Title: The White Dragon of light
Date: 30 August, 2005
Written by: ChaosMagicianGirl
Warnings: blood, gore, cussing, violence
A/N:
Uh……(shifty eyes) Yes, I have finally done it. I've started writing a horror story. Dun, dun, dun! Instead of writing new stories, I should update the stories I've already posted here. I apologise….but inspiration just struck me, and well, my hands started typing! Automatically! I swear! I couldn't stop them. And I tried, believe me! (Pulls sad face out of the closet) Please, be patient with me. Now that this chapter is out of the way, I will focus on my other stories again. I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die…Uh or something like that…
Anyway, enjoy please….And let me know what you think….
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Chapter one: "Cheers"
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The Bronx, New York City, 23.30 PM…
I walked into the room with hesitant, uncertain steps. Ominous silence was all that greeted me. The window was left wide open. The drapes swishing back and forth was the only sound heard in the otherwise eerie silence. Before I lost all courage and my resolve disappeared in a puff of smoke, I quickly walked over to the window, and closed it. A sudden chill ran down my spine, as I surveyed that it was too quiet. It was like I was cut off from the world. I felt strangely isolated for some reason I couldn't quite put my finger on. I trusted back the drapes, so I could look out onto the street. The darkness of the night revealed itself to me. A lonely lamp post at a secluded corner of the street miserably flickered and sizzled, trying to keep a source of light, however slight, alive.
Unwanted goose bumps started to crawl over my skin, and why they did, I did not know. There was nothing to be scared of, was there? I repeated this mantra over and over in my head, yet it didn't deem a successful method in trying to convince myself that nothing was wrong.
The head lights of a car that whizzed by, snapped me out of my stupor.
Wait a minute……I furrowed my eye-brows together, knitting them into a frown. The car sped of into the distance, and after it turned the corner, it disappeared out of my line of sight. That's odd….I should have heard the roaring of engine…Yet, I didn't…..
"My mind must be playing tricks on me…," I mumbled, incoherently.
Without realising it, I started to rub my arms. Is it getting cold in here or what?
I shivered, and continued rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm myself up. It was like the heat was seeped from the room by an unknown source. This wasn't real….Something must be wrong with the heating in the house….All kinds of logical explanations flooded my mind, and I grasped onto them desperately, trying to erase this growing and gnawing fear rising in my gut.
The atmosphere in the room had turned thick, the silence even more pronounced than before.
Pangs of raw fear surfaced inside my mind, which I tried to quench like a glass of water you downed in one gulp to quench your thirst. But this "thirst" could not be quenched by any means.
Tendrils of cold started to weave a pattern in the air, steadily engulfing the room.
As my pulse and breathing quickened, I looked at the window panes, my eyes opened up wide, complete disbelieve shining in them, as my reflection suggested reflected back at me from the glass.
The night sky was clear a few moments ago. There were no mist banks outside. Yet, the window panes were fogging up, obscuring the world outside from my view.
The fog turned into frost. Backing away, I was no longer shaking and trembling from the cold that enveloped me, it was because of certain firm grip that my fear had on me.
'This isn't happening………this isn't happening…,' my mind was screaming at me that what was happening right in front of me was impossible.
There had to be a logical explanation……There just had to be….
I forced, willed myself to believe this, attempting to calm myself down. But in the end the grip fear had on me, proved to be stronger than my rational part could handle.
Still stumbling backwards, I wanted to turn tail and run, however, my left foot wavered, refusing to function properly, and I fell hard, my back hitting the rug that was underneath my feet before.
The wind was knocked out of me. Dizziness and nausea overtook me, the world spinning in front of my eyes. I closed my eyes, and waited for the disgusting sensations to subside. They did after a few moments, weakening in intensity. A bottle of aspirin would probably do the trick in "curing" my now throbbing headache.
Wincing from the pain, I lifted my hand, and placed it on my temple. Opening my eyes slowly, I gazed up at the ceiling. Oh, and two red gems floating in the air….
When this random fact got through to me, it was already too late. As my blurry vision cleared, I didn't find two red "gems" floating in the air, but two orbs that flashed crimson gazing down at me.
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The Bronx, New York City, 0.30 A.M…….
The roaring of an engine pierced the silence of the night. Its source happened to be a black/ dark-blue coloured motorcycle turning the corner. Straddling the saddle was a tall figure, clad in a leather body suit, adorning a black helmet, his face features remaining perfectly hidden.
Hitting the brakes, the tires of the vehicle kicking up dust, the figure came to a screeching halt in front of a certain apartment complex.
The figure's eyes roamed over the house and the environment. This back-alley was a waste-bin, and just as he figured, this shabby, run-down apartment complex wasn't much better than the rest of the famous back-alley street of New York. It defiantly earned its reputation.
Every building here was old, worn, shabby and run-down. The condition of this living community was not much better than the vermin roaming the streets at night. And he wasn't just pointing the finger of blame on thieves or perverted drunks.
No, there was a much worse scourge that was the plaque and bane of this neighbourhood's existence. It was no wonder really, that there were a lot of unresolved "murder cases" in this part of the city.
But, he didn't come here to do sight seeing, he had to remember that. Returning his gaze to the building in front of him once more, he gritted his teeth when he saw the wide open window on the second floor.
"Parking" his motorcycle against a brick wall to his right, he hastily made his way over the gravel path to the front door.
He was brooding silently as he eyed the door bell out of the corner of his eye. Should he? He reached out his hand, but pulled it back right away when a certain distinctive smell tickled his nostrils.
