Before the Crow by Aaron Bunce

Author:Aaron Bunce [Bunce, Aaron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780990450443
Publisher: Autumn Arch Publishing
Published: 2016-04-09T05:00:00+00:00

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Roman stood in the middle of the cell for what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t just dark. It was absolutely dark, damp, and cold. He shivered and crouched down in the middle of the dark space, clutching his arms in close. The only thing he could hear was the plink, plink of distant dripping water.

He reached up and scratched a cut on his forehead, the shackles and chains binding him to the wall jingling mockingly. He longed to rip off the heavy cuffs and rub his wrists. He struggled to think of a time where he wasn’t bound up.

Finally, after his legs started to burn and shake from crouching, he decided to move. Roman crawled to his left, walking his hands out into the darkness. He moved forward until he came to a wall, searching the damp stone in either direction, carefully testing the length of his chains. They grew tight as he approached what he thought was the door, and worked his way across to the opposite wall. There was no light beyond his room, and worse, just the sound of dripping water.

Continuing around the room, Roman stumbled over a bucket. He pulled away immediately. Based entirely off the smell, he knew what it was. A bucket for a toilet, he thought, cringing.

Avoiding the sour smelling bucket, Roman continued. He found a table, with what felt like a candle stub on it, next to a straw-filled mattress. He pulled the scratchy blanket off the bed and pulled it over his shoulders.

Beyond the bed he found the far wall. Pockets had been dug out of the stone, creating shelves. The first was empty, but the second held several items. He couldn’t tell what they were in the dark, even after running his cold fingers over them for several moments.

Something hissed behind him. Roman spun about, the unknown items dropping and clattering off into the darkness. He heard something move. It sounded like a rock, wiggling or shifting.

Rats, he thought, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He never had to worry about rats in his cottage. Tusk made sure of that. Thoughts of Tusk tore at his insides, filling him with fresh pangs of grief and guilt. Tusk was dead because of him, just like Frenin and so many others.

Slowly, he moved forward, towards the sound. The rock grated again, small particles rattling against the ground. He reached the wall, and tentatively searched the rough, damp stone.

The noise cut the air again, closer than before, and again something moved. More sand rattled against the ground. He moved in the direction of the sound, slowly searching the wall, until he found it. His fingers fell upon a loose stone, roughly the size of his hand.

Roman wiggled the loose rock back and forth, until it finally pulled free. He set the stone onto the ground at his feet, before standing, and searching the hollowed space. He worked his hand back into the hole, slowly, nervously, until the chain pulled tight.

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