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writing_shadows He pulled the collar of his coat up, closer around his neck as he hurried through the dark and foggy streets.
"I hate these big American cities," he thought to himself as he rounded a corner into a desolate park. In the distance he heard the toiling of a bell marking the start of the next day, and then closer to home, the clinking of rusty chains. Straining his eyes through the dark, his sense of calm was unruffled by the sight of the slowly swinging and abandoned swing, morosely swaying sentinel in the gloom.
"Well, what do we 'ave 'ere then, boys? Some pretty boy, all dolled up and on our turf?" The voice was close behind him, he could feel the heat of the speaker's breath on his neck. Languidly, he turned round to regard the gang that was emerging from the fog, casually swinging lengths of pipe or twirling chains in their hands.
"Well?" The clear leader, scared and bundled up in the thickest puffer jacket. He carried no pipe and swung no chain, but his fingers were studded with rings, encrusted with some dry and flaking red substance. "What do you say, boys? Do we show this nancy boy what you get for walking through here at night or just take his money, and those fancy shoes of his?" He grins, showing nicotine stained and battered teeth, and looked round at his compatriots.
"Yeah, show him who's boss, boss!" One of the gang called out, enthusiastically thwacking his pipe into his hand. "Yeah, show him!" came the chorus of several others.
The man, still remaining abnormally calm seemed to regard the discussion with a dispassionate air. "My Lord God will protect me from you if you lay a finger on me."
The leader turned his grin back to regard the interloper and then without pausing lashed out his closed right fist to smash in his nose. With a sickening crunch, the bones moved and vessels within the delicate membranes burst asunder and sent their precious, precious vital fluids flying.
The man stumbled backward a step, sinking to one knee as he did. Then he looked up, grinning slightly manically. "You fools. My Lord comes now..." Then he convulsed and threw his arms wide, and his head back. The gang paused, confused.
Stillness fell over the city for a moment, and then, with a sigh like the wind through the trees in a lonely mountain path, the fog convulsed and billowed outward from the man. His flesh rippled and glistened in the dark like oil: oil which seemed to pull forward from his skin rather than down to the ground. Forward, pulling itself out and up into the form of a man, no a demon, dressed in a perfectly neat black suit, a pencil thin red tie the only break to this uniformity. The red of the tie, and the pale whiteness of his doll like features.
He stepped forward another step, his very presence swelling up and washing out over the thugs. "You would dare lay a finger on my chosen one?" His voice was soft, but with a grating nasal twang and he finished the question with a nervous, no manic, giggle. The onlookers stared open mouthed, Awed by his presence and listening with rapt attention.
"You, dogs, will," he paused to giggle again, "will pay for this insult against our person." He giggled again, slightly breathlessly.
"KNEEL." If his last touch on their emotions had been the velvet glove, the wave of his Sovereign power that now washed out over them grabbed them by the scrap of the neck and pushed their faces into the floor. They could no more think of disobeying this new master than they could have tried to harm him.
"Come, Francis." He held out a hand to the man that knelt still where he had since the stranger had burst forth from him. "Come, let us take our friends for a little ... ride." Helping the ghoul to his feet, the doll-faced man paused, and then in one superhumanly fluid motion, snarling and fangs bared, pulled the handle of his walking stick apart and rammed the point of the concealed sword through the mouth of the gang leader who looked briefly surprised, before sliding backward off the sword to crumple on the ground.
"There is only room for one of us to be in charge here..." He giggled again, as the rain began to fall and the rest of the gang sat watching him adoringly.
"I hate these big American cities," he thought to himself as he rounded a corner into a desolate park. In the distance he heard the toiling of a bell marking the start of the next day, and then closer to home, the clinking of rusty chains. Straining his eyes through the dark, his sense of calm was unruffled by the sight of the slowly swinging and abandoned swing, morosely swaying sentinel in the gloom.
"Well, what do we 'ave 'ere then, boys? Some pretty boy, all dolled up and on our turf?" The voice was close behind him, he could feel the heat of the speaker's breath on his neck. Languidly, he turned round to regard the gang that was emerging from the fog, casually swinging lengths of pipe or twirling chains in their hands.
"Well?" The clear leader, scared and bundled up in the thickest puffer jacket. He carried no pipe and swung no chain, but his fingers were studded with rings, encrusted with some dry and flaking red substance. "What do you say, boys? Do we show this nancy boy what you get for walking through here at night or just take his money, and those fancy shoes of his?" He grins, showing nicotine stained and battered teeth, and looked round at his compatriots.
"Yeah, show him who's boss, boss!" One of the gang called out, enthusiastically thwacking his pipe into his hand. "Yeah, show him!" came the chorus of several others.
The man, still remaining abnormally calm seemed to regard the discussion with a dispassionate air. "My Lord God will protect me from you if you lay a finger on me."
The leader turned his grin back to regard the interloper and then without pausing lashed out his closed right fist to smash in his nose. With a sickening crunch, the bones moved and vessels within the delicate membranes burst asunder and sent their precious, precious vital fluids flying.
The man stumbled backward a step, sinking to one knee as he did. Then he looked up, grinning slightly manically. "You fools. My Lord comes now..." Then he convulsed and threw his arms wide, and his head back. The gang paused, confused.
Stillness fell over the city for a moment, and then, with a sigh like the wind through the trees in a lonely mountain path, the fog convulsed and billowed outward from the man. His flesh rippled and glistened in the dark like oil: oil which seemed to pull forward from his skin rather than down to the ground. Forward, pulling itself out and up into the form of a man, no a demon, dressed in a perfectly neat black suit, a pencil thin red tie the only break to this uniformity. The red of the tie, and the pale whiteness of his doll like features.
He stepped forward another step, his very presence swelling up and washing out over the thugs. "You would dare lay a finger on my chosen one?" His voice was soft, but with a grating nasal twang and he finished the question with a nervous, no manic, giggle. The onlookers stared open mouthed, Awed by his presence and listening with rapt attention.
"You, dogs, will," he paused to giggle again, "will pay for this insult against our person." He giggled again, slightly breathlessly.
"KNEEL." If his last touch on their emotions had been the velvet glove, the wave of his Sovereign power that now washed out over them grabbed them by the scrap of the neck and pushed their faces into the floor. They could no more think of disobeying this new master than they could have tried to harm him.
"Come, Francis." He held out a hand to the man that knelt still where he had since the stranger had burst forth from him. "Come, let us take our friends for a little ... ride." Helping the ghoul to his feet, the doll-faced man paused, and then in one superhumanly fluid motion, snarling and fangs bared, pulled the handle of his walking stick apart and rammed the point of the concealed sword through the mouth of the gang leader who looked briefly surprised, before sliding backward off the sword to crumple on the ground.
"There is only room for one of us to be in charge here..." He giggled again, as the rain began to fall and the rest of the gang sat watching him adoringly.
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