Don't Fear The Reaper Read Online Free Page B

to the summit, Roland’s heavy breathing came close to
panting. As cold as it was outside, his brow was drenched in a film of sweat.
He pried his curled fingers off the steering wheel and saw he’d left imprints.
His knuckles cracked and his arms felt laden with tension and lactic acid. 
    He killed the engine but decided to leave the headlights on. Over the
edge Roland could dimly make out the Crai Reservoir, undulating languidly.
Sighing, he pivoted and faced the sty he’d need to climb over and the hill to
the summit.
    The cold settled into his marrow. Roland shivered and cussed his
forgetfulness and stupidity not to bring a hooded sweater or coat with him.
That notion had totally slipped his mind. Although it was June and the sun had
been out earlier, high up in the mountains of Brecon Beacons it was chilly.
He’d made this mistake once a few summers ago when he took his mother for a
spin and decided to stop and sit outside. That was during the day when the sun
shone on them. This time was far worse. The sun was a distant memory. In this
darkest of nights, Roland knew the sun or any type of warmth had no business
being present.
    Rubbing his exposed arms he crossed the road and swung one leg at a time
over the sty and ventured to his destiny.
    He’d warmed up a bit from the climb. Snot poured out of his nostrils. He
wiped it away absentmindedly as his hands gripped the grassy knoll for
purchase. Huffing and puffing, he hauled himself up and rolled onto his back.
His breath escaped him in steamy exhalations. When he got himself into a
sitting posture, Roland flinched at something he was certain he’d detected in
the corner of his eye.
    There was nothing or no one present anywhere in the vicinity.
    What’d you think you seen?   
    It was hard to define as it had only been a momentary glimpse, but Roland
was positive that amidst the forever darkness there had been a pale white horse
observing him no more than twenty feet away.
    So sure was Roland he ambled in that direction, hoping he wasn’t losing
his marbles and he hadn’t imagined the dream earlier which was more a vision
where the Grim Reaper had made contact with him from another realm.
    Yeah ’cause that explanation doesn’t sound insane , he chastised
himself.
    His legs still hadn’t properly recovered from the climb but intuition
informed him time wouldn’t wait for him any longer. The ground he traversed was
uneven and he staggered and fought for balance half a dozen times before the
turf receded and the terrain felt harder.
    By now his eyes had adjusted to the dark and as he squinted Roland could
see the shapes ahead of him were stones and pebbles. The ground he moved over
was unyielding rock. A sloping path drooped around a massive boulder and
revolved back to the right again out of sight. Without any hesitation Roland
followed this path, mindful of his footing. He comforted himself by reaching
out and feeling the stone wall of the boulder and leant against it for support.
Then as he cornered the boulder and the path rose again the council worker
ceased at the grand entrance. Before him was the most amazing spectacle created
by man, carved out of stone more than a century ago.
    What stopped him and amazed him was a rectangular-shaped monolith, (some
sort of ancient relic) at the centre of a sunrise amphitheatre.
    Roland gasped.
    This was what had drawn him. Or rather, this is what the Grim Reaper had
drawn him to. Now he had to enter the sunrise amphitheatre where the risers
rose up and circled the arena. The plain, indistinctive monolith appeared
incongruously no matter how well concealed. It was an onyx hue, quite possibly
made out of marble. Roland sensed it calling to him in a myriad of innumerable
incantations.
    He should have been afraid. However, the incantations of voices without
form soothed his trepidation and welcomed him, encouraged him to enter without
fear and approach this inhuman creation at the centre of this