LIGHTNOVELONLINE Ashes -Part 4-
The absence of life left within Toast’s unmoving form added a fresh layer of anguish atop of Narguile’s already tumultuous emotions. It was just one more way that this persistent nightmare just refused to yield, denying him what should have been just another ordinary weekend.
A profound desolation began seeping inside his chest. It was powerlessness. He yearned for the strength to shield those he cherished from every harm, but now he was confronted with a grief that could not be softened, an inevitable reality that could no longer be averted.
Despite the way that his spirit was corroding at the seams, Narguile gathered the resolve to hoist the cat’s lifeless body into his arms. As he tenderly cleaned the grime away from Toast’s mouth, each stroke against the soft fur he touched served as a brutal prophecy of what was to come.
There was a harrowing tranquility in focusing on all of the tasks at hand, to keep himself from thinking about consequences. He carefully swaddled the small body inside the same towel he employed to wipe all the remaining blood, and softly carried the delicate burden towards the balcony to nestle it onto one of the chairs —wrapping him up snugly before steadying his spirit to the grim work ahead.
He looked at the setting sun on the horizon as he took in a deep breath, a melancholic dirge sung inside his chest. The one performed by pieces of his heart crumbling away in anticipation of Aria’s reaction. But he needed to be the bedrock his family relied upon; succumbing to despair or recoil from adversity wasn't an indulgence he could allow himself.
Summoning the remaining fortitude inside him in preparation for the daunting step ahead of him, Narguile ventured back inside. Each footfall felt like a funeral march, as it was now time to convey that the two households’ beloved pet would no longer greet anyone with quiet purrs ever again.
It was as he began walking towards the main bedroom that its door opened abruptly before him, almost as if on cue. Lieta’s voice echoed through the hall, urgency transparently woven into her tone. While the surprise was certainly sufficient to make prickles of alarm run through his spine, he couldn’t help but ask himself —almost cynically, ‘What the hell could have happened now’. The wicked truly had no rest, did they?
“Narguile, come quick!” She implored with wide eyes that met his own as she rushed to grasp his arm, tugging it in her direction. “I-… It’s him! On the news!”
Little time was given to him to try and make sense of her words before he was brought in front of their TV. His eyes narrowed as waves of conflicting emotions battled within. From panic to apprehension, all the way to utter confusion.
<<…identity of the victim at the center of a disturbing homicide in the south-bay region of Cretierfield, that we reported earlier today, has finally been confirmed.>> The newscaster's crisp and monotone voice cut through his internal monologue as images flickered on the screen, leaving him rooted in front of it in turn. Coupled with an overhead footage showing police officers amassed near a body concealed beneath a white coroner’s sheet recently pulled from the waters, an all-too-familiar face stood superimposed in a corner. <
“But there’s no way…” Narguile muttered aloud under his teeth, disbelief resonating through every syllable. “That area… It’s way too far from here.”
<
“Daddy? Mommy?” Aria’s voice punctured through his focus as she drowsily rose from the embrace provided by bed covers. With her already unruly hair showing clear pillow marks, the girl’s bleary eyes blinked open slowly as another innocent question ensued. “Is everything okay?”
His heart ached at the sight of his daughter, oblivious to the reasoning that made both him and Lieta so tense. It was a world he wished to shield her from just a little longer.
“Hey there, honey.” Narguile said softly, sitting on the bed’s edge and gently tucking away a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. His hands always felt disproportionately large and coarse against her delicate features, something the small seven-year-old didn’t seem to mind. Her usually vibrant complexion seemed slightly faded and sunken, subtly dimming her usual radiance —an observation he attributed to mere somnolence. “Your mother and I were just sorting some grown-up stuff, that’s all.”
Even as comforting words found their way to Aria, the news report had certainly created many disquieting questions that whirled inside Narguile’s head. How had
All of them pushed to the back of his head as he was to turn into the bearer of another piece of disheartening information —the task of sharing Toast’s fate.
