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| My New Story | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 26 2009, 11:20 PM (336 Views) | |
| Gavin | Dec 26 2009, 11:20 PM Post #1 |
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Greater than Starclan
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Ok, I have no idea where I'm going with this story, so don't ask me when the next part will be up, thank'ee kindly. Also, I'm not sure how scary it is, but I advise that younger members don't read this, just in case. With a grunt and an ungraceful lurch, Pete half tossed, half dragged the heavy, rusted steel bin across the dark, wet pavement towards the thin alley to the side of his shop, where it would stay out of the way of any drunk kids that would normally kick the trash around the street. Pete turned the collar of his coat to the downpour, as a gust of wind blew it down with renewed force. His chore complete, Pete turned and shuffled with his head bowed and the opening of his coat clenched shut in his fist. He pressed heavily against the glass door and turned the handle, and it opened against his weight. He entered the brightly lit and blissfully warm newsagents and shut the door behind him as quickly as possible, to shut out the driving rain. Looking out through the glass at the dark street, barely lit by the pallor light of the streetlamps, Pete pitied anyone who had to walk any further than just outside their own shop on a night like this. The middle aged, overweight man wiped his feet on his welcome mat to dry the soles of his heavy boots, before walking back to the back rooms, squeezing through the narrow gap between the counter and a rack of sweets. Upon checked the clock next to the newspaper rack, a miserly sneer crossed his face. He should have closed up by ten o’clock; he was almost an hour late. Shaking his head wearily, Pete decided to leave the stock moving until the next morning, and instead turned to the till. Pete shoved his hand into his jean pocket and pulled out his thin leather wallet, and had started transferring his daily income to its measly confines when the door flew open. Startled, Pete glared up at his shop door, and to his ire saw that whoever it was hadn’t rushed in and closed the door, and he could feel the wind steal the warmth from the room and rustled all the papers and magazines along the shelves of the shop. The rain pattering heavily on the linoleum flooring of the newsagents, as it filtered through the gap between the doorframe and the bulk of the person that now stood brazenly in the entrance. “Sorry, we’re closed!” Pete hollered above the shrieking whistle of the wind. “So close that bloody door!” “Sorry sir, so sorry sir!” came the booming reply, as the unwanted visitor entered with a couple of smooth, long strides, and reached out with his left arm to grab the door handle and, with seemingly effortless strength, flung the door against the wind to a slamming stop. Order was restored as the shriek of the wind and the drumming of the rain subsided and the items in the shop stopped fluttering from page to page. “Now look what you’ve done, lad” grumbled Pete loudly, as he squeezed past the counter again and began to tend to the now untidy rows of newspapers. “Again, sorry sir” indulged the visitor, who Pete took a good long look at from the corner of his eye. He was a young man, late teens, early twenties maybe. He wore a long, leather coat that went down to his shins, of the sorts that Pete had only seen on the silly kids he saw walking around with make-up to make themselves look pale and whatever else they thought looked good. The coat was left open, which was surprising considering the weather, and underneath it he wore a dark… waist-coat? Whatever it was, it was soaked, but the man didn’t seem to care. No, he was grinning. When he noticed this, Pete turned and looked the stranger face to face; how hadn’t he noticed it before? It was such a strange expression. It wasn’t just a smile, it looked forced. Far too forced, like all he wanted to do was abandon the fake smile. Pete straightened up to his full height, but still found himself several inches shorter than the stranger… he hadn’t noticed how tall the man was until now. Finding himself flustered, Pete looked back to the newspapers and made a great effort to focus on sorting them rather than staring at the silent man standing to his left. All the same, he could fell the presence of the stranger like a physical force pressing against his flank. After a few moments of increasingly clumsy sorting, Pete turned, exasperated, towards the visitor. He looked up, gathering his nerve before he asked the strangely imposing person to leave. Then he saw the man’s eyes. And a memory came back to him from a few months ago. He remembered someone like this coming here before. The eyes were so bright. There had been someone in his newsagents like this man before; that was all he could remember. The eyes were like those of a cat; amber, but with a reflective quality that made them seem like a light source all of their own. How could he have forgotten someone like this? Suddenly there was a weight on Pete’s shoulder, and in a blink he noticed again that something was different; the man was closer, looking down at him with his too-wide eyes, almost all of his teeth showing in the dreary grin. His hand rested on Pete’s shoulder. “I hope you can help me sir,” the man implied warmly through his teeth, never losing his grin. As he spoke, the stranger leant forward, applying more weight to the middle-aged shopkeepers torso. “I’m looking for someone, you see, and I’m sure you’ve seen them.” “I...you…” stammered Pete, feeling sweat trickle down his brow. “I’m sure you’ve seen them” he continued, “because I seldom catch the scent of genuine fear. And when I do, it tends to help me find where they’ve been.” The pressure on Pete’s left shoulder was making his arm sag and his legs shake slightly under the strain now. He wanted to move, to brush the strangers hand off his shoulder and push him out of his newsagents, but he couldn’t make himself move. Even the trembling motions of his lips as he tried to speak had ceased. This can’t be real. He thought, panicking, but unable to make any indications as such. This has to be a dream! No-one can do this sort of magic shit on people!All he could do was stare into the eyes of the stranger