Fiction Forum!

[Ryoji]

OK, ill start this off since I opened my big mouth.

This is the first couple chapters of the Novel I'm writing. It is a journey into the Horror Genre.

Please keep in mind, this is unedited and NOT the final draft.

EDIT: Removed a couple chapters.

CHAPTER 1: THE STAKE

The plane roared down the misted runway, red glare floating free of its wings, becoming a curtain of heat distortion. Minute’s later two tall dark men stood out in the bland crowd of passengers streaming through the gate. Striking men, both wore gray casual suits and both were in a hurry, trying to beat the airport rush.

The tallest man turned right, forcefully brushing the second man, a channeler named Sal Vitorro, aside. Anger tightened 's brow as he regained his balance. He felt like barking a few choice cusses at the rude giant moving quickly ahead of him, but just then the roar of a taxiing plane made words impossible. Jon halted, edged over to a post and massaged the lower orbits of his eyes. He collected his scattered thoughts, then obeyed the press of the crowd and moved on.

Twenty minutes later Jon carried a single flight bag as he walked along slowly under the bright metal ribs of the new terminal building. He felt terribly weak and was making his way to a splash of neon stars marking the entrance to a restaurant. Jet lag had killed his appetite, but he had a burning thirst to quench.

The taller man, a guy named Len Wilde, had continued on in a hurry and was already racing across the city in a cab. Amber sunset reflected in the lenses of his dark glasses, grim determination showed on his face; to him it seemed like it was always this way when he was rushing to battle with the supernatural. Len's past was etched in the dark windshield behind him, his future was burning in the reddening sky of the distance. It was a grim premonition. Shaking his head, Len barked some directions at the cab driver.

The Diamond cab sped to the lakefront and into an aura of twilight that slowly deepened to a more sinister shade of purple. Streaking to an off ramp, the cab found its way into a wasteland of half-abandoned warehouses. The slump-shouldered hipster cabby gave Len a bemused look, noting that he was about as big as Conan the barbarian and not the sort of guy he could hassle. He drove past a no trespassing sign as Len commanded and stopped in the center of an empty lot, then he grinned as Len tossed him a fifty and told him to keep the change. Popping out, Len turned away from the cab and paced across the rubble-strewn lot.

An uncanny sixth sense was a supple tiger pushing Len on; he came to a fence made of a patchwork of old boards and sent it crashing down with a heavy kick. Instinctively, he began to run toward an ancient, char-blackened warehouse that stood in the twilight like something at the end of a time tunnel. Clouds over the lake were hurrying darkness to the waterfront. Len knew he was probably too late; if so, the shadows of the warehouse interior would be the cloak of a vampire, lined with the silver of mesmerism and the red of blood.

A large rusty lock held the time-battered door shut. Len studied it with a fierce eye; he had no time for picking or prying so he rushed up and threw his shoulder into it. The door heaved inward, creaked, and popped its fatigued hinges before slamming down in the dark interior. Gray gloom and warm musty air engulfed him, but he didn't slow down; he moved swiftly, his nostrils flaring at a rank odor that reminded him of rotted toadstools, and got through a maze of stacked crates to a huge center room. There he stopped dead in his tracks and crawling darkness and shadows exploded to bats in his mind as he listened to the moan and creak of hinges.

A red subterranean glow spilled from the lid of an ebony coffin, running thick in the gloom like a blood haze. The light gleamed hellishly on Len's glasses and sweat-slicked face, but he remained silent, holding back the icy terror he felt inside. He knew the consequences of failure were death and damnation, and with that in mind he opened his case and calmly set it on the floor, keeping his senses razor sharp as the massive square-shouldered figure of Baron Varsook rose from the coffin. Again a premonition of the end came into Len's mind, and this time select fragments of his past flashed in his soul. Death had its grip on him, and it made him even more determined; he only had to take the Baron into oblivion with him to succeed.

Erect in the glow, the Baron was stunning - moon bright face and cloak of darkness, he wore the animal power of night and conveyed it with eyes of fierce blue starlight. He studied Len, the hammer and stake in the open case at his feet, and was unafraid.

Using strategy, Len remained statue-still as the Baron stepped gracefully to the floor. Baron Varsook moved forward, a picture of supreme confidence; he was certain he had this agent of the psychic enemies mesmerized. He would make him suffer, just like the last man who tried to stake him, over on the Aegean Coast.

The Baron's heels clicked coldly as he halted. He stood firm and looked Len squarely in the eye, then he maliciously slapped his face . . . slapped it so hard that any other man would've gone stumbling across the room. Yet Len's head only turned slightly as his glasses snapped and flew off among the crates.

