Demonic
Pertaining to entities that originate from a seperate dimension that runs parallel to ours. This is referred to as the ‘Hell’ dimension. It is overrun with all sorts of creatures, from hordes of imp-like things to gigantic fiends. Their main weaknessess are the trappings of the church. They cannot dwell on sanctified ground and holy/blessed items and munitions bring them great harm, depending on the individual entities fortitude. They vary in intelligence and craftiness and some wield mystical powers, all of which are devoted to either sowing seeds of dissent and implanting suggestions in pliable minds or all out destruction.

Extra-terrestrial Biological Entity
This category relates to entities that originate from planets other than our own. They are vastly intelligent and have technology on a level that is only slightly above our own in areas except some weaponry and space travel. Many also have strong hypnotic powers There are several subcatories and factions, and the war they have with each other means that they rarely visit Earth, though most of them have at least one base situated somewhere on the planet. Not all are hostile, but all are to be treated with caution.

Undead
There are several subcatagories of the undead, and most are hostile. The ones that are not are often valuable, if risky contacts. The three main catagories are coporeal, semi-corporeal and incorporeal. Corporeal includes vampires, most zombies and graveyard elementals. Semi-corporeal includes wraiths, revenants and poltergeists. Incorporeal includes ghosts, shadows and banshees. Semi and incorporeal undead have ties to another dimension, the “Ghostlands”.
Blessed and holy power and icons are effective against them

Otherworld
The Otherworld is another dimension that mirrors this world. It is an active entity in of itself, and is increasingly odd in that it is not neccesarly malevolant. Much of what someone sees and experiences here is based on their own psyche. Emotional issues and unresolved events from a traumatic past can make it even deadlier and horrific, though two of the three survivors who had such issues when there reported that they came to a sense of closure. The other claimed to remember nothing and disappeared one day. Sometimes it appears to be misty and forboding, other times is it dark and nightmarish.
There is no real way to fight the Otherworld itself, though the hostile entities there are reasonably susceptible to typical methods of destruction. Some of the more terrible entities can be stopped in their tracks with certain icons – blessed candles and amulets tend to work well. However, this is by no means a foolproof method.
It is believed that many of the people who are drawn into the Otherworld are either consumed by it or overcome it and escape. Its influence seems to extend all over the world, and in some cases has been reported as ‘spilling over’ into this world. This usually happens in places that are the scenes of much sadness and emotional abuse.

Ancient Evil
The nature of the ‘Ancient Evil’ is difficult to define. It is a power as well – some people have a small amount of ability in them to tap into it. The greater the ability, the more dangerous it can be.
The AE dwells deep underground in our Earth. It is in some ways the greatest threat as it can be used to control many other threats.
There is no center of power for the AE. It has many seats of power all over the world, most often deep below the surface. The varied denezins that seem to worship the evil power itself have terrible powers, even without resorting to their already formidible physical capabilities. Since it has been noted that uncontrolled users of AE have been known to transmute into similar beings, it is theorized that many of the denezins dwelling below were once human.
Ancient lore reveals incantations and methods for harming these creatures. Very little apart from that harms them. During the controversial French nuclear testing(a cover for attempting to eliminate a gigantic manifestation, one of the largest seen), it was proven that even a nuclear weapon does very little to wipe out the largest of such things. Their durability and regenerative powers are frightening.
A set of tomes were written regarding AE lore. Ancient and mysterious, written in an indecipherable language(except some text at the beginning in both Arabic and later penned in Roman Latin). It details that the reader of the book, to truly be able to comprehend and use it, must be bonded with it. Such a bonding is inconceivable at the time of writing.
These tomes have appeared and disappeared throughout history, especially the later volumes. Only the location of the sixth volume is known – it is held under lock and key by the Vatican and ShadowCorp is unable to access it. It is believed that they are all useless without the first volume. The first volume disappeared while it was being flown to a secure location in Nevada, over the Pacific.
They are known as the ‘Books of Blood’.

Entities

Agents are expected to be well read in this, as it is never certain what kind of threat they will be up against on any given assignment. Proof of lax reading will result in penalization and possible solitary confinement, depending on the fallout of the lax reading.

Hopping Devil (Jersey Devil, Hopper)
These are normally harmless creatures that originate from the Hell dimension. They have the head and neck of a donkey, the body of a large, featherless ostrich, the wings of a bat and the legs of a foal. They stand about five feet high. They also sport a tail with a spike on the end and thin arms that have surprising strength. Despite their odd physical structure they are able to maintain fairly rapid flight.
Usually they are solitary, though they have been known to attack, slashing with their sharp fingers or delivering a devestating bite.

Hell Knight
The hell knight is a massive Demonic being that stands 10-12 feet tall. It has huge, muscled legs with hoofed feet, a muscular physique with large, thick arms and sharp talons and a goatlike head with orange-glowing eyes. At times, they are able to manifest a bolt of chaotic green energy that has the effects of some kind of burning toxicity. They have a pale, sickly cast to their skin, though some have a reddish-pinkish cast. These ones tend to use their chaotic energy attack more often and with much more devestating force.
They come in both male and female varieties and, disturbingly, some have the tatters of human clothes upon them. Some have been styles from many years ago. This has disturbing implications as to the origins of these creatures. Their intelligence varies and while they are capable of speech, they rarely deign to speak to anyone, even ShadowCorp agents.
“Be exceptionally wary when engaging. If you’re up to it, sneak behind them and a blast in the back of the head with a shotgun should stun it long enough to finish it off.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Imp
Another denizen of the Hell dimension, Imps are fairly common assailants during Critical manifestations. Their skin is leathery and brown, with sharp spikes protruding from their shoulders, pectorals, elbows, knees, heels, shoulder blades and toes, as well as their fingers. They usually attack by leaping towards the opponant with the intenion to tackle and slash. Other times they will conjure a ball of flame(reaching temperatures of up to and surpassing 500 degrees Celcius.
“They’re not that tough, just mow the bastards down before they can get too close. Oh, and careful you don’t lose your head to one of those fireballs.”
Quartermaster Max Oviedo

Zombie
Zombies are undead that have several different varieties that all differ greatly from each other. Contrary to popular culture, most people killed by them do not return as a zombie or turn into one if injured.

Voodoo – While Voodoo is not the only way to create these kinds of semi-intelligent zombies, it is the usual method and the name given to them to differentiate them. Often their mouths and eyes will be sewn shut, yet despite that they are still able to see somehow. They gain much more strength and are the ‘freshest’ of all the zombie types, hence much more difficult to take down. If they survive an encounter, they also gradually heal(though much slower than they would if alive). On the upside, they feel a certain leval of pain and corpses that have been dead for longer than a week cannot be reanimated in this fashion.
“Sometimes you’ll get ones that actually go against whoever created them. This usually means that a higher power is at work. If you’re not an assault team, it’s probably going to be time to call one soon enough.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Chemical – There are several chemical agents that compel corpses to function as flesh eating monsters after death, some of them highly infectious. Fortunately, all of these agents have either been destroyed or well hidden. Since all of the chemicals require a large amount of exposure to be effective, the chances of people killed or injured by them being infected and turning is minimal, though burning all corpses and testing all survivors of attacks is highly advised.

