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Lost Legends Art
Category:
Horror
Publisher: RoseDog
ISBN-10: 9780805979749
Type: Fiction
Pages: 226
Copyright: April 1, 2008
Nihility - Nothingness, Nonexsistance
For many residents that's exactly what the city was, a cess pool of violence and crime where many struggled just to survive. Perhaps they should have just called it Hell? But for Andy Arkine this was home. Being orphaned at birth, he bounced between good and bad foster homes. Always ending up back in the orphanage until he finally turned eighteen and signed up with the army. Of course, army life was no walk in the park either. In Vietnam he learned how to survive and how to kill. After returning to the United States he decided he would pursue his one true passion, he wanted to be a police officer. Getting through the academy was the easy part.
Andy finds himself face to face with creatures of legend and myth. He knows they are real, but in true cop fashion, he has to prove that they are real. Most of his fellow officers believe he is insane, even his partner begins to question Andy's motives. Further inhibiting his investigative efforts is a nasty little illness known as cancer. Andy knew that death was never been far behind him. Now he is racing the clock, trying to bring to light what has always hid in darkness. Vampires are very real, very deadly, and very hard to catch. The question becomes, who is hunting who? There is a fine line between life and death, good and evil, the line that vampires walk.
Excerpt
The lights flashed across the buildings in a rhythmic, hypnotic way. The boy stayed low to the ground. If they spotted him, they would take him home. Being escorted home by police officers would not please his foster parents. Lately, they'd seemed distressed when he was around. He couldn't blame them though, he was a hard kid to deal with. In fact, he'd lost count of the number of times that he'd been returned to the orphanage.
Stiffling a yelp as his elbow impacted the brick wall next to him, he flattened against the ground. Peering under the dumpster he watched as a pair of polished black shoes went by. After the sounds of the shoes faded, he slowly sat up and rubbed his elbow.
Another bruise that his foster parents would fret over. Closing his eyes, he sucked the cool night air into his lungs. What do I tell them this time? Nothing, I'll just shrug and say it happened on the playground. That problem solved, he edged his head back around the dumpster. He watched as two men dressed in suits, walked to the middle of the road. They stopped next to the white sheet, covering the body. These must be the detectives.
One of them crouched down, carefully lifting the sheet. The man gestered under the sheet with his pen. The boy moved further around the dumpster, straining to hear what was being said. His heart pounded against his ribs, as he inched closer to the mouth of the alley. If anyone walked by now they'd see him for sure. But he had to know why there wasn't any blood. He'd seen the corpse, before they'd put the sheet over it. The man's head was shattered, as if he'd dived off a building. The road should have been covered in blood, but it wasn't.
His eyes flicked from the body to the surrounding area. Several patrol officers stood guard at the crime scene tape. It stretched across both lanes, blocking off both directions of traffic. He could see several reporters leaning far over the tape, their cameras snapping wildly. The boy snickered. All they had to do was use the sewers and come up through the manhole. Of course, that would mean getting their expensive suits and shoes dirty.
"You know, boy, if you stay there long enough someone will see you."
His breath caught in his throat as a wave of fear passed through his body. Was it the cop? Had the man just pretended to walk away? Beads of sweat spotted his face, despite the chilled air. He wanted to turn and run but his legs just wouldn't respond.
"I could valk," he paused, "walk over, and tell them you are hiding here." His voice, cold as the night air, held a hint of amusement.
Who is this guy? He wasn't stupid, he'd caught that the man tried to cover up an accent. It wasn't one that he recognized though.
"Vhery well, have it your way." He stepped away from the building.
The boy expected a bum, maybe a reporter. What he didn't expect was someone who looked as if he had stepped out of a fairy tale book. The man's black, leather riding boots shimmered with each pass of the flashing lights. His coat, also black in color, extended just past his knees. It was beautifully embroidered with gold trim. His hair was light blonde and perfectly braided, the tip lightly brushed his ankles.
"Wait!" The boy called out anxiously, while trying to keep his voice low.
