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vovan
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Thanks for the feedback, I appreciate every little bit of it: be it praise or criticism. Keep it coming.
With a grin on my face, I was striding towards the night watch’s booth. But for some reason with every step I made, my heart beat faster and faster. I could hear the blood pounding in my temples. I tried to suppress the nervousness, but some foreshadowing was crawling upon my consciousness, blocking the light of hope that everything would end in a laughter about the silly confusion.
As I was coming closer to the watchman’s hut, I saw that the door was closed, and quietly chuckled: surely, the man must be sleeping inside, his hands on his stomach, snoring, having left some political article in a last month’s newspaper unfinished. I decided to pull a joke on him to raise my spirits frther. I would open the door quietly and make a sudden noise to wake him up. After all, is he not sleeping on duty? I opened the door slowly, so that it wouldn’t creak, and was careful to make as little noise as possible, to catch him off-guard.
But as the view of the room inside opened to me, I could not help but startle. There was nobody there. The light was off. As I entered the room, I heard a splash. I must have stepped in a puddle of water from the snow that had melted off of the watchman's boots. It was pitch dark. I flipped the switch on the wall, but nothing happened. Either the electricity was out again, or maybe the contact in the lamp was weak, I thought.
I reached to the ceiling with my hand to screw the light bulb in tighter, but sudden pain made me draw my hand back quickly. The light bulb was apparently shattered. I leaned on the table, and felt that there was a small box there. I picked it up. It was a box of matches. At least I could get some source of light. Better that than nothing.
I lighted up a match and looked up. The light bulb was, indeed, broken, drops of blood dripping off of the jagged edges of glass. I must have grabbed it pretty tight. Suddenly, the door into the booth slammed shut with a loud bang. I startled and dropped the match. The hissing sound of fire dying in the puddle on the floor reached my ears. “Who’s there?” I called out, my voice starting to tremble a little. Soft whistling of the wind in the chimney -- the night’s breath -- was the sole response. Must have been a gust of wind, I thought and stroke up another match.
The room was a mess. There was a kerosene lamp lying on the floor, as well as a couple of candles in the corner: in our small town, the supply of electricity was not constant, so the night watch had other means of lighting the place in addition to the electrical lamp. A little shelf on the wall was hanging on one nail, a photo of a pretty little girl lying below it, her face smiling happily behind the pieces of shattered glass, which glittered in the light of the match. A crushed pack of cigarettes was right beside, the broken frame.
The table wasn’t any better. Ash from the ashtray was scattered all over, a cup upset, with the tea spilled over the newspaper. A dark-brown trail led from the cup, over the newspaper, and off the corner of the table onto the floor. I followed it with my eyes, and as I looked down to my feet, I had to clasp my mouth with the hand in order to not give up a shriek. The puddle I was standing in was not water! It was blood...
Last edited by vovan on 21-11-2002 at 02:16
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vovan
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EDIT: Double post... 
Last edited by vovan on 21-11-2002 at 02:36
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vovan
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OK, folks, since we are getting a little off track here, it's time for the next installment. And keep up the good work on that feedback. Suggestions for revision, as well as thumbs up always welcome. Here goes:
I hate to write cliché phrases like that, but there and then I finally understood that something was wrong. It finally sank in in my mind that it wasn’t a drunken man lying at the mine entrance, whom Svetlana saw; the track in the snow wasn’t from him crawling away, but from somebody dragging the body away; somebody, it seems, has visited this room before me, and the blood dripping off of the light bulb is not mine. Indeed, the wound on my hand was nothing more serious than a scratch. The fine shivering returned, but wasn’t any more confined solely to the bottom of the stomach, but reached out to my legs, and up to the chest and arms. “Oh good, adrenaline” I thought, trying to think of anything but the monster who could have possibly committed several murders in one night. But I failed, and couldn’t help but imagine a silhouette crouching somewhere behind a corner of a building, or under his next target’s window, with a knife in his hand, his eyes, with large pupils, glowing in the dark like that of an animal -- with the same lack of soul and intellect in them -- watching, coldly, the mundane actions performed by the poor victim, who doesn’t have a slightest clue that her own life is hanging by a fine thread, and the scissors are already starting to close across it.
I got hold of myself as well as I could and went back to the mine entrance to examine the track. I came to the very beginning of it, where the body was apparently laying. I tried to figure out as much about the murder as I could (I was now absolutely sure I was dealing with a murder). For one thing, I would probably have to describe everything in most minute detail to the police the next morning. Secondly, I tried to figure out how much danger I would expose myself to, were I to follow the track.
A strange detail suddenly struck me. There was no blood anywhere around the track. Only a bloody trail to the watchman’s hut, from my boots. Therefore, the person wasn’t shot. Or stabbed. It was pretty obvious that it wasn’t the night watch either, for that poor man died a very bloody death it seemed. I also thought I might want to try to find him also… His body definitely wasn’t in the room, which was filled with blood, so how was the body taken out without leaving any trails on the snow? No, if I can only deal with one body, why would I take on a second one? With that, I abandoned further thought of the night watch.
So, since there was no blood, how could the person die? Well, he could expire for natural reasons, of course. A heart attack maybe. Or of cold. Then, the ambulance might have taken him away. But they wouldn’t drag their patient on the ground to their car, no matter what people may say about the quality of our medical service…
So, he must have been strangled. Or knocked out with a hit on the head. In the former case, he would probably have tried to resist. Then there should be traces of struggle in the snow. Sure didn’t look like it. There was the silhouette, there was the groove leading out of the mine’s gate, there were feet tracks in the snow around -- apparently left by me, Svetlana, and the workers earlier. At that moment I noticed something else also. Another faint track leading from the silhouette. It was a groove like the one leading outside, only much fainter, and in the opposite direction -- inside the mine. It seemed the body was dragged out of the mine.
