Dark Cull

By Christopher Sharapata

Albert Dreg doesn’t have much. He has his mother and a leaky apartment. Even though he never knew his father, his mother has always been enough. However, when tragedy strikes and pulls him into a war that has been happening for eons and eons behind the scenes, he must learn to accept who and what he is to protect the one thing no one can afford to lose. The ability to choose. The ability to be imperfect. It’s then that he discovers the true nature of what it means to choose and the consequence of being able to choose.
Death, for all, will be the consequence should he fail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Sharapata
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215148921

Christopher Sharapata

Christopher Sharapata lives with his wife in Utah. He enjoys watching movies, playing games, and mostimportantly writing and coming up with stories. He often uses his family as inspiration for his writing as wellas his religion to make cool stories that others can enjoy. His favorite story is his Dark cull serieswhich he had been working on for years.

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Copyright © 2023 Christopher Sharapata

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.

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Letter to the reader

Thank you

I can tell you that evil is a matter of perspective, and from my perspective good is the true evil.

– Albert Dreg

Albert

The shrieks were piercing, deafening, even with my hands over my ears. Around me were countless people, screaming in the lakes of fire. They were white and black and every color and shade that burnt flesh could be. The smell sickened me, and the heat made me sweat. Their fingers were rigid claws scratching at the walls of the pit, their nails broken and worn to nubs, fingertips bleeding. I watched in silence—I could do nothing as the flames devoured them. The fires abated for a moment, then rose, and their pain began all over again. I looked away to spare myself from their suffering.

I stood on a cliff face overlooking the pit. I turned and saw the endless craggy rock landscape receding into the distance. The air was populated by creatures with wings and horns—demons or goat-like beasts. Most were black and grey, some red. Whatever they were, caused me to tremble. I walked to the edge of the precipice and one of the beasts flew to me. It had supernaturally long fingers tipped with talons. The creatures had small eyes, but this one sniffed, as if catching my scent. I expected it to attack me, but it didn’t, instead staring at me with blank, black-olive eyes, doing nothing. I shook fearfully and walked backward slowly.

Then, as if I’d said something funny, or ridiculous, it gave a nasty grin, its face stretching in a way that looked painful, its lips pulling back to expose bloody gums and several rows of sharp teeth that could easily remove the flesh from my bones. Its forked tongue slid over pieces of flesh caught in its teeth. It exhaled a miasma of odor—blood and rotting meat—that choked me and brought me to my knees, nearly making me gag.

The creature closed its mouth and cocked its head in confusion. Then, without a word, it pointed to the overlook and I saw pillars of fire and endless darkness emitted by infernal flames. The creature’s white body looked like pale smoke, and dusk clung to its wings. Now it called me by name, as it always did, and said the same thing it always said. Its voice was heavy and deep, as if it were the voice of hell itself.

We are who we are, and what we are is evil.

It always smiled when it was done, and it meant it.

That’s good enough for now. You did a really good job this session, you seem to be using your exercises and you’re remembering more of your nightmares.

I smiled and nodded to the woman who sat in the chair to my left. Her huge office windows looked down on busy streets, hundreds of cars darting up and down the streets. The sky was a clear blue, with only one or two clouds. The office itself was decorated in a palette of muted black, grey, and brown, with gray leather-upholstered chairs and a matching sofa. A shaded light hung in the middle of the room. On the wall hung a single, framed certificate: Jillian Martin, licensed psychologist.

The woman herself was sitting on one of the chairs holding a black leather notepad on her left knee. She wore a black button-up shirt with a white skirt and tennis shoes. Her curly hair was held back with a black clip, although it threatened to escape. Her eyes were green, clear, and calm, and her placid voice, although it was kind, made me wonder if she’d ever been sad or frightened a day in her life.

You okay Albert?

I snapped out of my thoughts. I rearranged my posture.

Yeah, sorry Jillian.

She smiled and closed her pad.

Maybe that’s enough for today. You’ve made a lot of progress, you know.

