The weaving's of a simple spider .

Fan-fiction, short stories, screenplays, poems -- anything text-based really belongs here.

Moderator: Mod Squad

The weaving's of a simple spider .

Postby SpiderTiki » Sat Oct 18, 2014 7:52 pm

While my tablet and such are out of commission I cant do much in the way of digital art,but I CAN write to pass the time, and what I first did for fun, I now want to share with all of you.

So without further ado, I'm happy to present you guys the first chapter of

"Occult Investigator ; Damion Kross "

We weren’t the perfect family. We argued and fought, but we all loved each other in the end, didn’t we? I just thought I could make things better, y’know? make things easier for us. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess. . .


~

3 months prior

~

“Hey asshole, fresh delivery!” I yelled at the top of my lungs as I flung the leftovers of my lunch at Ronnie, the biggest neanderthal a high school could legally allow to still attend. Rumor had it he had been held back three times, and was still graduating on a full football scholarship. It made sense, he could easily take down 3 opposing players all on his own. Unfortunately for him and his new shirt, I didn’t really give a damn about school spirit. He had stolen my money for the last time, and I was hell bent on getting even.

The leftovers hit their mark with a “Plunk!” and slid down the back of his shirt. Without missing a beat, I hauled ass out of the lunchroom having expended the full force of my bravery ; just in challenging the mongoloid masquerading as a high school student. I ran through the lunchroom doors and kept running out of school, past the courtyard, and through the nearby woods until my legs were pounding and my lungs nearly gave out . Why I ran towards the woods, I have no idea. Once fear took over, I just ran in one straight line as far as I could. I felt drawn there, like a little boy running to his mommy .

“Theres no way. . . he managed to follow me that far.” I huffed, practically trying to drink oxygen into my lungs like water. My brief rest was interrupted by a hand grabbing me by the neck and a sudden, rather forced realization. Not only had Ronnie caught up with me; he’d somehow managed to lose his shirt, his shoes and tear up his pants in the process of catching up to me. “Think again, asswipe.” Those were the last words I heard before I was lifted into the air.

He slammed me face first against a tree and my one thought, other than of how much pain I was in, was as to how he had caught me. Football players had stamina, sure, but he caught me like he ran track twice a day, every day.

He snarled at me with my neck still firmly in his grasp, and my body against a thick oak tree. “You got any idea how much this damn shirt cost? Just to get it sent here was easily worth more than anything you could scrape together if you worked for the rest of your life, you little shit!”

He added emphasis to his statement by pulling me back and then slamming my face back into the tree. My body had had it - I was inches away from losing consciousness. At this point, my body’s survival instincts took over, and like a small child hitting an adult’s leg in a vain, frustrated attempt to get even, I beat on his arm - which was a lot hairier than I remembered - but reaching behind my head to hit him was futile, so I was forced to give up.

Something warm and wet was rolling down my forehead; blood no doubt. He had smacked me around pretty bad, and he looked like he had no intent on stopping anytime soon. Maybe I was bleeding more than I realized or maybe it was the blunt force trauma, I couldn’t really tell, but either way, I was blacking out. The last thing I heard was a gunshot firing off in the distance and then I slumped down into the grass. Evidently, the shot had caused Ronnie to let me go.

Waking up was a mess; a constant blur into and then right back out of reality like two kids playing tug of war with my brain. When I finally managed to force myself awake, I slammed my still aching head into an overlying bookshelf. “Ragghhhh!” I screamed as the pain ripped across my forehead, more out of anger and frustration than out of agony.

“Keep it don it ‘ere boy.” I heard someone yell through what I could only assume by looking around was a trailer of some sort, stuffed to the brim with all kinds of trinkets and knick knacks from multiple cultures. Her accent was a thick haitian one, and her voice didn’t seem very far away. Feeling my aching head, I noticed there were patches of some soft material bandaged to my head. I got up, still woozy, and followed the sound of the voice, noticing a shotgun just outside her kitchen entryway.

I took a minute to look at myself in the mirror. Seemingly, despite the treebark makeover Ronnie had given my face, I had only small scratches, and a scar running down my forehead, slashing through my eyebrow. I was sure Ronnie had broken my nose, but it was just as pale, freckled and unbroken as it ever was. My hair was a dark brown mess, and my face was still swollen, but nowhere near as badly as it should have been. Finally I went into the kitchen to greet my savior.

