by Adam Dark
Simon Says
Demon Hunter Book 1
Adam Dark
Matthew Thrush
Thrush Productions, LLC.
For the ones chasing after their dreams…
To the ones who have nightmares or night terrors. You may feel ashamed of your dreams or afraid to share them or your thoughts due to the judgment from others.
Your thoughts, dreams, and feelings do not mean you’re messed up. You can express them openly. Everything matters in this world.
Even nightmares matter. If you have them, it could be a gift. Embrace who you are and you can become what you were meant to be.
This book is for those too afraid to share with others. My hope is that my story will empower you to speak up with boldness and embrace who you are without fear.
Contents
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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
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Meet Adam Dark
Meet Matthew Thrush
Also By Adam Dark & Matthew Thrush
Also by Matthew Thrush
I. Excerpt from Knock Knock
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Demon Hunter - Simon Says
Copyright © 2018 by Adam Dark & Matthew Thrush
Editing by Thrush Productions, LLC. & Kate Casper
Cover design by Ivan Zanchetta, | Book Covers Art
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.
www.adamdark.com
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1
February 1941
Oakwood Valley Home for Boys
Simon picked the shovel up and smashed it into the hard soil. It had snowed the night before. Gossamer flakes descended from the white sky like pale ash. I was standing by the window of the third floor with the rest of the boys at the Oakwood Valley Home for Boys. They were all huddled around me by the only window in the large room.
Simon sent a wave of dark mud over his shoulder. A small black pile was growing behind him. The plastic bag lay to his left. He had tied it with rope. I don’t know how long we watched Simon dig the hole. But he eventually stopped and dragged the bag over. He flipped the body into the two-by-four-foot hole and began to scoop the soil on top.
The boys around me mumbled. They were all afraid. As they should be. But not me. I knew the boy had deserved it. He had disobeyed Simon. That was one thing you didn’t do here. Obedience was more than developing morals, discipline, and respect for authority. It was survival.
Simon hadn’t meant to kill Vince. Vince just wasn’t as strong as we were. His frail body couldn’t take the beatings. He should have eaten all of his kale and potatoes. If he had only listened, he never would have been taken to the Black Room. I had not yet been to the room as had the other boys. They still wore the scars from those visits. I think they resented me for it. They thought I was Simon’s favorite and received special favors. This wasn’t true.
Bobby was his favorite. Anyone could see that. Bobby was the only one he woke each night and took to the Black Room. I never knew what they did in there at night but I didn’t want to know. Bobby never had bruising or welts like the other boys so I knew he wasn’t being punished, but still, something was always off about him when he came back.
He never spoke and always kept his eyes to the ground. I tried speaking to him once and he just walked away. I was the youngest of all of the boys. They had been here longer than I had. They called me a virgin. I never knew what that meant until my day came. It wasn’t what I had thought. It had nothing to do with girls or even sex. It was much worse.
Simon buried the shovel’s sharp tip into the frozen soil and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. His hands were on his hips when he glanced up at the window. All of the boys dove backward. I wasn’t fast enough. Simon saw me standing there, watching. I was either too dumb or too scared to move. I just stood there staring back.
Simon held my gaze for a long moment before he grabbed the shovel and stomped toward the house. I heard the door downstairs slam and footfalls ascend the stairs. My eyes swerved to the bedroom door as it opened with a squeak. The other boys scampered onto their beds and sat with their legs crossed and their hands on their laps.
Again, I was either too slow or dull to move. I was still standing by the window when Simon entered our dormitory. We filled half of the twenty beds lined in two rows in the room. Mine was three bunks from the door. The window was near the back.
Simon let the door slap against the wall. He still had the shovel in his hand. Its cool blade was smeared with black mud and something red. The boys sat quietly with their eyes straight ahead. You never spoke unless Simon spoke first. You never did anything unless Simon told you to. You did what Simon said, when he said it, period.
Simon’s boots thudded against the crooked floorboards as he swept into the room. The shovel dragged along the freckled wood like a lithe scythe. I was young, but I knew who the Grim Reaper was and his weapon of choice. To my credit, I finally moved from my mindless stupor and turned to face our caretaker.
He stopped in the center of the room. His eyes were on me. His thick eyebrows looked like bear claws encroaching on his eyes. These too were black orbs, the skin purple and dark beneath their white orifices. His fingers tapped the edge of the shovel handle. He held it at a forty-five-degree angle.
