Page 1 of A Descent Into Darkness

“It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth’s dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests.”

—H.P. Lovecraft

“Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous.” H.P. Lovecraft couldn’t word it more eloquently. Life is full of hardships and unspeakable pain. Even in your perceived happiest of times. When things seem to be going in your favor. Evil lurks just around the corner, waiting to obliterate your sliverof peace.

I used to think the idea of a happily ever after was a myth. A notion we fragile humans use as a way to keep moving forward, pushing through the pain of everyday life. Searching for that elusive place in time where everything is perfect, and the pain subsides. Truth is, you have to know misery to recognize bliss. Know true hatred to be capable of true love.

I lived countless lifetimes before finding my fabled happy ending. MyDarlinggirl, my soul mate, my missing piece. But this isn’t the story of our love affair. There won’t be a happy ending to this part of the story, because to get to my happily ever after, I first had to become the notorious Captain Hook. This is my story. The story of how I became vilified in the name of revenge.

Our lives are nothing more than a collection of fickle memories. Weathered footprints lingering on shifting sands, slowly eroding with each passing tide. Their finer details fading like old ink on ancient parchment. A crumbling testament to the beauty and pain of it all, the vibrant colors muted by forgetfulness. But it’s the ones that are burned into our minds, the ones branded on our soul, that determine what sort of life we will lead.

The image of that filthy alleyway is one of the very first memories that tattooed itself onto my soul. Myeyes burned with the need for sleep, but something in my squirming mind refused to let me rest as it took in every detail of the surrounding squalor. It was a demon that had taken up residence in my soul, clinging to a life that wasn’t worth living—And its name was revenge.

I would have gladly welcomed the peaceful oblivion of sleep, never to be awoken again. It would have been the perfect escape from the hell I’d found myself in. But vengeance consumed me, and it ripped away the very notion of taking the easy way out. Instead, I focused on the filth before me. This was the very bottom of the humanity barrel and I wanted to remember every detail. I promised myself I would never forget what I had been reduced to.

Discarded wooden boxes were stacked against cold stone walls, making the narrow passageways almost suffocating. Piles of refuse lay in every corner, each accompanied by a hoard of flies that droned on in an endless buzzing that filled my ears. I cleared my throat quickly, trying to ignore the stench that threatened to gag me. Not that there was anything in my stomach left to lose. The foul stench served to stave off the gnawing hunger pangs, at least for now. I pulled myself upright, wiped the dirt from my face with my sleeve, and slicked my hair back into a frayed scrap of fabric. It was more dirty than blonde at this point and I’d all but given up on bathing.

My mind drifted to Neverland. My traitorous thoughts showed me visions of the paradise that had once been mine. I could be bathing in her pristine lagoons and feasting on thefruits of the isle. But it had been stolen from me. My friend—mybrother—had taken everything from me. He’d betrayed me, left me to die in this godforsaken place. I let the wrath consume me. I let it fill me until the urge to rise and continue living finally emerged. I lived for him now. I would have my sweet revenge. I would satisfy that ever present itch when I finally killed Peter Pan.

I rose to my feet, stretching out my stiff muscles, wincing as a sharp pain radiated from my shoulder. My hand shot to the festering wound, instinctually covering it until the pain subsided enough for me to pull in a settling breath. It was my final parting gift from Pan. I’d been on the wrong side of his sword for the first time in my life, and the cool metal of his blade had left me with a burning reminder of how much I hated him. I peeked under the ragged cloth I’d used in a futile attempt to keep it bandaged. The skin around the wound was an angry red, and still hadn’t healed. Only now, instead of blood, it wept a yellow fluid that added to the sickly smells around me.

Church bells tolled, calling parishioners to start the day. Just my luck, it was a Sunday. The one day everyone else rested, all but guaranteed me work. I was still trying to devise a plan to earn a steady wage, but work had been almost nonexistent for a scrawny, teenaged boy with no experience or family to speak of. But every day was another opportunity to claw my way out of the gutter in which Pan had abandoned me. My stomach pulled me from my brooding, reminding me it had been severely neglected.

Today, I’d spend time at the docks. I’d heard news that ships were expected into the harbor any day now, and maybe I could earn a few shillings unloading cargo. But first, I needed to see to some food. I’d pushed myself as long as I could, but I’d be no help to anyone if I keeled over from starvation. And that bastard Pan would go on living without a second thought of me dead and rotting in the ground.

I started down the cobbled alleyways, hiding amongst the shadows until I reachedThe Gilded Filly. I wrapped my knuckles gently on the back door. It was early, but this place was always open for business. The door opened a slit, revealing only the wide, blue eyes of the new girl, Mary.

“Forgive the early hour, mum, but is your madame in?” I asked, shifting my gaze to my feet as she looked me over.

“You’re a bit young, don’t you think? Do you even have any coin?”