As he finished steeling himself, he couldn’t help but feel a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Despite his best efforts to keep a strong fort, to be their resilience in turbulent times, Narguile knew they fell short in masking his evident distress.
“Come here, Aria.” Lieta chimed tenderly, opening her arms for their daughter, and providing an inviting sanctuary the little girl immediately took, nimbly clinging to her mother’s frame with both arms and legs.
Undoubtedly she was capable of deciphering the troubled mask Narguile wore. She probably had an inkling of the disheartening news he was about to deliver, a testament to her ability to read him like an open book.
“I need to tell you both something about Toast. He was a very, very old cat already…” Narguile began tentatively, unsure of how to begin and then how to continue. He could throw punches like no other, and roar like a thunder in their protection; but this scenario demanded a finesse he found himself lacking in. “And I’m afraid to say that… He won’t be around anymore.”
Lieta’s mask of gentleness wavered at his words. Her hold on Aria tightened instinctively, who unlike her mother, responded almost immediately with an innocence afforded only by her tender age.
“But Toast was just fine yesterday.” She countered with a tilt of her head and an expression of disbelief. “Did he have to go to the Vet? That’s a bummer…”
>> “When will he come back?”
The hopeful echo in Aria's question made Narguile sigh wearily. It was tempting to tell her that indeed, the cat had only gone away to eventually come back; but alas, perhaps feeding into that expectation would only bring a crueler disillusionment in the end.
“Sweetheart… Toast isn’t coming back this time.” It was difficult to push the words out of his mouth, every single one felt like a barbed wire clawing at his throat. “He passed away.”
“Do Phillip and Virginia know?” Probably unable to keep her concerns to herself any longer, Lieta interrupted his conversation with Aria, whose eyes began to well up as she grappled with the harsh reality.
“No… I haven’t spoken with them yet.” Narguile admitted, taking a moment to rub his strained brow. It was hard enough to tell the two of them, what would the elder couple say after hearing their beloved cat passed away in their neighbors’ home?
“Dad, you’re lying.” Suddenly pushing away from Lieta, Aria stood defiantly on the bed —an accusing finger directed at him while tears began coursing down her cheeks. “You tell the worst jokes! I’m going to look for him right now!”
Before he could even react she had hopped off the bed and darted out of the room’s door. How he wished this was him telling an ill-conceived prank, yet he lacked enough imagination to ever stretch into something in such poor taste.
“Should I tell them?” Lieta offered just as Narguile prepared to follow after Aria —a question that halted him in his tracks. Her own eyes teetered on brimming tears. It was very likely that she was also pushing herself to keep a strong front. “Y… You’ve already gone through en-”
“Don’t worry. I should be the one to do it.” He cut off her words halfway through with quiet resolve, despite the bleak circumstances. At least him, should never cower away from each hardship. “I’m not breaking just yet. All I’m going to ask is that you please help me with Aria.”
His smile was faint and weak, but it held a sincere warmth. He lacked the talent for stern reprimands and had an inclination towards pampering. Whenever Aria’s tantrums stormed through their household, it was usually Lieta the one needed to put some order amidst the chaos.
Like when Aria would pout at dinner, stubbornly refusing to eat anything remotely green as if she were waging war against vegetation itself. Or those summer trips to Lake Aqueveque when she ran recklessly into the water despite his warnings.
It was during such moments when his parenting skills fell short that he relied heavily on Lieta’s firm yet calming presence —to guide both him and Aria through tumultuous waves like a beacon of warmth.
Their journey into parenthood had been a premature one, after all. An experience marked more by youthful mistakes than any substantial wisdom. Narguile was still able to vividly remember how Lieta’s pregnancy announcement gripped him with shock, accompanied by the feeling of his small world coming undone by the news.
But even with him being a minor, Aria’s birth brought him unfiltered happiness. She was the tangible manifestation of his love for Lieta —the woman he'd already resolved to spend the rest of his life with; even if her arrival signified stepping beyond familiar boundaries into a new plateau of challenges.
