The Prelude To My Currently Untitled Book-In-Progress

Prelude

     The sound of shattering glass split the silence of the night.  A child’s cry echoed shortly after, and a cacophony of angry voices, one a man’s, and the other a woman’s, synthesized with the baby’s screaming in a tune that the neighbors had been frequently subjected to. 

    Although the arguing between the two spouses in that particular household happened often, whenever the child’s voice was heard, it sent shivers of apprehension and mortal concern down the spines of all residents within hearing range.  The little yellow house on the corner was deemed a dark place, one that no child should have to live in.  And yet, not one of the homeowners within that block said a word.  They simply closed their blinds and locked themselves away in their bedrooms to block out the yelling and the crying.  It was always the same.

     One night, however, something was different.  Glass still shattered, and the man still yelled.  But the woman’s voice was suddenly absent from the argument.  Also, the child’s screaming had changed; it held an edge now, one that raised the hairs on the backs of the neighbors’ necks and arms and pricked their hearts with fear.  The little yellow house on the corner had become a much darker place on the outside.  But the inside seemed to burn with a hellish fire built on pain and fear, one that no neighbor dared to venture into.  So, the years went by, and the baby’s crying became a child’s wailing, which transitioned into a teenager’s yelling.

     Finally, a day came where there was no more yelling. The day had been so quiet.  Eerily quiet.  So quiet that it caught and held the attention of the reserved old lady who lived across the street.  Curious, she peeked out her front window and caught sight of a small, lanky-limbed figure carrying a single duffel bag, emerging from the house.  His dark hair was spiked in odd directions, almost like it had been shorn by someone in a hurry, and with no experience in the art of cutting hair.  His young face was pale as he hurried down the street.  He kept turning back, as if expecting someone to be following him.  Not more than ten feet from the house, the boy broke into a frenzied run. 

     The old woman watched him until he had disappeared from her view.  As she let her curtains fall back into place, all she could do was wish him luck, and pray he’d remain free from that dark place he had lived in for the past sixteen years.

     It would be six more years until the boy’s past caught up with him, and he learned of the dark secrets that had been kept from him, dark secrets that would change his life forever.