I entered the dark and dirty room. It was very eerie being there alone, it smelt like unoccupied space, the air was so musty and thick you could hardly breathe. Clothes were scattered everywhere on the floor and bed, the cupboard was flung open and half its contents were on the floor. A thick layer of 8 years worth of dust has settled over, and covered the littered clothes. It looked as though someone had long ago been looking for something, something linked to the mystery of the missing 17 year old Boy who was probably 25 years old if he was still alive.
The house was evacuated years ago; the poor parents were wrecked so they decided to shift out, so as not to be constantly and painfully reminded of their tragedy. Previously 5 detectives had been on the case, but were later found dead.
I worked myself over to the bed, gently trying not to disturb the hibernating clothes and dust. Something was odd, and out of place there. The soft snow white sheets of the bed smelt like fresh roses, it smelt clean. I glided a finger cautiously over the covers, and investigated my finger… no dust, not a sign of 8 years, but it was cold. My watch’s alarm rang, giving me a shock; it was time to go home.
I walked out of the house tightening my red cardigan around me. I felt two eyes bore the back of my neck; a shiver ran down my spine, I looked back. Leaning against a tree was a stern looking man, his body was rigid and taut against the tree, it seemed like he just received the news of something he did not particularly like, but was used to. I managed to master my fear and glance up at his face; his face unlike his body posture, was composed and blank. It was a very pale shade, and I found myself wondering if he was ill. His face was handsome looking, with prominent cheek bones, and thin compressed lips, his thick black eye lashes brushed against his cheeks as he looked out from under them.
The Man was tall and had broad shoulders that came with a sturdy look, he looked fit and had a calming aura around him. His hair was jet black and straight, tickling the end of his cheek bone. This mysterious mans eyebrows were black and perfectly curved, and he had a light stubble.
He watched me stare at him; his eyes had a mingled look of mild anger, tainted with amusement. He managed a smile that looked more like a grimace to me, a voice in my head told me to run but my body would not respond. The very sight of him made me unable to move, it was like he was a magician and had cast an enchantment on me. My brain was trying to match the image of this man with the image of someone it had seen before but it was too confused. This mysterious man was now making his way gradually towards me his movements were very gentle and slow. He reminded me of fog, fog that moved ever so slowly and before you knew it, it had covered you in confusion.
He was wearing a white cloak that floated around him like clouds; I could hardly tell he was walking, because it looked more like he was gliding. I felt numb all over. I couldn’t feel. I couldn’t see anything, except for that man. I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts. Ever so gently he grasped my wrist; his hands were cold and felt buoyant, but his grasp secure and sure. His misty grey eyes sank into my plain brown ones, the feeling of being helpless, and weak enveloped me with eagerness, I couldn’t look away, my will was not mine any longer.
He beckoned to me with one long, smooth, albino white hand, while tugging my hand with the other. His actions, replayed a similar scene into my memory. Dylan as a small boy, beckoning to his mother, calling her over to see the new exciting creature he had just dug out of the mud, Dylan the boy who was lost, Dylan the boy who was lost for 8 years now, RIGHT in front of me. My eyes widened and I gawped at him in amazement was it really going to be this easy. His eyes narrowed as I whispered his name “Dylan”. The Grave marks of sadness were carved and chiseled deeply into his perfect face, and for once I found something vulnerable in his dominating eyes. Some small and sad creature whimpering in the deep pits of his swirling silver eyes, calling desperately for his mother, but she would not come, she did not care and she did not want him.
The clutch on my wrist tightened and soon the silver swirl storms were right in front of me, flared in anger the pale cheeks were flushed, and the lips compressed more tightly. This man was not capable of sounding harsh for his voice was too calming, it sounded like the tinkling sound of a winters morning, so fresh and cold, so new and unused. The fire dimmed and once again became calm “Dylan is dead” he whispered into my ear, cold and tingling …“Dylan… never was”.
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