“Considering I feel pain, I must be alive, so then I take it that shotgun blast was you ? “

The short, pudgy, dark skinned woman looked up at me, and I knew she had to be at least seventy, maybe eighty. Just using that thing should have busted her hip.

“That ain’t no shotgun boy, I can’t see worth a damn and even I can see that.” She replied, in an annoyed tone, but her facial expression portrayed that talking like this was normal to her, and that she didn’t have much interest in the conversation, rather she was more vested in whatever she was stirring in her pot than me.

“U-uhh, okay? Well, um thanks for saving me out there lady, That guy woulda killed me if not for you, I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I ca-”

“Nonsense!” she shushed me. “Bears are pretty stupid, you know. Dey go ‘round pickin on whoever they can, whenever dey can, an’ you need to be eatin’ for’ ya head out that dor’ boy.”

I began to realize that this old granny was senile, and I didn’t think eating anything she cooked was that good of an idea. Nonetheless, if I had been here for god knows how long and nothing had happened yet, at least I think? Then maybe, just maybe I should oblige the old lady.

“Food’s almost done , you wait in ‘ere an don’ touch nothin’ boy.” she yelled from the kitchen. Unfortunately I wasn’t paying her much attention. I was already looking over her knick knacks:
Hoodoo trinkets, Hispanic masks of some kind, a dream catcher with alot of beads in it, a tiki head, but what caught my attention was a small little relic. It was almost hidden in the back as if it wasn’t supposed to be found.
Looking back, I really should have never touched that damned thing. Then this would be where my story would have taken a different road, but something drew me to it. Even now, I swear it was calling my name.

It was a small carved out face on a necklace. I reached for it, and a spark of red electricity zapped my finger causing me to fall back in surprise. The old woman was now standing behind me and I hadn’t known if she had seen what I’d done or not. She squinted at me. “Damion Kross ya name, right boy?” I stuttered a reply back. “Y-yea, but how did yo-” “Ya ID in ya wallet, used it to phone ya parents.” That was convenient, at least they knew where I was now.

“Now what do ya think ya doin on my floor dere?” I looked at her for a moment, trying to come up with a good excuse.

“I, uh, I tripped on my shoelace.” I replied, having to resist gulping down from the nervous tension

“Riiight.” she replied, still squinting at me before turning around. “Food’s on de table now, c’mon.”

I picked myself up immediately, dusted myself off, and thanked the lord I hadn’t been caught.

The soup tasted weird, kinda fizzy, and the meat was tough and sinewy. But as I ate it, oddly enough, my strength was returning to me. My head wasn’t pounding anymore. It still hurt, but I’d had enough weird for one day. I thanked her for the food and scrambled out of the house, partially afraid I was being drugged. I immediately felt the pounding return to my head the second I stopped eating the soup.

“Yeah, definitely drugged.” I thought to myself, and hastened in grabbing my jacket to bolt out of a decidedly crazy old crone’s house.

Scrambling out of the house, I realized two things: one, I had no idea where I was, and two, I had no idea how to get back home.

The woods I had come from were nowhere to be found and there were no other trailers nearby. I was simply in a field of gravel that only further became a field of grass with a dirt road leading who knows where. I looked at my phone - maybe i could use the GPS. No reception, GREAT. 4g’s, and I still couldn’t get a damn signal. I was nearly ready to scream in frustration and throw my phone into the dirt, but I didn’t. There was something sticking out in the distance that caught my eye.

There, on the edge of the horizon, that something was sticking out like a cone, and I decided to walk towards it. Maybe it was a cell tower I could use. Getting closer, it looked like a red tent, and a big one at that. A circus tent in the middle of nowhere? Why put it out here where no one could find it? I cursed under my breath at how terrible my luck constantly seemed to be.

“Great, I traded one freakshow for another” I huffed.

I really had no idea just how right I was, or specifically, how in over my head I was.

End of Chapter 1.
If you dont know what a quartermaster is , then you can never be one.
Resident QuarterMaster
User avatar
offline
 
Posts: 849
Joined: Fri Jan 01, 2010 4:05 pm
Location: Somewhere, probably drawing porn.
Gender: Male

Return to Literature

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Baidu [Spider] and 1 guest