? The Plague of the Shadow Usul
Chapter 6: Less Than 21,600 Seconds
It was a mysterious and stormy night. Trista sat on her couch, thinking. Her thoughts dwelled only on
two people, two pets, yet it was confusing. Her head was screaming at her heart. Her head fought for Denver.
So young, so mysterious. . .he was perfect for her no matter the gender. But her heart shouted at the top of its
lungs that choosing Denver would be the wrong decision, as another had patiently waited for her affection.
She heard a knock at the door. She looked at her watch. It was 12:00 a.m.
"Who could that be?" Trista asked herself. She walked to the door and opened it slowly. Denver was
standing out in the rain.
"Denver!" Trista screamed and opened the door wide. Trista ran and hugged him. He didn't hug her
back, which was weird. She felt his back. . . and stepped back in horror. Denver fell to the floor, a dagger
shoved into his back. Suddenly, the Shadow Usul emerged, showing several other daggers in her hands.
"Die Scum!" Shadow Gazer shouted. . . and fell to the floor, on top of Denver. Trista looked down at
Shadow Gazer, and looked out the door. There, stood Ashton. He was holding a pair of lock cutters in his
hands.
"Ashton!"
"Trista!" Trista ran to Ashton, with tears of joy flowing off her cheeks. He grabbed her shoulders and
ran his fingers through her mane, and. . .
Trista jolted awake. She was in bed. There were no dead bodies on her front porch, and it was 4:30
a.m. on the 24th of Christmas. She sighed and pulled back her bed covers, stumbling onto her floor. She
ambled into her bathroom, tripping over her slippers. The mirror revealed that her face was not at it's best.
She grabbed a wash cloth and began to wash the eyeliner off her face. She reapplied her other makeup, and
quickly got into her Christmas clothing. She knew what she had to do. Her dreams tended to mean
something. And if she wasn't mistaken, Denver was going to die very soon. She ran outside, and mounted her
scooter. Denver's apartment complex wasn't too far away, only about a block, and she quickly rode down her
street, desperately thinking of how she was going to approach the subject of his death with Denver.
4:31, 4:35, 4:40. . . . It seemed forever since Trista had the horrid dream, but she finally arrived at
Denver's apartment complex. Trista slid in front of the building, and threw her scooter down, not caring if it
was locked. She galloped toward room 213, his room. She turned the a blind corner, and the most appalling
smell wafted through her unexpecting nose. She gagged, and took an reluctant breath, thinking of Denver.
Denver's door was a crack open, and it appeared to be the source of the reeking air. Trista managed to take
another breath, and yelled at the top of her lungs, barging into the room, "Denver?!" She looked at the wall,
and vomited all over Denver's wood floors. Denver, or at least his remainders were pinned to the wall. On the
ground were hiss rotting liver, heart, and stomach. His brains had been strewn across the floor and, heaven
forbid, gnawed on. His eyeballs had a hole through the pupils, and had rolled a foot away from his "body".
His head was lying on the ground, a look of extreme pain etched across the rest of his face. His large
intestines were strewn across his kitchen table ,and a note was scribbled onto a napkin, in a ring of his blood.
Trista walked over to the table, grabbed the note, then ran from the room. She ran, and ran, until she had left
Denver, her scooter, and all the horrid memories far behind.
Tears were streaming down from her wide eyes. She sat in Neopia Central, looking at the clouds. A
siren rang out, and Trista assumed she was no longer the only one who had smelt Denver's defeat. Her dream
was true . The Shadow Usul had killed Denver. She looked at the note for the first time. To her horror, it was
written in his blood. It read,
"To whoever reads this first,
Your friend has past. 5 more shall die when the Christmas Eve clock strikes 9:00. No survivors.
Neopia will fall.
No survivors.
SG"
Trista stared at the note. The cards. The cards were the key. Only 5 other people had bought the cards.
3 of them were her close friends, 1 was a mystery, and the other. . .was herself. She cried. There was no escape
for anyone. Shadow Gazer would kill until she was the only pet. Trista got up. Sarina. She had to tell Sarina.
Trista walked the lonely path to Sarina's house. Pets stood around in merriment. She seemed to be the
only one on the street that was real. Everything and everyone else were like paintings, paintings in a museum.