who couldn’t possibly be real. He had stopped grinning. Pete hadn’t noticed when that had happened. Without the smile, the mans thin-lipped mouth curved into a sneer. He looked like a totally different man. Pete hadn’t noticed when that had happened either. When he spoke next, the mans voice was far colder; “Fear is a remarkable thing. Even when the source of your terror has passed, the mere memory of it can still install you with a remnant of that fear.” The man looked to the side, apparently studying the front cover of a newspaper on the wrack they stood by. As his eyes left Pete’s, the weight on his shoulder seemed to decrease, and his lips started trembling again. Pete continued to watch as a cold, humourless smile broke the strangers sneer. “That’s why your memories were blocked. I guess they hoped they could move without leaving any traces.” “What are you talking about?” mumbled Pete, surprising himself as much as the strange man. The amber gaze whipped around to focus again upon Pete, who felt himself begin to freeze again. “But no matter how stale it gets” the stranger continued passionately, “the smell of true fear can be followed anywhere by someone who can recognise it.” And suddenly the weight on Pete’s shoulder was gone, and he felt himself being lifted under his arms, lifted like a limp doll, his head lolling against his shoulder, and was thrown against the wrack of papers. The impact didn’t stop his sense of motion: the wrack itself flew back against his weight, and it toppled over with him. With a seemingly thunderous crash in the small shop, the compact, metal shelves fell heavily to the floor. Pete couldn’t feel any pain, though. He was winded, and he found himself taking shallow, gasping breaths, but he couldn’t feel anything. His eyes, which he had closed as he fell backwards, opened to stare directly into the bright, yellow-ish light of his shop. He could feel it’s brightness pierce his vision, but he didn’t blink. He couldn’t feel anything that would make him want to. He watched the light eat away at his vision, slowly spreading across his line of sight, like he was staring at the sun for too long. But he couldn’t feel any pain. Oh God he thought, as realisation brought fresh panic, I’ve done something to my back, I’ve broken my spine, I’m paralysed, I… I…A shadow crossed Pete’s vision. His vision was still too blurred to see anything other than a dark stain against the light. But it wasn’t hard to picture what it was standing over him. “Questions” chuckled a warm voice “won’t get me anywhere. Even if you recognise my aura, the block won’t let you remember anything more.” The shadow widened, blocking out more of the overpowering light as the terrible stranger leaned down. His face was only inches from Pete’s. He could faintly feel something brush against his face. It was a hand; a chill hand was being held to his cheek, as if to reassure him. Pete realised he was regaining feeling in his legs and torso too, beginning to feel pain in the small of his back from where he guessed he had impacted on a shelf. He started to blink rapidly, as his eyes began to ache. He almost forgot about the menace that crouched next to him as waves of pain rolled over him. His sense of pain was returning as quickly as it had gone. “A mind” the voice alleged warmly “has to be broken before its pieces can be searched for what has been hidden.” Pete tried to turn his head to look at his assailant, but the hand held it still. He found his head being pushed even further the other way, looking even further from the source of his torment. He heard a quiet laughter build up behind his head, as his arms flew up to wrest the hand off of his face. They met with no success: the leather-covered arm was like steel, resolute and immovable. Pete found his gasps of effort turn to sobs as he fought both his primal fear and the inhuman strength. In contrast, the laughter was getting steadily louder and more joyful. “What are you!?” Pete tried to roar, but the bitter gall at the back of his throat choked the noise into another sob. The laughter grew louder still, and he could feel the vibrations of the stranger’s chest along his arm, reverberating in Pete’s hands and on his face. The laughter slowed somewhat, like the monster beside him was trying to control himself, but failing. After a few seconds, it spoke quietly, into Pete’s ear, making him wretch, trying to shimmy away. “I could tell you, but I don’t think you’d enjoy your death any more because of it.” The voice said. The hand applying force to Pete’s face lifted off and withdrew with preternatural speed. The overweight, middle-aged man twisted his head almost as quickly, and took his first, unaltered view of his assailants face. The scream that began to rise from his throat was never heard; an inhuman snarl drowned out its first, gasping tones, and his legs jerked involuntarily as the terrible, stabbing pains in his neck began. |
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| + Flametail | Dec 27 2009, 06:10 PM Post #2 |
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Wow Gavin, very good! |
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| Scarletflower | Dec 28 2009, 03:58 AM Post #3 |
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Stop staring.
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Well. I'm thoroughly terrified. |
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| Gavin | Dec 28 2009, 01:47 PM Post #4 |
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Greater than Starclan
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lol. Awww, thanks. I sort of thought 'bout half-way through "meh, this isn't really scary at all..." |
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| + Flametail | Dec 28 2009, 04:58 PM Post #5 |
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It's s pretty fricken awesome start! |
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| + Streamfall | Dec 31 2009, 08:12 PM Post #6 |
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I liked it, it was......interesting and intense. But you'll have to work harder to scare me.
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| + Flametail | Jan 1 2010, 06:27 PM Post #7 |
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LOL, you should add a whole bunch of other scary things to it. |
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