Old Man

With apologies to all, here is my contribution to the Scarevella. Links will have to be inserted later, as I've got to leave right now. Time hasn't been friendly this week (I've not even the time for a rough draft). While nowhere near as scary as I'd have liked, I hope it set the table for Amelie to follow up.

Chrissy kicked it off with Chapter One.
Lolly had Chapter Two.
Phoenix delivered Chapter Three.
Next week, Amelie will wrap this story up next week.

Here it be...

Old Man

In the violent fury of the storm, a form could be seen making its way through the heavy night. It moved with purpose, and strength, seemingly effortlessly. Forsaking the safety of the road, it cut through the woods, unhindered by deadfalls, and the marshy forest floor.

A bright flash of lighting, bringing daylight to night, revealed the face of the figure. Cold eyes, which either had lights dancing in their depths or were reflecting the lightning above, outlined with deep wrinkles. Skin, with little muscle tissue remaining underneath, draped over a skull that looked eerily inhuman in the flashes of the storm. Inhuman and ancient.

“I must get there before the little one causes more trouble,� the old man muttered to himself

He was known as Bastien, and though he lived in the area, no one could tell you exactly where he resided. He just seemed to appear and disappear. Some thought him a holy man, and others, evil. Some thought he was a shaman, and others, simply crazy. It was rumored that he spoke with the dead… and the “others.� All knew that, when a loved one was in torment or on their death bed, they could call on Bastien to settle them and send them on their way peacefully. However, Bastien never needed to be called. He was simply there. While he was respected for his talents, he was a man feared.

It had always been so. His own mother had left him with the priest when he was but 3 years old, afraid of his “visitors.� Especially on nights like this one. While Father Laframboise did his best to work with his young charge, he was a bit wary. Bastien’s gift was not demonic, but it wasn’t considered godly, either. With the things he knew, and his ability to communicate beyond this world, it was no wonder that folks were afraid of young Bastien.

Like young Pascal Niette, he too had been drawn to the power and darkness of the storms. He had also been sickly, and now suffered from arthritis that crippled him, but when the storms gathered, or when someone was in need, he became as strong as the young man that he never was. Nothing slowed him on his errands…

The smell of decaying vegetation had been giving way to another scent, one that was beginning to be overpowering. The sweetly putrid smell of decaying flesh.

He’s begun his foolishness, Bastien thought as his hand unconsciously went to the crucifix and gris gris about his neck. He had seen so much with his “gift� that he denied no god. The more, the better, had been his philosophy. Tonight, he would need all who would hear him.

He remembered the first time that he had met with the Niettes and their young son. He had tried to explain that Pascal had a very special gift, and that they should not fear it, nor their son. The parents were obviously terrified, and his presence did not help matters. Fear breeds a quiet contempt in the heart of a boy, and seeing a person grovel before anyone brings about a perverse sense of power. Young Pascal had learned well, and he smiled smugly as Bastien tried to talk sense into the adults.

“The boy is passing judgment on his mother.� The voice came from the darkness all around him. “Best hurry, old man, if you hope to save anyone.�

Ahead, he could see the outline of the Lafleur house. He began to run. Shadows began to tear at his legs, trying to slow him down, but he was too strong to be hindered.

As he came into the house’s clearing, he saw Lady Niette and Corrine running from the house, with the boy’s laughter following. The laughter of a very young boy, it sounded as if he were playing with a toy, until he called in a soft sing-song, “Come on back, Ma mere. Your turn!� Then Pascal stepped out onto the porch, with shadows, too many, following on his heels. His voice changed. “Time to pay for your sins!�

Bastien spoke, “Hold, Pascal… you shall judge no one.�

Posted by That 1 Guy at August 12, 2006 11:13 AM | TrackBack