Aloha, so somewhere in the dark catacombs of the internet you have found my story (Mwahahaha). Any who just to let you know this shall be accompanied with its own web-show which coincidently is also written by me. I have put an FQA below but if you have any other queries then just leave them in the reviews.
What the hell is Hallows Creek?
Hallows Creek is a small Louisianan town, just outside New Orleans and in the heart of the swamp land also the home to some very important supernatural slaying teenagers.
Okay, so what Genre is this then?
It's a Horror/Romance/Comedy.
Who created this masterpiece (joking)?
Well I did with some help from my friends. I must also add that I own the characters and plots; any resemblance to those alive or dead is purely coincidence.
And so it begins...
Prologue
Welcome To The Witching Hour
The wind wailed ominously through the swamps, the light from the moon illuminating the tree's casting an eerie shadow onto the water. In the darkness I could hear whispers coming from the shadows in the distance. I journeyed on, getting closer to the voices. The boat gave off a sudden jolt as it collided with a piece of drift wood knocking me slightly of course. As I ventured on I could just about make out a small clearing by the dock, lit by dancing flames.
I stepped onto the small dock cautiously; it was ancient with half the wood rotting away leaving holes and an unstable structure. It was a chilly autumn night; the clearing was decorated with an array of fiery coloured leaves. They'd made a circle in the clearing drawing a pentagram in black salt. I admired the symmetric of the perfect shapes. They had obviously done this before; it's always reassuring to know you're not working with armatures.
"You're late" she hissed pointing a finger at me accusingly. She began to circle round me giving me the once over. When she was satisfied she took her place at the top of the pentagram, everyone else finding their corner. Everything went silent; you could get the tension with a knife. We each glanced at each other waiting for her to speak.
"Hail to Nosferatu. The Madonna of those who have returned" She called out, the rest of us responding with a "hail thee" feeling both empowered and liberated.
"Hail to Nosferatu. The Madonna of those who have returned" she repeated a bit louder this time. "Hail thee" we cried.
"Hail to Nosferatu..." she was cut off by a sharp gust of wind circling us, in a whirlwind of leaves. This only caused her to shout louder, the wind getting increasingly stronger. I was beginning to lose my balance but nevertheless I carried on shouting "hail thee". Then with a bolt of lightning we were knocked to the ground, the clearing scorched and the leaves from the wind settling on top of us.
"I didn't work" she cried in agony, vulnerability showing in her eyes.
This only met one thing... She had returned.