His eyes uncovered, Len turned his head back and faced the Baron. Triumph that had lit the Baron's pupils turned to snarling fear on his face. He could see that Len wasn't mesmerized, and that was because Len had blind, cataract eyes -- eyes filmed with doom itself.

Quicksilver fast, Len's knee shot up and the Baron felt pain electrify his groin. A hard right hand followed, catching the Baron on the temple as the pain in his groin worked to double him over. The force of the blow sent him skidding back a meter on his heels. Turning sideways Len moved in, he seized the back of the Baron's neck, then bolted forward, keeping a tight grip as he slammed him face-first into the floor.

A power of levitation sent the Baron flying up and Len tumbling over backwards. The Baron floated to the rafters and before Len could roll out of the way he soared down and slammed knees-first into his chest and breadbasket. Automatically, Len seized the vampire's neck and held on with an iron grip as white flashes of razoring pain ran down the scale to become a dull intestinal throb.

The Baron's nails were untrimmed and deformed by death growth; he used them as claws, tearing great gashes in Len's throat.

Calling on hidden strength, Len worked his fingers into the Baron's throat, turning cartilage into pulp and muscle into purple-black lumps.

Levitation sent the Baron back up, and this time Len held on. They hovered in mid air, and the Baron's eyes filled with agony as he felt his neck crack and snap.

Blood froth was spilling from Len's open throat. An invisible cord snapped and they came down, the Baron's flailing legs and cape sending a tower of crates spilling across the floor. As he got to his hands and knees, the Baron realized that he couldn't raise his head; it lolled on a broken neck his supernatural powers couldn't immediately repair.

Len also got to his hands and knees, and he could feel a warm blanket of blood on his chest; he'd already lost too much blood, he was weakening, his strength being fast sapped away. Sensing the Baron's position he scrambled numbly to him, and with a burst of adrenaline, hefted him over his shoulder and rushed the coffin. He threw the Baron the last few meters and he thudded back in place in the coffin.

At first the Baron sank like dead weight, then his arms and legs began twitching as he tried to get up. He could do nothing with a broken neck and shattered spine, then he saw Len -- a gorgeous blood-soaked vision and a nightmare holding a stake high. Using the last of his energy he tried to transform to a temporary spirit form, and as his aura began to brighten the stake came down and drove straight through his heart.

The stake remained firmly in place as Len tumbled to the floor. The coffin automatically creaked shut. Len's muscles spasmed as he took his last few gulps of air; he could see visions of a life to come flashing out of a wonderful wall of light.

CHAPTER 2: POSSESSION

Death was trolling with many nets, trying to capture the vampire's spirit. The Black Sea coast, the Carpathian Mountains and the medieval towns of Moldavia passed in the Baron's mind. His last vision was of a remote monastery he'd destroyed in his youth, then, finally, his body fell to dust.

Jon Chandler stepped through the veils of dust in the airport parking lot. A cab swung in like a gliding car on a circus ride, stopping only for a moment before speeding off with him in the back. The restaurant had helped, Jon felt better, and it was good to know that he would soon be recharging his spiritual batteries. The highway unfolded smoothly and he watched the faceted towers of Toronto close around him, cubes of glass and steel alloy in the last haze of sunset. As the cab rolled on, night-lights began to cluster and shine amid the blue aura of wisdom that is the first of falling twilight.

A short clip and Jon Chandler's cab reached its destination, which was the Church of the Crystal Millennium, a popular New Age church with two broad sweeps of curved roof that almost touched the ground. Long shallow steps ascended to a court, broad oak doors and an enormous stained-glass facade. The parking lot was bedded with colored gravel and glittering with mica bits.

Jon gave the manicured grounds an approving nod. Checking his Rolex, he found that he was fifteen minutes late, fashionably late -- he'd timed it just right. One of his secrets was to never arrive early. As a man of mysterious powers it wouldn't do to be loafing out front or chatting with the ushers. And anyway, all of his chatting took place in later hours when people had developed a solid faith in his powers.

Kicking up gravel, the cab drove off. Jon mounted the steps leisurely, and before he reached the top the doors opened and his old friend Allan Rampa stepped out. Allan had arranged and promoted this night at the Church of the Crystal Millennium. Allan brought a number of New Age spiritualists into Toronto. As always, great pools of understanding filled Allan's brown eyes. He had an Eastern look, with a close-shaved head and a big silver loop in his right ear.

"I hope your flight wasn't an energy drain?" Allan said.

"I'm a bit off, but well enough to get by. How's the crowd, good enough for an opener?"

"Yes, but they're of a very dull order. About what you would expect for an opener. It always has to go out by word of mouth; news that you can really make things happen, then the crowd gets exciting."

