Dark Thoughts

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Copyright © 2022 by Shawn Van Horn

ISBN 978-1-66785-938-5 (print)

ISBN 978-1-66785-939-2 (eBook)

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

EPILOGUE

About the Author

Other works by Shawn Van Horn

For my Best Friend Jessie

Thanks for pushing me to do this

CHAPTER 1

Ihad another dream in the same world. In it, this world around me was dark, had a barren landscape colored in various shades of grey, black and brown, and no plant life could be found in any direction that I searched. It had an otherworldly feel to me. The dirt was fine but coarse simultaneously, almost as if made of metallic shards. This devoid dreamscape very much reminded me of the moon. There was a dry wind and hot, ever so hot. It was so lonely here and gave you an overwhelming sense of sadness. Occasionally you would hear what sounded almost like a faint wail, moan or even scream in the distance. So much misery existed in this dream world. Though it was relatively flat, you could see the occasional hill or rocky spire-like structure in the distance and in varying positions. The sky is practically black like night. Instead of stars, you could see orbs of varying colored light moving around. It was the only color aside from the glow of light from the spires. They possessed a combination of yellows, oranges, and reds. They seemed to wisp around into the hills and cracks in the ground, like little fireflies buzzing to their destinations. Some rose while others fell and flew about, almost giving the appearance of fire embers. The surface of this world stretched onward into obsidian-like black. It was strange, but, in my dreams, here, I also, at the same time, felt a power within me that you could not comprehend.

A rocky spire stood directly ahead, looming into the night sky. Its various windows projected a soft orange glow as if flames were dancing inside. I walked towards the tower. As I got closer, I could make out crying from within. There is sadness and despair, and it is like music to my ears. I know whoever is the victim of their torture must have deserved it. I approached the entrance, and a silhouette appeared in the doorway. Its sleek, thin form is so smooth looking against the glow of a fire behind it. It is feminine in nature, with curves creating the perfect hourglass shape. Her hand gently starts at her shoulder and glides down her body with fingers sliding across what appears to be breasts. She is still cloaked as a silhouette, and I cannot see her face, but her voice comes to me softly like music, Is it finally time, my love? You can sense her excitement, and, in this dream, I began to smile.

I suddenly awaken; cold sweat is sticking to my body. This was the third time in the four weeks since my accident that I had had a dream in this desolate world, but the first time I saw her. That voice was haunting but strangely comforting at the same time. My dreams, in general, though dark, have felt more at home for me than in the real world. I do not remember anything before I awoke, but things feel alien here. I look at people as I walk the streets, attend my appointments and try to piece my life back together, but I do not feel and do not seem to care about anything. I find my solitude from people comforting when I can have it. I sigh, knowing I must get up and face another day.

I got out of bed and walked into the bathroom to the right. I look at myself in the mirror. I am a light-skinned Caucasian male with dark brown eyes. My hair is well-cropped and short. I do not remember what I did for a job, but it must be something involving manual labor, or I must have liked to work out because I was decently built. I rub my face feeling the stubble, and know it is time for another shave. Today I had another meeting with Father Alvarez. The priest was the one who found me in the cemetery. It was evening time, and a light drizzle of rain was falling. Father Alvarez said that he had just finished listening to a confession when he heard strange sounds outside. He had seen the glow of light through an open window like a lantern or maybe a flashlight. There had been a smack like something had been hit, cracking sounds, shuffling, and a moan. He never heard any footsteps or others with me. He says he walked up to the window and looked at the gravestones. The township cemetery was right outside and connected to the building. Near one of the tombstones, I struggled to stand and had apparently kept falling to my knees.

Alvarez rushed outside and came to my aid. He wrapped his arm around my waist and to dragged me into the church. This much I do, in fact, remember. I was still incredibly fuzzy, but that was my first actual memory; him helping me out of the rain and into the sanctuary. He called the police while I lay on a pew and then got me water. At that point, I began to fade in and out of consciousness. He had tried speaking to me, but I could neither hear nor understand anything he was saying over the loud ringing in my ears. All I remember was his sad face looking down at me with an almost pity in his eyes. I must have blacked out again after that.