Necromancy – While similar to Voodoo, Necromancy works on any corpse. However the zombies from this method are typically slower and much stupider. Apart from this, they are very similar to Chemical zombies except there is no danger of infection(though those killed may fall under the influence of the spell).
“Keep an eye on the bits and pieces of bodies – sometimes a hand or the upper half of a shambler can keep on going. That said, make a shambler wander outside the spell’s sphere of influence and it’ll drop like a sack of potatoes.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Risen – These are extremely unique zombies. They are formed when an exceptionally strong-willed person dies with unfinished business. When this happens, they return to their corpse and are able to control it much as they did in life. They are also much stronger and are completely immune to pain. Their body also stops rotting, though sometimes it may be scarred from their death. Some have a  smell of embalming fluids about them. Their mental capacity is exactly as it was in life(excepting any psychological conditions that may arise from the trauma of their death and/or ressurection). Some can be reasoned with, and it is encouraged to do so when possible – they can make valuable contacts and some even work for ShadowCorp.
“On a joint operation in Japan, a Russian Risen saved the day while storming a cult complex. At the end of it, he was riddled with bullets – and still laughing and drinking his damn vodka. I think I saw some of it dribble out a few of his bleeding bullet holes.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Revenant – Sometimes when a Demonic creature dies, its foul soul is captured and then thrust into the corpse of someone who has been dead for a fairly long time(no less than five years, often up to 10 or even more). They grow an organic kind of shell around their torso and shoulders and the entire corpse becomes extremely resilient(even if it is mostly skeletal, which it often is). Revenants often continue to fight on the side of their own forces. Often the ghostly appearance of the demon’s form before death can be seen roughly superimposed over the skeleton.
Note: As of late, some human forms have been seen rather than demonic ones. This is fairly disturbing, and researchers are at a loss as to how this could be.
“Just when you couldn’t decide if the undead or the demonics were worst, along comes this thing. It can crush a skull without a second thought, and I’ve heard other agents saying how one was clocked going faster than a cheetah.”
Quartermaster Max Oviedo

Ghouls
Ghouls are people who feast on dead human flesh. The psychological and mystical changes that take place make them less human and more monster. Despite their grim proclivities, they do not actively seek to create dead corpses – many resort to graveyard robbery and it is not surprising to see ghouls working in graveyards.
They are surprisingly social species, and will often eat together. Their daily lives often differ very little from any normal person’s, though one may sometimes get a faint whiff of rot on their breath. However, they can eventually become dangerous, their bodies mutating and changing. They become pale and lean, and they become even more ravenous for dead flesh. Their teeth grow longer and sharper. Fellow ghouls will often  do their best to hide them when this happens, though often many escape.
ShadowCorp’s policy in relation to most ghouls is live and let live – they generally do not cause much trouble and some of them work in high places, which can be handy. Sometimes they will come to ShadowCorp for assistance in hunting down rogue mutants. They are generally cooperative, as they well know ShadowCorp could wipe them out quite easily.
Note: If there is ever a situation where either a ghoul or human dies, let the cannibalistic bastard bite it. We protect humans first and foremost, and they are anything but.
“There’s a lot of contention about these foul pieces of filth. A lot of us reckon they should all be wiped out, but then as the brass says, we have enough enemies already.”
Quartermaster Max Oviedo

Vampires
New information on studies conducted on these creatures has revealed that their undeathly nature is not neccesarly mystical and appears to be some kind of disease(which results in the second, more benign type of vampire).

Nosferatu – These are the first generation of vampires that return from death as slavering creatures that live on human blood and flesh to survive. They dislike the sun, but it is not fatal to them. They are known to lurk in sewers and subway tunnels during the day, coming out to hunt at night. Their intelligence is revealed in these times – in cities they will not tear their victim apart, simply using their mesmeric powers to incapacitate them while taking blood only from them, without a fatal result(but passing on their ‘infection’). They will occasionally take homeless people off the streets however, dragging them down to their grisly lairs and feasting upon them. Despite their intelligence, they cannot be reasoned with. Their mesmeric powers can make them deadly foes.

Bloodsuckers – These are the victims of a non-fatal Nosferatu attack. For them to be infected, they must have Nosferatu saliva or blood within their body somehow(usually when the creature bites them to feed, or injures them and is then injured by them in turn, blood splashing upon open wounds.
They are able to operate just fine in the sunlight with no ill effects, though they do become quite light-sensitive. They also no longer need or have the ability to sleep(resulting in many behaving oddly on occasion). Sometimes they will grow fangs, but normally they will not. They require only blood to survive, though they have found that with a large daily dose of iron and other vitamin supplements will enable to them survive without having to ingest blood at all. Unlike Nosferatu, they are no more resistent to physical damage than before, but like Nosferatu they no longer age. When they do die, however, they will later arise as a Nosferatu(Bloodsuckers for the most part have themselves cremated to avoid this). They have only minor mesmerical and suggestive powers, but that can be enough to have them be very well off. Like the ghouls, they have a fairly active society. Some of them are valuable ShadowCorp contacts and there are a few that are actually members. There is no known cure for the infection.
Note: Save a bloodsucker over a ghoul, but a human over either of them.
“There’s a pretty big community of them in Sydney. Some of them have been around for a hell of a long time, too. There’s a lot of politics that goes on with them. I try and keep in the know about it, you never know when we’ll need the info.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Wraith
These are the shades of people who were fairly powerful and revered in life. They are an embodiment of pride and all the bad qualities of that person. The criteria for them to manifest is unknown and seems to be fairly random. They are usually respected in the Ghostlands by most other denezins. They attack using their ghostly claws that freeze a victim to the very core – an agent that expired while fighting one of them was found to have his inner organs frozen solid. They also cause discomfort by simply sliding through a victim with their claws ‘sheathed’.
“There were two of these in the crpyts beneath that big ‘ol catholic church. They won’t be coming back, but we think they’re responsible for the rift into the Ghostlands down there.”
Quartermaster Max Oviedo

Banshee
These are the ghosts of females who died tragic deaths by either some other’s hand or by their own. The reasons are usually to do with matters of the heart, jealousy and rage. They come in several types.

Screamer – The typical banshee is much like a wraith, though instead of attack with claws they simply scream. The scream is often fatal to males, bursting eardrums, popping eyeballs and causing brain hemorragh. To females, it is simply a loud noise. When faced with female foes, a Screamer can be convinced to tell their tale of woe. There has been success with using counsellors to help the apparition to reach a sense of closure – they will then simply move on. Otherwise, they must be destroyed.
Note: There has been reports of Screamers attempting to possess female agents, though as of yet none have succumbed.

