SURVIVAL - Life From Death

By Travis James Author

This is a story of the struggles in life, of family bonds, and good friendships. But rarely in life do things go to plan as unfulfilled expectations darken their days.

Death is a part of our lives that we can never escape, yet

• Language: English
• Publisher: Travis James Author
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645863345

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COPYRIGHTS

Copyright @ 2023 Travis James

The moral right of Travis James to be asserted as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Australian Copyright Law as set out in the Copyright Act 1968 (Cth). This is federal legislation and applies throughout Australia.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Businesses, Organisations and Events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in Publication Data‚ catalogue record for this book is available on request from the National Library of Australia

First Edition 2023

ISBN Numbers:

Paperback - 978-0-6458633-5-2

eBook - 978-0-6458633-4-5

DEDICATION

To Dad

I know that you know.

PREFACE

I wrote this story a few years after losing my father nearly thirty years ago. He died from a sudden heart attack a month after his sixtieth birthday, Ironically, I publish this novel now a few months after my own sixtieth birthday.

Years prior to that fateful day, I suffered through a dark period of depression, anxiety, crippling loneliness and suicidal tendencies. I know Dad knew. He had a sixth sense about things. I never had the guts to tell him how sorry I was to put him through those tense times. And then I missed my chance.

Twelve years ago, I lost my first wife to cancer. It all happened within six months. My world momentarily came to a crushing halt. The closer a person is to your heart, the stronger the pain is when they depart.

Grief is a strange animal. It is never the same on any two days. It morphs into many forms, content on sneaking up on you when you least expect it, years, decades later.

Death is a part of life that we can never escape, yet we live as if it will never come, hiding from it, denying it. But in a way, it lives within us, all around us. We see it on the news, but we are quick to gloss over it with celebrity gossip.

Be grateful for what you have, and for the people you love.

The Reaper is watching, waiting…

CHAPTER 1

THE LOVING SON

SHONA

The elderly man slowly came into Shona’s field of view as she walked up the street in her usual shifty manner. He was standing on the lower rung of a rickety ladder, painting the weatherboards on the front of his house. She quickly took a few steps backwards behind the shrubbery she had just passed to spy on him, a devilish grin curling her lips.

Despite her uncontrollable need to cause harm to the old man, a neighbour for near twenty years, the two of them had struck up a casual relationship over that time. In a weird sort of way, she felt safer when she was with him, the maddening memories no longer tormenting her. But this opportunity was heaven sent.

She carefully judged the distance and played out a timed scenario in her mind of her route of attack. It could not have been easier. However, as she stepped out from behind her hiding place, something unexpected happened. Shona often thought that she put a curse on people, but with her elderly neighbour, she herself was cursed. To her dismay, it had happened countless times before.

Whenever she was in the throes of causing him harm, the accident-prone old man would fall or slip of his own accord. On this occasion he had obviously forgotten where he was and had turned and stepped off the ladder as if he were still on the ground. He landed with a dull thud. An onlooker may have easily misinterpreted Shona’s scream and swift dash as the response of a dedicated rescuer. But her bloodcurdling wail was for an opportunity lost rather than heartfelt compassion for someone in need of urgent medical assistance.

When she was seven years old, Shona and three of her closest friends, wandered unknowingly into the path of a speeding car. She had been lagging behind a little and was able to jump clear as she watched in horror as her friends’ bodies were torn apart and thrown across the road like over ripened tomatoes hit with a cricket bat. Beneath her screams of shock and disbelief, lurked a young child’s heightened sense of curiosity. For a few brief moments she looked with interest at the bloody remains, marvelling at the textures and colours, the contrasts between flesh and bone. It was the start of a bizarre and twisted life, one confused with the damaging memories of those mutilated bodies, and her own desire to see more.

Shona had refused to accept the deaths of her friends as accidents. Instead, she saw them as sacrifices to enable her to see the other side of life, an act that would ultimately lead her to become one of the Dark Ones. She had escaped death, and now thought she must be special in some way.

Her imagination had clearly been disturbed by the incident. Although, on reflection, she realised they had always been on the darker side of normal, only now she was more aware of them. Her emotions went into withdrawal, hiding away from the ghastly sights of her memory, leaving her imagination to assume control.

Despite her mother’s feeble attempts to dress her otherwise, somehow Shona managed to be clothed mostly in black. She moved in the shadows when she could. Her friends drifted away until almost no one would talk to her, always fighting to sit anywhere but next to her in class.

Her dreams were a mixture of repeated images of her friend’s pulped remains, and weird scenes where she cheated death at the expense of others, often anyone she had seen that day. She truly believed that if anyone befriended her, they too would end up dead by some horrific accident. On one level it horrified her that she could have power over another’s tenuous grip in life. On another, it electrified her thoughts, excited her that they feared her for having the ability to end it.