This was the story he told me. After being admitted, the priest visited the hospital and kept me company. He has been trying to help me piece things together ever since then. He has been one of my very few companions. I swear I had never met this man before; whatever happened to me, he seemed to truly care. It’s unfortunate because I could not find the same feelings for him. Still, he is my only current link to my predicament aside from Detective Jones. The latter had initially interviewed me, so I indulged him with visits.

I replayed these described events in my head while my razor ran along my face making it smooth again. Here is what I do know about myself. My name is Manson Digby, and I am 23 years old, single with a mother and father, both of whom live in Jestor, Vermont. I have not received any calls from them nor tried to reach out in return, so I assumed we were not close. My apartment is rather barren. I have no decorations and minimal furniture. There is a cross on my wall, so I must have had some religious background. I have a few dress shirts in my closet and slacks. There is a nametag on my dresser with my name on it and a little hotel here in Woodsbury, New York. My apartment was rather dark, and my dream world seemed lonely. I am not sure I have many friends at all. In the last month, the only phone calls I received were from Father Alvarez, Detective Jones with follow-up questions, my former boss Mr. Tibbitts, wondering where I was, and later firing me after multiple no call no- shows, and from someone named Aaron three times just saying hello and to call him back. Nothing since that. The most significant fact about me is that I have developed what the doctors are hoping is some sort of short-term amnesia due to my head trauma.

I take my last swipe with my razor and apply aftershave. I put the items back in my drawer and reached for my towel to pat my face while sighing. I look into my own eyes and see nothing but emptiness. I am Manson Digby, yet I have no clue who I am, I say to myself and pause, just staring. I put my towel back on the rack after realizing I was drifting off and shuffling back into my bedroom. I slowly change, pulling out a red and white flannel shirt and a pair of light jeans. It gives me a bit of a woodsman look which is ironic because I do not enjoy being outdoors much at all. I grabbed my keys and walked out my door, locking it. As I headed down the hall, I passed Marilyn, an elderly resident who was always sweet to me. She is in the process of unlocking her door, having just returned from purchasing some groceries. She sees me and smiles warmly like she always does. She never wanted to pry but always made a point to let me know someone cared to check on me.

Well, good morning Manny. Or is it afternoon yet? she looks at her wrist and continues smiling. 11:00 am, so morning it is.

I try not to stop, just wanting to leave but fake a smile back, Good morning to you, Mrs. Wheaton.

I see your nasty bruised healed up finally, feeling better, are we? She says as she finally gets her door unlocked and pushed open. Without waiting for me to finish, she slips inside, Have a good day, hun She holds her smile in place, genuine and warm, as she closes her door.

I do not understand how people can do that. How can they feign interest in someone they clearly do not have a relationship with? This is something that I just did not seem to understand. I shook my head and continued down the stairs and out of the building. I got on my bike and began my six-block trip to St. Joseph’s Church of Woodbury. The town is in the upper portion of the state. It is summertime, getting rather hot during the day while remaining cooler at night. The air is dry here, which is a comfort to me. The town boasts a sizable population and has a somewhat colonial feel in the architecture. I passed the Siren Inn, the hotel I was previously employed at. It was a 50-room boutique-style property. I could care less that I no longer worked there, but eventually, I would need to find a job, and that thought scared me. I was already anti-social as it was, and the last thing I wanted to do was further transition back into the world.

Father Alvarez had generously agreed to help me financially until I could get my life back on track. While that had been nice for this last month, I fear his generosity will eventually run out. As much as I did not want to be around other humans, I had to maintain my appearance. The doctors at the hospital told me there can be a chance of psychological damage, such as personality shifts with any significant head wounds. Based on what I have discovered about my life, I seemed to be a loner before. Still, I have this dark feeling in the pit of my stomach and my very soul that there may be more to it than a simple personality change. I see happy-looking couples, families, the elderly, and others walking on the sidewalks and crossing the streets. All I can imagine is someone randomly being struck by a vehicle. How much blood would there be? Would people panic?

