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Random Rants and Other Nonsense
by PitchforkPrincess
He could smell its approach, although his sightless eyes could not see it.
Yates stirred beneath the warm comfort of his blankets, knowing without understanding that the foul odor engulfing his senses was yet still a warning. The bitter aroma reminded the young boy of decay, of dead flesh exposed too long to the hot sun hanging above a featureless desert. This assertion frightened him, for in all of his ten years, Yates had never actually stood in the same room as a body lost of life, nor been near enough to smell one decomposing. This was a sense-memory not his own.
Yates yawned and rubbed his eyes with balled up fists. The familiar ache that long hours of restless sleep always caused those two round orbs was present now, and fierce. After confirming that he was, indeed, still blind, Yates threw the blankets off his small body and sat up.
Reaching with the ease of someone in possession of 20/20 vision, Yates pressed the large, rectangular button on top of an even larger rectangular box. In a clipped, mechanical voice the box intoned, "5:43 am, Sunday, June 8th, 2003."
Yates rose from bed and on silent tip-toe crossed his room. He turned the knob slowly, with deliberate care, so as not to wake his mother, who deserved a good, long nights rest after working two jobs all week long. More than that, though, he needed desperately to confirm the feeling that it was not yet too late to stop whatever monster was trying to claw its way out of the depths of the earth.
The house was still dark and the curtains were drawn across all the windows, effectively blocking any rays of sun that might be crawling across the windows at that moment. Of course, light would not have aided the boy, but the warmth of the sun on his face would have provided him with much needed strength and courage.
Pausing, Yates considered his options. He'd checked out enough Braille copies of horror novels to have a hundred different ideas swirling through his brain. Where, in this tiny apartment, might a hideous beast come from? They had no basement or cellar from which a creature might gain entrance, yet Yates was certain the thing he smelled would come up from beneath the earth.
He moved from room to room, starting in the bathroom, where he used his extra powerful sense of touch to feel along every curve and angle, searching for a new crack or hole from which some ungodly creature might appear, bringing half the wall with it.
Yates considered that a monster, intent on coming through into his world, might squeeze through the network of pipes below the building and suddenly spring from the toilet bowl, claws extended to tear him to shreds. After brief consideration, he cast this idea aside. Whatever was coming was a giant and wouldn't be able to get even a fist into the tight confines of a pipe.
Finally, having checked every inch of the small bathroom, Yates moved down the hall toward the living room.
A putrid smell, ten times stronger than what he'd first experienced, sent the boy crashing to his knees, gagging and trying to get control of his gorge. Wave after wave of the foul odor pummeled him, turning his face first red and then nearly green.
Yates shuddered. He had to get control of himself. He couldn't stay here, in the middle of the living room, atop a gateway to hell--or possibly something quite worse. The floor might open up at any moment--the blue carpet parting with a thunderous tear--and swallow him whole.
Of one thing he was certain: he didn't want to find himself, blind and powerless, in a place no human could truly comprehend.
Then, his own personal darkness somehow grew blacker and all his thoughts were washed away.
"Yates? Yates! Baby, wake up!"
His mother had her hand on his arm and she was shaking him. He could tell by the urgency in her voice that she was terrified. He tried to move, tried to form words with his dry lips, tried to breathe, and his sense of smell was overpowered once more. Only, this time, it was a pleasant odor: the sweet, blended aroma of strawberry scented shampoo, Dove soap, and wildflower perfume.
Yates trembled with renewed terror. His mother, the light of his life, was standing upon a doorway to hells unknown! He opened his mouth to scream, to warn her of the peril, and nothing came out. How could he explain such a thing without sounding completely insane?
Instead, he said, "Mom, I'm okay. Really." He groped for her and finally his fingers found her soft, damp hair. An overwhelming sense of love and duty filled him and he wrapped his arms around her neck, clinging to her as only a child could.
"Yates, honey, talk to me. What happened? Why were you lying in the middle of the floor?" She asked all these questions in a rush, obviously worried. Yates knew there was something more. Finally, his mother whispered almost fearfully, "Baby, why did you have a knife?"
Yates' heart suddenly thumped impossibly hard against his chest. He could feel his expression melting into a look of complete horror and he fought to compose himself. He had no recollection of collecting a knife from the kitchen, much less even venturing into that particular room.
"I... I had a nightmare. That's all. I'm okay now." He suddenly wondered who he was trying to convince and that sent shivers through his small form.
His mother touched his face, ran her hand through his hair. She hugged him gently and finally helped him stand. He was wobbly for a moment, but finally seemed to regain his feet. As she guided him toward the kitchen and the little dinning room table she asked, "Want me to make you some bacon and eggs?"
The thought of meat made Yates' stomach knot up and the memory of the horrid smell came back to him. He shook his head and whispered, "No, I'm not hungry."
His mother's worry was almost palpable, but he was not ready to tell her what he knew. Silently, he laid his head down on the table.
