The cool morning light shone through the pale windows of an old Victorian house dripping with cobwebs and coated with dust.

This home that I speak of is located on a neighborly, peaceful street called Grey Ocean. No one really knows why, for there was no ocean anywhere near. Life here was pleasant. There were sunny little stores entirely constructed of wood, cedar and oak. There was a ski resort, and in the winter business blossomed like a flower in spring. There was plenty to do in this town, although it was mainly unknown, with the exception of the residential villages and towns on the outskirts.

Before I get back to the Victorian house, I will mention the citizens of this town. There were a few year-rounders, but most leave, only to return in the winter. They were a friendly group, very homely and kind. But they all moved there. It was uncertain who had been born here and stayed. Did it cross the mind of the citizens? Of course. But no one said they tell.

The old, worn, wooden boards of the floor in the Victorian house creaked ominously. The house had a dim light inside, since the windows were covered in ash and dust, giving the light coming through an aged glow.

The aging light poured through, onto the ancient yellowed keys of a greying black piano.
There was a marble pedestal near the piano, what had once been on it was unknown. There was a smooth, sunken-in curve in its center, confirming that there had been something on it.

Looking around, the interior of the house was mainly like this. Grey and dim and secrets lurking in all corners, everything hidden. It was dusty and rather gloomy, but entirely fascinating.

This house had been here since Mr. Mortemer had discovered the town. His son, Lucifer, had found the house and loved it.

He had loved it so much that he had moved there with his wife, Adreanna, shortly after they were married. They had one daughter, Lucem, who outlived them both. She took the name Lucem deMortemer, merely because she liked how it sounded, or so she said.

She was a beautiful girl, all the young men had been in love with her. She refused them all, because she claimed to be as “independent as a lone fish in the vast ocean”.

Lucem had hated the town for no reason anyone could see. Her father, Lucifer, always was concerned about her for it. Mr. Mortemer had been the same way right up to his death, always saying to her, “you will, you will”.

Lucem’s generation was the generation of the parents of the children living in the town now. It was clearly a young town, to those living there. But they were oblivious to its history, not referring to Mr. Mortemer.

Earlier, I had said that this Victorian house had been here since Mr. Mortemer had discovered it, if you remember. That means this house had been there for a while. No one knows who the first owner was, it was one of the many secrets of this town.

Lucem had lived in this house alone. She was the one who played the piano, the one who smiled brightly at the aged light that entered the pale windows. She was the light of this town.

When her parents had died, she inherited the rights of owning the property.
She wasn’t happy with that.

Yet again, people had asked her what her “deal” was with owning the Victorian house. She had answered, “I am not going to be trapped in the eternal darkness. I refuse.”

They had given her a blank look. That always was her answer, and she never had explained herself.

Lucem had inhabited her parents’ old bedroom, in a deep melancholy mood that had drowned her of all light she had once possessed. She had wrriten all her personal emotions and thoughts in a faded black journal, tied with string. They were written in Latin, translated to things like:



“I am forever drowning in the eternal dark ocean, flailing, not breathing in this formidable struggle of what is right and what is wrong.”
“No one can see it except for me…lost, weak, fearful me… they don’t see the looming shadow of pure, hateful darkness about to encase us in a black hole, where the force of gravity is so strong and it is so dense that no light can get through.”
“It is coming nearer and nearer, growing more intimidating by the second. I don’t know how I will face something of this sort. It makes me ill to think of it, something so constructed of evil and darkness that it cannot absorb any light or truth.”
“The darkness is planning to encircle this town…and everything in it. And it has planned to start with me.”
Lucem had turned into a frightful young woman, easily startled by the simplest things. She jumped at a leaf falling, a mere “hello” from a friend. She developed dark circles under her true-green eyes from lack of sleep. She was losing herself.

She claimed that demons were coming, planning to take control of their minds. Everyone laughed and told her to go get a drink of water.
“I have to save them.”

Lucem hadn’t entirely given up. She had known there was a way. A way for her to protect the town.

She had decided that the only way to protect the town was not to attempt to convince them, but to wait for the darkness to come.

“I may not have the power to convince them, but I have the power to save them.”
So Lucem had continued to write her story in the worn black journal, and continued to panic at the impending darkness. She felt it strongly.

People in the town recall her yelling through the streets, “PROTECT FROM SELF! PROTECT FROM SELF!” No one knew why she yelled that phrase or what it meant.

She had waved her arms above her head, shouting, “PROTECT FROM SELF! “ at everyone who had walked by the day.

Everyone had then believed she had gone insane.






~

Lucem’s final days had come. She had claimed the darkness she had been speaking of was here. Again, no one had believed her. But it was not her intention for them to believe her.


“They will believe it when they see it themselves.”

Lucem had then prepared for the darkness by going into her parents’ old bedroom and sitting on the dusty carpet. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Two minutes later, her eyes opened. They appeared hollowed-out like a skull, soulless, lifeless. They were pure black, the color of a night without stars. They were like black holes.
“MORTEM!” she had then screamed. A high, piercing, scream like a banshee. It had the ability to paralyze someone mid-step.
“MORTEM!” she had screamed again. She rolled over on the dusty, grey carpet, screaming frighteningly in Latin.
“Mortem!”
“Nox aeterna!”
“Inferos!”
“Tueri se!”
“TUERI SE!”
Lucem deMortemer then collapsed from her struggle, and her black eyes closed forever, free from her pain. Her hand slapped against her journal, revealing only its title.
“Noctem Aeternam.”