Chapter 52 - Arthur CunninghamHollow NightThe sunlight dappled through the canopy of leaves, casting gentle patterns on the path ahead.

  I could hear the soft crunch of gravel under our feet as we walked through the familiar park in Kent, the scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers.

  My hand was warm, securely csped in my mother’s as we strolled side by side, her soft hums blending with the chorus of birdsong that filled the air.

  It was one of those rare days when everything seemed perfect, the world holding its breath in a moment of serenity. My heart was swelling with a simple, unspoken love. I gnced up at her. Her smile was radiant, her eyes bright with the kind of joy that made me believe, if only for a moment, that everything was right in our world.

  "How are you feeling today, love?" she asked, her voice tender, a tone that wrapped around my heart like a protective bnket.

  "I'm good, Mum," I replied, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. And for once, I almost believed it.

  We reached the small pond in the center of the park, where the ducks paddled zily, their ripples disturbing the still surface of the water. My mother knelt down beside me, producing a bag of breadcrumbs from her pocket. We tossed them into the water, watching as the ducks eagerly swam over, quacking in delight.

  But then, as I threw another handful, the ripples on the pond didn’t settle. They spread wider, faster, the surface of the water distorting, and with it, the world around me.

  The birdsong turned dissonant, their chirps stretching into a jarring, haunting melody that grated against my ears. I looked up at my mother, only to find her smile had vanished, repced by a look of quiet despair.

  "I’m sorry, Arthur," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I’m so sorry."

  The park around us began to twist and blur, the vibrant greens and blues bleeding into a sickly, greyish hue. My mother’s hand slipped from mine, and I reached out, desperate to hold onto her, but my fingers grasped at empty air. I blinked, and suddenly I was standing alone in the middle of the park, the trees gnarled and twisted, their branches cwing at the sky. The pond had turned into a murky, bck pool, its surface bubbling ominously.

  And then I heard it—a whisper, soft but insistent, carried on the breeze. "A burden... a weight... dragging everyone down..." The voice was everywhere and nowhere, seeping into my thoughts like poison.

  "No," I murmured, shaking my head, but the voice persisted, growing louder, more accusatory.

  "Your father’s gone because of you. Your mother’s life, wasted on keeping you alive. Every breath you take is another chain around her neck, another step closer to the grave."

  I spun around, trying to find the source of the voice, but the park had transformed into a twisted maze of shadows and echoes. My legs felt heavy, my chest tight, the familiar ache of illness gnawing at my insides. And there, in the midst of it all, I saw her—my mother, standing on the edge of the pond, her back to me.

  "Mum!" I cried, but she didn’t turn. She just stood there, staring into the abyss, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  The voice continued, relentless, each word a dagger to my heart. "She can’t keep doing this, Arthur. You’re killing her, just like you killed your father."

  "No!" I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by the darkness closing in around me. My feet were rooted to the spot, the weight of the accusations pulling me down, down into the earth, suffocating me.

  My mother turned to me, finally, her face pale and gaunt, eyes hollow with exhaustion. "I love you, Arthur," she said, her voice barely more than a breath, "but I’m so, so tired."

  The ground beneath me cracked open, and I fell, plummeting into the void, the echoes of her voice chasing me into the depths. "You’re a burden... a curse... a dead weight..."

  And then, with a jolt, the illusion shattered.

  I gasped, the breath ripped from my lungs as the searing pain in my side yanked me back to reality.

  The park, my mother, the twisted shadows—all gone, repced by the cold, harsh reality of the battle. I was back in the Shibu department store, sprawled on the tiled floor, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

  My vision swam, but I could just make out the silhouette of a lizard-like form looming over me, the tip of its bded tail gleaming with a deadly light.

  The illusion had been just that—a cruel trick of the mind. But the pain in my body, the sting of the wound—it was real. And so were the tears it had dredged up, the doubts it had forced me to confront.

  "Arthur...?" a voice called out, distant but familiar, cutting through the fog in my mind.

  I blinked, struggling to focus, to fight off the lingering tendrils of the illusion that clung to my thoughts.

  But I couldn’t let it end like this—not here, not now. For my mother, for everyone who had fought to keep me alive... I had to get up.

  I had to keep fighting.

  Despite every breath I took hammering my stomach with agony, I rose to a shaky standing position, blotches of red clinging to my tattered shirt. My frame was too small, hands too smooth to be of any effect – it seemed that in my stupor I’d released my werewolf form, and I was struggling to trigger it once more.

  As if understanding my begrudging powerlessness, the shadowy, curvy form of my attacker prowled in a circle around me, glowing fxen eyes never once leaving mine.

  My faculties of vision had returned to the point where I was able to see what exactly had been obscuring my vision all this time – a mustard yellow haze that swathed the department store like some kind of miasma.

  It had to have been the same gas that Junko and I had narrowly escaped, only this time, I hadn’t been so fortunate.

  I didn’t understand. I thought I had hit Ironcd’s weak spot. In fact, I was sure I had pierced and destroyed that yellow, wart-like hump stationed at the nape of its neck. That sickening sensation of liquid puss dripping down my cws isn’t easily forgotten.