Rusulka – Also known as dead mermaids, the Rusulka(as this creature is the one mentioned in legend) is what sometimes results when a women drowns herself(or is drowned). It is rare, however. They are very personable, semi-corporeal and deadly to weak-willed males. They will try to tempt men to follow them into a body of water and then drown them. The Rusulka will rarely even show itself to females.
A Rusulka can be spoken to, and will quite happily talk about how they met their end(though still occasionally trying to tempt a man to his watery grave). They only do this when someone has identified them for what they are though.
“There has only been one of these encountered by ShadowCorp personnel in Australia, on the coast at Codgee Beach. It disappeared however. Judging by conversations had with it, the entity may have moved inland.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Poltergeist
These are said to be the most annoying of all the undead beings. They are like ghosts, though they are of a more mischievious nature. Normally they will simply make mischief – throwing things about, making their reflection appear on glass surfaces and making odd noises. Some can be extremely malevolent and powerful. These ones can throw about dangerous objects with great force, animate otherwise inanimate objects and in some cases open a rift into the Ghostlands that will try to suck living people in there to torture and terrify them. Psychics and other talented people can speak with them sometimes. Rarely do they have any respect for anyone(except perhaps loved ones).
Some are not undead at all, and are actually Demonic beings. An example of this is the Amityville incident(in this case, there were multiple undead poltergeists and several Demonic ones – such was the horror there that it also created a minor entrance into the Otherworld in the celler). Both types can attempt to posess humans.
“Can’t stand the annoying bastards. They kill your friends, then have the balls to laugh at you the moment after they do it.”
Quartermaster Max Oviedo

Ghost
This is the shade of someone who passed away and has not moved on yet. They usually do little more than frighten, though people who live with them for a long time often become used to them. Some simply have one last message to pass on, others are there to watch over their relatives or friends. They make terrible conversationalists, however, and are not very helpful when it comes to finding information beyond how they died or their reason for sticking around.

Shadow
These are the shades of murderers and practitioners of terrible crimes. These are not as harmful as a poltergeist(apart from perhaps causing some psychological issues) but are still exorcised when possible, especially when there is a concentration of them. Too many Shadows in one place can result in an Otherworld manifestation or entrance. More rarely, a Ghostlands portal.

Infested Conduit
Some people have a link to the powers of the Ancient Evil. They can go their whole life without knowing this – the only thing that seperates them from a normal person is that they have vivid dreams of horror. Some of them become successful horror writers.
Sometimes, they learn the nature of their capabilities. They start to look into what they are, research what it is that gives them these visions. When this happens, they can begin to tap into the terrible powers of the Ancient Evil. These people become Conduits. Often they will start cults, innocuous on the outside but full of terrible acts and sights.
When they reach a certain height of power, their body is unable to contain it and the power of the Ancient Evil manifests itself in them. Their bodies mutate and change, sometimes drastically. They are now beyond all hope, the person who they were gone and in their place a terrible creature that plots only for the awakening of the greater horrors from beneath the earth.
Note: Often their cultists are otherwise normal humans. It is better safe than sorry to simply eliminate them. The seeds of the Ancient Evil can be planted in the most unlikely of places.
“Jack Everett, a historian at Sydney University, managed to purge himself of the link. It cost him, though – he’s wheelchair bound and he has nightmares that he wakes screaming from. He’s out best, safest source for information on the Ancient Evil.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Faceless
These things are minions of the Ancient Evil. They are summoned by cultists in dark rituals that require a flayed human sacrifice. They manifest by posessing the top half of the body. It breaks loose from the lower half, the intestines turning into the tentacles that move it around. The arms do the same, though these are thicker and are also used to crush and constrict foes.
The head explodes, leaving the bare skull. The skull tears off the spinal cord and is suspended there via a mass of tendrils.
“Over in the US there was a mass summoning of the creatures in a small town at a cult complex, headed by an Infested Conduit. They were eliminated eventually, at the cost of two other nearby towns. According to the report, the Conduit escaped.”
Captain Peter McKnight

Such pride is admirable, you know? I found it got annoying in this case, but I can’t begrudge someone who takes pride in who they are and where they hail from. It’s not just Australia, too. I know a fellow in the US who pretty proud of his country and his heritage.

It reminded me of one of Lovecraft’s stories, ‘The Shadow Over Innsmouth’. In this story, the protagonist discovers his less than wholesome relation to dark powers and his own sinister heritage. By the end, however, he takes great pride in this.

He felt a pang of longing inside of himself. It was a longing for his youth and the old days. It wasn’t that he disliked having responsibility. That didn’t bother him. It was simply a pining for the days when he felt alive, when he had friends. These days, living in the city, he could not relate to anyone. His days and nights were spent alone. Even the things he used to enjoy doing were meaningless.

Sitting up and staring despondently at the wall he thought back to before he had come here. It was his graduation from technical school that had been the last main event. Having left school just before the final two years he had learned computers and specialized in networking. He had secured an excellent job and would most likely be set for life. His frugal living meant that he had quite an impressive pile of money put away.

But he did not know what he wanted to spend it on. His success was hollow and there was nothing he could do to make himself feel alive again. He had returned to his home town approximately five times – the last had been for the funeral of the grandmother he had lived with all his life. He simply had no time for anything else and each time he had been there was over as soon as possible. Even with bereavement leave the workload was such that he had to keep up with it.

And besides, there was something else that he could not bear to face. It was a terror that gripped his heart and had him awake in the night, sweating and sobbing with anguish and frustration.

His mobile phone rang and he automatically reached over and picked it up from the bedside table. He’d come to hate the sound it made, for what reason he didn’t know. It simply jangled on his nerves, and it was the only ring tone it had that didn’t sound completely stupid.

“Hello?”

“Henry, it’s Phillip. We’re going to need you to come in earlier for your shift tonight. And I was wondering if you’d be able to work tomorrow?” Phillip’s voice revealed to Henry that there was only one correct answer to this.

“Of course. What time do you need me to come in?”
*

That Sunday evening, Henry walked slowly out of the building. He’d stayed for more overtime – he simply could not bring himself to refuse Phillip when he asked. It was not unusual for him. He had an inner desire to please others, to not cause them any trouble. While it was not necessarily a bad thing, he knew that the extent to which he gave in to others was definitely not a good thing.

Maybe it was an attempt to make up for certain choices that he had made, actions that he had taken. All he knew was that since he started to live in the city, he had been this way.

He waited at the station, the evening cold already wrapping around him. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. The coat he wore was a surplus field jacket but this evening it did little to warm him as it usually did. He realized that he was cold on the inside, a coldness of the soul.

The train clattered through the city, the lights outside the windows whipping by unnoticed by Henry as he slumped in his seat staring vacantly forwards. There was an odd kind of weariness at the back of his mind that he could not place. It was almost like some black bug lurked within, a parasite sucking Henry’s energy into its bloated body.

Henry raised his eyes and looked to the side at the window. He could see himself in the reflection of the window, a tired man that looked older than he actually was. He had only recently “celebrated” his twenty-fifth birthday and he had the look of a man within his thirties. His light brown hair already had a few grey strands here and there. He had lines about his eyes and forehead. It was as if the years were also being devoured by that black parasite.

He went over in his mind again, trying to ascertain just what it was that made him feel this way. It was not that he didn’t enjoy his work – he did – and the volume of it, while tiring, was not the reason for his growing ennui.

He got home at nine. Having an early start in the morning he decided against dinner and simply ate a can of spaghetti while leaning on the counter of the kitchenette of his apartment. He rinsed out the can and fork slowly and then disposed of the can. He grunted as he dropped it in the bin and raised his hand to his face to inspect the small cut on his thumb from the sharp edge of the lid.

All of a sudden tears were in his eyes. His bleeding thumb and the kitchen beyond it blurred as they flowed freely down his cheeks. It wasn’t that it hurt. A wave of futility washed over him like a cold wave on an arctic sea. It took him several minutes to regain control of himself. He cleaned up the blood that had dripped upon the floor, then went and showered. After coming out he put a band-aid securely upon the cut, then put on his pyjamas and went to bed.

