Chapter 1: Lucy's Little Anger, Prologue

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 409
Comments: 6

It was a terrible night. The two sinister men in the black car didn't need to make idle discussion to figure that out. The rain that spattered by at high speed seemed as black as the non-descript car they occupied. Street lamps whizzed past rhythmically and the passenger listened to the pitter patter of the rain drops on the windscreen. This was the part he always cherished, as one on death row would cherish his final meal. The calm before the storm. He always liked to analyse himself in the wing mirror looking up and down his own face to double check that he was calm and composed. He had to be, it was his job. He'd awoken early that morning to his mobile vibrating at his bedside table, at around two o'clock. His orders were as sharp, firm and brief as they ever were, communicated to him by a gravelly electronic voice. Computer-like to maintain anonymity as was the first and foremost value of this organisation. To come and go hidden yet in plain sight. He leant back into the expensive leather chair, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He put his sunglasses on as the passing brightness of the streetlamps annoyed him. The driver glanced awkwardly to the passenger thinking what on earth could be going through his head. In fact his thoughts were of a far more personal nature, as opposed to the work at hand. He thought to himself how it was extremely convenient that he had no family or best freinds or intimate relationships. Only acquiantences that could come and go with little matter. People who were expendable to his sense of attachment. They had to be as most people he worked with either died brutally or simply dissapeared...into oblivion as it was called.

'We're here, Sir', the driver proclaimed. The passenger took his time to respond. His sessions of deep thought, he believed, were crucial to his ultimate alertness and survival. A little something few else bothered to do. 'Um...Sir?'. He finally leant forward and opened the door without a word, stepping out. He held onto the handle over the car door and stretched past the large puddle awaiting his victim shoes. He took his time, but he didn't like getting wet. Glancing over to his driver, who was gripping a still holstered sidearm, he sniggered and chirped 'you won't be needing that...actually, its more of a danger to you and I. Leave it in the car you fool'. The driver was utterly confused and saw no sense in what his superior was telling him. Why'd he have to get landed with this nut case? 'But, Sir, you just don't know wha...'. Turning around swiftly and calmly, the driver's superior calmly but firmly said 'Leave it'. He didn't need to shout. The man had a certain presence of authority about him. He took slow steps towards his objective: a house, around four hundred years old at tudorian period. Only one other house halfway back down the country lane. He knew this as, even with sunglasses over his closed eyes, he detected lights as they passed by. So it was very unlikely for there to have been any witnesses. Or rather, anyone to help these poor people. He approched the front door and picked the lock slowly.

He stepped into the house and accidentally trod on lines of salt spread across the hallway, mixed up with broken glass from the shattered paintings and antiques that had recently adorned the house. So, they knew to use salt... His driver was extremely intruged by now, but this was not for him to see. He gestured to him to remain at the front door and so he stood there, jittering and bouncing idly yet suspensefully. What the hell was his employer doing at this place? Stepping carefully past intricate patterns of salt lines, avoiding the broken glass on the floor so as not to draw attention to himself, he suddenly heard movement. This was it, one last brief moment to think and force calm. Again he took a deep breath, sweeping his jacket over his hip reaching for an odd looking gadget that the driver's prying eyes could not quite make sense of. He gripped it tightly and burst the living room door open.

'I know you're in here, girl! Hear me!'....nothing but the moons rays illuminating the dessimated place, giving it a ghostly blue aura. A terrified cat scampered out of the kitchen and out of the smashed living room window. His senses told him that he'd missed the event. He could still smell terror in the air and the house seemed to have little snippits of life left after whatever terrible thing that happened here had occured. Lamps swung gently on the cieling and the embers in the log fire still smouldered. He was too late. Now, alot calmer, he trapsed through the salt and broken glass without a care back to the front door 'It's ok, you can come in now'. So the driver ambled into the wreckage. He didn't know what he was looking for and wasn't trained to feel any presences. Ignorance was bliss in most of these cases. Leaning down, the drivers client could see, amid the darkness and wreckage, a leather popper journal marked 'Experiences'. He was blessed to have been called out on a moon lit night otherwise he would not have noticed it. Brushing everything off the booklet, he popped it open and looked at the first page. He couldn't believe his eyes. Whoever owned this journal knew almost everything. Panicking, he flicked to the very last entry of the journal. It said 'I shouted at Lucy today. I got some form of response, I suppose. I think I saved my mum's life too. I asked her what could bring her peace but she stubbornly screamed at us, leaving a sinister message carved into the television'. He stopped, he didn't want to read anymore as he had already noticed a television screen, sat on the kitchen table. The lights had all gone out though. 'Drive, you know that fancy phone you were going on about?'. The driver turned around slowly as he focussed on rolling a cigarette 'mhm?' he mumbled. 'Well does it have a torch that's any good on it?'. Without response and proud of his gadget, the driver whipped out his phone and turned on the un-deniably bright torch function, throwing it to his employer. Shining the light over the broken television screen, the calm collected passenger had begun shaking.What can you do?was etched into it by furious nails and slowly lifting the journal up for confirmation...yes, this was the place. She was here and this boy, who had survived for so long...knew far too much.

Submitted: December 31, 2011

© Copyright 2022 Nick Banks. All rights reserved.


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Add Your Comments:



First ? :) Good story ii liked itt KMU please :) Thanks for asking me too read it ;)

Sat, December 31st, 2011 8:39am

Shadow Maiden

Amazing prologue! It's very descriptive! :) And best of all, it ends on a very suspenseful note! Wow, I really want to know what happens next! Keep me updated! :D

Sat, December 31st, 2011 9:15am


I consistantly love the endings to these writings, whenever I try to write anything in such relation I cannot find words to end it.

Sun, January 1st, 2012 1:30am


good to hear. Thanks :)

Sun, January 1st, 2012 1:47pm


Whoa, this was an AWESOME START!!! :OOOOO Descriptive and well-written! And I love your vocab! :OOO It makes your works AMAZING!!! XDDDD

Mon, January 2nd, 2012 2:07am

Sparkles McGee

This is really great! Keep going with this! It's phenomenal!

Mon, March 12th, 2012 10:56pm


ah lovely to hear. thanks

Mon, March 12th, 2012 4:52pm


one word.. awesome..
keep going with this one, friend.. i'll try to keep following with this.. just update me when you posted another chapter.. thanks :)

Fri, March 16th, 2012 11:47am


Sure thing, glad you liked it.

Sat, March 17th, 2012 7:35am

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