Of course, things were different from back then. They were not naive teenagers anymore. He managed to secure a more suitable living space before his daughter was born, and enough resources to raise her with. It was an attainment he considered impossible without the support he received along this rugged part —they didn’t have all that much, and it was more of a reflection of sheer grit rather than any other particular prowess.
Gradually, bit by bit, he liked to think they were inching towards a stable present... That is, if it weren’t for the events of the last days that came to shatter the very foundations he had built around his heart.
And yet another brand new example of his shortcomings would come with discomforting swiftness, Aria’s voice resonating across their small apartment, filled with a dishearteningly triumphant and jubilant tone.
“I knew you were trying to trick me! Here he is!” Realization hit him like a freight train as the young girl spoke. Amidst every other of the consuming worries, he forgot to keep Toast’s remains away from Aria’s reach. “Look. He’s okay. He’s just sleeping like always.”
A collapse of self-reproach fell upon Narguile. How could have been so negligent? He should’ve known that the inquisitive seven-year-old would seek out her dear feline friend until she found him.
Reacting with urgency, both Lieta and him rushed into the living room only to be welcomed by a heart-wrenching sight —their vibrant little daughter cradling Toast’s inert body tenderly, nestled under the towel he had left him wrapped in previously on the balcony.
Lieta reached her first, kneeling before Aria with a face mixed between pain and worry; however, before he could even hear what she had to say, another cold-freezing image obscured everything else around the apartment.
Behind his own reflection in the balcony’s window, a disturbing silhouette floated above his shoulders —it was that same horrifying spectral creature from last night, its grotesque outline looming as surreal as it was threatening.
Instinctively, he turned around in less than a second, positioning himself as a barrier between this spectral menace and his family. Undeniably there it was, more vivid than ever before. Maybe it was the way shadows played out against the darkened night sky, or perhaps his senses growing accustomed to perceive beyond tangible reality. Either way, its monstrous presence was irrefutable now.
For how hard it was to accept it as fact, for how much it defied logic and reason, an unerring certainty resonated within him. This malevolent specter was terrifyingly real, floating ominously in front of him —his defensive stance being all that stood between the monstrous figure and his family.
“Lieta! Take Aria and get back to our bedroom right now!” Narguile’s order reverberated through the apartment like a storm's warning, every syllable charging the apartment with an air of imminent danger.
His voice echoed like a raging tempest, and though Lieta remained unable to perceive the uncanny apparition inciting her husband's alarm, she swiftly gathered Aria into her protective embrace. Her heart pounded like a drumbeat against her ribs as she retreated from view, breath hitching in sync with each frantic thump.
But there was something unsettling about the young girl’s gaze —an underlying tremor in her eyes as they hovered ambiguously over where the specter floated; as if she held some unconscious awareness or inexplicable gravitation towards it… All while clutching Toast’s lifeless body even tighter against her chest.
Subtleties that would go unnoticed by Narguile, whose attention was wholly seized by the monstrous abomination before him. It remained every bit as revolting as he remembered it to be —but he wouldn’t be as easily frightened this time around.
Once the thud of the bedroom door signaled Lieta and Aria’s retreat into safety, he reached out for a nearby floor lamp; the sting of bruised knuckles dwindling into nothing but a faint sensation amidst a more primal anger surging within him.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Narguile’s lips curled as he snarled at the apparition. “Toast may have been old, but I refuse to believe that he would just die right after you showed your ugly mug.”
He couldn’t really fathom how he’d react if that thing dared to respond; but blessing or curse, he could imagine what its voice would be like, since it replied only with a chillingly silent grin.
Narguile perceived this silent mockery as an additional affront —an evident indication that this loathsome entity was rejoicing in the suffering his family had been subjected to since the previous night.
And he could only take so many of those before his anger came bursting out like an unrestrained eruption.