*

The next morning he awoke two minutes before his alarm. Henry sat up and grunted, blinking a few times before reaching over and turning it off before it shrieked its mind-numbing cry. Throwing off the blankets he went over to the dresser and pulled out some clothes – some slightly faded blue jeans, a light grey t-shirt and fresh socks.

Throwing these onto the bed he went out to switch on the kettle, then returned to dress as it boiled. It started to whistle as he came back out from his room, buckling up his belt. After fixing himself a cup of coffee he took a breakfast bar from the cupboard and chewed it slowly as he gazed towards the silent and black face of the TV.

Outside, the morning chill was bracing. He walked down the sidewalk towards the train station, laptop carry case over his shoulder. The station itself was a few blocks away from his apartment building and set lower than the road. Henry stepped onto the bridge that was suspended above the train tracks and station. A cargo train clattered past, blaring its horn insistently.

He paused at the ticket machine. He needed to buy another weekly. He’d meant to do it last night to avoid the lines, but as early as it was there wasn’t that many people – and he had time to wait. He patiently stood, arms crossed in order to keep himself a little warmer, but there was no holding off the chill within him.

With only a few people in front of him, he gazed at the myriad station names and their corresponding buttons. For some reason his eyes stopped on one. Bakertown – the last station before the train line separated into the one that had his home town on it. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

“Could you hurry up? I’ve got a train to catch.”

He realized it was his turn and he’d been staring at the ticket machine like a fool. He reached towards a button and with a sudden shock he realized it was Bakertown. Fear gripped his heart and shot down his arm to his hand. As he pushed the button he felt a strange feeling inside of him.

“For the love of… Get a move on!”

“S-sorry!”

Henry quickly put his money in and the machine spat out the ticket and change. Grasping both in his hand he quickly moved towards the platform where the Bakertown train would be departing from. It arrived just as he came down the ramp and he stepped towards it. The doors slid open and he swallowed, pausing. The fear was still in his heart and he could hear in his mind the words that had been said, and the events he had been a part of.

“This is the best thing to do. It’s easier for all of us this way.”

“Make up your mind sir.” said the guard pointedly.

Swallowing the fear, Henry got on board and took a seat. Glancing around, he noticed that a few people in the carriage were giving him sidelong glances. Flustered, Henry stared at the floor before realizing he still had the money and ticket clenched in his fist. He shoved it into his jacket pocket and took a deep breath, resting his hands on his laptop case.

One of his hands was shaking – he could feel it, see it. He gripped the corner of the laptop case tighter. A glance towards his watch reminded him that he would be running late in ten minutes. He was going to be very late today. And maybe he wouldn’t even be coming in at all. Maybe not even the next day.

The thought filled him with trepidation. Would he ever come back? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he didn’t want to – didn’t want to ever come back to this place. This was countered by that strangling fear within him that grew ever stronger every kilometre the train travelled.

At ten to seven, twenty minutes after his start time, Henry’s mobile phone rang. He answered on the second ring.

“Where are you, Henry? If you’re sick, you know you’re supposed to call in at least fifteen minutes before your shift. This isn’t like you at all.” There was no sympathy in Phillip’s voice.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m… Today isn’t a good day, I-“

“Isn’t a good day to work? It’s Monday, Henry. You were supposed to be here almost twenty-five minutes ago. There are three issues that have come up already, issues that should be either done with or almost resolved. I hear you’re on a train – I trust that you’re on the way here.”

Henry took a deep breath. The reason that there were already network issues was because the infrastructure – originally designed by Phillip – held several key flaws that had been constantly worked around. As the network had grown, the flaws had been swept under the rug. Henry had recommended a complete overhaul many times, but the recommendation had been knocked back as the network downtime would eat into productivity.

“I’m…” What should he say? What could he say? “I need to take an emergency leave of absence, Phillip. I’m… I can’t-“

“The only thing you ‘can’t’ do is try and pull that one, Henry.” Phillip’s voice had a warning tone in it now. “It goes against the policy that you signed. I’m not convinced at all. If you can be here within forty minutes then I might forget to put you down for deme-“

“Then just fire me, Phillip. I don’t care anymore.”

Henry hung up. Phillip tried calling again, but then Henry turned off his phone. The feelings inside of him were conflicting – a mixture of strange exaltation and sheer terror. Both of these mixed feelings grew the further the train went, the cityscape changing into suburbs.

The morning sun wreathed Bakertown station in its glow. A glance upwards at the clock over the ticket booths indicated it was almost a quarter past nine. It wasn’t very busy here, only one of the booths was manned.

“I’d like… A ticket.” He swallowed. “One way.”

The operator raised his eyebrows sleepily. “Yeah, where too?”

“Finch Hill.”

Just saying those two words made his stomach churn, the exaltation from earlier slowly dissipating and being replaced with foreboding. He swallowed and slid the money across to the operator. He could feel a drop of cold sweat run down his face and he remembered more of what had happened, what had been said. More of what he had done, of what he had been loathe to do – but there had been no other option.

“I don’t enjoy this at all. It’s what has to be done, and the quicker it’s over with, the better.”
Not to a logical mind, in any case.

“Are you alright, sir? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Henry started at the words, looking at the curious operator for a moment before taking the ticket without a word and heading down the stairs to the platform. Fifteen minutes later he was settling into his seat as the train pulled out to begin the long journey to Finch Hill.

The warm glow of the sun on his face did little to alleviate the fear within, but it did wash away a lot of the foreboding. Soon the suburbs gave way to countryside, passing through the occasional town of varying sizes. Finally, the terror was subsiding to a bearable level. Every time the doors swished open the scent of untainted air wafted into Henry’s nostrils, doing more to calm him.

By the time the train hit the outskirts of Finch Hill, it had subsided to a churning in his stomach. He drank in the sight of the town. The streets of the suburbs were lined with trees. The houses on them had been built a long time ago, the picturesque designs of those times still apparent. In the heart of town, the two apartment buildings towered over the other businesses and homes. The view from either of them was amazing, he knew.

The sweet scent of the honeysuckle that intertwined about the fence that enclosed the rails hit Henry in the face as he stepped off the train. Looking around he could see that very little had changed since he had last been here four years ago. Despite the churning within, Henry smiled to himself.

He felt alive.

He glanced at his watch as he trudged down the stairs onto the street. It was eleven-thirty, Monday morning. He wasn’t at work, didn’t know when he’d be going back and he wasn’t even sure if he had a job there anymore. The reality of that had yet to sink in – but either way it didn’t matter at the moment.

“Why am I here?” he asked out loud.

“Good question. Do you know the answer?” inquired a familiar voice from behind him.

Henry turned around slowly. Fear gripped his heart and all of the memories of that time came flooding back. There was no denying who it was, nor the inscrutable way in which those piercing dark eyes gazed at him.

“Taeko…”

Taeko Kuwasuru had been born in Finch Hill a few years after her parents had emigrated from Japan. She had been one of the people that Henry had grown up with – the one that he had felt closest to, the one that he had cared about more than the others. She was also the one that he had hurt the most.

“So you still remember my name?”