This was it. This was when I’d lose my virginity as the boys said. I was wrong. That would come in a week's time when Bobby was adopted and Simon chose his new favorite. For now, I was safe. Free. Simon lifted the shovel over his shoulder like an axe. He blinked once then turned his head to the boy sitting to his right.
Garry was his name, I think. I hadn’t learned all of the boys’ names yet. I don’t think it much mattered. We each had numbers that we responded to. Garry was number ten. I was thirteen and the last of the boys at the orphanage.
“Ten,” Simon said. His voice was stale as if the cold had sapped its warmth and strength.
Garry stood at the foot of his bed.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
I could tell he was terrified. His hands were shaking and his voice cracked. Simon moved more savagely than his hunched-over demeanor warranted. Garry never had a chance. The shovel caught him just under the chin on the collar bone. Garry went lim
p immediately and dropped to the floor.
There was blood pouring from his neck and shoulder. He wasn’t moving. Was he dead? Simon drew the shovel to himself and returned it to his shoulder. He stood there with his head tilted to the side, admiring Garry’s body. None of us spoke. I don’t think anyone breathed for the next minute until Simon grabbed Garry by the ankle and dragged his lifeless form out of the room.
The door slammed shut moments later. I heard another door slam thirty seconds later. It was the Black Room. There were only two rooms on the third floor. Ours and the room where Simon took those who misbehaved.
I didn’t understand why Simon took Garry. It had been me who hadn’t moved when he looked up at the window. It had been me who hadn’t sat on my bed when he entered the room. Me who hadn’t averted my gaze but looked on. Garry didn’t deserve whatever it was that came next. I did. The other boys seemed to share my sentiment. They did little to hide their contempt for me as their eyes shifted my way.
“This is your fault,” number three said.
He was one of the older boys. He had burnt orange hair and freckles that covered most of his body. His nose was crooked and looked like someone had smashed it with a meat pounder. His crooked and yellow teeth didn’t help. They made him look like a gargoyle.
Number three was also a foot taller than me and at least twenty pounds heavier. Why I considered these things was beyond me. Ever since I could remember, I noticed all the small things. It’s also what got me into trouble more times than not. This was one of those times.
It appeared my voice was frozen too. I stood there like a statue looking back at all of the judging eyes staring at me.
Number five went to my defense.
“He didn’t do anything. None of us did. Garry was just unlucky,” number five said.
“He didn’t sit down when Simon came in,” number three said. “Did he see you at the window?”
He addressed me with fire in his eyes. His gargoyle fangs munched down on his lower lip. I nodded, I think. I couldn’t feel much at this point. People call it shock. It didn’t make sense to me. What did I have to be afraid of? Nothing had happened to me.
“You better learn the rules quick or you’ll be next,” number three said.
He walked across the room and shoved his face up against mine. His lips curled into a snarl. He wanted to hit me. I could see it in his eyes and in the way his cheeks flexed and his eyes darted along my face.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” number three asked.
“Leave him alone. He’s afraid just like us,” number five said.
Number three balled his fist.
“Are you retarded or something?” he asked.
“Leave him alone,” number five said.
Number five had his hands on number three. But number three pushed him away. I don’t know why I didn’t move this time either. Maybe I was retarded; whatever that meant. All I remember was seeing a flash and then the entire left side of my face was on fire.
My head hit the wall behind me. Number three was standing over me, yelling. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. My ears were ringing. My head was spinning. I had an overwhelming sense of vomiting. My abdomen hurt. Everything hurt. Somewhere in between number three yelling and going to strike me a second time, number five jumping on his back, and the other boys cheering, came a loud crack.
Everyone stopped. The room grew quiet. Number three’s snarl melted away and evolved into fear. I peered through his legs to see Simon standing by the door. He had come back without any of us noticing. Garry wasn’t with him. Neither was the shovel.
Simon flicked his finger. The boys rushed to their beds except for number three. Number three cursed at me.
“You’ll pay for this,” number three said under his breath before he shuffled toward Simon.
Simon wrapped his hand around number three’s neck and led him out of the room. This time he didn’t close the door. Dual footsteps echoed into our room as the two of them walked down the stairs. The boys rushed to the door and peeked through. I picked myself up off the floor and rubbed my head. I pulled my hand away to see blood on my fingers.
The pain in my head and stomach subsided but I couldn’t breathe right. Something was wrong with my nose. It felt crooked. I touched it with my hand and winced. Flashes of white specks danced in my vision. Number three had broken my nose.