A small crowd was seated and the quiet air meant Allan had opened with meditation. They went up the aisle in silence. There would be no applause as this was a spiritualist audience. Two burly ushers appeared from behind a burgundy curtain and took Jon's jacket and bag as Allan took the podium.

"Mr. Chandler has arrived late as his plane was delayed," Allan said. "I hope you people won't try him with pointless questions."

His simple introduction complete, Allan stepped down and joined the crowd, leaving the stage open to Jon. Jon stepped up with an open-handed gesture and looked at the crowd approvingly. These were well-dressed people, many of them business people. Huge splash-of-color paintings on the back wall created a warm atmosphere. He detected the gentle scent of lemon grass. Most exciting was the reddish aura of the crowd; it meant energy and he needed energy in the worst way.

"Tonight," Jon said," I'm going to channel Sekhmet, an ancient Egyptian god. The method will be open channeling. Feel free to question Sekhmet."

A young man with a thick braid of red hair immediately stood up. "This is fraud," he said. "I'd believe it if you were channeling a spirit, but a god? Everyone knows that gods, especially ancient gods, are imaginary. If Sekhmet never existed how can you channel him?"

Jon Chandler didn't appear at all surprised; he expected skeptics to come forward and answered calmly. "Because the people of ancient Egypt believed in Sekhmet, he came to exist as a being living in their higher moral mind. You could say that Sekhmet is a mind-made god, because it was the collective minds of men that created him. But even so, Sekhmet was and is real and he has tremendous knowledge that he can impart."

Silenced by the answer, the young man sat down. People began to shift in their seats, whispering and nodding. Hungry faces -- admiring, amazed, maybe even a little startled. Jon began to relax. He wasn't going to channel anything of course; he was a drainer not a channeler. But once he'd drained enough of their energy, the people would hallucinate; demonstrate glossolalia, all sorts of things, never knowing it was the result of being weakened and not the result of spiritual contact.

A man wearing a sparkling turban rose to ask a question and he was waved sternly back into his seat by Allan. Putting a finger to his lips for silence, Allan made small circles with his left hand to suggest to the people that a period of trance was beginning.

Jon closed his eyes and relaxation moved as phantoms of blue in his mind. Deftly, he slipped out a flat-faced puller crystal that he kept on a silver chain around his neck. Slowly, he raised it, and then began moving it in small widening circles over the top of his head. This opened his crown chakra to energy, but in the way a whirlpool is open, functioning only to suck things down.

Opening his eyes, Jon saw the people as energy entities and not bodies; it was a blazing glory of floating colors. He worked his power smoothly, and ever so slowly, one color - red - began to separate and drift in the haze curls, moving toward his crown and crystal.

As Jon began to drain them, the people slipped into a dreamlike trance state. They placidly watched his smile flicker through the emotions of gratitude, relief, love and revelation one would expect to see on the face of a man who is becoming filled by a spirit of the eternal energies.

It was going as smooth as the lifting of gossamer veils in a breeze. Jon was receiving the youth-giving energy he needed, and the people were passing through phases of harmless hallucinatory imbalance and false memory. Moved, Jon stepped forward and opened his arms, swallowing energy of total fulfillment from the glowing entities bobbing before him. Satiated, he closed his eyes in bliss.

And when his lids sealed a massive coffin closed over him. He was in darkness, total night, and the complete absence of energy. He wasn't asleep, nor was he dead, but a dream still swept over him.

In the dream he wasn't himself, he was somebody else. He was Titus, a young Roman soldier leading his men down a snowy trail on the plateau of Transylvania.

This was a time that was as ancient as the Rock-castle Mountains rising above the plateau, and as young as the cerulean sky above. It was a time of great victory, they were conquerors, and they were men so brave they'd left battering rams, great catapults and dead kings behind as they rode inland across cold territory no other men would challenge except in sledges.

Suddenly the peace was broken; there was movement and a flash of red on the downward slanting trail. Titus signaled his men. Hooves clattered on the snow-blown stone and there was the din of spurs, armor and swords as the horses charged down. Titus knew without a doubt that this was the man they were hunting -- a wildman, a peasant dressed in sheepskin who had brutally murdered two Roman soldiers.

The coats of the horses and men billowed up in the bitter wind and it howled through the mountains like the voice of a demon as they thundered to a halt.

The wildman hadn't tried to flee. He stood calmly on the trail. Unlike other peasants he had no axe or pitchfork. He relied on his bare hands, that and the fear inspired by his tangled hair and the thick blood frozen to his lips and beard.

