Humanity
liked to imagine they’d known evil during their brief time on the Earth. They’d
written about it, made movies about it, glorified it and, for many, endeavoured
to become it. They thought they’d seen iniquity
in the eyes of murderers, cultists, witches and foolish youths labouring to be
something they knew nothing about. The
world of vampires and werewolves had become pop culture, little more than adolescents
with hairless chests hissing, growling and flaring their nostrils. Folklore had been driven into despondency,
etching what was once dark possibility into now clear and discernible
signposts, which pointed towards shadows that held the hands of those who mocked
what once remained unseen and unknowable.
The world had grown weak and its residents weaker still. Maturity had bred fools and followers rather
than those who might lead, and those who pretended to lead merely made fools
of their followers. The world and its
denizens had little left to do now but wait for something they still knew
nothing about. Pompous, conceited and
as hollow as the caves from which they’d crawled, Jabez had once wept at the
very thought of spending another unwanted moment breathless with despair
amongst them. They thought they held the
universe in their palms; in truth they still owned the hands of children...