These dark thoughts enter my mind, and I feel no guilt or shame. Sometimes I even catch myself beginning to smile at these dark thoughts. Death and despair almost seem peaceful. I have recently asked myself, Could I be a psychopath, perhaps? I pass a diner, and Adam is outside, sweeping the sidewalk. He was a young employee that worked there. I have ridden by him three times now, and he tries hard to get my attention with a wave and smile each time. I pretend to not see him. I cannot do that with Marilyn Wheaton due to our close proximity, but I can with him. Fuck that guy.

The wind picks up a little bit as I come around the corner onto Joseph street, named for the iconic church. In the distance, I spot someone I have never seen out and about before. I purposefully slow down and stare. Standing in front of the fence to the park, looking in the direction of the church, is this pale white redheaded petite girl. She seems to be in her mid-20, ‘s long curly light hair and a few freckles on her face. She looks directly at me and gives me a smile. Her lips are full of dark red lipstick, and she has perfect pearl white teeth. Her skin looks so smooth with this erotic perfect pear shape about her hips. She is wearing a tight white shirt, and her breasts are full. She is in short jean shorts and black flip-flops. Her toes appeared to be painted as well. Other men seem to be staring in her direction and pretending not to notice, but she is looking only at me. She raised her right hand and wiggled her fingers in a playful hello gesture. I felt something in that brief moment, the first feeling I have genuinely had aside from confusion, loneliness, and anger since that night a few weeks back; lust. I shake it off quickly, wave back and look away towards my destination.

As I pass two more buildings, I see the cemetery on my left across the street connected to the church. I slow down and come to a stop to momentarily stare and ponder. What happened to me there? Was I knocked unconscious and left for dead in a shallow dug-up grave? Why was I even in a cemetery that night to begin with? These same questions have plagued me each day, with no new answers. My anger slowly returns. Shrugging it off, I turned around, knowing the park was not far behind, to see if that girl was still watching me, but the redhead had already disappeared. Who was she? I had never seen someone so vibrant looking in this rather bland town until now. Even though I could not see her, it still felt like I was being watched. I continued towards my day’s goal, peddling into the parking lot of St. Joseph’s to continue my memory sessions with Alvarez. What I can only assume was his pathetic attempt at some sort of spiritual recruitment, which will fail in the end for me.

CHAPTER 2

The church was an older design with a gothic feel to the stonework. This supposed holy place was one of the oldest in the state, dating back to the mid-1800s. It had a stained darker stone and beautiful stained-glass artwork in its windows. Its grand archway of a door stood partially open, and I could hear an organ medley drifting outside. Alvarez did enjoy practicing his musical skills. I wonder if it is him or that nun assistant Francine. As I walked up the steps, the hairs on my neck began to prickle, and I felt uncomfortable. I could swear I was still being watched. I cannot explain how I knew, but the sensation grew stronger. I looked around, and my suspicions were instantly confirmed.

A man was standing in the cemetery, walking among some burial stones. He appeared to be in his late 20s, bronze-skinned, well built with the square jaw of a fighter. He was staring directly at me, and I froze. His stare was cold as he stopped walking and stood there. He wore a short black coat, black pants, and a grey muscle shirt. This physically imposing man began to walk towards the entrance of the graveyard and directly towards me. It is clear to me that I was his intended destination. Do I talk to him, or do I walk inside? As he drew closer with a slow but long stride, I squared him up and stood my ground. He may have looked physically imposing, but we were in public, and I knew nothing would happen to me here if he was hostile. Besides, I was curious about him.

I decided to break the ice hoping that this would end up being a situation where I was just paranoid, and he meant no harm. I wondered if he and I knew each other somehow. I slowly walked towards the mystery man and met him in the middle.Hello! Lifting my hand with a raised voice, I called out, Do I know you? He slowed suddenly, taking smaller steps and a smirk appeared on his face, and slowly he started to grin a little bit.