I scratched my head avoiding her gaze and chuckled. Progress? Sure, for a psycho maybe.

Yeah, two whole years and still these nightmares haunt me.

Jillian shook her head and pushed her glasses up.

That’s only half the story. When you first came to me you could barely sleep eight hours a week. Now you’re getting close to that most nights. And you’re remembering more details from these nightmares, which will help you find the problem and plug the leak.

I sighed, staring at my sneakers. I fumbled with my hands. She isn’t wrong.

Yeah, well, when you put it that way. This definitely has helped.

She smiled and began standing.

I’ll see you next week Albert, keep up your dream journal. Remember I’m checking it next week.

I smiled and nodded. She crossed to the door and opened it for me. I got up and we shook hands then she gave a small wave as I walked into the hallway and made my way to the elevator. The hallway was green and the door to the elevator was a brass metallic color. I pushed the rectangular button and after a few moments, the big metal doors opened and chimed. I got in and pushed the button for the first floor. The doors began to close when I heard someone call out.

Hold it please!

I shot my hand out and the doors closed on my arm like a monster jaw, then reopened. A man in a black and red worsted wool suit joined me.

Thank you. I’m already late so this definitely helped.

He pushed the button for the sixth floor.

Yeah no problem, I said automatically.

The man looked at me and taking in my jacket and blue pants.

I looked down, not looking for conversation. My black sneakers next to his black leather oxfords. I retreated to the corner of the elevator hoping to avoid him but failed.

My name’s Lewis, are you a client?

I looked up and he smiled.

No, not at the firm. I was here for therapy.

The man nodded as if he understood.

Jillian seems nice. Does she do good work?

Yeah, she’s good at what she does.

What’s your name?

Albert.

The doors buzzed and opened. Lewis lingered a moment.

Nice to meet you Albert, see you again sometime.

The doors closed behind him as he exited, and I was finally alone with my thoughts. He reminded me of a salesman, but at least he acknowledged me. I looked down at my watch and panicked.

Mom would be off soon, and I needed to pick her up from work.

The doors opened at the lobby, and I hurried out the door. My shoes squeaked on the marble floor as I ran and people darted out of the way. I went left out of the lobby towards the parking garage. When I got to the garage, I quickly found my mother’s car, a sad-looking blue four-door that dated back to before the 2000s. There was a crack in the windshield, and a scrape left by the previous owners ran along one side. I jumped in, put the key in the ignition, and it coughed to life. I turned on the lights and exited the garage. As I turned right several horns honked as I entered traffic. Rain pattered down on the car under uniform grey skies, and I turned the wipers on. They made a sad attempt to clear the windshield, but it helped a little. I stepped on the pedal a little hard going faster than I probably should have.

When I finally arrived at the diner, I stopped and idled. My mom, still in her waitress uniform, ran out, hurried to open the passenger door, and got in. Her black hair was damp, and her shirt had taken a few drops before she could get into the car. My mom is small, about five foot three. Her yellow uniform with its black skirt always reminded me of a cartoon bee. She’s a thin woman and always a little pale from the lack of sunlight in Oregon. I turned the heat on high and pointed the vents at my mom as I attempted to dry her. As I pulled out of the parking lot, seeing her in her uniform made my heart ache.

My dad walked out on us when I was young, and ever since she’s had to work hard just to care for me. I couldn’t think too long about her paying for my community college, or my therapy, without getting depressed.

She blew on her hands to warm them and looked at me.

It’s cold out there. Thanks for coming as quickly as you could. How was therapy?

It was good. We did mind-blowing stuff apparently.

Mom laughed.

Say what you want, but at least you’re sleeping.

That’s true, and that’s big.

I wanted to thank her again for the therapy, but it always made her uncomfortable. I think because there were lots of other things she wanted to give me as well, and couldn’t. It made me sad how much work it took her to pay for everything, so we just didn’t talk about it. The unbroken gray of the sky was slashed for a moment by lightning.

I love lightning, just not the rain.

I smiled at her unique take on the weather.

How was work, mom?