"Yates. Yates," he suddenly whispered, repeating his name as if it were some sort of incantation. It was such an odd name; he'd never known anyone else with such a different moniker. He lifted his head from the cold wood of the table and turned toward his mother, his blind eyes giving the impression that they were gazing upon the woman. "Mom, why did you name me Yates?"
She was startled. He could tell by the soft sound her feet made as she shifted weight from one leg to another. It was not his blind stare that disconcerted her, for she had become accustomed to that many years ago. Instead, it was his question and the odd time he had chosen to pose it.
Yates' mother left the counter and moved out of the kitchen. He listened to her footsteps and the soft intake of her breath. She was standing in the living room and she fell silent for a moment. Yates wished, not for the first time, or even the hundredth, that he could see. He wanted to look at the expression on his mother's face and understand what it was she felt at that moment.
What would probably have been most useful at that moment was an ability to read his mother's mind. If he could, it would have horrified him, but it would have also explained so much of his current dilemma.
The middle of the living room carpet held the woman's attention. It was the same spot on which she'd found her son, curled up, trembling, with a butcher's knife from the kitchen grasped tightly in his right hand. She wasn't thinking of that strange event, but of another, one that had taken place just over ten years ago, the day she'd given birth to a blind baby boy.
"Yates. Name him Yates, Anna," her husband whispered, his voice commanding. His gaze was powerful, his blue eyes blazing and mad. He looked like a man moments away from his execution.
"Nathan," she said, "I don't understand. You sound as if you won't be here to see your child enter this world."
His eyes followed her lips and he read them with deft skill. He could not hear a word she said, for he was deaf, born without the ability to listen to music, nature, or even those he loved. He was blessed with the use of his vocal cords and a voice both beautiful and magical. However, he did not use this aptitude to answer his wife.
Instead, Anna came home that evening, after picking up a car-load of groceries, to find a misshapen circle of blood, nearly five feet in diameter, spread across the center of the living room floor. Her scream was so loud and earth-shattering that neighbors from all over the apartment building came running.
These people were the one blessing in that horrible night, because Anna went into labor from the shock.
It seemed an eternity before she answered, but finally Yates' mother whispered, "Your daddy wanted you to bear that name. He asked the night he..." She paused, seeking an appropriate word; she'd never told her son the truth about the strange demise of his father. "...vanished."
The boy seemed to consider this for a moment. He traced strange symbols on the table top with one finger, completely unaware he was doing so. The other he pressed against a closed eyelid. It seemed to relieve the sharp, throbbing pain he felt.
"It's a strange name," Yates commented almost randomly.
Anxiety, coming from a place unknown, made Yates' mother tremble. She could not understand why this conversation made her feel such terror, yet her pulse raced in her wrists and a thin film of sweat dotted her face.
"Yes," she breathed. "It's different, but then, so are you."
Finally, Yates rose from the table and faced his mother. He was compelled to ask her one more question, though what pushed him remained unclear.
"What does it mean?"
All color left the woman's face and she found herself seeking a seat, unable to stand any longer. Her fingers nervously pecked at her shirt, searching for lint that wasn't there. She considered her options and finally decided to complete one final task and end the strange legacy her dead husband had left her.
Rising slowly, she took Yates' hand. "Come with me, I have something to give you."
Yates considered inquiring, but instead remained silent, allowing his mother to guide him down the hall into her bedroom. He sat on the edge of her bed and waited, listening as his mother rummaged through the closet.
After a moment, a box was pressed into Yates' hands. It was built of polished wood and engraved with many strange symbols. He traced the grooves with his nimble fingers and some deep memory of their meaning rose to the surface of his mind. It was not his memory, but he instinctively knew where it came from.
"My father," he whispered and his voice trembled. "I don't understand."
A hand touched his face. "Neither do I, baby. I only know that your daddy told me to give this to you. He said I'd know when the time was right. I know this is it, but I don't know how I know. It's just a feeling."
They both trembled, each struggling through their own confusion. Yates set the box aside and said, "I'll open it later."
His mother began to respond, but they both jumped a little at a sudden knock at the front door. After a moment, she chuckled nervously and said, "That will be James. I didn't realize how late it had gotten."
She touched his cheek once more. "Will you be okay?"
Yates nodded. "I'm pretty resourceful. You better go now, before you make yourself and James late for work."
His mother left, after admonishing him to use the cell phone strapped to his belt if he should need anything. Mrs. Nielson, the kind old widow in the apartment adjacent to their own, would come immediately if he required help. He was truly a resourceful boy, even without sight, and all around him felt comfortable that he was able to take care of any minor tasks on his own.
After kissing his mother and assuring her that all was well, Yates locked and chained the front door.
He had somehow forgotten that the terror would come from within.
His fingers trembled over the wooden box and he slowly flipped the metal clasp holding it shut. He'd brought it into the kitchen after his mother went to work and put it on the table. He did not know why he required privacy, but felt he should only open the heirloom from his father when he was alone.
