Dreaming Falling Down
Copyright 2015 Lee A Jackson
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Chapter One
Abraham silently slipped in between the bushes, his black uniform camouflaging him against the sleepy dark. He kept his usual firm grip on the black container within his hand. Ahead of him he could see no lights on in the house.
There never was, why would there be at this hour?
Only the stars in the night sky could see him and they would tell no tales. Taking a deep breath and keeping as low as possible, Abraham scuttled from the cover of the bushes and ran across the lawn. Upon reaching the house, he squat with his back against the wall and caught his breath. The air was feeling damp around him and he sensed an approaching storm. Looking up, the sky was still clear enough to see the stars immediately above him, but all around dark clouds were gathering, swarming to smother the world. He guessed that he would never have enough time for the remainder of the houses on his route before any rain came.
If alone this one.
Abraham stood upright and edged sideways, feeling his way with his back pressed against the cold brick. The windows were always the first point of entry to check, just a crack, that's all he would need. The window next to him was sealed tight, locked, as was so often the case, but ground floor windows still offered the easiest access so it was always worth a try.
No-one's house was ever sealed air-tight. It was just not possible. As Abraham had became quickly aware, you just had to know where to look for openings. A window, an air-vent, a letter box; there was always a way in.
Abraham slid his thin frame around the corner to the next window at the rear of the property. There it was, the opening. Abraham guessed at a small kitchen window, left ajar above a larger closed pane for ventilation. Carefully he placed the black container, no larger than a pack of cards, onto the window ledge and slowly unclipped the small spring-loaded lock that kept the lid secure. Methodically he eased the lid ajar onto its rear hinges, listening for the familiar click from inside which signified that the internal arm had locked the lid into the open position. Abraham gave the metal tin his ritualistic light double tap with two fingers before hurrying away back into the shadows of the garden.
Abraham sat back in his van and watched through the first drops of falling rain, the headlights of oncoming traffic, each momentarily a pair of glaring eyes burning into his soul. Despite all the discreetness surrounding his life now, he felt an enormous weight of exposure. Paranoia had followed him more relentlessly than his own shadow had done in the past two years. Now his own life seemed nothing but a distant blur, not convinced in his mind that the small fragments of recollections that visited him were his own. The immense sense of not-belonging had been the reason why he had stared so often at the pills and the bottles of Scotch on his shelf. The keys to escaping a broken world, but never brave enough to use to cross that threshold. Then the one night when he did put his shoulder to the door of death and shoved hard wanting to step outside his life, the stranger had appeared like a door to door salesman in a black suit and long overcoat. The black-eyed, hollow-faced man had been armed with his seductive pitch, offering a sweet salvation to Abraham and the chance to run away and escape the torments of a lonely death. But now after all this time, Abraham often wondered to himself, driving down the dark lanes at night, because of the current state in which he found himself, whether he had made the right decision.
For he was now plagued with the loneliness of the job. The repetition and monotony of the nightly deliveries. But instead of feeling a part of something, instead of feeling grateful to the stranger, instead of feeling part of the team in the warehouse, Abraham only felt a numbness deep inside. He was often not harbouring anything from the range of emotions which lay between despair and euphoria, resigning himself to the fact that he had given up his rights to them. But then his life was supposed to have hit a brick wall and terminated, that was his long deliberated conclusion. He recalled making a choice to simply end everything and abandon all those parts of him, but now he could no longer even remember why he had wanted to escape in the first place. He only had remnants of things being broken. Everything broken? Marriage broken? Money broken?
Nothing but remnants and a phrase from somewhere deep inside him that continuously plagued him.
Better to die alone now, than die lonely.
Balanced on the window sill, rain drops exploded on the metal surface of the black container. Down the rain pelted, almost in a desperate defence to keep what was inside the container contained. But once opened, nothing could stop the natural course of the shifting blackness within. Camouflaged by the night, the surreptitious black cloud eased its way from the container, instinctively knowing where to go. Upwards it tumbled and twisted, folding back upon itself as it slipped from the rainy night into the open window, ready to consume and to inflict its poisonous visions.
Chapter Two
Abraham looked out through the broken wind shield. He felt a wetness on his face as fine mist blew into the cab of the van. The light was poor, the van's headlights probably broken, but there was just enough light pollution from the town for him to see just what he'd ran head first into. Focusing his vision he could see a white car a few metres in front of him, its front end crumpled into a horrific façade of metallic death. A stationary pile of twisted art.
