TRIGGER WARNING: murder/death. See the summary at the end for the brief version of this chapter
Prologue
NYTE
For everything to make sense, there are several things one must know.
One: they didn't know who he was, only that someone was there.
Two: they needed to find him.
Three: he didn't want to be there.
Four: he wanted to try to make things right.
And five: he wanted to know what he witnessed and why.
What the reason was behind everything he saw. Why he heard those screams echo in the air. Why he saw that blood splattered across the ground. Why he saw those hollow eyes staring blankly at something he couldn't see. Why he saw those three figures snickering like someone had just told a funny joke.
The day had started off just fine. He'd gone to his job. It was boring, but it brought in enough money that he lived comfortably and was saving away a good portion. A friend was going to come over, and they'd binge-watch television together and eat until they swore if they ate one more bit they'd explode.
He was looking forward to it.
But the drive changed things. Changed everything.
He put on his blinker and turned onto Myway Highway, a road that cut through Silverlight Forest, perhaps better known to many as Pocket Forest, due to it being surrounded by grasslands. A pocket of forest that lay in the heart of Waverwell.
He steered his car onto the highway and turned up the music a little more, humming along. Trees passed him by and he saw a raven gliding over the canopy.
But then a scream tore through the forest, shattering the serene silence he had been basking in. Instantly, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he stiffened, eyes glancing all around as he tried to figure out where the scream had come from. His knuckles turned white as he thought about what he could do. There was nothing playful about the scream; it contained nothing but pain and agony, and he knew it couldn't have been kids.
Another one ripped through the trees, echoing in a haunting sort of way.
He wanted nothing more than to keep driving. Home was a short half hour from here, without traffic. Driving at this time at night, he knew there would be no traffic. Thirty minutes and he'd be home. Only thirty minutes. He'd text his friend that he wasn't feeling well. Rain check. He knew he'd get questions tomorrow, but he'd have the night to figure out what he was going to say. It would be so easy: keep driving, pull into his garage, lock himself in his bedroom, and tell his friend they'd meet up another night.
Every instinct told him to keep driving, speed up and don't look back, try to forget the screams he knew were forever imprinted in his mind.
But a little voice in the back of his mind told him that if he left, who knew what could've happened? He'd regret it for the rest of his life. And he knew he would. What if he had been able to do something?
That made his decision.
And so he found himself pulling off to the side of the road, gravel crunching beneath his tires. Every breath he took sounded like it was coming through a microphone, and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.
He closed the car door behind him as softly as he could. Trembling slightly, he looked around. A strangled cry sounded a little ways off, just across the road. After glancing each way, he crossed the pavement, staying low before walking into the trees. The soft glow from the moon cast enough light for him to be able to see. His body locked up when a twig snapped underneath his foot, but nothing happened and he continued walking.
Soon after, he passed through a thick patch of trees. He froze before ducking behind a bush. Before him was a sight he'd never forget, and horror washed over him as tears burned in his eyes.
Three figures surrounded a fourth person, who lay on the ground, bloodied, body torn, face contorted in agony beyond belief. Their head was bowed down toward their shoulder, and he wasn't sure they were conscious. Scarlet dripped from cuts and gashes that riddled their umber skin. It stained their clothes rust. The color almost matched the red sneakers they wore, laces tied in neat daisy chains.
The three figures stood tall, heads high. Each wore a mask. One was a sheep with a lion's mane and a gas mask. Another was a wolf with black fur and two streaks of gold running from each corner of the eyes. The third was a peacock with a purple scarf wrapped to partially cover the eyes. But he could still see them, and he shuddered. The glittering violet eyes of the peacock seemed to stare directly into his soul. A shiver ran down his spine.
The figure in the sheep mask knelt down, pulling out a knife. The blade gleamed wickedly in the dim lighting. It was dragged across the person's cheek, drawing a few beads of blood before the flat of the blade tilted their head up. Unfocused eyes watched the figure in the sheep mask.
The figure said something he couldn't quite make out, but he could clearly hear the person's reply.
"No," they said. Their voice was strained, but it was sure.
A punch had their head snapping to the side, blood dribbling from their mouth. They groaned and a shaky hand rose to press against their cheek. Their eyes trailed over the trees and undergrowth, flickering over the bush he was crouched behind. He froze, silently begging anyone who would listen that the person did not see him. Their eyes paused and locked onto where he was.
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"No," they repeated, gaze moving away from the bush.
"Do... do what you want, but-but I won't... I won't talk." They had to pause to draw in a hoarse breath, but their voice still remained sure.
What he saw next he knew could only be done by the most twisted of individuals. The three figures further mangled the body of the person leaning against the tree, demanding that they tell them whatever it was they were looking for. But each time the person said no.
He bit down on his fist to keep himself from crying out. Rust spilled across his tongue. Tears burned in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. His muscles froze to keep himself from moving. The leaves of the bush he was crouched behind obscured a portion of the scene before him, but he could still see. He wished again and again that he was able to do something, but he couldn't think of anything he could do.
What's happening? was all he could think. Horror seeped through his veins. How the three figures could be doing that was beyond him.
If only I could do something.
He'd left his phone in the car, but with how far out into Silverlight Forest he was, he knew there wouldn't be any reception. He could run out at the figures and try to get them to stop, but what would he be able to do? He didn't know how to fight or defend himself against one person, much less three who were so clearly experts at it.
