Return, Chapter 1 - Sample Chapter

"In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falls on men, while they slumber in their beds…”

Job 33:14-16

As the mist receded from the pasture, a lone figure sat in silence astride a sable mare.  Swathed in a cloak more veiling than night, this figure’s features remained hidden beneath the shadow of a dark and vacant hood.

Eerily, the figure rested…

As if time itself had frozen, the man and the mare appeared unnaturally still.  Not even the wind looked to affect their presence.  The only detail to suggest life, in fact, was two entrancing red eyes that seemed to flicker with the same intensity of a raging forest fire.

All the same, a new day was just beginning to dawn and as the sun illuminated the pasture, a streak of rose-colored sky softened the dark rider’s silhouette.  For a moment, then, the surrounding landscape seemed serene.  Remnants of a light fog swirled lambently over vibrant green hills.  Draped over those hills, fields of mature barley bowed to a pleasant breeze.  That same breeze seemed to lessen the touch of the previous night’s chill, while off in the distance, haystacks dotted the picturesque tranquility of a peaceful country morning.

Suddenly and without warning, the mare unleashed a horrific war cry.

With unrivaled intensity, she pounded her hooves and angrily rejoiced as her fiery breath corrupted the scene.  Like thunder from a coming storm, it shook the stable earth, rousing all the birds, previously unseen, from the sanctity of their nests in nearby poplar trees.  And as the birds took flight, the mare rose up, up onto her hindquarters, thrusting her cloaked rider towards the heavens.

The Rider, now seen wielding a massive broadsword, slowly extended his sword-arm up, up into the billowing clouds above.

Alas.

What was previously perceived as a peaceful morning mist suddenly transformed into a mass of dark, grey smoke.  Moving threateningly over the field, it stole the life from all that it touched.  Those inoffensive haystacks off on the horizon, meanwhile, had mutated into thatched homes alight with fire and the vibrant green hills were turning black from the flames.  So as the true nature of the scene continued to reveal itself, the air grew uncomfortably cold, for the wind had shifted, redirecting the fire’s intense heat back towards the south.

This harrowing sight, now animate with the piercing screams from unseen women and their lost children, all seemed to shrink back, back into the rising sun, just as the mare began to charge.

Strange.

There was an indescribable beauty about the mare and her rider.  The mare was wild and angry, and she moved with ferocious speed, yet the dark Rider remained aloft with such impressive grace that truly, he and the animal seemed as one.  It was mesmerizing— confusing, in fact.  The pair seemed to merely float across the countryside, leaving the land unmarred by the mare’s iron hooves.  In that moment, the morning was restored to its former deception, the ghastly backdrop timely forgotten.

This ill craft of beguilement, now appeasing the mind, might have persisted too, if not for a strong gust of wind that swelled from the East; it stole the hood from the Rider’s head and unleashed a face complementary to those alarming red eyes.

Yet here was the face of one who may have once been handsome, only now this face was distorted by an ugly scar, one that ran diagonally from the bottom corner of the Rider’s chin up to his hairline.  Of course, it was not the scar that marked him so terribly, for no mark, not even one such as the Rider’s could cause such a fright.  No, it was the ineffable expression of rage that looked to consume the man’s entire being.  Akin to the flames of ruin, alive within his stare, the rage burned across his face.

Thump, thump!

The mare’s steel hooves hammered the ground.

Thump…  Thump, thump.

Gone were all the false pretenses of the day now, and worse, the Rider was still coming, and nothing, it seemed, could prevent his coming.

The dark Rider, he draws forever nearer.

Thump.

Thump, Thump.

Thump. Thump…

THUMP!

---

Scarcely able to breathe, Wyatt Cobbs bolted upright!

Every cell in his body was alert and on guard for danger.  His chest was heaving painfully, his pulse was racing, sweat was pouring, and Wyatt’s mind, so overwhelmed by everything, was lost in a feverish haze.  Worse, Wyatt’s ears still echoed with a resounding sound… Thump. Thump, thump.