Whether or not it was a trick of the rapidly fading light, Abraham couldn't see any driver behind the spider-webbed fractures of the car's wind shield. He reasoned with himself that any occupants were probably slumped over inside, more than likely injured. Slowly he unbuckled his seatbelt and he sat upright pulling his chest from the steering wheel. He remained motionless for a moment, sensing his body for any further pains within. Other than the immediate crushing tightness in his chest and a dull ache running from the crown of his head all the way down his spine, he felt nothing else amiss. He paused briefly, relishing the relief at being able to move his legs before turning to glance in his side view mirror. In its reflection stood the house to which he had just made a delivery. It’s dampening walls and roof split by the disjointing harsh cracks in the glass of the mirror.
Feeling assured that internally he was in one piece, Abraham reached down for the door handle. As his hand gripped it, he heard the click of a car door opening. He halted his own movement, his body tensing as the driver-side door of the car slowly opened, its metallic hinges squealing through the night air. Seconds passed and everything fell quiet and still except the increasing volume of rain and the whispering echoes of its explosions.
Still Abraham could see no-one inside, no movement whatsoever from within the white car.
Maybe they are lying down in there, Abraham thought to himself as he waited to see if anyone would ever emerge. After another minute passed with no activity, so Abraham again went to open his own door, assuming the driver to be in need of aid. But before he could force the handle he was rendered immovable again as his attention was grabbed by the two rear doors of the car opening. Abraham jolted and quickly grabbed at the handle by his side and tried his door, his hands being driven by and odd discomfort which went beyond his physical pains. When his door failed to open, Abraham looked at the crumpled door frame of the van and realised even with his shoulder against the door, it wasn't going to cede to his will. The lost sensation of despair was
seeping into him with the mists that wetted his face.
"Hello?" Abraham called out through the hole in his wind shield. "Hello? Are you OK?" The misty rain suddenly blew into his face a little harder and clung to his greying beard as he awaited an answer. The white car sat with three of its doors now fully open. Inside the was no detectable movement or any sounds of injured passengers calling for help. All was still in the darkening evening. Abraham took in as deep a breath as his pained chest would allow, the air clammy in his throat. "Hello?" he called again at the top of his voice, "Is anyone there?"
He had sensed someone there the night he’d felt nothing more for the world. To then have woken with the dark, hollow faced stranger standing over him in that empty room had terrified him. Hearing that grave, deliberate voice pulling him back from his own personal threshold Abraham had been frozen between awe and bewilderment. The stranger's words, captivating at first had drawn Abraham in. A word of comfort and understanding, a lifeline from the abject nadir in which he had found himself. But then, as soon as Abraham had agreed to the stranger’s terms, the dark figure had turned even darker, his countenance sinking further, his eyes burning. The stranger’s voice now fierce and powerful, berating Abraham for his pathetic weakness in wanting to abandon his soul and taint his purity. It was suddenly a darker world than Abraham had ever imagined but never for a moment did he feel like questioning the stranger. He found himself unwilling to raise his voice to even question how he had come to be standing in that black hole of a warehouse for the first time. He certainly hadn’t walked or driven there, nor spent endless hours in queues at the airport for the privilege. But in the blink of an eye, transported from his room there he had been, standing before rows of shelving units stretching back into the blackness like avenues reaching out into the night. At the time, what the warehouse was for, what was stored within its endless space he did not know. The dark stranger had been there barking instructions at him, every word like a hypodermic needle drawing out another emotion or memory until Abraham was left numb. Never to question any order placed before him.
During his time in the warehouse Abraham had heard faint whispers from the other Deliverers as they took their shipment of metal containers each night from the never-ending warehouse. He had quickly heard enough to know to keep quiet and never question, never to attempt escape and to never look inside the containers himself. Punishment for either scenario from the dark stranger would only leave him wishing the Three Sisters were at his door.
The Three Sisters.
Abraham felt, more than knew that they were out there. He knew how all of the other Deliverers feared them, but he got the impression that not one of them could explain what, or who the Three Sisters were exactly. Nor what they looked like, when it came to it and neither what they wanted to do to the Deliverers. Speculation about them was done in the privacy of each Deliverers’ mind and in shared low whispered comforts within the darkest depths of the warehouse. Each one of them just knew to fear the rumours and go about the task at hand.
For Abraham it had been ten of those containers the first night.
Another ten containers tonight.
Another ten containers tomorrow and every night.
Abraham suddenly felt ill at ease, a sensation he had experienced the first night in the warehouse at the lack of feelings inside him.
Becoming comfortable over time with the darkness of the night, he had soon learnt that the blackness which befell the world could hold no greater demons of which to fear than what was in the back of his van. Since being recruited into this employment, the Deliverers’ whispers had flourished within his mind, creating the chaining fears that helped keep him inside the rules. It was a contract which held no remuneration for Abraham, for this had been a last chance to do something with his life. The dark stranger standing on the edge of his self-inflicted mortal threshold had clearly iterated that.
