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First Sight: A d20 Modern Story Hour (Updated 01-03-2008)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lamprolign" data-source="post: 400720" data-attributes="member: 7860"><p><em>I seem to recognize your face, </em></p><p><em>Haunting familiar yet I can’t seem to place it.</em> </p><p></p><p>- Pearl Jam, <em>Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Store</em></p><p></p><p>Gabe stood silently, mouth agape. He had never hallucinated before. It had been a hallucination, of course. Just something brought on by the stench of the scene, lack of sleep, and bad Chinese take-out. There was really no other explanation.</p><p></p><p>His eyes traced the path of the faint scuffs etched in the hardwood floor of the hallway from the threshold of the devastation to the staircase. “Where are the boys in blue?” Gabe wondered aloud. They should have been mucking around all over the place, despoiling evidence, scratching their asses. Not this time. </p><p></p><p>“Uch, what a mess.” </p><p></p><p>Gabe whirled at the sound of the voice, his hands clenched into fists. Jack Casey often admonished him to carry a sidearm, and in that instant Gabe wished he had listened.</p><p></p><p>“Whoa there, Raging Bull! Take it down a thousand.” Chris Ebbing grinned and snapped Gabe’s picture with his 35mm. The big flash blinded Gabe momentarily and left little lights to linger in his eyes. “Just me, your friendly neighborhood crime scene photographer.” </p><p> </p><p>Gabe dropped his fists self-consciously. Chris was several years younger than Gabe, in his mid twenties, tall and lanky with straight black hair. High cheekbones hinted at some Native American heritage. </p><p></p><p>“Yeah.” Gabe calmed slightly now that he had company. “Where the hell is everyone else?”</p><p></p><p>“On the way,” Chris answered. “Why are all the fuzz hanging outside?”</p><p></p><p>“Just wait here.” Gabe turned toward the shadowed staircase.</p><p> </p><p>Chris’s brow furrowed, but he made no move to follow. When Gabe was on the scent you stood back and watched him track. </p><p></p><p>Gabe paused at the first step. As with the entrance to the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Only the one room belied the event that had transpired here. The scuffs on the floor did not continue up the stairs. In the dim light, the pale brown strip of carpeting on the center of the stairs appeared well worn but without obvious marks. Gabe looked back to the marks on the floor, then up the staircase. He edged his way up. Gabe was halfway up the stairs when the pungent odor vanished, replaced by a familiar mustiness. Shadows coalesced, forming two figures at the top of the stairs.</p><p></p><p>“NO! We can’t do this on our own! This is too much for me to do alone! Please … wait until the Sister arrives, please!” A girl, not more than a teenager implored the man in the cardigan sweater. A trace of recognition flickered through Gabe’s mind only to be cast back into shadow.</p><p></p><p>“He’s asleep now. I won’t let him wake again, not after what he’s done.” The timid middle-aged man in the cardigan sweater stared at the girl with haunted eyes. “We have to do it now!” He turned towards the stairs.</p><p></p><p>Anticipating the man’s path, Gabe’s eyes stopped on a picture on the wall directly ahead and above him: a watercolor beach scene, very tranquil, waves crashing against a white beach where a thick grove of coconut palms waved in a tropical breeze. On a small table beneath this picture rested the carved bowl and polished wooden stylus. He looked from the bowl to the man in the cardigan. The eyes glowed a malignant yellow he had seen before.</p><p></p><p>Growling, the man spun. He seemed larger now, menacing. Deep guttural noises rumbled in his chest, sounds something like tortured words. He took a step toward the girl, body tensed like a lion ready to spring. </p><p></p><p>There was a cold determination in the girl’s blue eyes that chilled Gabe more than the man’s transformation. She clapped her hands together before her, evoking a wind that coursed through the narrow hallway, causing her snowy hair to writhe as if alive. The hem of her long black coat whipped violently about. She uttered a low keening wail that rose in pitch and volume, intensifying the phantom wind. </p><p></p><p>The man hesitated; he shook for a moment, grasping his head between both hands. A roar that shook Gabe to his core erupted from the man’s throat. He pounced at the girl with bestial vigor. A high clear note pierced Gabe’s head, dropping him to his knees. A bright pure light dazzled Gabe, followed by a carnal howl. </p><p></p><p>Two dull thuds on the wooden floor and the light was extinguished. Gabe saw the man slowly rising to his knees. Beyond him, the girl lay crumpled at the end of the hall. White drapes danced above her in the last gasps of the dying wind. </p><p> </p><p>The demoniacal beast was gone. In its stead, the timorous middle-aged man knelt in the hall, swaying from side to side, grasping his head. His eyes fixed on the girl’s prone form beneath the window. Gabe watched, half sprawled on the uppermost steps. </p><p></p><p>“Oh no.” The little man struggled to his feet and staggered to her. He extended a shaking hand and laid it on the side of her throat. A deep sigh of relief bowed his shoulders. He rose, his face was a mask of grim resolve. He retrieved the bowl and stylus and plodded down the stairs, taking no note of Gabe as he passed.</p><p></p><p>Gabe looked up into the darkened hallway. Shadows cast by the light in the entryway below played devilish tricks on Gabe’s senses. The icy claw grasping his spine threatened to rip it out, leaving him helpless on the floor. His mind railed against everything he had experienced and he squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief. A very small rustling sound at the end of the hall caught his attention. It took both hands on the stair railing for Gabe to stand. Legs threatening to buckle at any moment, Gabe moved slowly into the second floor hallway, toward the noise….