Looking up, once again, at the wide open window above him, his suspicions were confirmed. He scrunched up his nose as he smelled the air.
Mist started to swirl around him, enveloping his body in its confines. Floating up into the air, as if he was carried by the wind, he reached the second floor.
He stepped onto the window sill. The sight that greeted him was not too pretty. What he laid eyes on first was the wall that was "scarred" with crimson liquid. Droplets dripped down onto the floor.
Jumping down, his boots hit the wooden floor with a soft thud. Folding his arms in front of him, he calmly scanned the room, until his eyes fell upon something lying on a rug a few feet from him.
It was the still figure of what once resembled a human, but was now an abomination. She was murdered in a crude and savage way. Multiple slashes criss-crossed her permanently deformed body. Her only remaining eye was glazed over, a terrified look frozen in time marring her face. Her light blond hair, soaked with blood, was sprawled out around her. Pieces of hair were ripped out in a painful way he concluded as he took in her body.
There was a hole in her chest; a gaping hole, like a cavern into nothingness. It was a mark, left as an obvious invite for him. He grimaced when he thought about it. It was not the body that made him grimace like that, for he was used to it.
Blood still oozed out of the wounds, expanding the crimson puddle that had formed around her.
Two puncture marks could still be distinguished on the neck, although barely. It wouldn't be paid much attention to by the local cops that would find this body sooner or later. But it was an obvious enough indication for him.
He had arrived too late. Sarah Collins was dead.
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Domino city, Japan, present time….
The crimson contents swirled around in the crystal glass he held in his hand. He lazily stared at the door opposite of him. A large, double oak door, which he was staring intently at for the past few hours.
His feet were resting on the polished surface of the desk in front of him. He was leisurely leaning back in his chair, making himself as comfortable as possible.
A fire was crackling in the fire place, making shadows dance on the walls.
Taking a refreshing sip, he removed his gaze from the door, and fixed it on the fire instead.
Now….fire was intriguing to say the least….It reminded him of something he hated…and of something he loved…The red hue that emanated from it reminded him of a delicacy he was enjoying right at this moment in time. But fire also made him remember a thing he hated…
Its light, it reminded him of the sun……And if it was one thing he hated, it was that burning ball of fire high up in the sky…
However, perhaps soon, that light bulb would be doused…….exterminated once and for all…
That particular thought made a smug, malicious, and satisfactory smile grace his pale face.
Rapping on the door woke him from the musings he was indulging himself in.
Finally……
"Enter…..," he snarled, an annoyed frown appearing on his face. He didn't like to be interrupted during one of the musings that he was enjoying immensely.
The oak door creaked open softly, as if the person standing behind it was seriously considering not coming in, fearing his master's wrath. After a few moments it seemed the person had made his or her decision, and the door opened fully, revealing a tall, clad in black attire body guard. Black sunglasses were obscuring his eyes from view. He would have been lucky, if his boss hadn't picked up on the raw waves of pure terror radiating from him.
He licked his lips, revelling in the fear he instilled in the hearts of these pathetic creatures that called themselves humans. He eyed his flunky out of the corner of his eyes, saw how the man was trying to keep his composure, but flinched visibly under his gaze.
'What do you want?" his voice rang in the man's mind as soft as a whisper. His lips had not moved. The man let out a terrified squeak, which he was trying to stifle in vain. A dark chuckle escaped his lips.
Walking over to the desk with wobbly knees, the man handed over a package to him. It was wrapped in neat paper with a crimson bow tied around it. Fingering it in his hands carefully, he dismissed the trembling man before him with an intense glare that made the man's resolve crumble immediately. He scurried away quickly.
Putting down the package in his lap, his gaze followed the man.
"My, my….Mr. Peterson. I do believe you forgot something…."
The man, addressed as Mr. Peterson halted his movements, frozen solid on the spot he was standing on. Turning his head around, visibly shaking, he met the intense gaze of his employer.
"Yes….sir?" he stammered.
"This glass needs refilling, my dear boy…."
A confused look briefly crossed Mr. Peterson's face, until it was lifted by the indication of the raised glass his master offered to him.
"Would you be so kind as to refill it for me?" Tauntingly the glass hovered in the air in front of Mr. Peterson.
"If you would like me to, sir…."
"That was the answer I was looking for…..," was the sinister response given to him.
The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt strangely tense as his master leered at him. Mr. Peterson swallowed a lump down his throat.
"Shall I go fetch the red wine then, sir?" he suggested, his gaze shifting to the door numerous times during the time it took for him to say this.
"No, I will…."
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
His master's eyes flashed crimson, and before he knew what was happening, a knife had been lodged deeply into his throat, crimson liquid spurting out immediately.
A shocked look was on his face, as his eyes dulled, rolled back in his skull and glazed over. His body slumped against the wall.
The one, who had thrown the knife stood up, walked over to the dead man, refilling his glass with the crimson liquid flowing from the man's neck.
He lifted his glass, toasting on the man. "Cheers, Mr. Peterson,"
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A/N:
Brrr….did I just write that? (Chills run down her spine). That was way too creepy. Maybe not for you, but for me…. This is my first time to ever try something like this…..Oh, boy, I'm creeping myself out here. …
I would love constructive criticism…A nice review is always welcome, too.
So…kindly leave a review on your way out?
(Huddles in a corner of sheer fright, clutching her teddy bear close to her)
CMG, signing out!