She wore a light floral summer dress and was holding her handbag in one well-manicured hand. Her hair was up in a bun and she’d put a few flowers in it. As far as Henry knew, she worked at the florists shop her parents operated. She had always loved flowers.

“I… You know that I’d never forget.”

Even as he said that he saw her pretty face twist in anger. She walked over to him and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Says the one who said it would be best if we both forgot about each other. You tore my heart out and threw it on the ground, and now here you again, to, what? Stomp it into a red paste?”

He had made her angry at times in the past. Her hot temper was evidentially inherited from her mother, as he could well remember hearing both of them going at each other. She could sometimes be very quick to anger, but Henry had never worried too much about her being angry. It was the time she cried when he knew that he had hurt her.

“No! Of course not, I…”

“I don’t have time to listen to this. I’m meeting a friend for lunch. But don’t think I’m letting you off. I expect you to be at the Honeysuckle Cafe at five o’clock sharp, then we’re going to talk.” She paused, swallowed. “And… If you aren’t there, I don’t want to ever see you again. Ever.” With that, Taeko quickly rushed past Henry. He thought that for one moment he had seen a tear in the corner of her eye.

His fear remained, yet with an undercurrent of longing.

*

An hour and a half later, Henry was wondering why he had ever left. Finch Hill was vibrant, alive. The streets were old yet clean, the taint of the city having not reached it – and perhaps it never would. It just seemed like that kind of place.

Here, the horizon held only sun-baked fields and forests. The people were polite. Life was a slower pace, and it was as if time moved slower as well. The air was full of the scents of the country even in the middle of the pedestrian-only street that ran through the middle of the urban heart of the town. Sitting outside a restaurant, Henry caught sight of Taeko and her friend who he recognized as Janet Birch. He quickly looked away and moved to walk behind one of the honeysuckle-laden bushes that dotted the area.

Turning a corner he walked through a short alleyway and into the industrial zone. There were still only the two processing plants here – one of them for meat products, the other was for confectionaries. Unlike the confectionary plants he remembered passing in the city, the sweet smell was more hunger-provoking than sickening.

At one-thirty he stopped at a small takeaway near the car mechanics and the car sale yard. As soon as he entered he was accosted by another piece of the past that he had been hoping against hope was still there. It was no random chance he had chosen this particular place.

“Well, well… If it isn’t Henry Fisher!” Still fat, grey-haired and friendly as ever, Dominic Carlo clapped his hands together and started work on a hamburger. “One burger with bacon and egg coming right up. So… What’s the occasion?”

Henry couldn’t help smiling as he leaned against the counter. “Oh… Nothing, really. Listen..” His smile faded. “Dom… Can you keep a secret?” He glanced around the room.

Dom nodded. “Of course. And the lunch rush is over, won’t have anyone coming in for a bit I don’t think. What’s on your mind?” He gave an encouraging smile.

Henry took a deep breath and told him everything that had happened. Dom listened, grunting and nodding in the right places. He finished putting together the burger and passed the plate to Henry.

“Sit down, wrap your mouth around that and listen.” Henry began to eat – the burger was the best he had eaten since he had first left Finch Hill. “It sounds to me like you are, or were, on the way to a breakdown. Nothing, my wrinkly butt. You needed to get back here, to your roots. And somehow, I think that Taeko has something to do with your state of mind.”

Henry swallowed his mouthful, gazing towards Dom. “What do you mean?”

Dom sighed. “Taeko never got over you leaving. Ben and John, well they coped better than her. The others, well, they were alright with it. But then, you four were real close. Like brothers and sister – closer even. It was special what you all had… And then you left.”

Henry stared down at his empty plate, swallowed.

“Henry, it’s not that Taeko doesn’t understand the reasons for you leaving. All she saw was that you decided those reasons were more important than the friendship that you all had. It didn’t help that you and her had that… Conversation at the end of it.”

“We should just… Not think about each other. We’ll find other people, maybe.”

“How could you even think something like that?!”

Henry groaned. “You know about that?”

“John told me. It was bothering him. Both he and Ben always assumed you and Taeko would get together. When you left, it shattered that image.” Dom quickly continued as Henry began to speak. “And don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s about growing up, maturing. Maybe you didn’t go the best way about it, but in shattering that bubble you gave both yourself and the others room to grow.”

“We can’t live in a bubble forever.”

“Don’t you even care about me or the others anymore? Friendship isn’t a bubble, Henry!”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It shouldn’t, Henry. But at the same time you can’t let it conquer you.”

“Why would Taeko want to be with me now?” Henry asked, more himself than Dom – though Dom was happy to answer.

“Because she still cares about you that way. Always has, from the time when you four first started coming here every Saturday night. And listen to yourself – the fact you’re thinking about this means that you still care about her.”

“I… I do care about her. I just don’t know what I’m going to do to make up for what I did.” confessed Henry as he stared at small gob of sauce on the side of his plate.

“My advice – be at the Honeysuckle Cafe this evening. In the meantime, I suggest you see if you can find Ben and John. They’ll want to see you again.”

Henry contemplated this, then looked up at Dom. “What are they doing nowadays?”

“John’s working with his father’s business. He’s always been good with cars and he’d having the time of his life. Full fledged mechanic now. Ben, well…” Dom frowned. “He’s changed a lot. I won’t say any more than that.”

Henry nodded. “Well… How much for that burger, Dom?”

“On the house.”

“Thanks. I’m going to head down to the mechanics now. Hey…” Henry looked at Dom and tried to find the words. Dom just smiled and shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. You ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Dom was a rock in a storm, reflected Henry as he stepped outside into the warm afternoon. He’d always seemed to know what everyone was thinking or feeling and it appeared the talent was as strong as ever. It occurred to Henry that he still had no idea how old Dom was, nor had he ever seemed to change. It was as if he was a force of nature – and that thought brought a slight smile to Henry’s face.

He found himself trudging down the road towards Maclin Mechanical. John had always hoped that he’d be good enough to work with his father – a hard but fair man. Everyone had just laughed at his worries, but that didn’t stop John from pushing himself in his chosen field. Henry could only guess at his proficiency now.

As he approached he could see that the business had expanded, the previously empty lot beside it now taken up by another large garage. The smash repairs joint across the road from it now also bore the Maclin name – so they’d finally bought out crabby old Gerry Phyllis!

“Holy hell, Henry!”  John came walking out of the gate with a grin on his face. “Come down for a visit?” He had changed relatively little. He had the same short haircut, the same infectious grin and sandy blond hair. He wore dark blue work overalls that were dotted and splashed with oil stains and various discolourations, slightly faded from multiple washes.

Henry shook the proffered hand and smiled. “That’s kind of a loaded question. It’s good to see you again, John. I see business is booming for you.”

John nodded proudly. “Yeah, I’ve taken over from Dad. He spends most of the time working on the old ‘Chevy now.”

“That junker? He’s always been working on that.”

“Truth. Though with all the time he has, he’s made some good progress on it…” John chuckled and shook his head. “Anyway… What about you?”

Henry’s smile faded somewhat. “I wish I could tell you but I just don’t know, John.” He sighed. “I just… Didn’t go to work today. I came here instead and I don’t know… OK, I know, but…”

“Look… Don’t try and look too deeply into it right now. She’ll skin me alive for telling you perhaps, but I got a call from Taeko just after she spoke to you. I figured that you’d show up sooner or later – if not here then at Dad’s place. I’ve moved into Gerry’s old place.”