Stopping he turned to face the boy, crossing his arms in front of his chest. The shadows kept the man's face from being seen, but they didn't keep the light from glistening off his eyes. He felt like the man was looking straight into his soul. His stomach muscles clenched, as fear tightened its grasp. The man took one step forward, the shadows falling away from his face. He was strickingly handsome, there were no other words to describe him. His lips moved slightly, then he flashed the boy a wicked grin.
Pushing off the wall he dashed to the manhole, fear driving his legs as fast as they could move. A couple of rungs down the ladder he lept off, knowing the floor was only a few feet lower. The murky water splashed up around his ankles, as if trying to grab hold of him, but he was too fast. Glancing over his shoulder, the light from the manhole quickly faded.
His footfalls echoed down the concrete tunnel. He found some comfort from the noise, it meant he was getting farther away from that man. His left foot caught sending him crashing to the floor.
Pain rocketed through is mind, blinding all other senses. His eyes watered uncontrollably. What had happened? He leaned back against the wall realizing that the pain was coming from his nose. Pulling a Zippo out of his pocket, he worked the flint until it finally lit. He squeezed his nose lightly. Pain shot through is face and made his eyes water again. Yeah, it was probably broken.
Pulling his hand away, he saw the dark liquid running down his fingers. He sighed and leaning his head against the wall. His foster parents were going to throw a fit. It was possible that he could sneak back in without them knowing, but how would he explain the broken nose? Looking back down at his shirt, he could see where blood was sinking into the fabric. A wave of regret washed over him. It was one of the few nice shirts he owned. There was no time to waste. He had to get home and get cleaned up.
Setting his hand down to push himself up, he felt something soft, but firm. What in the hell is this? He turned to look, the flame from the Zippo his only source of light. The flickering light seemed to be swallowed by the eyeless sockets of the skull. Flesh still clung to most of the head and neck. His scream echoed down the tunnel as he quickly removed his hand from the corpse. Scrambling to his feet, he back away a few steps then turned and ran. He didn't look back; he didn't want to see it again.
The Zippo nearly went out, forcing him to slow down to a jog. A few yards later he slowed to a walk. He could see this tunnel had come to an end. Relief flooded through him. He knew there was a pool, some twenty feet below. This particular tunnel didn't have a ladder near it, but there was a ledge about four inches wide, that he could reach. It ran all the way around the room. If he was careful, he could inch his way over to the ladder. He just had to reach one of the tunnels farther up, he could get to the manhole near his foster parents' home.
His body trembled as the adrinaline continued to surge through his veins. He didn't need to be shaking while trying to tight-rope walk along a four inch ledge. Closing the Zippo, he braced his hands on his knees and bent over pulling large gulps of air into his lungs. His heart beat slowed, with it the pounding in his ears faded. Yet, he could still hear something, a rumbling noise.
Traffic from the street above? The boy frowned. He'd never noticed that sound before and it was getting louder. Standing up straight, he flicked the Zippo back on. What the hell is that? He strained to hear, the rumbling sound now deafening. His eyes widened, as he spun around.
The corpse slammed into him with the full weight of the water behind it. They shot out of the tunnel and performed a grotesque dive of body parts, some alive some not, into the pool below. The force of the water and the added weight of the corpse quickly pushed him down to the bottom. He opened his eyes. The skull grinned down at him. He wanted to scream again. His only saving grace was instinct; drowning was not the way to go.
Desperate, he pushed and kicked at the body until he finally freed himself. His lungs were beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen. The boy quickly swam for the surface. His assent was halted abruptly; he couldn't move his right foot. Looking down, he saw a bony hand laying over the top of his foot. He kicked feverishly at it and at last was free again.
Bursting from the water, he gasped for air. The water felt like thousands of needles, boring their way into his skin. His nose throbbed, he'd be lucky if it didn't get infected. His eyes darted from one wall to the next, finally spotting a ladder that he could reach. He swam towards it just wanting to get out, to get away from this place. He stopped, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
There were only a few times that he could remember having a feeling like this. It wasn't just creepy, it was the sense of impending doom. He slowly turned his head, looking over his shoulder. His eyes widened and a scream of pure terror ripped from his throat as the boney hand reached out.
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