Over the years she gained a reputation for disembowelling feral cats, the odd rat, even a chicken that had flown its coop. However, they were nothing more than lies and innuendos, created by her peers to alienate her even further. The trumped-up allegations enforced their own twisted delusions that she was some kind of zombie, a member of the living dead, or even a witch.

But deep-down Shona was a pussycat. She knew she was dancing in the narrow void between sanity and madness because of her dreams, and no longer considered herself part of normal society. Having everyone believe she was evil essentially worked in her favour. It allowed her to keep a safe distance from anyone, away from harsh realities. So, she shrank away to isolated corners to be alone with her comforting gruesome imaginings.

Every car that drove past her either swerved to hit a power pole or collided with an oncoming truck. Dogs instantly became rabid and attacked other pedestrians. People’s heads would explode for no reason. And houses would implode, or tall buildings would simply topple over to crush picnickers in an adjoining park. Fires, everywhere there were fires with screaming bodies running from them. 

Shona enjoyed bloodthirsty movies that appeared to be continuations of her own visions. Her natural sense of inquisitiveness and craving to see more limbs torn from their torsos, strengthened with every dose. But whenever she happened to corner an animal, usually a mouse or even a large lizard, she could never bring herself to kill it. She desperately wanted to slowly twist its neck with her bare hands, to witness the fear in its eyes as the twinkle of life faded from them, or slicing it with a knife.

However, disgusted with her inability, she would throw the frightened animal away and collapse on the ground, crying for her inability to bring the malicious rumours of her peers or her dreams to fruition. That realisation brought clearer, more rational thoughts to the surface. Those thoughts scared her more than she terrified everyone else. So back into her imagination she retreated to reaffirm her ego that she was indeed capable of such heinous crimes, and that the tales about her satanic deeds were in fact the truth.

It was not until a high school camping trip on a farm that she was finally able to redeem herself in front of her classmates. During some leisure time, a small group had stumbled across a dead cow that had fallen down a low cliff. Most were sickened by the sight, a few showed mild curiosity. After a couple of jibes between several of the group, they taunted Shona and jostled her towards the fallen beast.

A little hesitant at first because of her previous failings with mice, Shona proceeded to dance around and squawked in unintelligible tongues. It was all an act, exaggerated to give the impression that she really was a witch about to perform a grisly disembowelment. She had hoped that after a few convincing minutes, the group would either try to stop her, or run screaming. But they did neither. Instead, they took a few tentative steps backwards and waited with breaths held, eyes wide with fear. Peer pressure, the only thing stopping them from fleeing.

After five minutes the group became a little impatient. One of the boys produced a large pocket-knife. He grabbed Shona in mid-dance and held up the blade. She wavered, eying them all one by one. No one moved. They began to taunt her once more, telling her she was gutless. She knew then that she had no choice. It was time to put her fears aside and perform the act she had dreamt about so many times before.

Shona moved slowly behind the head of the beast and lifted the chin to expose the throat. She raised the knife and pointed it at each of the onlookers. They all took another involuntary step backwards. The show continued as she began to screech and howl, more to boost her own wavering strength now than anything else.

Slowly, her thoughts descended into her murky safety of her imagination. She found comfort there, the bloodthirsty images calming her nerves. They were so clear and vibrant. She saw herself slicing the blade across the cow’s throat, the blood gushing from the large gaping wound, and heard the screams from her terrified witnesses. It all looked so easy, so perfect, so real. She replayed the scene several times in her mind, each time affirming her need, her desire to see the red viscous fluid that would soon flow freely.

In a trance, Shona swung the knife in a wide arc before plunging it into the side of the cow’s neck. Although the blade had been recently sharpened, it took quite a bit of effort to cut the flesh away. Still holding the chin with her other hand, with an unexpected amount of strength on her part, the head tilted back until it was perpendicular to the spine. There was a gut-wrenching sound of tearing sinew and a loud crack of dislocating vertebrae. Because the animal had died several days before, there was no pulsating fountain of blood that Shona had envisioned, but the few drops that landed on her boots was enough for most of the group to run away as they covered their mouths with their hands in fear of vomiting. A few of the stronger boys held back for a longer look, but when they saw the twisted smile on Shona’s face and the evil glint in her eyes, they too ran after the others.

Alone with the beast, Shona proceeded to dance once more. Her high-pitched cackling drowned the calls of a flock of crows that took flight from a nearby tree. She came to an abrupt stop, the knife poised over the cow’s stomach. She could see the organs in her mind, feel their sticky texture on her fingers. In movies she had seen it all before, and worse. It was time. The moment of truth was upon her. She had a need, an unquenchable desire to touch. Her eyes glazed a little further as she positioned herself for the ultimate act. There were no doubts now, no fear. She was ready.