“Where’s Gerry now, then?”

John raised a brow. “Passed on. Had a minor stroke shortly before, that’s when he sold me the place. A few weeks later he passed away in his sleep.”

Henry was silent for a moment and then looked across the road. “You’ve really done well, John.”

He chuckled at that. “Ah, well… Thanks. I got motivation for it. Me and Rebecca Salter are engaged.” John couldn’t keep the note of pride out of his voice. Henry just boggled.

“Rebecca Salter? I thought she didn’t want to have anything to do with you after you beat up her boyfriend when he was threatening to give me a beating. I forget what for… No, wasn’t it because me and Ben wrote all that stupid crap about her under the bridge?” Henry grinned at the memory.

“Yeah, though to be fair most of it was correct. Anyway, she broke up with him ages ago and we hooked up just before your grandmother’s funeral. Would have told you about it then, but, you know. You were in and out before anyone could talk much to you.” Henry felt a pang of remorse at the words and sighed.

“Look, I’m so-“

“Don’t worry about it.” John interrupted. “You’re here now and you’re talking. Now… Look. You gotta meet up with Taeko soonish… So how about I lend you some clothes and let you shower? You’ll be staying at your grandmother’s old place right? You are staying for a bit, aren’t you?”

Henry looked from John to gaze around slowly, then up at the smog-free blue skies. He took a deep breath of fresh air and looked back to John. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ll be staying for awhile.” Just saying that gave him a surge of pleasure, and Henry knew that it was the right thing to do.

John grinned. “Come on. Let’s see what I can rustle up.”

He had been working the night shift at Darrow Vale Metals for three years now. He was a machinist, several years out of his apprenticeship. Mike felt quite fortunate that he worked where he did. It was a quiet location, the work was interesting and he wasn’t worked too hard like he had been at his previous place of employment. He’d been expected to run up to seven machines at once – possible, but immensely tiring. At Darrow Vale he only dealt with three, maybe four at most.

At the moment, things were quiet. There were no big orders, and this was the latest Mike would be working for a few weeks. While he was looking forwards to having a few more hours of company while he was in the factory, he didn’t dislike being alone. Some nights were very peaceful, much like this one. Being Thursday made it all the sweeter as he only worked until six in the evening on Fridays.

The machine stopped humming and Mike turned to address it. He slid the door open and pressed the pedal to release the large bolt in the vice. Placing it on a nearby troller he took up the air gun and sprayed away errant bits of metal and dripping coolant from the vice and the tools that the machine was using. Finally, he carefully positioned a heavy chunk of metal and closed the vice. After a quick check it was secure, Mike shut the door and started the machine up. The whole changeover took about thirty seconds.

As the machine cut metal, he picked up the bolt and wiped off the coolant that dripped off it, checking for any stringy bits of metal in the thread. Satisfied, he dropped it into the box with the others. Mike was proud of the results – he had done this program himself, and his boss was pleased with it.

Returning his gaze to outside, Mike started and frowned. Out in the darkness of the bush beyond the fence he could see multicoloured lights that seemed to flit between the trees. Christmas lights? he wondered for a moment before shaking his head. By the way they were moving, they couldn’t be. The cord would get tangled up,for one thing.

Mike frowned as the lights blinked out, leaving only darkness. He felt uneasyness welling up within him. What exactly was going on here? Even though he was half expecting it, he still started when they blinked into existance again. This time, he noted with a shudder, they seemed to be closer. In fact, so close that they were reflected in a puddle left over from a rain shower that afternoon.

The machine stopped, and Mike quickly went through the process of reloading it. When he looked back up, the lights were gone again. A shiver ran down his spine. Some kind of firefly? But it made no sense. Fireflies were only one colour, at least as far as Mike knew. Even so, they weren’t native to this area.

Forty minutes later, Mike was driving home. He hadn’t seen any more of those lights, but he had a creepy feeling running up and down his spine. All of a sudden he was reminded of something Tom Schneller, one of the older fellows at the factory had talked about once. Tom had lived in Darrow Vale most of his life and had been one of the original workers at the factory.

*

“Well, here’s the deal. Back before those suburbs got too big, that was some real wild bush.” Tom took a long swallow of coffee to wash down the crumbs of his jam drop. “And in the middle of those was this old house. Now, this house had supposedly been the home of a witch back before even I was a boy.”

“Didn’t know there were even any other humans before that.” said Bill Fellows, the technical writer/drawer, a slight grin on his face.

Tom gave him the finger as he continued. “Anyway, apparently she talked to the fairies, and they made her immortal.”

“Hang on a moment,” Mike interjected “You said she was dead. If she was immortal, she’d still…”

“Details! Always get in the way of a good story. So she spoke to the faeries, and they’d steal little babies for her, to put in her witches’ brew.” Tom was about to continue, but he glanced at his watch. “Ah, I’ll finish the story later. Time to get back to work, boys.”

That was on Friday. The next Monday, Tom didn’t come into work. He’d died of a stroke in his sleep on Saturday night.

*

Now, Mike couldn’t get the idea out of his head. Faerie lights. But faeries were good, weren’t they? Not if they stole babies to be thrown into a witches’ cauldron. With a shudder, Mike reached down and switched on the radio. A few good songs would make him feel much better, he knew. Except that the radio wasn’t working.

Frowning, Mike twiddled with the dial, keeping one eye on the road. It was static on all channels. He started as one of them elicted a high pitched screech of radio noise, and almost drove off the road. Steadying the car, he switched off the damn thing while telling himself it had nothing to do with the lights.

He almost had a heart attack when the headlights of a car appeared behind him. There was little warning, as if someone had driven with no lights to get up behind him undetected. It was crazy, but not beyond the realms of impossibility. Then the two beams started moving back and forth, up annd down. What kind of a car was it?

Mike sped up a little, ignoring the lights. He was slightly disconcerted to notice that they easily kept pace, not falling behind for a second. It occurred to him that they had to be an excellent driver to be so close and keep at a constant distance from him. Mike started to calm down a little, then all chances of rational thought went out the window. The lights exploded into thousands of multicoloured glowing points, flitting around his car, surrounding it.

The engine died, and as the car coasted to a stop, Mike could only sit there with a white-knuckle grip upon the steering wheel. Here he was, on a dark road in the middle of the bush with thousands of small points of light floating around his car like a cloud of freak fireflies. What was he going to do? Was there anything he could do?

The lights grew more intense, and Mike shut his eyes a moment before oblivion took hold of him.

*

Andrew sighed as he sat down in his chair. He’d just returned from his lunch break and now only had half of the day to weather out now. He typed his password into his computer and the screensaver blinked away. He looked at his half-finished report and made a face before getting back to work on it.

The phone only had time for one insistant ring before he’d reached over and picked it up. “Andrew Horton speaking.”

“Hey Andy, it’s Brad. Me and Sylvia have been checking out the site.”

Andrew brightened considerably. This was something that had the potential to be interesting. “Did you find anything that suggests paranormal activity?”

Brad hesitated on the other end before replying. “Yeah we did. I don’t think it was just a manifestation either. Sylvia isn’t getting any psychic echoes, and there isn’t any ectoplasmic residue. What we did find were a few four-toed prints that match the ones that we found out at Darrow Vale.”