Gasping for air, his hands shaking, Wyatt tried to steady himself, but alas, the dream was so vivid, so real and extraordinary, that Wyatt could still see the face of the Rider, he could still feel the grass beneath his feet, and the hot air warming his skin.

It was a dream, he tried telling himself, closing his eyes tight as he pulled his legs up towards his chest.  “Just a dream,” he whispered.

But the dream was surreal!  It made Wyatt feel as though he was part of the past, present, and future, all in a single moment.  It penetrated him to his very core and filled him with worry.  It caused him to question and to doubt, but mostly it caused him to tremble, tremble in a way that could not be explained.

Wyatt, in truth, hadn’t even realized how violently his hands were shaking, not until he’d reached for his watch on the nearby nightstand.  He couldn’t grasp it.  Instead, Wyatt returned his arm to his chest and continued to shudder.

Dreams, of course, were not unfamiliar to Wyatt; he’d had many over the years, but none so haunting as to disrupt his sleep.  Even the worst of them had only ever caused Wyatt’s eyes to flicker open, if only for a moment.  Immediately, Wyatt would have recognized the safety of his bedroom, and just like that, he’d have fallen back asleep.

Only, tonight was different.

Tonight, Wyatt was not safe in his home.  There was no soft pillow caressing his cheek and no warm blanket protecting his skin.  Even now, wide awake, Wyatt still saw himself standing in a distant field, haunted by a cloaked figure with blood-red eyes.

Thump. Thump, thump!

Like the Rider, Wyatt, too, had a scar, though nowhere near as ghastly.  Still, the mark had always been a matter of concern to Wyatt, and not because of its size or its location on his chest, but because no matter the hours spent, nor the effort put forth, Wyatt still had no memory of how it came to be.  Usually, the uncertainty of it plagued him.  Only now, in the dark of his bedroom, did the once troubling enigma provide Wyatt some familiar comfort.

His chest still pounding, Wyatt’s hand came to rest overtop the mound of scar tissue located on his chest.  He let his thumb trace the outline of the mark, and as he did so, his breathing became less labored.

More present, Wyatt focused on his surroundings.  Though familiar, it was dark, and the shape of the curtains framed Wyatt’s bedroom window like two unearthly shades standing there… watching him.  Wyatt kept his gaze fixed on those curtains, half expecting them to move, or perhaps for a pair of eyes to open and for a presence to reveal itself.  Truly, for the first time in Wyatt’s thirty-two years of life, he felt the overwhelming urge to look under the bed and to check the closet for monsters.  He might have, too, if he was not still so affected.  In his current state, however, all Wyatt could do was sit frozen on his bed as he waited for whatever troubled him to pass.

Moments turned to minutes, and Wyatt’s bedroom remained still.  It was just a dream, he reminded himself, yet even as he thought those very words, a scorching heat still touched his chest.

Desperate, and hardly knowing what he was saying, Wyatt threw his head back and whispered, “Help me.”

Who knows how long Wyatt sat there, frozen on his bed, but eventually, his pulse slowed, his hands steadied, and Wyatt was able to return to the reality of his bedroom.

Reaching over, at last, Wyatt retrieved his familiar watch from the nightstand and read the time; it was three thirty-two in the morning.  Without thinking, Wyatt secured the watch around his wrist and exhaled a deep breath he only just realized he’d been holding.

“Too many late-night movies,” he muttered an excuse.

Slowly, Wyatt lowered his body back against his bed and pulled the covers tight to his chin.  Twenty minutes and five positions later, Wyatt was sound asleep as though the dream had never plagued him.

When he awakes three hours later, in fact, Wyatt will have completely forgotten about his nighttime disturbance, even the phantom who haunts his sleep.

“Swathed in a cloak more veiling than night...”

(Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this excerpt and would like to continue the adventure, Book 1 is currently available as a free download. Just visit our Fiction page and download whichever format you need. If you enjoyed the story, please feel free to leave us some feedback, letting us know what you think. Any questions should be directed to contact@dividedwaters.com.)