Trista wanted to rip through the canvas and join the others, but found that her legs only moved towards Sarina's
house. 10, 20, 30 minutes later, Trista and Sarina sat outside on Sarina's porch.
"He's. . . . You're sure?" Sarina asked, staring off into the paintings herself.
"There's no question. His remains were all over the place." Trista pulled out the note. "This was on his
kitchen table." Sarina took the napkin and read to herself.
"Five more. . . . but. . . . who-"
"The card owners" Trista answered, "Sarina, that's us. . " Sarina looked into her pocket. She pulled out
the Special Edition card.
"But that's only four. You, Me, Ashton, and Richard. Whose the fifth?" Sarina asked, a little panicked.
"I don't-" There was a siren. Sarina and Trista listened intently as an ambulance past Sarina's house in a
blur. Trista could barely pull out the words from the Walkie-talkie, "Victim: Toy Master. . . " before the
ambulance tore past Sarina's house, and down the street at 70 mph.
"Well, that just leaves us four" Trista answered Sarina.
" At 9:00 p.m.? That's in-" Sarina looked at her watch, "6 hours!"
"Well, that gives us 21,600 seconds to figure out how to stop Shadow Gazer from killing-" but Trista
was interrupted. Sarina had grabbed onto her arm.
"Trista, what if Shadow Gazer already got-"
"Let's go!" Trista said, figuring out the rest of the sentence in her head. Trista ran down onto the street.
She looked to her left, and sighed in relief.
"Thank God!" Ashton and Richard walked up to Trista.
"Trista, Denver. . . I Saw.. He's" Ashton began.
"I know" Trista cut him off.
"Let's think about this somewhere else" Richard said, holding a sobbing Sarina in his arms.
"There's no where to run, Richard. We're the final 4. The final four that are going to die with a
warning. If Shadow Gazer kills us all, She'll continue without warning until all the pets in Neopia are dead."
Richard began to play with his feet. Ashton looked at Trista's face, and he was suddenly filled with rage beyond
any he had experienced before. He walked over to Sarina's deck and stood up on a chair. Trista , Sarina, and
Richard looked up at him, as he began to shout at the top of his lungs:
"No one messes with us. Shadow Gazer's goin' down!"
Chapter 6: Less Than 21,600 Seconds
It was a mysterious and stormy night. Trista sat on her couch, thinking. Her thoughts dwelled only on
two people, two pets, yet it was confusing. Her head was screaming at her heart. Her head fought for Denver.
So young, so mysterious. . .he was perfect for her no matter the gender. But her heart shouted at the top of its
lungs that choosing Denver would be the wrong decision, as another had patiently waited for her affection.
She heard a knock at the door. She looked at her watch. It was 12:00 a.m.
"Who could that be?" Trista asked herself. She walked to the door and opened it slowly. Denver was
standing out in the rain.
"Denver!" Trista screamed and opened the door wide. Trista ran and hugged him. He didn't hug her
back, which was weird. She felt his back. . . and stepped back in horror. Denver fell to the floor, a dagger
shoved into his back. Suddenly, the Shadow Usul emerged, showing several other daggers in her hands.
"Die Scum!" Shadow Gazer shouted. . . and fell to the floor, on top of Denver. Trista looked down at
Shadow Gazer, and looked out the door. There, stood Ashton. He was holding a pair of lock cutters in his
hands.
"Ashton!"
"Trista!" Trista ran to Ashton, with tears of joy flowing off her cheeks. He grabbed her shoulders and
ran his fingers through her mane, and. . .
Trista jolted awake. She was in bed. There were no dead bodies on her front porch, and it was 4:30
a.m. on the 24th of Christmas. She sighed and pulled back her bed covers, stumbling onto her floor. She
ambled into her bathroom, tripping over her slippers. The mirror revealed that her face was not at it's best.
She grabbed a wash cloth and began to wash the eyeliner off her face. She reapplied her other makeup, and
quickly got into her Christmas clothing. She knew what she had to do. Her dreams tended to mean
something. And if she wasn't mistaken, Denver was going to die very soon. She ran outside, and mounted her
scooter. Denver's apartment complex wasn't too far away, only about a block, and she quickly rode down her
street, desperately thinking of how she was going to approach the subject of his death with Denver.
