Cliff, Alfie, and the Angel

by melodypond013

15-year-old Cliff (OC) reaches under his bed and feels a hand grab his. It turns out to be a Weeping Angel who just doesn't want to cause any trouble. Cliff calls up his best friend Alphie, whose dad, Craig, specializes in mysterious happenings like this. Cliff then goes on an amazing adventure to find out what a Weeping Angel really is, and what it really wants.

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - "It Begins" (Cliff)

It started with a fallen book.

It could have started differently if Cliff had not become so overtired that he dropped his book as he was reading in bed, and if it had not hit the wall and slid under the bed frame in the presence of dust bunnies and lost socks. Along with, as Cliff was soon to find out, just one more thing in the lonely dark.

As was said before, it started with a fallen book, and Cliff picking up the book. This is where our story begins.

Cliff Pollux lay on his side while reading a novel his teacher had recommended. At this time of night, 10:30, he was usually asleep. But the book, like many others, was too gripping to put down. Eventually his loss of energy caught up to him. The muscles in his hands loosened their grip and his eyes fluttered shut. The book slid down the mattress and under the entire bed frame, and Cliff was taken by sleep.

Cliff woke in a daze. Yellow crust caked the edges of his eyes. According to his small alarm clock on his dresser, he had been asleep for roughly nine hours, but it felt like he had just closed his eyes five minutes ago.

After a moment's thought, he remembered his beloved novel that had wrapped him up the previous night. Lazily he slid his hand down his mattress and it hit his cold, cream-colored bedroom wall. His arm bent at an awkward angle as he blindly searched for the book under his bed.

Cliff Pollux was not one to be afraid of anything. He was never afraid of rustles he heard in bushes or trees, and did not feel vulnerable in darkness or empty alleys or even city streets. Many called Cliff fearless. And he was, because he was convinced there was nothing to be afraid of.

Which is why he felt very conflicted when another hand under the bed grabbed his own.

Cliff felt the hand shaking. It was also sweating profusely. He could feel a fast, heavy pulse pumping through the hand's veins. Cliff's thoughts whirred like a blender in his head. He didn't know what to do. So after what felt like hours of lying there on his bed, he craned his neck to at least see the hand that was clenched in his, and maybe a body and a face that was attached to it, too.

But when the hand was in Cliff's field of vision, it had turned to stone.