Mythical Footprints

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Nate Amoux finds himself chasing the case of a man in trauma. (850 word story for school)

Submitted: November 13, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 13, 2016



Nate Amouxs boot-clad feet clacked noisily down the cobbled road. He loved the sound of footsteps, they made his job so much easier. Black clad figures stood - or rather lurked - between buildings that seemed to be falling down in slow motion, extremely slow motion, only being sped up by the occasional illegal pet - dragons, raijus, enfeilds and the like. A horn cut through the the still night air, causing Nate to shift his gaze up. It wasn't a horn but a the mournful ballad of a Sky-Whale. The man stared at the metal contraptions clinging to the whales body, designed to keep it under control. The sound of footsteps slapping against the ground made him tear his eyes from the sky. Crumpled paper was thrust into his gloved hand by a small boy, a shock of blonde hair bobbed in the wind as he wordlessly held out his hand for his pay. Nate sighed, his breathe turning to mist in the frigid air as he dropped a winking silver coin into the childs hand. The boy promptly sped off without the usual 'Thank you mester!'.

Nate frowned at the spidery writing on the page, it wad addressed to Detective Amoux. A sigh of exasperation clouded his vision, he was an Investigator of Mythical Problems or I.M.P for short, not a mere detective. The black haired man frowned, it was from the hospital: they had a case of trauma.

The sound of his heavy, running footfalls echoed through and between the dilapidated slums. A few skin-shifters leered at him from the shadows, reminding him of how he dropped his second skin for a job. Nate grimaced, he wasn't fond of the past, it left muddy footprints on his psyche.

He had skidded to a halt in the dim lobby of the hospital when a nurse forced a badly made cup of tea into his hands. Nate reasoned that it was free and took a sip. Once white walls lined the halls that Nate followed the nurse down, his nose crinkling in disgust at the pungent scent of urine and the red splatter spreading from the floor to the ceiling. "I hope that is just tomato soup" he mumbled. Stopping he saw the nurse eye the door anxiously. Nurse Wilmer introduced herself and the patient, Liam Ogidnew, before giving him a file "'ere ya go mester Amucks" Nate scanned through said file and spotted the words 'supernatural' and 'paranormal' used several times. His eyes flicked up "I deal with the mythical, not the paranormal, and it is pronounced A-moo not A-mucks" his gruff voice said before shouldering open the door.

Cold grey eyes scanned the room, blood-stains, wreckage of a bedframe, sketches of footprints, the usual - wait, back up, sketches of footprints? As Nate stooped to collect some of these sketches he heard a dull thud behind him "fainted I presume" he growled to himself. The I.M.Ps coat fluttered in the wind and his eyes found the smashed window, and the smashed North wall. A soft whistle left his mouth, this should be interesting. Inspector Amoux returned to rifling through Liams drawings, each one was different, seeming to go through some transformation from human to the hooved foot of... he groaned, the wendigoag. He hated these guys, the last one he met tried to rip his leg off. Nasty gangly beasts, arms longer than themselves ending in huge three fingered hands. Legs not dissimilar to them of a Minotaur. Their heads that of a stag taken by some awful disease, not to mention the ribcage, scraps of matted fur clinging to the exposed ribs. Nate turned, black coat swishing as he stepped over nurse Wilmer.

He dropped the tea in the nearest bin.

Nate Amoux glanced to the towers in the distance, still a pair of crumbling messes. The city couldn't afford to renovate one of their most iconic landmarks. Nate cursed the hijacked whale that had crashed into them 15 years prior. He continued to the forest, the quick slap slap slap of his army boots against the leaf litter alerting all to his presense but the two oblivious wendigoag.

Inspector Amoux panted softly to himself as he watched the monster circle each other, stumbling occasionally on the thick undergrowth. Amoax shifted slightly, cringing at the snap of a twig, how could it be dry enough to snap so easily in the middle of winter? One beast swivelled his head to give Nate a pleading look, green undertones in it's eyes being replaced by a hard glinting evil as it gave him a harsh glare. Nate cocked his gun, his silver eyes never leaving Liams black ones. The Inspecter had served as the perfect distraction, the second beast lunged at Liam. The I.M.P placed a stoic mask on his face and pulled the trigger.

Four things echoed in his psyche, the drone of a Sky-Whale, the sound of footsteps, a much regretted past and a singles gunshot ringing out in an isolated forest.

Nate Amouxs' boot-clad feet clacked noisily down the cobbled road.

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