Prologue
'Running. Always running, from IT. From fear. We cannot face what scares us most, what brings us almost to tears. So we run from it. How foolish are we, to run? But I did. I ran.
What had I seen, to make me run? It gets dark so quickly out here, you see. A relaxing woodland walk soon develops into a flee for dear life. And all because of fear. It was odd, what I'd seen. Well, more than odd. If you'd seen it, you'd have run. It was death, Satan himself in physical form. Oh god, why? Why does it want me? I pray, if anybody should read this note, escape while you can. Escape NOW or it will come for you. No one should suffer through what I have. He… It… That face.
It's close now. I can feel it. The constant ringing, make it stop. MAKE IT STOP! It's going to find me. Find me and kill me. I'm not safe anymore. It's too late for me now.'
A.S
Chapter 1
The familiar sound of a boiling kettle broke the silence of the kitchen. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, and the creak of an old, wooden door. A veiny, grey hand grasped at the kettle, and lifted it from it's stand. The hand then took the kettle to a plain, beige mug and poured the boiling liquid in. The mug was then lifted from the counter where it rested, leaving a rather annoying ring stain in it's place.
Jerome Yales was a middle–aged man, quite tall, with short, brown hair and dry, colourless lips. He lacked many distinguishing features, save for his unusually vibrant green eyes. Even the whites of them had an unnerving lime tint.
He sat down on his own, much as he had every day for many years past, and reached for the TV remote. He turned on his television set and changed it to the usual channel, TBT news. Trosking Broadcast Television was one of the few TV channels that Jerome liked. He'd always felt that the TBT news told everything as it was, no stretching the truth, no exaggeration. Also, he had a particular soft spot for their announcer, who sure enough greeted the audience as always.
"Good morning, and welcome to TBT news. On today's show: Syawliar and Swayrail Railways division announce that they will be disbanding the division's staff next year unless their deal with Ashbridge Co goes through. Troops overseas may finally be returning to Jarney as soon as next week after surrender from the opposition, following over 13 years of conflict. And local boy James Stoker disappeared missing last night, not three weeks after his father Alan was…"
It was here that Jerome changed the channel to something more… cheerful. He'd been at the Stoker household just last night, so he already new all too well what had happened.
He stood up and returned to the kitchen to poor away his coffee. Suddenly, he didn't feel so thirsty. Then it began. He started to feel slightly nauseas, and his skin had become even more grey and colourless than it was already. An icy chill washed over his entire body. He began to twitch, and his eyes lost their tint. Without hesitation, he collapsed to his knees and started to gasp for breath desperately. His windpipe was slowly closing up. He fumbled around madly in his pockets until he could not go on any more. Looking up, Jerome saw an ominous figure standing at the bottom of his garden. Then, he fell silent on the floor.
When he came round, Jerome was lying in his dressing gown on the kitchen floor. He had no memory of how he had gotten there, or what had happened at all since he had woken up that morning. He slowly rose to his feet, and went to his answering machine, which was bearing a new message. He hesitantly pressed the button to listen to the message.
"Yales! I don't know what you're playing at, but I've been trying to reach your mobile all morning. You'd better get over to the Stoker residence immediately, unless of course you want to be off the force."
With a great sigh, Jerome dragged himself upstairs to get changed for work. He really wanted nothing more to do with the Stoker case, but it was his job, after all.