“What is so damn funny!?” The young father’s voice thundered through the room as he swung the floor lamp with all his might, colliding against the specter’s broad, bloated shoulders. The fragile light source shattered upon impact, its pole bending under the force of his assault, as Narguile remained unmindful of any consequences or noise his outburst could bring. “Do I have to kill so you fucking leave us alone!?”
Words were being spat out as though they were projectiles, his exhalations fast and ragged as adrenaline-fueled tremors coursed through his veins. His normally restrained voracity for violence was quickly yielding to a wild sea of rage, bloodshot eyes being overtaken over by unfiltered, unbridled fury.
It was like a wildfire, poised to consume every last ounce of fear or hesitation that dared to appear before its path.
As Narguile discarded the lamp now broken beyond repair, he gave one more glance at the pale green colored entity in search of damage, and while its thick hide showed no indication of it, it mattered very little now.
He had confirmed what he needed to know.
That thing, unmoving as it still was… It could be touched. And if that was true, then perhaps it wasn’t invincible either… And oh, how he wanted to hurt it.
“...Keep that fucking smile… I want to see you try and hold onto it!” Unable to keep himself in check anymore, Narguile lunged forward with clenched teeth. Without care of how the creature easily towered over him, he thrust himself at it —hands outstretched to punch, tear or latch onto anything within reach.
He charged with force, yet the creature seemed to hover effortlessly in front of him. It wasn’t like it succeeded in keeping him away, but rather that it was tethered to a specific distance, kept in a fixed position from his. Regardless, the struggle eventually brought them both to collide into a flimsy bookcase which crumbled easily under their combined weight. Or was it just his own?
No matter. It was hardly enough to quell his growing thirst for savagery. The creature’s flesh felt rough and dense beneath his fists; and when he attempted tearing through the degraded skin fissures or gouge its empty eye sockets, he was met with an unearthly coldness, profound enough that it seemed to seep directly into his bones.
The morbid ghost, appearing as immovable as a fortress, maintained its disturbing grin in the face of Narguile’s assault. It was a truly maddening smile, as steadfast as it was infuriating, serving only to taunt him further as if it enjoyed the frenzied state he was being reduced to —oblivious or perhaps simply indifferent to his desperate attempts at inflicting damage.
Undeterred, Narguile’s hand scrabbled across the nearby kitchen counter, sending cutlery clattering to the floor before finally closing around the handle of a large knife. Its sharp blade glinted menacingly under the room’s now dim lighting, as he saw his own eyes reflected on them for a brief moment —ablaze with what only could be described as escalating bloodlust.
He lunged once more at it, now trying to thrust the knife at the height of its overweight excuse for a neck. Yet no matter how many times he tried, each successive stab phased right through, as if the specter had selectively chosen which attack to endure and which to evade; his struggles once again sinking down to the futile.
Frustration only continued exacerbating Narguile, fury carrying each strangled roar and clenched fist; but he refused to relent. Any notion of surrender remained an unacceptable concept, conviction driving him forward no matter the setback.
Around him, the once tidy home began transitioning into a war-torn battlefield. Furniture lay upturned; shattered glass shimmered ominously amid splintered bookcases and broken dishes. For as much as the scene evidenced the physical confrontation between Narguile and the spectral stalker, perhaps it also mirrored the unstable mental state brewing within him.
As he attacked relentlessly, anger slowly began turning into desolation. Even a retaliation from that monster would have been encouraging —for it would signify that he wasn’t simply being toyed with; yet such a response never came forward.
It didn’t matter how much he continued busting his hands, reopening previous wounds and creating brand new ones. Regardless of how much he bled or strained himself in the undying resolve to protect those he loved no matter the cost… At the end, his fists just continued to collide with a despair-inducing pointlessness, with the chilling touch of the specter's essence corroding well beyond his bones, threatening to freeze even his resolve from within.
The unrestrained onslaught continued well past midnight, only ceasing when exhaustion claimed him and his body refused to raise its arms any longer. With the spectral tormentor still watching him with unsettling delight, Narguile plummeted against a nearby wall; panting in ragged breaths amid torn clothes, and surrounded by the catastrophic aftermath of the one-sided confrontation.