Inside, his fingers found an envelope. His first thought was to set it aside for later, when his mother returned, because it would be impossible to read the message his father had written. Instead, he opened the envelope and pulled out a single rectangle of paper. He scanned it with his fingers and wasn't entirely surprised to find a Braille message.
Yates,
You never knew me. I never held you.
My time was cut short by the darkness you now
must deny entrance. I wish this hard task had
not fallen to you, my son, but it is a legacy our
family has passed on since time began. Every
Guardian has been cursed with a disability,
but do not let your blindness hold you back. Let
its advantages guide your heart. You are Yates,
which means: The Keeper of the Gates.
The sheet of paper fell from Yates' hands and fluttered to the ground. He didn't understand any of it. He hardly believed a word. What could his father expect of him, with such a cryptic message? How could this man know of his lack of sight? Was he likewise impaired? Perhaps it was simply some bit of knowledge these 'Guardians' were granted before creating an heir. He wished his father had been more forthcoming with his strange knowledge. He certainly didn't understand what the man meant by using the advantages of his blindness. What advantages?
Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. The foul stench had returned, creeping upon him like some slimy creature which moved with great stealth. It encircled his head and he could almost feel it caress his face. His gorge rose and he pressed the back of his hand to his lips.
Suddenly, the floor lurched beneath him. He reached for the table, using it as a support. His grappling hands lit upon the open box and his fingers found the hilt of a dagger. He grasped it and felt a surge of strength shoot through his body.
He realized what he must do, and understanding the unsought knowledge frightened him deeply.
The beast was already here, watching him with malice and glee. It had crawled up through the floor, emerging from the spot once stained by the blood of The Keeper's father.
Yates was terrified. How could he defend himself from this monster, much less the entire world? He could not see. He did not know from which corner the monstrosity might come. How could he be expected to do such a job, when he was blind and defenseless?
It was futile.
Do not let your blindness hold you back. Let its advantages guide your heart.
Yates stiffened. The answer was suddenly so simple. He might not have the advantage of sight, but he had four other senses that were tuned to a higher frequency to make up for it. All he had to do was get hold of himself and concentrate.
There it was! It sounded as if a bulky object was dragging itself sluggishly through a tunnel. Yates had often imagined that the hallway was some kind of haunted tunnel or corridor, where he battled evil creatures to defend a magic kingdom from darkness.
Now that he'd found his bearings, Yates' other senses began to guide him. He felt heat on his skin, engulfing him in waves that came from only one direction. His nose sought and found the terrible odor he'd first smelled as he woke. He imagined if he could see, the stench would make a clear impression upon the air, like something out of a nightmarish cartoon.
The monster seemed to be having a difficult time moving from the living room to the kitchen. It was either slow and burdensome, or so large that it had to squeeze between the walls to get at the child. Whichever it was, Yates knew he had to hurry. All of his available senses screamed that the thing was nearly upon him.
He steeled himself, gripped the hilt of the blade until his hand throbbed, and dashed at the evil beast. A strange, garbled war cry erupt from his throat as he hoisted the dagger into the air and dived at the thing standing in the doorway.
Leaping through the air, Yates wheeled his legs madly, until they came in contact with strange, hot flesh. He brought the knife down and slammed it with all his might into the monster's heart. He knew he'd hit the target, because it was the epicenter of every foul stench and blistering heat that had thus far assaulted him.
The dying screech of rage and bewilderment that issued from the thing rocked Yates to the core. His small body was blown backward against the wall by a rushing force of air that burst from the lungs of the beast. The house shook as the monster swayed and fell, tumbling over and over, seeking the floor.
The earth trembled once more, before opening up and consuming the thing it had earlier spit out. Yates sensed it go and with it any proof of what had just transpired. His new found duty as a Guardian of the human world would remain a secret. Perhaps his mother would believe him, for he now knew what she'd tried to shield him from so long; the strange pool of blood that had stained the living room carpet the night he was born had belonged to his father.
For his bravery, Yates was suddenly granted a special gift by whatever beings had for so long appointed humans as protectors of this world. He saw; not with those two milky orbs that had forever existed in darkness, but with the heart of a child who has just done something impossible.
The souls of countless victims consumed by the dark beast broke free of their bonds and ascended skyward. One wisp of bright light caressed Yates' face and whispered, in the voice of a euphoric child, "Thank you."
Tears sprouted from his eyes as a figure took form before him. Though Yates had never had the chance to trace the contours of that face and imagine what it might look like, he instantly recognized his father. He trembled like a leaf stirred in the breeze and stretched his hand out toward the man. Their fingers met and father clasped son's hand. Yates felt all the love he'd never known flow into him and his tears fell harder.
Then it was gone and darkness returned. Yates was not disappointed, however, because he knew that eventually he'd be required to protect the world once more and he'd be able to look upon each person who's soul he'd released, knowing that somehow, this strange little blind boy had made a tremendous difference.
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