Do you know me? It’s true then, I suppose. His smirk forms into a small tight smile. I think you and I should have a talk.

Yeah? Why’s that, and What the hell did you mean by it’s true? I am really starting to get sick of fucking mysteries surrounding me. Who are you? I took two more steps forward, anger rising, Why don’t you tell me who you are, and I will let you know if I want to talk, challenging him.

The man’s eyes grew a little wider as he put his hands in his jacket pockets, No need for the hostility. I don’t have an actual name to give, unfortunately, but I guess you can call me Joe. He shrugs.

The hell? What do you mean you don’t have an actual name but call you…Joe? My anger started to fade and was replaced by curiosity and confusion. This Joe clearly knew me. My heart started racing. Maybe I could finally get some real answers. Do you know who attacked me!? Or what happened at all?

Joe was about to answer, but suddenly behind me, I heard, Manson, there you are!

I turn around, frustrated for being interrupted, to see Father Alvarez smiling a warm smile. Who are you talking to? Who is that that just walked away? I turn around and see Joe’s back as he is now several blocks down the street, getting further away. He rounded a corner and was gone.

My jaw half dropped. I just stared in disbelief in the direction Joe had gone because this was my first real lead outside of my supposed rescuer and the police. Dark thoughts once again entered my mind as my internal fury grew. All I wanted to do right now was turn around, walk up to the Father, and with my hand reaching up and wrapping around his throat, I force him to his knees while he gasps and chokes. Blood vessels pop in his eyes, a tear running down his cheek as he knows he is about to die. I am seething, but quickly I snap out of that daydream, reminding myself that I may still need him and that I cannot simply kill someone. I silently turned to face Alvarez and the church, I do not know, but he seemed to know me, and I plan on going to try and find him later. I say as I walk up the steps past him and into the building. Whatever happened to me was starting to seem more and more like an intentional incident versus an accident. With my anger subsiding, I strolled down the aisle between pews and slid into a row. I sat and leaned my face into my hands, trying to shake off any remaining thoughts before we began our talk today. I had noticed that my anger was a significant issue, and I had difficulty controlling it.

Father Alvarez quietly slid into the same row of pews and hurried over to me. He had closed the church entrance, and It appeared to just be the two of us in the building. Alvarez folded his hands in his lap as he stared ahead at nothing in particular. His expression was thoughtful on his face, as if he was considering how to approach me today. Before speaking, we sat there in silence for a moment, I clearly interrupted something, and I apologize to my son. I know you are desperate for answers, and this person could be a known acquaintance, but I ask that you please be very careful. We do not know who he is for certain at this moment, which he sides with, or his purpose for meeting with you.

Who does he side with? That was a curious thing to think about. I wiped my face hard and lifted my head. It’s okay, I will find him, and yes, I will be very careful.

Any changes in the last week?

The old man asks the same question each time, and the answer is always a NO. No. I am still lost, and I still feel lost.

Alvarez stayed quiet, clearly pondering how to ask his questions, being oddly careful. And your dreams, they are still the same? Are they still in this nightmare world you describe? Do you feel that maybe they may have some insight into your situation?

I looked at him, They are dreams and weird ones. Why the hell would they have anything to do with my amnesia. I sigh and shake my head slightly. I think about a lot of disturbing things. I am not sure I want to know who I am. Whatever gave me my head injury may have been a blessing in disguise…I think I could be a monster.

A monster, you say? He nods deep in thought. Manson, it is important to know that it matters not what may lay inside you but what you choose to do. It is actions that will always define you. We all feel darkness, even me. God knows I have had to make pacts that I feel blacken my own soul. Still, I believe that making physical decisions for an overall good is a way to redemption, not the thoughts behind them.

Wait, are you saying I could be a psychopath but can change that by ignoring instincts? I laugh at the thought. How does someone go about ignoring what comes naturally to them? It would take some serious willpower, and that was something I feared I might lack.