“I don’t care… What the hell you are…” Narguile's words emerged in uneven gasps, each said with effort as his chest unevenly rose and fell. “Demon, ghost, or whatever…”
Despite how the over-exertion had run its toll on him, his eyes still glimmered with both venomous contempt and unyielding devotion. Lieta and Aria were still only a room away, after all.
“It doesn’t matter if I have to stand guard every single night of my life, or even if I must sacrifice it...”
>> “I won’t let you lay a finger on them.”
The conversation was unilateral, as always. With the creature’s large, bloated body casting a ghastly silhouette amidst the penumbra of the ravaged apartment; the only response he got was how its empty eye sockets distorted in morbid pleasure despite lacking discernible sight.
Forced more by physical limitations than desire into this cease-fire, Narguile was kept in that stalemate for hours. Minutes stretched into agonizing hours —the atmosphere dense with tension as neither party seemed willing to back down.
Narguile didn’t fool himself, he knew he wasn’t smart enough to decipher the spectral entity on his own. He had no hope of finding out the reason behind its existence, whether it was there as a reaper to exact punishment for his past sins or not —yet he wished it would hasten its judgment if that was the case.
If giving away his life could spare his family further torment…
He would offer himself willingly.
As dawn approached, time melted away under the weight of his suspenseful anticipation —a vigil held in mistrustful observation by a half-broken man who pushed through fatigue simply because he didn’t know what else to do by that point.
The first fingers of morning light began to creep over the horizon, spilling over the destruction wrought within his home, and casting long shadows that danced and intertwined amidst scattered remnants of the skirmish. Only then would the herald of his anguish start to relent, its menacing form gradually dissipating under daybreak’s glow until nothing but its chilling memory remained within Narguile's weary heart.
Or so he initially thought.
With a rough groan, Narguile hauled himself back onto his feet, and as he steadied himself, his gaze slowly began to register how the surrounding environment had shifted beyond mere physical destruction.
The once pristine white walls now bore a sickly yellowish hue, with strips of paint peeled off in torn fringes. The manufactured wood of their cheap furniture displayed cracking seams, bearing signs of prolonged exposure to a hostile environment. Even the fruit they’d recently bought, resting on places that were spared of his rampage, had their freshness replaced with a sudden rotting decay.
A part of him began piecing together what was going on behind his knowledge… But another vehemently refused to accept such inconceivable truth just yet.
Overwhelmed once more by a sinking wave of despair, Narguile spurred his exhaustion-stricken body into motion; heading towards the main bedroom despite the escalating dread of what awaited him there.
His hand hesitated on the doorknob for a moment. There had been demons and unexplained mysteries in his life already —was it too much to ask for some sort of divine intervention now?
But he knew that he couldn’t turn away.
With a deep breath, he steeled himself and pushed open the door.
Narguile’s eyes were met by an image that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Lieta was sitting in the center of the bed, her face obscured beneath cascades of her beautiful platinum hair, acting as a silken curtain veiling the once vibrant brightness of her golden eyes. Her arms encased something precious within their embrace —the unmoving form of Aria, lying frighteningly still against her mother’s body.
He felt his heart being crushed underneath his ribs, each beat echoing with a hollow emptiness that threatened to consume him whole.
Every single devastating detail of the scene, brutally tranquil in its horrifying revelation, etched itself indelibly into his memory, never to be forgotten or forgiven.
The steps he began taking towards them were full of harrowing understanding.
It was his doing. As soon as he grasped his true nature, the name calcified inside his head by itself in a baptism by fire —Cruel. He annihilated everything in its wake, with a malevolence that stood impervious of either desperate struggles or futile resistances.
An abomination that had spawned from hell itself to consume everything he cherished. He did so subtly, without Narguile realizing it —all with the sole purpose of dragging him into a sightless pit of desolation from which there could be no escape.