4:31, 4:35, 4:40. . . . It seemed forever since Trista had the horrid dream, but she finally arrived at
Denver's apartment complex. Trista slid in front of the building, and threw her scooter down, not caring if it
was locked. She galloped toward room 213, his room. She turned the a blind corner, and the most appalling
smell wafted through her unexpecting nose. She gagged, and took an reluctant breath, thinking of Denver.
Denver's door was a crack open, and it appeared to be the source of the reeking air. Trista managed to take
another breath, and yelled at the top of her lungs, barging into the room, "Denver?!" She looked at the wall,
and vomited all over Denver's wood floors. Denver, or at least his remainders were pinned to the wall. On the
ground were hiss rotting liver, heart, and stomach. His brains had been strewn across the floor and, heaven
forbid, gnawed on. His eyeballs had a hole through the pupils, and had rolled a foot away from his "body".
His head was lying on the ground, a look of extreme pain etched across the rest of his face. His large
intestines were strewn across his kitchen table ,and a note was scribbled onto a napkin, in a ring of his blood.
Trista walked over to the table, grabbed the note, then ran from the room. She ran, and ran, until she had left
Denver, her scooter, and all the horrid memories far behind.
Tears were streaming down from her wide eyes. She sat in Neopia Central, looking at the clouds. A
siren rang out, and Trista assumed she was no longer the only one who had smelt Denver's defeat. Her dream
was true . The Shadow Usul had killed Denver. She looked at the note for the first time. To her horror, it was
written in his blood. It read,
"To whoever reads this first,
Your friend has past. 5 more shall die when the Christmas Eve clock strikes 9:00. No survivors.
Neopia will fall.
No survivors.
SG"
Trista stared at the note. The cards. The cards were the key. Only 5 other people had bought the cards.
3 of them were her close friends, 1 was a mystery, and the other. . .was herself. She cried. There was no escape
for anyone. Shadow Gazer would kill until she was the only pet. Trista got up. Sarina. She had to tell Sarina.
Trista walked the lonely path to Sarina's house. Pets stood around in merriment. She seemed to be the
only one on the street that was real. Everything and everyone else were like paintings, paintings in a museum.
Trista wanted to rip through the canvas and join the others, but found that her legs only moved towards Sarina's
house. 10, 20, 30 minutes later, Trista and Sarina sat outside on Sarina's porch.
"He's. . . . You're sure?" Sarina asked, staring off into the paintings herself.
"There's no question. His remains were all over the place." Trista pulled out the note. "This was on his
kitchen table." Sarina took the napkin and read to herself.
"Five more. . . . but. . . . who-"
"The card owners" Trista answered, "Sarina, that's us. . " Sarina looked into her pocket. She pulled out
the Special Edition card.
"But that's only four. You, Me, Ashton, and Richard. Whose the fifth?" Sarina asked, a little panicked.
"I don't-" There was a siren. Sarina and Trista listened intently as an ambulance past Sarina's house in a
blur. Trista could barely pull out the words from the Walkie-talkie, "Victim: Toy Master. . . " before the
ambulance tore past Sarina's house, and down the street at 70 mph.
"Well, that just leaves us four" Trista answered Sarina.
" At 9:00 p.m.? That's in-" Sarina looked at her watch, "6 hours!"
"Well, that gives us 21,600 seconds to figure out how to stop Shadow Gazer from killing-" but Trista
was interrupted. Sarina had grabbed onto her arm.
"Trista, what if Shadow Gazer already got-"
"Let's go!" Trista said, figuring out the rest of the sentence in her head. Trista ran down onto the street.
She looked to her left, and sighed in relief.
"Thank God!" Ashton and Richard walked up to Trista.
"Trista, Denver. . . I Saw.. He's" Ashton began.
"I know" Trista cut him off.
"Let's think about this somewhere else" Richard said, holding a sobbing Sarina in his arms.
"There's no where to run, Richard. We're the final 4. The final four that are going to die with a
warning. If Shadow Gazer kills us all, She'll continue without warning until all the pets in Neopia are dead."
Richard began to play with his feet. Ashton looked at Trista's face, and he was suddenly filled with rage beyond
any he had experienced before. He walked over to Sarina's deck and stood up on a chair. Trista , Sarina, and
Richard looked up at him, as he began to shout at the top of his lungs:
"No one messes with us. Shadow Gazer's goin' down!"