  So who – or what – was this creature that was now skulking behind the miasma, watching and waiting?

  The pain was making it unbearably bothersome to even stand, let alone reason, but instinctively I knew the next time I fell down would be the st. I had to move.

  With sharp and rushed breaths, I strained each of my muscles into action, shuffling along with agonizing movements. An acute sense of magnetism was attracting me, pulling me to where I’d st seen Ironcd, hunched over and disintegrating. I felt that whatever I discovered there would decide my fate.

  As I was beckoned closer by this strange gravitational pull, I almost didn’t notice the shadows flourishing in the distant corners of my vision. A cough swept through my chest, bringing with it a torrent of viscous red rivulets and searing pain against my stomach. I stumbled, but managed to hold onto my bance for dear life and continued down my path.

  At first, the pitter-patters of my hunter were quiet and subdued, surreptitious as a whisper in the night. Had I not been accustomed to straining my ears for the tiniest of sounds, I likely wouldn’t even have heard its feet leave the ground.

  The next few moments were a blur. Before I could deny my instincts, I was thrown onto the floor by my own reflexes, crashing against the scattered tiles with a hard thud.

  Almost simultaneously, the glossy reptilian outline of my pursuer sailed overhead. At some point, perhaps even before I’d hit the ground, my right arm had shot into the space above and spawned long, pearly white cws whose whetted edges sliced through the lizard’s underside like a knife to butter as it passed over me.

  Its shrill screams burst out against my eardrums, and only increased in intensity as it vanished into the darkness. I could hear the impact of its limbs skittering against the floor in shocked agony.

  I unched back up to my feet and hastened my hobbling once I’d noticed the gas was getting thicker. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. This creature had to be the source of the strange fume wafting about the pce, and now that its life was in danger, it was upping the intensity, perhaps even unconsciously.

  My goal remained the same either way, only now I had less time than ever.

  Driving through the steadily rising pain, exhaustion, and fear assaulting my senses in a joint attempt to resign me to my fate, I was rewarded with a faint, white pulse in the distance. It was still a few metres off, and I had no way of knowing what y beyond it, but my heart cooled with the smallest spshes of relief.

  “Arthur…?”

  I froze. Suddenly, I was back in that hellish world of my own mind’s machination. The gentle kiss of the sunlight, the caress of the wind, the rustle of autumn leaves – my mother’s virescent jewels staring lovingly into me.

  I watched her cerulean sundress whip recklessly against the growing gust, paralyzed by the serenity of the scene before me, as though I’d woken up from a bad dream.

  She stepped forward. I remained still. She continued to close the gap until I should have been able to feel her breath brush against my skin, but there was nothing. Unease crept into my chest, intensifying my own boured breathing.

  “Shhh…”

  As if sensing my distress, she lowered her forehead against mine, never once breaking eye contact, with a smile so soft and caring that I almost missed what she said next.

  “Just y down and die for me, okay honey…?”

  And for a moment, I almost did.

  A rge gasp then erupted from my body, as though I was desperately resurfacing above water, and the illusion of my mother once again faded away.

  Only this time, it was repced by the open jaw of a hungry beast.

  Far too fatigued and disoriented to avoid it in time, the creature’s jaw cmped like a vice against my right shoulder, evoking an involuntary shout of pain.

  In response, I managed to morph my left hand into a thick, cwed paw, digging it into the monster’s spine and tossing it back into the darkness, watching as rivers of my blood trailed its fangs as it departed.

  The anguish at this point was too great for even words to describe. I plummeted down on one knee, unable to find the strength to carry on. As I did so, distorted images and voices assaulted my senses on all fronts, each carrying the exact same message.

  These visions only grew increasingly more visceral, and it was only then that I’d made the connection between the gas and these ghoulish apparitions. I was never dreaming to begin with. This miasma had to have been the source of these mirages from the very start.

  I stifled a mirthless chuckle, supposing it was ironic, in the end, that my death would be caused by the belief that I could ever truly be loved at all.

  An odd sense of peace washed over me then, and the area became strangely quiet. It was as though I’d finally stopped running away from something that had been pursuing me for years.

  My head hung in acquiescence. I was drowning in my own thoughts, far too lost in the sea of contorted faces and voices, to recognize the series of steady thuds approaching from the far distance.

  Once I’d realized that they were footsteps, I slowly raised my head to find a slender, silhouetted figure looming over me. Even through the miasma, their posture and cadence exhibited a grace that I couldn’t possibly mispce.

  “I thought I told you,” They began, crouching down to match my level. Their voice was unlike the others – it was smooth and soothing, carrying an unmistakable quality of coherence.

  In fact, now that I had heard their voice for the first time, it was like I was peering straight through the shadows cast by their hood and into their eyes, seeing them for who they really were - who they had been all this time.

  “Death is no fun unless you’ve seen its beauty.”

  Before I could respond, a bzing white light beamed between us and wrapped me in its warm embrace.