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| This is the prologue from my published book Nihility. You can find links to purchase it on the Home page or Books page. Please feel free to leave comments in the Guestbook. WARNING! This is a horror novel, some things may not be suitable for children or those with weak stomachs! |
| Nihility Prologue (Revised version) |
| The lights flashed across the buildings in a rhythmic, hypnotic way. The boy stayed low to the ground. If they spotted him, they would take him home. Being escorted home by police officers would not please his foster parents. Lately, they'd seemed distressed when he was around. He couldn't blame them much, he was a hard kid to deal with. In fact, he'd lost count of the number of times he'd been returned to the orphanage. He stifled a yelp as his elbow impacted the brick wall next to him. Certain that someone had heard the noise, he flattened against the ground. Peering under the dumpster he watched as a pair of polished black shoes went by. After the sounds of the shoes faded, he slowly sat up and rubbed his elbow. Just another bruise his foster parents would fret over. Closing his eyes, he sucked the cool night air into his lungs. What do I tell them this time? Nothing, I'll just shrug and say it happened on the playground. That problem solved, he edged his head back around the dumpster. He watched as two men dressed in suits, walked to the middle of the road. They stopped next to the white sheet, covering a body. These must be the detectives. One of them crouched down, carefully lifting the sheet. The man gestured under the sheet with his pen. The boy moved further around the dumpster, straining to hear what was being said. His heart pounded as he inched closer to the mouth of the alley. If anyone walked by now they'd see him for sure. But he had to know why there wasn't any blood. He'd seen the corpse, before they'd put the sheet over it. The man's head was shattered, as if he'd dived off a building. The road should have been covered in blood, but it wasn't. His eyes flicked from the body to the surrounding area. Several patrol officers stood guard at the crime scene tape. It stretched across the road, blocking off both directions of traffic. He could see reporters leaning far over the tape, their cameras snapping wildly. The boy snickered. All they had to do was use the sewers and come up through the manhole. Of course, that would mean getting their expensive suits and shoes dirty. "You know, boy, if you stay there long enough someone vill see you." The boy’s breath caught in his throat, a wave of fear passed through his body. Was it the cop? Did he just pretended to walk away? Despite the chilly air, beads of sweat began secreting from is forhead. He wanted to turn and run, but his legs wouldn't respond. "I could valk," the man paused, "valk over, and tell them you are hiding here." His voice, cold as the night air, held a hint of amusement. Who is this guy? The boy wasn't stupid, he'd caught that the man tried to cover up an accent. It wasn’t one he’d heard before. "Very vell, have it your vay." The man stepped away from the building. The boy expected a bum, maybe a reporter. What he didn't expect was someone who looked as if he had come from the pages of a fairy tale. The man's black, leather riding boots shimmered with each pass of the flashing lights. His coat, also black in color, extended just past his knees. It was beautifully embroidered with gold trim. His hair was light blond and perfectly braided, the tip lightly brushed his ankles. "Wait!" The boy called out anxiously, while trying to keep his voice low. Stopping, he turned to face the boy, crossing his arms in front of his chest. The shadows kept the man's face from being seen, but they didn't keep the light from glistening off his eyes. The boy swallowed, anxiety drove like a knife into his chest. The boy’s soul quivered, he felt as if the man was gazing at it. His stomach muscles clenched, fear tightened its wicked grasp. The man took one step forward, the shadows falling away from his face. He was strikingly handsome; there were no other words to describe him. His lips moved slightly, then he flashed a grin. The boy pushed off the wall and dashed to the manhole. Fear drove his legs as fast as they would move. A couple of rungs down the ladder he lept off, knowing the floor was only a few feet lower. The murky water splashed up around his ankles, as if trying to grab hold of him, but he was too fast. Glancing over his shoulder, the light from the manhole quickly faded. His footfalls echoed down the concrete tunnel. He found some comfort from the noise; it meant he was getting farther away from that man. His left foot caught, sending him crashing to the floor. Pain rocketed through is mind, blinding all other senses. His eyes watered uncontrollably. What happened? He leaned back against the wall realizing the pain came from his nose. The boy dug in his pocket, his fingers rapped around the cold metal of a Zippo lighter. He worked the flint until it finally lit. Comforted with the addition of some light; he reached up and tenderly squeezed his nose. Pain shot through is face and made his eyes water again. Yeah, it’s broken. He pulled his hand away and saw the dark liquid running down his fingers. The boy sighed, leaning his head against the wall. His foster parents were going to throw a fit. It was possible he could sneak back in without them knowing, but how would he explain a broken nose? Looking back down at his shirt, he could see where blood was sinking into the fabric. A wave of regret washed over him. It was one of the few nice shirts he owned. There was no time to waste. He had to get home and get cleaned up. Setting his hand down to push himself up, he felt something soft, but firm. What in the hell is this? He turned his head. The flickering light seemed to be swallowed by the eyeless sockets of the skull. Flesh still clung to most of the head and neck. His scream echoed down the tunnel as he quickly removed his hand from the corpse. Scrambling to his feet, he backed away, then spun around and ran. He didn't look back; he didn't want to see it again. The Zippo nearly went out, forcing him to slow down to a jog. A few yards later, he slowed to a walk. He could see this tunnel had come to an end. Relief flooded through him. He knew there was a pool, some twenty feet below. This particular tunnel didn't have a ladder near it, but there was a ledge about four inches wide. It ran all the way around the room. If he was careful, he could inch his way over to the ladder on the far side of the room. He just had to reach one of the tunnels farther up. He would be able to reach the manhole near his foster parents' home from there. His body trembled as the adrenaline continued to surge through his veins. He didn't need to be shaking while trying to tight-rope walk along a four inch ledge. Closing the Zippo, he braced his hands on his knees and bent over pulling large gulps of air into his lungs. His heart beat slowed, with it the pounding in his ears faded. Yet, he could still hear something, a rumbling noise. Traffic from the street above? The boy frowned. He'd never noticed that sound before, but it became louder. Standing straight, he flicked the Zippo back on. What the hell is that? He strained to hear, the rumbling sound grew, drowning out any other sounds. His eyes widened, as he spun around. The corpse slammed into him with the full weight of the water behind it. They shot out of the tunnel and performed a grotesque dive of body parts, some alive--some not, into the pool below. The force of the water and the added weight of the corpse quickly pushed the boy down to the bottom. He opened his eyes. The skull grinned down at him. He wanted to scream again. His only saving grace was instinct; drowning was not the way he wanted to die. Desperate, he pushed and kicked at the body until he finally freed himself. His lungs were beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen. The boy kicked franticly as he swam for the surface. His assent halted abruptly; he couldn't move his right foot. Looking down, he saw a bony hand lying over the top of his foot. He kicked feverishly at it; at last he was free again. Bursting from the water, he gasped for air. The water felt like thousands of needles, boring their way into his skin. His nose throbbed, he'd be lucky if it didn't get infected. His eyes darted from one wall to the next, finally spotting a ladder that he could reach. He swam towards it, just wanting to get out, to get away from this place. He stopped, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There were only a few times he could remember having a feeling like this. It wasn't just creepy; it was the sense of impending doom. He slowly turned his head, looking over his shoulder. His eyes widened and a scream of pure terror ripped from his throat. The bony hand reached out. |
Snippets