The knife punctured the largest of the stomachs. It popped like a balloon. The smell of the escaping gasses overwhelmed her momentarily, the fumes taking her back to the car accident. The remembered images started flashing before her eyes, fuelling her satanic cravings.

Shona steadied herself, willing the knife to continue to open the beast to reveal its lifeless squishy innards. But as she leant forward for a closer look, the disgusting and overpowering stench forced her back.

She gagged. Then again as she twisted away and brought up her lunch, spraying it over the grass. The retching continued mercilessly, each surge bringing unwanted clarity to her thoughts. She looked back at the cow and heaved one last time, knowing that she could never continue what she had started, despite her burning desire to see more, to touch her holy grail.

It was the odour. Although she had no memory of it from the car accident, she realised then that the smell was the enemy, not the images. The images were fascinating. She needed to see more. But Shona had not been physically or mentally prepared to face the stench. Her contradictory needs to look and run confused her.

Stumbling back to the campsite, the intense odours refusing to release from her nostrils, and still a little queasy, her stomach heaved. But there was nothing more to bring up. She had failed. The smell had beaten her. Shona vowed never to attempt anything like that herself ever again.

However, despite her resolution, the persistent nightmarish images resumed with mind-numbing lucidity. If she was ever to satisfy her bloodthirsty needs, to touch with her bare hands, she would have to face her adversary, to get beyond the smell. But Shona knew she would never be able to do the killing, never be able to do the cutting. Her fulfilment now relied on someone else performing that ghastly deed.

Her classmates were very wary of her from then on, always making a point not to get too close. No one doubted that she had torn the heart from the carcass. No one had dared go back to verify the beast’s voided chest. It had been expected.

For years after, her legendary farmyard performance helped to perpetuate the myth that she was indeed possessed. Although she knew it was all a lie, she continued the pretence, thriving on the attention it provided. She was known, feared. It gave her so much power over the weaker students, and a tolerance among the toughies she would never have been privileged to associate with had she dressed conventionally and toed the line.

Shona became very reclusive during her late teens and early twenties. Her Jekyll and Hyde personality kept those around her at a safe distance by day. Many of her workmates in the various warehouse and factory jobs found her to be pleasant enough, but at the same time a little too distant and weird for their liking. She had a reputation for sucking people into a false sense of security, only to play mean practical jokes on them when they least expected or deserved it.

By night, she escaped back into her nightmares to become a vampire feeding off the victims of her mindless slayings. The dreams came to her during daylight hours as well, but only if she was under pressure or suffering any kind of anxiety. Her eyes would glaze over, her lips would curl back into a hideous sneer, and all thought or feeling for anyone around her vanished. Only in those terrifying moments did she really consider harming someone, to bring her dreams to life.

As the years passed, the reason for her needs faded, but she continued to play pranks on others in a vain hope of them causing physical harm to themselves. She spent her days forever vigilant for possible casualties, wishing that a corpse would fall and lay itself open at her feet. Each morning she woke with the taste of blood on her lips. It both excited her and disgusted her.

Seeing the old man fall off his ladder, Shona knew her time was close. She could feel it in her bones. It was so close now.

She could smell it.

———— < > ————

ALDO

With very little education, Aldo Mozzoni had always been a battler. For years he had eked out a life as a simple labourer for various government services and councils. Gardening, cleaning, running simple errands, even washing buses. Nothing very glamorous or rewarding, but what little money he brought home seemed to go a long way with his uncanny ability to budget and manage accounts.

To see his only son raise himself into the world of high finance without any help was indeed very gratifying. Vincent’s ever increasing and strengthening courier business never ceased to amaze him. He was a proud father and was never ashamed to show it.

During the last few years since he had retired, money had become more of a problem than it had ever been before. The house needed urgent repairs, as did his car, and the utility bills were really starting to pinch. Grudgingly, Aldo had accepted Vincent’s money to save the family home from demolition and to pay some bills. He had even allowed his son to buy him a more reliable second-hand car, knowing he would never be able to pay him back. But he would get by somehow no matter what happened.

Aldo knew how accident-prone he was. He had spent many days in various hospitals, and countless weeks convalescing at home during his career. It was the reason for his inability to hold down a steady well-paying job after all. He also knew the accidents had taken their toll on him physically over the years, and that maybe he would not be on this Earth much longer, expecting that one too many accidents would eventually kill him outright. It was a depressing thought, and one that had cropped up more and more in recent weeks.

