony. He hissed as the colour changed to a dark red, unable to stabilise himself.

"Why did you do that?!" he continued to groan.

"Why were you behind the door in the first place?" Aiden asked.

"I was coming to - you know what, never mind."

Cyrus stopped for a second, peering at Aiden up and down with a quizzical look on his face. "Were you going somewhere?"

"No," Aiden replied already aware of the awkwardness surrounding them. The jacket felt like a pile of weights clinging to his torso and sinking him into the ground. "Is your nose okay?"

"Hurts but it'll heal. I think." Cyrus stuttered unable to look at him directly.

"Alright then. Well, Christian isn't here if that's who you are looking for."

"I actually need your help with something." Cyrus finally got out. Aiden was definitely sleep deprived if he heard that.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Will you help me or not?" Cyrus groaned still irritated by his enflamed nose.