Titus locked his gray eyes on the man. He was a devil if ever there was one, and he would die like one. "In the name of our Roman Emperor Trajan, you are under arrest," Titus said.

The wildman stared ahead with glazed eyes and didn't reply.

A wave of Titus' hand and two soldiers dismounted and moved forward to seize the prisoner. Snarling like a beast the man stepped back and bared his teeth, revealing two huge fangs.

A terrible shiver of fright and cold wracked Titus' bones as he watched his men close in. "Use your swords," he commanded as the beast man raised his arms to resist.

There was no way to subdue him and wounding him seemed necessary so the first soldier swung, a stroke that caught a raised arm and cut the man's hand off.

It fell in the snow and blood oozed from the stump, yet the wildman showed no emotion; at least not for several seconds, then he let go with a wicked howl and burst forward, beginning a savage fight with the soldiers. He came in close and fast taking two more sword slashes to the body, but he wasn't stopped -- he struck out with his arms, blood flying from his stump, splattering the men as they went down. He stopped to howl again, the men cringed beneath him and Titus was about to dismount. Then something stopped him, it was the stump - he could see it glowing, healing like it had been touched by magic. Titus pulled himself back up on the saddle, then his horse reared and neighed, and he knew a nightmare was beginning. What he didn't know was that it could last forever.

The dream ended in a void of absolute terror, and it gripped Jon and froze him like polar winds. Then he saw a stake flying down, blood erupting up, and the doomed eyes of the vampire panning the peaks of the Transylvanian Alps. Smoldering with death and the grave the eyes searched the void, then they began to fade, but before they were gone completely they saw Jon Chandler and the inviting emptiness of his soul. They returned with regained strength and their stare consumed him; they were rapacious eyes, brimming with hunger and lust, and they were Titus' eyes.

Falling to his knees, Jon tore the crystal from around his neck and began to claw madly at his sweating face. The vampire descended, a sword of fire and a smothering shroud. Walls of cold dead flesh appeared and pulsed against him. Wailing and moaning began to sweep the audience. People stood up, collapsed and rolled in the aisles, drained to near death, as their astral energies were torn away and sucked into the black pulse of blurred wings that had swallowed Jon.

Awareness returned and Jon felt the mind he was channeling, a mind of brilliance, refinement and evil. It dominated him totally with its superior intellect, and was like a trap closing over his free will and soul. For a moment Jon struggled spiritually. It was a moment of such devouring horror that he collapsed and sank to the floor. Reeling with constellations of confusion, his mind fell away into a chasm.

Jon's body lay face-up on the floor. Pandemonium was sweeping the room as people succumbed to deranged inclinations and strange hunger. The vampire baron looked out of Jon's eyes, noting that the body had been weakened to temporary paralysis by the transfer.

"I've managed to enter into coexistence with this Jon Chandler fellow," Baron Titus Varsook thought. "This is certainly better than being dead. It is a strange arrangement that might have its advantages. He feeds on these New Age people, and they throw themselves at him. Hum, I hope this young fox has a palate for wine."

[InvertMouse]

That's cool . I'm writing a novel too so I know it's really hard work. Good luck with it!

Here's some K-On creepypasta thing I wrote last year :

I never wanted to write about this, but I have lost contact with a friend, and I want to know what happened. Below are recounts of my final conversations with him. I have dated them in hopes that it might help find some answers.

04/12/2011:

A Japanese friend of mine really loves K-On!. Out of respect for his privacy, he will remain unnamed.

When the K-On! movie was announced, he kept telling me that he would watch it in cinema at least once. After his first viewing, he constantly rambled on about how great the movie was. Honestly, I was a little jealous.

08/12/2011:

Most people leave the cinema once the credits roll. This friend of mine is different. He appreciates the staff’s work, so he always sat through the credits. After seeing the K-On! film a second time, he watched the cast roll again. As it ended, and he was getting up to leave, a cleaner noticed him and demanded that he left right away. That upset my friend a little. He was indeed about to leave. There was no need for that cleaner to be mad. The cleaner said, “It’s for your own good”, but that’s just non sense.

14/12/2011:

Because of that bad experience, my friend went to a different cinema for his third K-On! movie run. No way would he let what happened last time stop him, though. He sat through the credits again. Once the screen went black, he picked up his bag and prepared to leave. Just as he turned for the exit, he heard sobs coming from behind him. He thought the next movie had already started. When he turned to look, however, the screen was still pitched black. There was nobody in the cinema, either. My friend was sure he heard sobs, though. In fact, he could still hear them now. The weeps sounded like Azusa’s. My friend decided to wait longer and see if anything else would happen. That was when a security tapped his shoulder and dragged him out. The cinema staff actually warned him to never come back.

