Part Two: Of Driven Darkness
We are in It. It is resting now. Being Sunday, It will not come out. Here, if you will, are the pathways of It's mind. Some are similar to those we have seen, and some are mechanical in nature -- like circuitry. To our left is a door. Behind it is a "lesser" self -- a being in which It hides yet remains separate. If you look further, you will see six other doors with six other selves, each one greater than the last. Each doorway was sealed. Four have been broken. Each of the Four is on a doorway which leads to a "lesser" self. Seven doorways in all, seven seals, four broken... and a fifth cracked.
We move along, finding It's motivations. In oversized blocks are inscribed "ELIMINATION OF ALL EVIL." Look at it carefully and you will see that the "E" is hazy, the "V" somewhat resembles an "A", and the last "I" looks somewhat like an "L". That would spell...
The following is a thought dialogue of the respected police chief Erebmit.
"It came from nowhere". That's what they said. One speculated that, "It came from the darkness." Another from "nothingness." Had to come from somewhere. Some heroic psycho. Can't go 'round killing. Such mutilation. All known criminals. Then last night some unknown. Then that one. The sight of him on roof. And the cry. Immortal terror. Then he dived... Those faces. Could tell those who saw and those who didn't. Eyes open wider. A clawed face. From own hands. Dwarfed position. First crime rates increase then this. Getting worse. Friends gone family gone. Then these rippings. And the suicide...
Later that night he killed himself by walking into an industrial meatgrinder. His death increased the suicide rate that month to 4,568 or more...
The following actually took place in the local public library.
The cherished librarian, Akeila Wilson, had started an easy day. She had begun to replace returned items when she came across a jumble of deworded books strewn across the floor. She followed what seemed to be a path. At the end, charred into the wall, was a fresh image of It glearing with a snicker. DOA, they believe that, for no reason, she kept running away into a wall, getting up, and running into it again, and again, and again, and...
The electronic voice continued. "In today's news, the suicide and murder rates skyrocketed again. Police blame a vigilante force which, after this last civilian killing, has been dubbed 'Jack the Ripper'. Some, though, believe this to be and enormous fluke which will not likely happen again in the next century. Others are calling for a worldwide manhunt for the members of this force. A large group of people are thought to be involved when considering the large distances and the short time involved.
"Else in the news, the Douglas Nuclear Power Plant, named for the late President, experienced a leak of high level radiation. Though scientists are concerned, the military sees this as an assistance in sppeeding up the war since most of the radiation will be dumped across the front lines."
He turned it off and sat staring into His cup. He wished that He could rid the world of the violence. At least He could now talk to Oscar.
All of you, please turn on your lights. It may be midday, but there is little brightness here. Hurry up back there, the Light is fading fast.
Those with poor constitutions remain here. Everyone else can come see the miracles of man.
See below us, all those objects that move in the dark. Those are men. Most are dark, but few are truly black. Yet they are all that are needed. There is more. Notice the bright spots covering areas. Do you see the crimson flames leaping from them? Ah, yes. Thank you. There, a few bright points, a number comparable to the dark, exists behind barriers. Those, too, are men. They are men with open eyes.
Then there -- that massive object? That is It. From here it looks grey, but I assure you that is the blending of coal and ivory.
He sat among refuse, His appearance somewhat awkward. His clothes gave Him the visage of a painter's nightmare, not to mention a fashion designer. Yet He barely noticed. He merely sat there with His attention wandering to the holovision every once in a while.
"Worldwide, astronomers are baffled at the noticeable dimming and blackening of the stars we see in the night sky. They report the stars are still giving off radiation, but have ceased radiating in the visible light spectrum. An official press conference is scheduled for later today." The pictures halted and ceased. He barely noticed as He reentered the room.
The doorbell rang. It was Oscar.
"Nice to see you up," he thankfully said while ignoring the sights. "I've got a table for two at one of the nicer restaurants, my treat. It even has some beefed up security system."
"I don't know," He excused, "I've just felt like staying here and keeping quiet. Maybe even take a nap."
"Come on, You haven't been out of this room since you left the hospital. Besides, I hear it's some system they have. The food's good too." At that, Oscar pulled Him out and half dragged Him away while hoping that the restaurant would admit the sight of Him.
Outside they met the Bully.
They left him stunned, dazed, and nursing his wounds.
The Bully had come up with a smile, the kind when one knows some thoughtful insult was to be spoken. Yet only half of a vowel was said when His steel fist, solid as a tank, came dropping into his jaw. People, insensitive to such events, jerked as they heard the soft grinding sound. Yet the Bully didn't remember the punch. Not even when he was taken to the extreme emergency room. All the doctors could make out was, "His fire eyes"...
They continued, both silent, both in shock. Blackened and brilliant figures silently watched them. Eyes listened and ears watched for His size. To both sides, He had potential for both.
They passed along crowded streets devoid of people. They passed noiselessly, a Rock of All Ages, and a Mansion on sinking sand. An awkwardness fermented, and the sound returned.
The line at the restaurant was short. Money was scarce, old, and hard to earn. Businesses were taking what they could get.
The line was full of talk.
They say all drug dealers have been killed by It.
The papers call 'It' Blashad -- sort of a combination of black shadow.
Black is right! Do you know haw many innocents It's murdered? The numbers are exploding exponentially!
And so it went on.
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