“I… ahhh?—”

“Mary? Who is—?” The door swung open, and Madame Matisse’s cunning eyes settled on me. “Oh, Jas, it’s only you.”

“Begging your pardon, mum, but seeing that it’s Sunday and all, I was wondering if I might help with the week’s laundry, and maybe you’d allow me some breakfast?” I’d met the madame a week after Pan had marooned me back in our realm. I’d been nearly feral with hunger at the time, and I’d attempted to steal her purse in broad daylight. But a woman doesn’t become the mistress of the most lucrative brothel in all of South Carolina without knowing how to handle rowdy men. I’d ended up on the ground, the barrel of herpistol trained right between my eyes. She could have shot me right then and there, but she’d taken in my disheveled state and pity had softened her hard expression. She’d offered many young women a refuge, a home, when they had nowhere else to go. Had I been a lady, I might have been useful to her, and honestly she’d appraised me a few times for whatever dark fetishes her clients might have requested, but all she ever offered me was a hot meal in exchange for good hard labor.

This time was no different. Her gaze softened as she took in the sight of me and let out a deep sigh. “Oh, alright, it was a busy night and one of the maids has taken ill. Hurry up with it, and maybe try to wash up a bit, boy. I don’t want your smell lingering on my linens.” She waved me into the small dining room tucked away at the back of the house. Several of the regular girls nodded at me in greeting. For a so-called ‘house of ill repute,’ I found more generosity here with Madame Matisse and her courtesans than anywhere else. The wealthy among the city had turned their noses, ignoring me completely. It was easier to pretend the poor didn’t exist than bother with the likes of a gutter rat, like me.

The madame turned in a flurry of skirts and I followed, picking up my pace to keep up, her heeled boots clicking rapidly down a narrow hallway. She motioned me toward the large pile of soiled linens heaped at the bottom of the back stairwell.

“No dilly dallying. They need to be washed and dried before business picks up again tomorrow. Once ya get themhung on the line, go help yourself to whatever is in the kitchen.”

I spent the better part of the morning elbow deep in the large wooden tub the madame used to clean the linens. The bedsheets smelled like stale sweat, sex, and alcohol. I cringed when I saw the spots of blood mingled in with the other stains on the fabric. Another example of how despicable our realm was. These women were nothing more than a commodity, forced to choose between a life of degradation or a death from starvation. I was thankful the madame hadn’t propositioned me. I think I preferred to take my chances on the streets. I turned my thoughts to Pan. It was easier to let my mind fantasize about the many ways I would have my revenge than to focus on the harsh realities that were right in front of me.

“Jas? Oh, Jas, there ya are,” Madame Matisse called to me as she bustled into the tiny courtyard at the back of the house. Her petite face popped out from behind a row of sheets drying on the line. “I’ve gotten word that one of our most valued clients arrived at port this morning. I have to head to the tavern to secure their finest rum. I need you to go up to Charlotte’s room. Let her knowQueen Anne’s Revengehas arrived and she must… prepare herself for our special guest.” She hesitated at the end of her request, trying in vain to preserve my delicate sensibilities, as though I was naïve to the going’s on at her establishment. But I smiled and nodded politely, trying to hide my blush. Miss Charlotte was the most beautiful woman atThe Gilded Filly,and the mostcoveted. I scooped a handful of the cloudy water I’d been using to launder the sheets and splashed my face in a vain attempt to look the least bit respectable before I presented my message to Miss Charlotte. When my eyes popped open, they met an exasperated glare from Madame Matisse.

“Get on with it, lad,” she chided, a knowing grin cracking her half-hearted scowl. “There’s no time to waste.” I nodded again, fumbling over a slew of apologies as I made my way toward the house. Maybe the tides were beginning to turn in my favor. The ships I’d been waiting on had finally arrived.

I stumbled up the back stairwell, tripping over my gangly limbs. I was growing so damn fast; I’d had almost a foot on Pan before he’d abandoned me. Now I could only hope my height and the potential for the man I’d become would be enough to impress Miss Charlotte. When I reached her door, I straightened myself and tried to smooth out my disheveled clothes as best I could before gently knocking.

“Who is it?” The sweetest voice flowed from behind the door.

“Uh— sorry to bother you, milady. But, I— uh…” Every thought in my brain vanished. I stood outside her door like a babbling fool, trying to think of something to say, anything at all, but my very own name eluded me at the moment. I heard rustling behind the door. The creak of the hardware as the knob began to turn had me wringing my hands in nervous anticipation. Candle light flooded into the darkened hallway, setting a blazing halo around the voluptuous blonde standing in the doorway.

“Jas, darling, what are you doing up here?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip as she looked me over with a coy smile, likely an occupational reflex. She was dressed in nothing more than her shift, and the gauzy white cotton clung to her breasts and hugged her rounded hips, leaving little to the imagination. My throat went dry instantly, but I managed to fumble through a few more words.

“Sorry to… to trouble you, Miss Charlotte, but?—”

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