But of course, it must have been a miner, who was killed in an accident, and dragged out by his co-workers. Well, in that case, I absolutely had to find out who the person was, to calm Svetlana down. I decided to follow the track outside the mine
To be continued...
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vovan
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I followed the track out of the gate and into the street. The groove was deep, and in some places was swinging from side to side, as if the person dragging the body did not know which way to turn, or maybe was so tired that he was almost literally falling off his feet. That nasty feeling of fright once again returned. A big snowflake fell on the back of my neck, sending a cold drop of water trickling down my spine. I shivered. It felt like somebody’s eyes were fixed on my back. I quickly turned around but of course there wasn’t anybody there.
As I made my way following the track, occasionally slipping on the ice, it seemed somebody else’s feet could be heard behind. But no, it was just my mind playing tricks on me, trying to force me to turn back. I caught myself whispering encouraging phrases. Again. I chuckled: truly, this situation is driving me crazy -- I’m already talking to myself.
All of a sudden, I heard a howl. I raised my eyes. The snow clouds have been blown away, and a full moon was shining just above the horizon. The howl repeated. It seemed to be closer this time. Wild dogs have never been a problem in our town, but wolves sometimes wandered in. I then heard some kind of barking mixed with another chilling howl. No, it wasn’t a wolf. Wolves don’t bark. I then thought I heard laughter, a sadistic kind of laugh -- the kind that a kid makes, tying a can to a kitten’s tail. I shouted in the general direction where the sound was coming from: “Claw, you little son of a dog, stop it!” More barking was the response. Then it was quiet.
I turned back to the road and stopped in my tracks, petrified by some primeval fear: there it was. The body. Lying in the snow. I couldn’t make out the details. I was standing under a light-post, and the body was right outside the circle of light, so I could only see the silhouette. There was nobody to be seen around. So, how did the body get there? If somebody dragged it to here, why did they drop it in the middle of the street? I wanted to come closer to examine the body, but some force was keeping me standing there in the light, unable to do anything but stay motionless, staring at the silhouette in front of me. Fear. That was the force.
They say fear has large eyes. I was all eyes then, that is for sure. I was trying to make out as much detail as I could from where I was standing. But the thing in front of me lay in some shapeless heap, and I couldn’t even understand where were the feet and where was the head. In fact, the only reason I thought it was the body was that I couldn’t see the track continuing beyond it. Nothing else betrayed this heap of dark matter as a dead body.
I must have spent at least ten minutes standing like a statue, not daring to make the slightest motion, as if I could scare somebody away. My eyes were getting tired, but I thought I could now make out that the person was lying on the stomach, his legs towards me.
Suddenly, I thought I had seen the body move. Involuntarily, my whole body jerked. I strained my vision and could now definitely see movement. It was as if the man was trying to get up. He was like some animal, standing on his knees and supporting himself with the hands. He also started to make some noise. He was growling. It was a terrifying, unhuman growl. It sounded like a carnivore tearing at the flesh of its freshly killed prey. The image I had earlier in the night watch’s booth returned. The monster, killing an unsuspecting person, and then consuming the corpse in the middle of the street stood in my eyes.
Blood started rushing into my head. The growling subsided and I could only hear my own heartbeat and the hiss in the ears -- a sign of rapidly changing pressure. My heart was racing faster than ever, and it felt like it was jerking inside my chest, trying to break free. My legs barely held me standing, and everything around me looked like some veil had been thrown over my consciousness. I could hear a whisper saying to me: “Run away, what are you waiting for?” And the voice of superstition hissing: “Maybe Claw was right? Maybe there are werewolves? Stay inside the circle.” And yet a third, high-pitched, voice screaming: “Attack! He has not noticed you yet.” I don’t know if I was saying any of that out loud... The whole scene was dancing around me in circles. I became dizzy and thought I would faint or throw up.
The sound of the church bell abruptly brought me back to consciousness. It beat twelve times. The killer lifted his head. As his eyes slid from my toes to my face, a cold shiver ran down my back. I could now see them. His eyes. Two large round eyes, with big pupils, glowing in the dark...
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vovan
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Well, folks, I am back.
Steamthunk, why you didn't buy PtW?  Heh, well, it is true that the way it is, the story has little to nothing to do with the game. But rest assured, it will evolve into a historical thing 
Unscratchedfoot, you can get out from under the table now, I am once again sitting in the room with my comp. 
Well, I hate to disappoint you people, seeing the reaction, but I am facing an almost certain writer's block right now... It might have something to do with the fact that this week I have two essays due, and the next one is the week of final examinations for the semester. Well, I'll see if I can cook something up for you all any way 
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19-11-2002 05:43
.... actually, blood wouldn't splash either unless it was utterly fresh and in great quantity. Blood quickly becomes sticky as it congeals, especially fast in freezing weather, but it's hard to manage the sentence without giving away that its blood so its up to you. I overlooked this too in my previous post. 
Maybe something like this, "I heard my boots make contact with a puddle on the floor...". I can erase these posts after if you want so they don't mess up your thread.
I know that blood becomes viscous rather quickly, but then again, according to a dictionary definition of the word splash: to move in or into a liquid or semiliquid substance. So, I guess that should be good enough 
Frogface says, "Let's start another 
thread! That would be cool!"
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