Horror Illusion discussion

September 2, 1986

Walking past the street of Brook was never a smile in Janet's face. Who did? No one, she guessed. The night was at ease but not quite beautiful. Of course, walking alone on your own in the middle of the night brought nothing but agitation. The wind seemed to whisper startling sounds that brought goose-flesh. Who couldn't?

The sky was stained with black thin clouds, but tonight the moon was not in it. Even the stars were not in it. There were only shadows of darkness and moving figures around. Janet was aware that she was drifting, who wouldn't? Not a drift that your feet were hovering above ground, she was half-running, half-walking. Fortunately, she brought with her her sweater, she pulled the hem down and hugged herself as she follows the fading white trails of the road.

"Beer, Miss?" Marcel had asked her while she was sitting in the counter waiting for a friend. Marcel was a bartender everybody knows, even the nearby town, he was kind-of-like a popular alcoholic mixer in Brice in Lewiston. She wasn't really into drinking, although she drank a lot in high-school but somehow it all felt wrong. But that instant she grabbed it and drank it to the lease. And that was the end of it, nothing more.

The clock banged into ten in the night and her friend gave her no signs of coming nor giving her a notice, which was a bit too lame. Well, she thought it like that. Maybe her friend was caught in a strike her boyfriend had given her and just decided to stay and hook him up, leaving Janet sitting alone in the counter listening to Marcel and his unknown marvels. How she had feel ditched. Or more likely dumped by a friend. Her knife was cold in her pocket, but she forgot all about it. Ten thirty, and she was left with no hope.

"Time. Yes, always the time. I bet you have to ask me for another shot if you feel bad you'self." Marcel had told her, while he was doing rounds of cleaning the empty glasses to their own trays. "Besides we're closin' this whole shit barn of a fuck. Been 'ere whole day giving drinks and making ones to those who felt they own this shit bottles."

"Thanks Marcel but I don't feel good for another shit shot. I'll have to go home." Then she was out the Junkie Bar and into the road opposite from the main one. For all those times of walking she didn't think of the fact that she was walking in the road she had heard from her childhood. Believed it was stupid. Well, what do you get when you thought it was a foolish joke told to you when you're just a shit head kid? She would say, welcome to the group. Ha. Ha.

She felt herself stop.

Her grip on the hems of her sweater was threatening to be torn apart.

What was that she heard? A swift but noticeable noise in her right? For a moment she hesitated to move, but after a while, feeling the back of her neck in the cold, she walked. a little bit faster at this time. She could feel the knife beginning to get cold in her pocket. Her mother had told her. She must bring it everytime, you're never sure what would happen in the night. Like now.

A crack beside her. She paused. She didn't know. She just did.

Fright was building in her chest, along with the warmth she felt after she drank that beer twenty minutes ago. Her hand slipped in her pocket, and there she felt it. The cold handle of it, waiting to be sheathed out.

She turned around, slowly. She never wanted to see how fear would sprout from a small seed. A rush in the woods beyond the road. Damn it, she thought. It was there, not behind her.

But yes, even then, there was a crouching silhouette leaning few feet in front of her. Eyes she heard from the camp, eyes she heard from her father. Two massive green eyes. Eyes of the Morth. A road legend.


26/08/12

*swoon* Oh my! Sooo goood! *melts into a puddle of purple goo*

oh, but check out the 'who couldn't, who didn't' thing...it's a little confusing...