“Near where the machinist disappeared? You’re sure?”

“Positive. We’re taking a cast now. The prints lead into the bush. We’re going to take a look, see if we can follow them.” replied Brad.

“Alright. Let me know as soon as you find anything, especially anything like the marks on the machinist’s car.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of. Did Max figure out where they originated from?”

“No.They’re completely new, which means we’ve never dealt with something like this before. Watch yourselves out there, alright?” warned Andrew. Brad replied in the affirmative and hung up. Leaning back in his chair, Andrew scratched his chin. For some reason, he had a sense of forboding welling up inside him.

*

The tracks ended at the ruins of a small house. It was in a clearing overgrown with tall grass and scrabby bushes. The tin roof had long been blown off and lay tangled in some trees at the edge of the clearing. The door hung off its hinges and when Brad stepped through he heard Sylvia gasp. He turned around and raised a brow.

“You alright?”

Sylvia looked around, her eyes wide with obvious fear. Brad could never get over her dress style which gave her the look of some kind of medieval gypsy. She wore a dark purple blouse with puffy sleeves under a dark brown bodice and a matching skirt that stopped at her knee-high brown leather boots. To top off the ensemble she also wore a purple hooded cloak edged with embroided symbols of the zodiac.

“You’re staring at me again.” she murmured quietly, a faint smile touching her lips and causing some of the fear to drain from her eyes. Brad shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling himself blush slightly.

“Er, well…” It didn’t help that she happened to be damn good looking, though he wouldn’t admit that to her. He couldn’t very well tell her it was due to her outlandish outfit, since he stood out with his dark fatigues and combat harness worn underneath his field jacket. He also sported a pair of combat boots with a knife sheathed on his right boot and wore a pair of fingerless leather gloves. And of course, both of them had a standard utility belt with a radio and a few special neccesities.

She looked around, the fear returning. “There’s a lot of… Hatred around here. Terrible things happened here, but…” Sylvia frowned. “For some reason, I feel that whatever did happen… It had to happen otherwise something much worse would have occurred.”

Possessing no psychic ability of his own, Brad took her word for it. “Think it was cult activity?” He slowly went over the concrete fondation of the house. It was overgrown with weeds and some small bushes that had managed to force their way up through the cracks.

“I don’t think so. It was definitely some kind of ritual, and it was done by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.” She closed her eyes, stepping through the door.

“Well, there’s no evidence of ritual activity on the floor.” Brad paused, kneeling in a corner and examining a gap within the crumbling brick wall. “Hey, there’s something…” He trailed off, hearing an odd cracking sound from below him. Sylvia’s eyes widened.

“Brad, move!”

He gasped in surprise as the thin shell of concrete he was standing on broke and he fell down the hole in the floor. He instinctively grasped for the walls. A ladder on one side was far too old, the wooden rungs breaking off from the force of his fall. Using his hands and feet however, he managed to slow his descent to a stop. The shaft on each side was rough hewn stone here. From below came the stench of stale, dirty air.

A flash of purple in the circle of light above him caught his attention. “Brad! I can’t believe it, I… I didn’t see that coming at all! I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t worry about it. Can’t catch ‘em all.” Brad reassured her as he started to work his way up the shaft. As he travelled, he noted that the wall didn’t seem to be man-made. He was certain that some of the marks could only be described as teeth marks. That left him feeling vaguely disquieted.

“We might have a Burrower here.” His words were greeted with a curse and he smiled tightly. He hated smoking out burrows too. “Though this just might be old ground, since there was a ladder going down here.”

Sylvia gave him a hand when he got to the top, and Brad climbed free of the hole with a grunt of thanks.

“Brad, the hole is all very well but what about the creature that made those prints? It came into the house, but it couldn’t have gone out, there are no other prints. And come to that, how come these are the only prints we’ve seen?” Dread suddenly flooded Sylvia’s eyes and she went grey. “Oh my… Brad, we have to go, NOW!”

He didn’t question her. They’d been partner for far too long and he was far too smart to hesitate. He grabbed her by the arm and rushed out of the house, towards the edge of the clearing. Sylvia was weakened, as she sometimes was, after particularly lucid and horrifying premonitions. There also seemed to be something that drained her strength. She started to recover only as they left the bush.

Sitting in the car, she took small sips of water from a bottle while Brad drove. He gave her a quick glance, frowning. “Don’t worry, Sylvia. You’ll be fine. What did you see?” He gave her another glanced after a few minutes of silence. She was staring at him with horror in her eyes that he’d rarely seen. It shook him up to see her like that. “Sylvia… What-”

“I saw the end of the world, Brad. It’s starting now. Right now. Today, it…” She trailed off and broke down, sobbing. Her words chilled Brad to the bone. He’d never heard her speak like that and did not believe she was in any way unbalanced. And she was a damn experienced psychic – whatever she had seen must have been terrible to put her in that state.

*

Andrew sighed with relief as he hit the ‘SEND’ button on the fax machine. The final report relating to the Carraville cult massacre was finished, and he could put that whole grisly mess behind him, and even get back out in the field soon. But not yet. He still wasn’t ready, he knew. At night he still heard the screams, still smelled the burning flesh and felt the stinging corruption of what had been summoned.

United Special Investigations employees were supposed to be able to put that kind of thing behind them. Andrew knew that he would, in time. He was just thankful for the mental conditioning he’d been put through. Some of the survivors would be scarred for life – pysically and mentally – after that night.

Apart from being a truly horrific experience, the coverup involved with the Carraville case had been a nightmare. Andrew remembered one time, years ago, when he’d been speaking to his direct superior about why it was important to cover up that kind of thing.

*

“Yeah well, in the end it’s all about funding, isn’t it?” Max took a long swig of beer, wiping his mouth before continuing. “The government gives us some of that, but in return we need to cover it. If we don’t cover up properly, the government withdraws funding and BAM. There goes a large chunk of our income.”

“But why is it so important for them to cover it up? I mean, if people knew about what kind of threats there were, wouldn’t they be better able to avoid them?” quizzed Andrew with a frown. Brad, sitting nearby, had laughed at that comment.

Max took pity on Andrew, chuckling. “It was our company president that suggested it, and here’s why. The really nasty things that happen are usually spaced out – maybe two or three really bad ones per year. If that was that, then it wouldn’t be so bad. But there’s bad years. Sometimes you get up to ten – nope, not lying. Back in ’99, just when Brad here joined, we had… Hell, thirteen? Fourteen?”

“Twelve.” corrected Brad, throwing his emply beer can into the trash can and popping open a fresh one.

“Yeah, twelve. Felt like more, but yeah. That would cause a panic, they happened within a six month period. And ultimately, no one wants to be told that there’s a reason to be afraid of the dark, do they? But that’s basically the reason we have to keep a low profile.”

*

It made sense to Andrew now. If people knew just how many cults and creatures there were that lurked in the dark… Well, sometimes it was better off not knowing. He knew that he certainly wished he didn’t sometimes – especially lately. Heading back to his desk, he checked his watch. Three o’clock. He wondered idly how Brad and Sylvia were doing.

