The Fallowing – The Second, Part IV

Novel: Occult adventure

Well when I finally saw the shop, all that giddiness from heading there fell away into a black hole of ennui. You have no idea how anti-climatic it was. It was like opening a ten-year-old time capsule addressed directly to you only to find a handwritten note reading “Just kidding.” Not even empty, because that would be symbolic of something, of some emotion communicated over to you. No, this was disappointment of the highest order.

It looked like an antique shop. Green sign announcing “Antique Shop,” embossed metal and a relic itself. Teacups and spoons and baskets and lamps and ceramic angels clustered in the windows. I sneered at it through my binoculars from out a third-story window across and down the street.

“Is it in there?” I asked.

“Probably,” Sam said. “Is that killing you?”

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The Fallowing – The Second, Part III

I’ve decided that Sam uses bow and arrow.

Novel: Occult adventure

When we came downstairs into the bar, there was a commotion going on. Several men and a woman had abandoned their breakfast and were treating someone on the floor like a punching bag. Before I could interfere, the punching bag was picked up forcibly, dragged to the door, and tossed into the snow outside.

This person hardly seemed fazed by any of this treatment. They stood, stiffly but with speed, and turned back to the doorway of the bar. It was an old man dressed in tattered layers, like a beggar. His face held still more wrinkles than his clothes.

“My things,” he shouted. “Give me back my things.”

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The Fallowing – The Second, Part II

I have completed this chapter on paper; I just need to type it all.  So there will be many posts coming up.  There’s a lot of editing to be done, but I keep telling myself that’s why “Sawicki’s Early Drafts” is underneath the title of the webpage.

Novel: Occult adventure

“So what do we do now?” I said. “Go after it? You said it has other nests.”

We had left the place in silence, shouldered our packs in the lobby hurriedly, and walked from the building into the streets still trying to unshake our cores. Our conversation on the street had been absorbed in which road we should take and where to pass the evening. Our conversation in the bar danced around the topic of the monster we were after for some time, mainly concerning ourselves with what were our supplies and what did we need. Everything in that apartment had struck the deepest part of our souls, and even now we could still see those shadows out of the corners of our eyes and hear the note of the cello lying under the murmur of the bar slash inn we sat in.

“I said,” Sam grumbled over his drink, “that he has other homes. But I’m not so sure chasing him is the best option. He has too many homes. Even if we move on to the next one, he won’t be there.”

I frowned. “Then why did we come to this one?”

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