The back door opened. The boys scurried from the door to the window.
“He’s taking him to the barn,” number seven said.
I didn’t care what happened to number three. I didn’t hate him. I just wanted my face to stop hurting. I shuffled over to where the boys were gawking and squeezed my head through their bodies. Number three was ten paces in front of Simon. When they got to the barn, only Simon went inside. He came back with a chain and a stake.
He wrapped one end of the chain around number three’s wrists and the other end to the stake. He guided number three to the back of the barn. They were there for a long time before only Simon returned.
Simon walked across the yard to the house. While the boys fled back to their beds as Simon was sweeping up the porch, I had my eyes locked on the barn. Where had he taken number three? What had he done? The other boys seemed to know but none of them would tell me. When I asked, they’d just grumble and tell me to be quiet; that I’d get them in trouble too.
I stood by the window until Simon tapped the bottom stair railing three hours later for dinner. Dinner was tense. None of the boys ate. Simon didn’t seem to mind—this time. He had us pick up our plates twenty minutes later and wash them before he sent us to our room.
Lights went out at nine every night. We could not leave our beds for any reason until Simon came for us in the morning. Some of the boys learned early on not to drink too much at dinner. Wetting the bed was a sure way to visit the Black Room and be assigned extra chores.
I was lying under my sheets, staring at the peeling plaster on the ceiling and the spider that had made the hole its home, when the door opened.
I heard the familiar tap-tap. I tilted my head to the side as Bobby, number one, slid out of his blankets and followed Simon out of the room. The moment the door closed, I was up and at the door. I pressed my ear to the wood and listened. When I heard the Black Room door close, I ran over to the window.
There was still no sign of number three. I scanned the whole yard. All I could see was a section of the chain lying in the snow. I ran to the door and opened it.
“What are you doing? He’ll kill you if he finds you out of bed,” number five said.
I ignored him and continued to open the door and slid out. I crept down the hall. I paused by the stairs. I thought I heard something coming from the Black Room. I dismissed it and went down the stairs. Bobby was in the Black Room. That meant I had at least an hour before he came back to the room. That was enough time—I thought.
It wasn’t.
2
I used a chair from the dining table to reach the latch at the top of the back door. The door squeaked as I opened it. I froze and listened. There was no sound of Simon coming down the stairs. I made it outside and skirted along the tall fence surrounding the yard. My bare feet sank five inches into the snow as I scurried to the barn.
The snow fell in sheets. The wind pelted my bare skin with ice pellets. My body was numb in seconds. I should have gone back inside but I kept going. I needed to find out what happened to number three. I knew if I got caught it would end badly for me, but I didn’t care.
What spurred on this mindless rebellion? Some would call it stupidity. But I’m not sure that’s what drove me to keep trekking through the ice and snow, risking hypothermia. No one would have been surprised had Simon found me the next day buried beneath two feet of snow, frozen into an ice cube. It would have served me right for being so dumb, they would say.
And yet here I was, walking barefoot in the snow with no more than a ratty cotton t-shirt and torn dungarees covering my frail frame
. Those few threads barely separated me from the storm raging around me. I couldn’t feel my toes or my fingers by the time I got to the barn.
If I thought number three hitting me in the face was bad, the pain in my extremities was tenfold. It was as if the wind was stabbing me over and over again with a million icy needles. Painful to the degree of screaming, but free enough to press on—if one were stupid.
I lost my footing and fell face first into the snow. I almost did not get up. My body ached and throbbed, and everything in me told me to run back to the house and GET OUT! I still did not listen to the warning signs. Maybe I had a death wish.
I managed to get to the shed. My limbs were trembling. The snowstorm had picked up and poured down in blankets of snow and ice. My eyes burned. I wrapped my arms underneath my armpits for warmth and cradled my abdomen. My feet were completely numb. The snow was halfway up my shins by now.
I walked around the back of the shed. I traced the metal chain all the way to an oversized doghouse. The chain wrapped around the outside of this and looped inside the front door. I hesitated. I had never seen a dog on the premises. That didn't mean that there wasn't one. The last thing I wanted was to creep up on a dog and have it chew my face off.
I pulled on the chain and waited. Nothing happened. I yanked on the chain a second time even harder. Still nothing. If there was a dog, it was either asleep or dead. I dropped the chain from my shaky hands and shuffled toward the doghouse. I fell to my hands and knees and peeked inside.