28/12/2011:

My friend was determined not to let the matter drop. Two weeks later, he returned to the same cinema. The staff seemed to have forgotten his face. Feeling triumphant, he sat through the movie for the forth time. The film was now a chore to watch. He just wanted to find out what happened afterward.

The credits ended, and once again, my friend heard Azusa’s sobs. He ducked under the seats to avoid the security’s flashlight. The room’s lighting changed, and he peered over a chair to see what was on screen. There was a shot of Azusa crying in bed, except there was no color. It looked more like a storyboard sketch. The sobbing that played fit with this picture.

Suddenly, Azusa’s cries came to a stop, and silence filled the cinema. A photo of a needle appeared on screen. Not a drawing, but an actual photo. The needle sat still on a table. There were traces of a white powder spilling across the desktop. My friend no longer knew if this was meant to be a part of the K-On! movie. There was no way it could be. The cinemas’ lights had come on minutes ago.

The photo was replaced by a black screen again. Azusa’s voice returned. This time, instead of crying, she murmured in a depressed voice, “Senpai… senpai… senpai…” My friend felt chilled to the core. Whatever this was, it was scaring him to death. He just wanted Azusa to stop, but she continued to repeat that same word.

As Azusa’s voice droned on, Tenshi Fureta Yo began to play. It was playing at half the speed. The girls’ voices sounded demonic at that pace. My friend could recall his hands trembling at this point.

The song suddenly stopped. There was no fade out. It just cut off as if someone had hit the mute button. Azusa had also stopped muttering. A line of white text popped up over the black background. It read:

「捨てられた」

When my friend sent me that, I had to ask him what it meant. He said it translates to something along the lines of, “I have been abandoned.” The text showed only for about a second before disappearing. This time, nobody caught my friend loitering in the cinema. It was he who ran to the staff for help. His vision blurred as if he was on the verge of collapse. The doctor he saw told him to just get some rest.

6/01/2012:

My friend was the kind of person who went online every day. For him to be offline this long worried me. At last, upon his return, he told me the smells of blood and powder haunted him. When he asked his local friends to sit through the film’s credits, some ignored him, while others tried but were pulled out by security. The cinema staff all seemed to overact. They must have been hiding something. My friend said whenever he tried to sleep, Azusa’s voice would plague his every dream, either sobbing or whispering her senpai’s names. I wanted to give him some emotional support. Before I could type a single sentence, however, he said, “They’re coming. I have to go.” And then he was offline.

30/04/2012:

Three months had passed since I last talked with my friend. To be honest, I had given up hope of ever seeing him online again. But on this day, he came on to send me just one message, “I’m off to rewatch the film.”

27/06/2012:

My friend appeared online for a few seconds before disconnecting again. I am uncertain if I had just imagined it.

02/08/2012:

This morning, when I logged online, I received an offline message from my friend, “She is dead.”

That was the last I ever heard from him. The day this movie came out on DVD, I picked it up to seek some answers. As I had feared, none of the things my friend mentioned were included in that disc. If anyone has heard of similar tales, please let me know. I just want to know the truth. Thank you.

[Ryoji]

Wow. Thats crazy.

To be honest, when the K-on! Movie was announced, my daughter was so excited that we planned to take a trip to japan that would coincide with the opening for the movie.

The movie itself was amazing. The budget for it must of been through the roof because the animation, music, everything was off the charts good.

We ended up seeing the movie 3 times while we were there. Since it was just my daughter and I we would always sit in the theater through the credits, enjoying the music.

The employees were all very kind and never forced us to leave. It was an amazing experience.

As for what your friend saw. I did not see anything like that. Sure would of made the movie more interesting thats for sure lol.

Thanks for sharing that.

As far as im concerned, K-on! is a MUST SEE for everyone. Especially slice of life/music comedy fans. Its amazing. Loads of laughs and even a couple tears. My daughter cried like a baby at the end of the movie all three times we saw it.

We just watched it again recently, I own the blu rays of both seasons and movie, and she cried again lol.

[InvertMouse]

Cried during the K-On movie? That's cute !

The film was pretty all right indeed. It feels like not much has happened in it, but I appreciated its realism. No contrived breakthrough performance, etc. They're just a small school band, so of course they'd never really have a major audience, but that's all right because they're having fun. That kind of theme. Also, no over the top crying from Sawako when she got that gift from her students. She probably gets them every year so as an adult it hardly affects her. I can't help but think that if the same thing happened in Clannad, the whole class would embrace each other and have a huge cry about it.

That said, I do think that I prefer my K-On goodness in 20 minute doses B)!