Smeared Black Ink

Sawicki's Early Drafts and Other Stuff

Month: August, 2015

The Fallowing – The Second, Part VII

Novel: Occult adventure

I climbed the front steps with caution, aware that each one was possibly leading to my doom. I turned the knob and pushed the door open with one hand, my other hand itching to take out my pistol but my mind fully aware that that would do no good. The monster would simply take it from me.

The front room was empty – of people anyway. The yellow light was coming from the next room, the kitchen area. I went forward, well aware of the noise every step I took made in the trash on the floor. In the dim light, the place felt more claustrophobic than ever. The boxes and magazines and broken furniture lining the walls felt like they were closing in on me the further I entered the house.

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The Fallowing – The Second, Part VI

Novel: Occult adventure

That night I walked down Copper Street, heading again towards Marx’s house. It seemed half the population was out in the street, shifting suspicious glances at each other and especially at me, looking over my coat and rifle, appraising how much Gehazi would give for them. Several fires were blazing in trash cans or in piles right on the ground. Usually one person to a fire, and over the ones that were shared the people stared at each other, distrusting as if one or the other would steal the fire itself.

A woman shuffled into my path. She was covered in rags hanging off and around her in strips. A large tattered hole was on her left shoulder and the skin showed through blue from the cold, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her face was young, but filthy. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

She smiled at me. “Your gloves are filthy, ma’am. Might I take them off you? They can’t be doing you any good.”

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The Fallowing – The Second, Part V

This was a write-to-get-out-of-writer’s-block session, so meh.

Novel: Occult adventure

We changed inns that day. Nothing more or less fancy than Ravens, as we couldn’t afford more and less would have been filled with fodder for what we were hunting. We couldn’t afford to be spotted.

I brooded over my beer, frowning at Sam. “So are you going to tell me why we gave away a perfectly good knife and watch?”

“We were there,” Sam answered. “In his belongings.”

“The garbage?”

“The owner of the garbage. He considers every one of his followers his. I want him to know we were there, messing with what’s his.”

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