His legs were beginning to go numb from crouching in the same position for so long, but he didn't dare move. He kept his teeth locked around his fist; he didn't know what would happen if he let go.
With a quick hand motion from the figure in the peacock mask, the other two stepped back from the person laying against the tree. The figure said something that he thought sounded similar to 'finish it', but he wasn't quite sure; horror had him paralyzed and terror's talons pierced through his insides. The figure in the wolf's mask snickered and drew a thin knife. The blade glinted darkly in the moonlight, and it was twirled between lean fingers before being firmly grasped in a fist.
The person laying against the tree looked up, staring down their attackers. And now murderers, a little voice in his mind thought. What if he were to run out to them? Try to keep them from killing the person? Fight them, maybe? He didn't know how, but maybe he'd be able to do something?
But he knew he'd get killed, too. He hated himself for thinking that. Hated himself so much for thinking about himself getting killed when someone else's life was about to end. What a monster he must be, he thought.
The figure in the wolf mask drew closer to the person laying against the tree. They kept their eyes on the figures, looking between each in turn, and they shifted to sit up a little straighter, despite their injuries.
Moonlight gleamed off the wicked blade as the figure in the wolf mask crouched down. The person stared directly at the figure as the knife was drawn across their throat. Blood streamed down their collarbones and chest, and they slumped to the side, going still.
He bit down harder onto his fist to keep himself from screaming. They- they're dead, was all he could think, and the thought was on repeat in his mind as he began to tremble and panic. They're dead. They're dead, they're dead, they're dead. They were murdered.
The figure in the wolf mask wiped the blade off on a sleeve before turning around and moving to murmur something he couldn't hear to the figure in the peacock mask. After running fingertips across the blood still dripping from the person's throat, the figure in the sheep mask rubbed it between gloved fingers, staring at it.
He didn't know how long he spent crouched behind the bush, eyes squeezed tight and teeth continuing to dig into his fist. The next time he looked up, the three figures were long gone and the only thing remaining was the person's body, blood beginning to dry. There was no sign that the three figures were ever there.
I'm sorry, he thought, willing the person to hear. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...
Tears ran down his cheeks. He held back a choking sob as shivers ran up his spine until he couldn't hold them back any more and they racked his body. His skin became slick with salt as he cried into his hands, unable to quiet the grief that coursed through him. The confusion, the anger, the guilt. I'm so, so sorry. Please, you have to believe me. I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It was the only thing he could repeat over and over in his mind. I'm so, so sorry.
Eventually, the tears slowed and left behind salty trails. He ran his hands over his face and took several deep breaths to calm the quiver in his throat. When he glanced up, he saw the person's body. One of their hands lay off to the side, as if reaching out toward him, and he wanted to vomit.
Did they know I was there? Did they know I saw them get murdered and did nothing?
Their head had fallen toward their shoulder and their eyes stared through the ground at something he couldn't see. He wanted to go over and close their eyelids. Maybe then they could rest a little easier. But he didn't want to disturb them.
I'm so sorry, he thought once more before he rose to his feet, using a branch of the bush to steady himself. He didn't want to go and leave the person's body alone. Maybe he could give them some sort of burial? He didn't know what he'd write on whatever headstone he'd fashion; he knew nothing about them. But then no one would likely ever know they were there, and detectives would never be able to track down those three figures that murdered them. Whoever they were, they deserved justice.
I'm sorry, whoever you were. I wish I knew your name. I'm so sorry.
He cast one last sorrowful look back at the person's body, silently trying to tell them just how sorry he really was. Guilt gnawed at his insides.
The moon was nearly setting by the time he reached his car. It took everything he had to open the door, and he only managed to get in and lock the car before he stopped. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and exhaled shakily. What did I see?
His phone had a dozen texts and missed phone calls from his friend, at first asking where he was, but then becoming worried pleas for him to reply. He didn't respond; he didn't have the energy. When he closed his eyes, his mind jumped back to the horrific sights he'd seen. A few tears dripped down his cheeks, and they soon became thick trails of salt as shivers wracked his sides.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice a hoarse rasp. "I'm so sorry. But-... but I promise I'll find out who murdered you. I don't know where to begin, but I promise I'll find who did this. I-I... I could only watch as you were murdered, but I-I-I promise I'll find them. I'm so sorry."
SUMMARY: an unnamed person (referred to using the pronouns he/him/his) was heading home to binge-watch television with a friend and was driving along Myway Highway in Silverlight Forest (also known as Pocket Forest) when he heard a scream. After deciding to pull over and investigate since he knew he wouldn't be able to live down not stopping to see what was going on, he found himself a witness to the murder of a person (also unnamed, as he didn't know who they were, and referred to by the pronouns they/them/theirs). He saw that the three murderers were all wearing masks: one was a sheep mask with a lion's mane and a gas mask, one was a black-furred wolf with golden streaks running from the eyes, and the third was a peacock with a scarf wrapped around its violet eyes. He was hiding behind a bush when he witnessed the murder and spent a long time frozen behind it afterward in tears. When he stopped crying, the murderers were gone and left no trace they were ever there, apart from the person's body. Distraught by what he had seen, he returned to his car and vowed that he would figure out who was responsible.
Thank you for reading Pockets of Gold and Silver's prologue! I hope you enjoy it :)
I hope you're having a wonderful day. And if not, I hope tomorrow is better for you!
-Werewolf14- :)