</p><p></p><p>© 2002 Austin Hale</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lamprolign, post: 400720, member: 7860"] [I]I seem to recognize your face, Haunting familiar yet I can’t seem to place it.[/I] - Pearl Jam, [I]Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Store[/I] Gabe stood silently, mouth agape. He had never hallucinated before. It had been a hallucination, of course. Just something brought on by the stench of the scene, lack of sleep, and bad Chinese take-out. There was really no other explanation. His eyes traced the path of the faint scuffs etched in the hardwood floor of the hallway from the threshold of the devastation to the staircase. “Where are the boys in blue?” Gabe wondered aloud. They should have been mucking around all over the place, despoiling evidence, scratching their asses. Not this time. “Uch, what a mess.” Gabe whirled at the sound of the voice, his hands clenched into fists. Jack Casey often admonished him to carry a sidearm, and in that instant Gabe wished he had listened. “Whoa there, Raging Bull! Take it down a thousand.” Chris Ebbing grinned and snapped Gabe’s picture with his 35mm. The big flash blinded Gabe momentarily and left little lights to linger in his eyes. “Just me, your friendly neighborhood crime scene photographer.” Gabe dropped his fists self-consciously. Chris was several years younger than Gabe, in his mid twenties, tall and lanky with straight black hair. High cheekbones hinted at some Native American heritage. “Yeah.” Gabe calmed slightly now that he had company. “Where the hell is everyone else?” “On the way,” Chris answered. “Why are all the fuzz hanging outside?” “Just wait here.” Gabe turned toward the shadowed staircase. Chris’s brow furrowed, but he made no move to follow. When Gabe was on the scent you stood back and watched him track. Gabe paused at the first step. As with the entrance to the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Only the one room belied the event that had transpired here. The scuffs on the floor did not continue up the stairs. In the dim light, the pale brown strip of carpeting on the center of the stairs appeared well worn but without obvious marks. Gabe looked back to the marks on the floor, then up the staircase. He edged his way up. Gabe was halfway up the stairs when the pungent odor vanished, replaced by a familiar mustiness. Shadows coalesced, forming two figures at the top of the stairs. “NO! We can’t do this on our own! This is too much for me to do alone! Please … wait until the Sister arrives, please!” A girl, not more than a teenager implored the man in the cardigan sweater. A trace of recognition flickered through Gabe’s mind only to be cast back into shadow. “He’s asleep now. I won’t let him wake again, not after what he’s done.” The timid middle-aged man in the cardigan sweater stared at the girl with haunted eyes. “We have to do it now!” He turned towards the stairs. Anticipating the man’s path, Gabe’s eyes stopped on a picture on the wall directly ahead and above him: a watercolor beach scene, very tranquil, waves crashing against a white beach where a thick grove of coconut palms waved in a tropical breeze. On a small table beneath this picture rested the carved bowl and polished wooden stylus. He looked from the bowl to the man in the cardigan. The eyes glowed a malignant yellow he had seen before. Growling, the man spun. He seemed larger now, menacing. Deep guttural noises rumbled in his chest, sounds something like tortured words. He took a step toward the girl, body tensed like a lion ready to spring. There was a cold determination in the girl’s blue eyes that chilled Gabe more than the man’s transformation. She clapped her hands together before her, evoking a wind that coursed through the narrow hallway, causing her snowy hair to writhe as if alive. The hem of her long black coat whipped violently about. She uttered a low keening wail that rose in pitch and volume, intensifying the phantom wind. The man hesitated; he shook for a moment, grasping his head between both hands. A roar that shook Gabe to his core erupted from the man’s throat. He pounced at the girl with bestial vigor. A high clear note pierced Gabe’s head, dropping him to his knees. A bright pure light dazzled Gabe, followed by a carnal howl. Two dull thuds on the wooden floor and the light was extinguished. Gabe saw the man slowly rising to his knees. Beyond him, the girl lay crumpled at the end of the hall. White drapes danced above her in the last gasps of the dying wind. The demoniacal beast was gone. In its stead, the timorous middle-aged man knelt in the hall, swaying from side to side, grasping his head. His eyes fixed on the girl’s prone form beneath the window. Gabe watched, half sprawled on the uppermost steps. “Oh no.” The little man struggled to his feet and staggered to her. He extended a shaking hand and laid it on the side of her throat. A deep sigh of relief bowed his shoulders. He rose, his face was a mask of grim resolve. He retrieved the bowl and stylus and plodded down the stairs, taking no note of Gabe as he passed. Gabe looked up into the darkened hallway. Shadows cast by the light in the entryway below played devilish tricks on Gabe’s senses. The icy claw grasping his spine threatened to rip it out, leaving him helpless on the floor. His mind railed against everything he had experienced and he squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief. A very small rustling sound at the end of the hall caught his attention. It took both hands on the stair railing for Gabe to stand. Legs threatening to buckle at any moment, Gabe moved slowly into the second floor hallway, toward the noise…. © 2002 Austin Hale [/QUOTE]
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