It was no different now as he lay holding his knee, softly moaning. Beside him, an upturned can slowly spilled its contents of white paint over the small patch of concrete. The paintbrush rested on the foliage of an azalea bush. Just thinking about hosing off and scrubbing the path, and then pruning the bush to cover up his latest foray sent his spirits plummeting.

Mister Mozzoni! Are you alright?

Shona jumped the low brick fence in a flurry of dark cloth. She stared down at him, hesitating about what to do.

I’m okay, Shona, he said in his slight Italian accent. I’m always falling off things as you know. I have been doing it all my life.

Are you sure you’re alright?

Fine, fine, Aldo said as he picked himself up off the ground.

Oh.

Well, don’t sound too disappointed, he said jovially.

Although only showing mild concern now, Shona leaned against the fence, her black lace dress and raven hair both hung loosely over her bony frame. Her black fingernail polish, dark eye shadow and lipstick gave her youthful glow a more sinister rendering.

You shouldn’t be up a ladder like that at your age.

Pah! I’m not as old and fragile as I look, Shona. Besides…I’ve been painting this place for thirty-five years. I’m not about to stop now.

You mean you’ve been falling off that ladder for thirty-five years, she cackled, and that you should never have started it in the first place.

Why you cheeky little…

Hey, careful. She waved a finger at him playfully, a challenging glint in her eyes.

He laughed softly. And where are you off to on this wonderful day?

Oh, you know me, she said, looking away ruefully. Just scouting around for any feral cats to strangle.

You’re a strange one, aren’t you? Why do you never smile unless you’re talking of killing something? Life is so precious. But you’re so intent on playing God and ending it for innocent creatures.

There’s nothing innocent about feral cats, she said flatly, her eyes narrowing. They’re a pest and deserve to die.

Nothing deserves to die, Aldo said sternly, his sagging jowls quivering. God, and God alone, has the right to judge. He crossed himself.

Yeah, yeah. I’m not going to get into another theological debate with you. I lose every time.

You may laugh at that young lady, but it’ll be the Lord who’ll have the last say. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You ought to go to church before it’s too late.

It’s already too late, Shona said as she idly fondled a small silver skull medallion dangling from a black leather necklace. I’m a lost cause. Anyway, you’d better get back up that ladder. Seeing some silly old fool breaking his neck just might make my day.

Oh, you’re intolerable, he said, shaking his head, and they both laughed. Vincent will be here soon. I might get his scrawny butt up there to finish it off this time. That fall has really knocked the wind out of me. Not to mention the bump to my knee.

An old jinx like you is lucky to have made it this long.

You’ll be jinxed one day, the way you play the game.

Me? Never. I’ll die fighting. No accidents for me.

That’s not my decision, thank God. Aldo crossed himself again. Oh, here comes the young fellow now.

Shona jumped back over the low fence. I’d better get going then. Vince and I don’t exactly see eye to eye these days.

I’m not surprised. Be off then, you heathen vixen.

Oh, you old flatterer, she said, sneering over her shoulder as she trotted off down the narrow street.

Aldo unrolled the hose and began washing away the spilt paint. When he saw Vincent approaching with a frown creasing his brow, he moaned to himself, knowing that his son would not be happy to see that he had yet another accident.

Dad.

Son.

You haven’t fallen off the ladder already?

Aldo tried to hide his guilt by looking away, however, the fact that he was rubbing his knee exposed his little secret. He turned off the water tap.

Jeez, Dad. How many times do you have to do it before you get it through that thick head of yours that ladders are a no-no?

Too many, I guess. And you watch that language. That’s no way to talk to your father.

Sorry. Humbled, Vincent peered up the street in the direction Shona had disappeared. When he looked back, concern was set in his features. What did the she-devil want?

My neighbour cares for my safety. As do you.

Cares? It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d kicked the ladder out from under you herself.

Aldo’s eyes expressed his disbelief.

Vincent continued. She just happened to be here, seconds after you fell. Doesn’t that strike you as even a little suspicious?

Oh, she’s not that bad. Her heart is in the right place.

Heart? Get real!

Now, now.

Dad, she’s a sadist, Vincent stressed. She enjoys other people’s pain, even inflicting pain on others. She strangles cats and laughs as she’s doing it. Why do you think she was so keen to strike up a friendship with you? Because she’s neighbourly? Dad, she has only ever seen you as a potential victim. You’d have to be one of the most accident-prone people on the planet. You’re always hurting yourself. And Shona drools over the fence every day waiting for you to break your neck. To witness a person dying would be the highlight of her life.

Aldo had rested his backside against one of the fence piers, his rounded back evidence of a hard life of toil. He eyed his son with disapproval. Have you ever witnessed her kill anything?

Well, no. But…

I don’t believe a word of it, Aldo said, cutting him off.

"Why do you think she ran for cover when I showed up? It’s because I know