Why end it, the hollow faced man he had pushed, finishing it there shamefully by his own hand? Why not follow him, work for him and then Abraham could live on and do something useful, something important. Better that than the cowards way out and damnation. The stranger spoke of how he could only accept people like him, people just like Abraham. Briefly Abraham had wondered why anyone would want a gaunt, weathered middle aged man for anything. His crushing loneliness was a testament to that. But something inside him had told him that it was his current, hopeless situation which had made him desirable to the stranger. Abraham was someone with nothing left to live for. So on the brink of going under, Abraham had felt a change within, though it came with a sensation of being drawn without question towards the stranger. A sensation that had overwhelmed him, making him feel suddenly desperate to hang onto the only ray of hope that he'd seen for years. Abraham had signed the contract with his life, watching his hand move from a distracted distance.
Chapter Three
Abraham bolted upright at the booming sounds of all three doors of the car slamming shut in unison. His chest cried out in disagreement at the sharp shock and somehow in the brief moment of closing his eyes in pain and easing them open again, three figures had appeared on the road in front of the car.
Although having never seen them before expect in various imagined forms, immediately Abraham recognised them. Somehow he knew the faces of the Three Sisters and twisted in his seat overcome with panic. Ever since he'd started this cursed job he was sure he'd seen things out of the corner of his eye on more than one occasion. The dark movement in a shadow, the faintest tone of a whisper in your ear as he was falling asleep. He'd heard of tales from the other Deliverers and as a new recruit, quickly became aware of the risks involved in this job. It didn't take long to see that this salvation had delivered him from death and into a long, slow torture as he always had to watch over his shoulder knowing that 'they' were out there. Never officially having being told of the contents of the small black containers that he had to deliver each evening, but aware of just what they may contain from the more experienced Deliverers. Each whisper had always come with a warning.
Never look inside the containers yourself.
Now everything had crawled from the shadows of his mind to stand before him. Only the Three Sisters weren’t dark shadows bearing malicious teeth and long hooked nails, but instead faced him as resplendent, white-haired women, each wearing a simple shimmering gown of brilliance. The more Abraham looked, the less he could see their faces somehow and he only knew that he was feeling an overwhelming need to protect his consignment at all cost from these three glowing harbingers. But as another whisper of a Deliverer going missing at the hands of the Three Sisters reached his ears, he'd become fearful that however bad his first life had been, it was invariably better than being hunted down by these mysterious strangers in the second one.
Abraham tried to keep one eye on his assailants as he attempted to manoeuvre around in his seat, searching for an exit. They had hunted him down. They were here, emerging from the cloudy realms of myths and whispered stories to stand before him with glowing white aura's of reality.
Abraham tumbled between the front seats and clambered to the rear of the van, falling heavily amongst the remaining nine black containers which were awaiting delivery that night. Their storage crate had spat them out with the impact of the crash and now lay around and underneath Abraham.
Ten boxes per night, all to be delivered before dawn.
That was his rota, as it had been for the past three years. It never sounded like a full night's work, but his destinations were often spread over great distances. Watching an endless stream of vans emerging from the dark warehouse night after night, he'd often wondered just how many of these black containers were being delivered across the land each nightfall. The addresses may change, but the containers, they remained the same.
Now they lay around him, disturbed.
Abraham tried frantically to scramble to his knees, eager to make his escape from the back of the van. He could see bright white light pouring in fr
om the front of the van still, but inside, from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of movement. A shadow. Abraham jerked around, ignoring the pain in his chest as a new fear super-ceded his senses. He looked around sharply, not seeing any further movement, but heard a clicking noise.
Then another and another.
An all too familiar sound.
Frantic now, Abraham lunged for the rear doors, fumbling for the handle, but instead a swirling cloud of blackness suddenly consumed the metal handle and Abraham pulled back, making his way back to the front of the van, fearful of touching the black void. He heard more of the now deafening clicks from the spilled containers around him and became aware of the amassing volume of the black cloud devouring the air inside the van. The opened black containers, damaged in the crash were now freely spewing forth their insidious contents. Abraham tumbled back into the front seat of the cab, only to be faced by the three glowing figures of the sisters upon him. There was one at each door of the cab and one standing defiantly right in front of the van. Abraham panicked at the bright light and again fell over the seats and back into the rear of the truck, confused and unsure of which was the lesser evil to face. He slumped to his knees in the back of the van, clinging at the back of the drivers seat, watching the blackness encircle him, almost reaching out vaporous hands to touch and explore him. Abraham suddenly wished he had another bottle of Scotch and a handful of pills in his grasp.
Chapter Four