Alvarez stared, You think I joke, but everything you have told me so far tells me that whoever you are, you have some deep and serious anger, a rage within you. The beauty of life is that sometimes things happen, and no matter how much someone might seem damned, a second chance could happen and change that…maybe this is your second chance. Come to church Sunday Manson.

And there it was. I knew there was an ulterior motive for this talk. He is a priest, after all. Yet, with the apparent recruitment aside, there seemed to be genuine sadness. That made me very curious about him. This was something I had noticed on and off for a while now.

I slowly stood up and walked away from him, No, thank you. I’m not really feeling religion Father, sorry.

How do you know unless you try? There is so much happening in this world today. We could use more righteous souls. Alvarez called out but seemed distracted by a television that turned on near the podium. He generally used this to show examples for his sermons on Sundays, but today it was just on a news station.

I shook my head, I have amnesia, and you are trying to take advantage of that to add me to your little flock. That’s pretty manipulative, don’t you think? I turned to look at him with a smirk on my face. I just click my tongue and look at what’s on the news. Some reporters were covering the latest speech by British Prime Minister Joseph Chamberlain. Prime Minister Chamberlain had been a prevalent figure in Europe for a while now, boasting of a vision of a unified world, a true pacifist. Not only did his own country love him, but the rest of Europe also seemed to fall in line. His latest push was for the European Union to expand and encompass all continental countries and create a unified multinational military believing it would bring everyone together under a mutual security interest. I decided to change the subject, What about this guy? He seems to be good for everyone. I nodded at the program.

I do not trust him. His vision may seem like a dream, but I fear a nightmare is hidden there.

Wow, that’s harsh! Well….so much for your optimism then. I laugh at the sudden flip in the mood the good Father just had. The conversation we have been having has been the same general one the last few times I visited. I was growing tired of it, but he had been nice to me. He seemed to be my only friend at the moment.

The church doors swung open, and fresh sunlight flowed into the room. In the doorway stood the beautiful redhead I had seen earlier. She walked into the building, her hips swaying, putting me into a trance as I stared at her. She smiled wide, looking me straight into my eyes. She had this deep stare that felt like it was penetrating my soul. My hair once again began to rise. The atmosphere felt magnetic at that moment. It was such a sensation. She gave me this playful look as she slid into one of the back rows, put her hands into a respectful position, and began to offer a silent prayer. I turned to Alvarez, who just looked at her as well. I walked past him deciding to break out of the shell I had created for myself. I went towards her and stood at the pew she sat in, placing my hand on the wood, not knowing whether to interrupt or wait until she was done. I just stood there in silence for a moment and made a fake clearing my throat when she slowly unfolded her hands and raised her head. She turned and smiled, If you wanted to say hello, you could have. I wouldn’t have a bit much.

Much, huh? I grinned, feeling confident but weird, considering I was attempting to flirt in a church. I’m Manson I put out my hand.

She slipped her hand into mine gently to give me a soft shake. Her skin was hot and slightly rough for such a dainty young woman. I’m Lucy. It’s a pleasure to meet the man who caught my eye earlier.

Oh, I did, huh?

Uh-huh, she said playfully, Sit with me. I sat down next to her, and she scooted closer. I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. She smelled of cinnamon, and it was so intoxicating. Father Alvarez, in the meantime, glared at us disapprovingly but knew he won’t be able to break me away. He turned the news off and headed into the back, leaving us two alone in the chapel. I was finally beginning to feel slightly alive. It’s naïve to think that a connection like this could have any deep meaning or be healthy, but it’s nice to think about something else for once. So, what brings you in here today? I ask, leaning forward and resting my arms on the pew in front of me.

You, I suppose, she said with a playful smile. I saw you were staring earlier and thought to myself that you’re adorable, and I only live once, so I’d come in here and say hi…so hi. She gave me her warm, complete smile.

Well, I’m happy you came in here. I looked to the back. Alvarez was gone, and I figured our visit today was over at that point. Want to get out of here? I asked, standing