At three-thirty he got tired of playing Solitaire and instead gazed out of the window. Friday afternoons were always damn boring. When the phone rang, he answered it quickly. “Hello?”

“It’s Brad. Go to Yellow, now. Something terrible could be abou-”

“It IS going to happen!” interrupted a half-hysterical voice that Andrew recognized as Sylvia’s. He felt an icicle tickle his spine. He’d never heard her like that before. What on earth had she seen?

Brad’s voice broke in. “Just go Yellow. We’re on our way back. Let me know if-”

Just like that, the connection was terminated.There was no warning, it simply cut out. Frowning, Andrew pushed the call button a few times. With a feeling of impending doom he put the phone down and turned to go manually activate Yellow.

But he was distracted by the building outside his window. It had been, impossibly, enveloped in what looked like vines. It wasn’t the only one, either. He could see them growing with impossible speed up over others. He saw the vines crash through windows, strangle antennas. His attention turned from the buildings and to the skies. The afternoon sun was rapidly turning red as blood, the city bathed in the crimson light.

“So much for Yellow… Red, dammit!”

He rushed to the armory.

*

Bob Billerson just wanted to get home. Fridays were early days for him, finishing at three in the afternoon rather than five. He had no plans in particular, but the less time spent travelling, the better. That said, today there had been delay after delay on the train lines. At this rate, he could have gotten home faster by walking.

He turned a page in his newspaper, muttered something about the economy and the clowns that were in charge of it. He glanced from the paper to her watch, then he heard the sound of a train coming.

“About time.” Bob grumbled to himself as he stood up. Standing behind a blond, he took the opportunity to check out her backside, nodding in approval. Then, realizing that the train was not there yet, he frowned and looked up.

Then the monsters came running out of the tunnel.

They got the people closest first. They were about five feet tall, but the crude yet deadly spears were wielded with frightning efficiency. Bob only caught a glimpse of one, with its doglike face and green skin, before he fled in panic. He shoved a few people out of his way, the screams of the dead and dying behind mixed with those of the terrified survivors.

He made it outside, but it was a nightmare here too. The pavement had been torn asunder, seemingly all around the building across the street. Thick, leafless vines grew up out of the gaps. He could see them growing rapidly up the side, smashing through the windows, enveloping the building. One panicking pedestrian ran too close and a vine grasped them around the waste.

Bob watched in horror as it sent shoots all throughout the hapless businessman. He fell to the ground, his body being reduced to jellied mush and bloodstained bones as the plant used his body as mulch.

The streets were in utter chaos. He had no idea where to go, what to do. He sat down against the wall surrounding the entrance to the train station below the street, watching people rush about in horror. All of a sudden he felt a presence next to him, and he looked up into the grinning face of one of the green skinned, dog faced things. It laughed and thrust the spear into his chest.

It ended quickly for Bob Billerson. He was one of the lucky ones.

Also, I’ve just about finalized the first main concepts for ‘Bonecity’.  Perhaps soon I’ll post a bit of what I’ve got.

I’ve been looking back at older bits and pieces of stories I’ve written and I believe that with some work I can fit them into some of the ‘empty spaces’ that I have with some of the settings here. It will also give them an update. I’m pleased that some of them stand up quite well to a rereading, too.

A break in my studies is coming up – I’m going to motivate myself to keep this updated more than I did last break(and, indeed, more than I have lately).

As far as my studies go, they’re going well. Coming up to the end of semester, so there’s the requisite exams and assignments that must be finalized. I’ve all but completed the last two I have, and I just have three more exams and a presentation to get through. First exam is today, second is tomorrow and the third is next Monday. The presentation will be next Tuesday(which is related to one of the assignments) and I have to hand in my final assignment on the following Friday. Everything is going smoothly and I’m quite confident in regards to the assignments and exams.

The inspiration came with a jolt and it continued to flow in a steady stream. After about 7.3 pages of writing I stopped and just stared. I was amazed. Usually I did not write so much so soon after a new idea had been concieved yet – there it was.

What was the most disturbing about this was the genre it was in. I had written the beginnings of a romantic story. There was no cosmic horror, no lurking creatures. And I enjoyed writing it.

This doesn’t mean I’m going to make a ‘romance’ catagory or whatnot, don’t worry. And writing romance isn’t something alien to me – but making it the sole focus of a story, making romantic goals the main motivation behind the characters – I hadn’t done that before.

I’ll be writing some more of it as time goes on. I’m still surprised at myself at this point however.

 ‘You wouldn’t believe the kind of inspiration that diagram holds! It is inconceivable the kinds of visions that run through my mind as I behold it. It is the utter otherworldliness of the design, the stark alien wonderment of it. The vistas and entire worlds that it provokes into my mind are beyond anything I have ever imagined!

 ‘You will need to prepare yourself before coming into the art room. The sights are frightening to an unprepared mind. I must also warn you that the style is extremely different from my previous works.’

This is the bubbling pot in my head. Things come up, choice pieces, tidbits and I snatch them up. But sometimes other things come up that while nice, they do not meld with the rest of what I have gathered – so I throw them into the overflow pot to sort later. From the latest chunks I’ve thrown in there, I can see the beginnings of a story – not for any particular setting I’ve already nutted out, but a standalone piece.

Back to that in another post, however. Here I want to ramble a bit about perspectives relating to reading and watching a movie. I have come up with several ways in that people will meet an unpleasant end. The problem that arises however is that some of them simply do not work well in a litery sense. One of them involved someone being pulled inside of their fridge.

The problem that arises here though is that I don’t want to give(at this point) a definate form to what it is that ‘eliminates’ the characters. Being pulled into a fridge is all very well but unless there is another character there to give the readers a third person view of the action(so to speak) then I would need to descrive the nature of them being pulled in.

This third person would be watching the hapless character that opens the fridge, and watch as somehow they were pulled inside – the fridge door blocking the view of any sort of appendage or mystical black hole. In that case I would be able to describe it from their point of view but as it does not do for other characters to be present in the context of what the story is about, I don’t have that option.

That’s just an example of one of the things I had thought of. It seems that for some things, a third person perspective is required – be it another character or people viewing a scene of the event – to keep the air of mystery about it until it is time for it to be exposed.

Bonecity isn’t so much about thrashing slimy tentacles and endless mouths of teeth. It’s theme is more of decay and unsettling events and sights. Of course that doesn’t count the tentacles out – I love a good tentacular monster with a gaping maw – but I think I have enough places for those without introducing them here at this point!

1920:
Cityview Apartments opened.

Now:
Over the time period from when the apartments opened until now, 74  of the people who have stayed here over the years have disappeared under odd circumstances. It is believed that some of them simply wished to drop out of sight – there was no evidence of anyone having lived in the apartment they were supposed to be living in.

Reality:
I am real. I know that for a fact – but so do you. But that’s neither here nor there. You’re not real, I am. Unless you’re one of the real people – one of the 74 real people that lived here, or one of the few that are living here now.

Conclusion:
Something terrible happened here a long time ago that affects Cityview Apartments, and maybe this whole city. The real world most likely does not know anything about this whole city. Maybe they’ll find it when enough people have been lost.

It’s all working up to something – the dreams are the key.
I’m very tired, but the building doesn’t let me sleep. Damn this place. This whole damn city, damn it all to…

No, that’s no possible. This is hell.