You know, the usual. I ask for a raise and it gets shot down. I work hard and they cut my shifts. She looked sad, then smiled, But at least I have a loving son.

And I have you, so we win.

We drove a few miles to our apartment complex. We got out, and I held a cheap umbrella over my mom’s head as she walked to the house. The rain was pouring so heavily that the gutters were overflowing, and water was pouring straight from the roof. Water sprayed the back of my neck giving me chills. Distant thunder sounded, but we didn’t get to see the lightning this time.

Inside the apartment it was cold and dark. I flipped the light switch–nothing. I grumbled and walked out the door towards the front office. As I walked down the steps, I made my way across the barren muddy lawn. The office was in the left section of the complex. The rain slapped me the moment I went out from under the roof, soaking the back of my shirt and pants. I refused to hurry, and finally entered the lobby, out of the downpour, and made my way to the front office. The manager sat behind a counter, his eyes glued to a TV in the corner.

Our lights aren’t working, I said.

He held up a finger, waited for a punch line in the show he was watching, and then reluctantly looked at me.

What apartment?

Number six.

I’ll get it done sometime tonight.

He was already turning back to his show. I took a breath so as not to lose my temper. I clenched my fists tightly.

We have no lights, can you please do it now?

No, he looked at me again, pointing a finger. You pay late, you get maintenance late. He subsided into his TV chair, but I wasn’t going to let it go.

You’re supposed to fix any essential service immediately.

He bounced back to his feet, pointing again and coming closer this time.

"Listen you little prick, you don’t tell me when, I tell you when. You wait or you won’t get it at all, your choice."

I swore under my breath as I went back outside. I bit my lip angrily as I thought of that vile man. The rain poured down, as hard as ever, as I walked back to the apartment. I saw my mother had started to heat dinner on the stove, soup made with leftovers from the chicken we had the night before. Chicken again?

He said he’ll get it done tonight.

So by the end of the week?

He gave me crap about us paying late again.

I pay as soon as I can. I can’t do more than that.

She looked so sad standing in the faint light from candles she had lit around her. I walked over and hugged her. She had tears on her face as I held her in my arms. I took the spoon she was holding and motioned to the couch.

Go rest mom, I’ll take care of dinner.

She smiled.

I’m grateful for you Albert. I’m sorry I haven’t given you the life you deserve.

I have everything I need, and that’s enough.

She smiled, grabbed a blanket from the floor, and lay on the couch. She began snoring pretty quickly, and I left a bowl of soup on the small table in the living room. I cleaned the kitchen and the dishes. When I was finished, I brought mom a pillow and placed it under her head. I smiled. I was so grateful for her. I walked to my room and took off my shirt. The familiar birthmarks riddled my chest, surrounding one singular shape in the center. It looked like two tally marks. I touched it and flinched. This always happened when I touched it, though I never understood why.

My left eye is brown, but my right is almost white. It has no pigment, a condition called ocular albinism. It makes me look different, and I hate it. My hair is black and short. I’m thin, but I have enough height at six feet to make up for it. I was usually called tall and scrawny when I was in high school. I didn’t care though. I couldn’t care less what others think about me. I put a shirt on and pajama pants and lay in my bed. I stared at the ceiling and closed my eyes. I began to drift into a sleep, and the nightmare images returned to my mind once more—burning pits and flying demon creatures.

Albert

I woke to a pounding on the front door. I climbed out of bed in my pajamas and padded over, passing my mom, still sleeping silently on the couch. I opened the door and saw a woman on her knees covered in blood. I backed away immediately.

What the hell?

Her eyes were rolled back and she was chanting gibberish. Her white dress was soaked in red blood and her hair was curly and knotted. She had black hair and no shoes. Her skin was pale, and her voice sounded strained, speaking some language I didn’t know. She had a knife in her hand and lunged at me. I hollered and blocked her arm so the knife wouldn’t sink into my neck. The knife was inches from my neck and sweat beaded on my forehead. My mother woke up, screamed, and ran for the phone. The woman