The town square. A surreal little place, where man-shaped -- but decidedly not human -- figures gathered to commune. A large fountain occupied the center of the town square, which was, in fact, circular; the place's name was just as honest as most of its inhabitants.
He stood near the center, leaning on the round edge of the fountain -- carefully, for he knew what kinds of terrible things happened to those that fell in and touched the lavender liquids inside of the fountain. He kept his head down and remained as still as he could, taking care not to attract the attention of the more malevolent townsfolk that passed through this place.
He didn't like meeting her here. He never had. He was a mortal, and didn't fit in here; only his black cloak, hood pulled down over his face, prevented him from attracting more than his fair share of stares. Waiting here, in the open, made him uneasy. It took all of his self-control to keep from looking around, anxiously, for her.
He felt long, bony fingers on his left shoulder. From above and to his left, he heard a woman's voice say, "Bєшaяє шнєи тнє мooи тυяиs яєd..."
He completed the rhyme: "...for those who see it end up dead."
"Чoυ яємємвєя," she said, a very faint note of satisfaction in her voice. "Taкє мч нaиd aиd ғolloш мє."
He obeyed the instruction, holding her cold, clammy right hand in his. The two ducked into an alleyway. She opened a door, and they went entered, the man carefully closing it after him.
He took off his hood, and looked at her for the first time in two years. She was a tall -- almost six feet -- figure, somewhat ghostly in her appearance. He noticed that she was hovering exactly one centimeter above the ground. The areas of her face between her mouth and scalp were bone, and looked as though the flesh and muscle had been torn clean off many years ago. The cavities in her skull, where her eyes used to be, had an eerie green glow. Her mouth was sealed with multiple metal staples; he briefly wondered how she'd managed to speak to him, before remembering that she spoke with thoughts rather than sound. Her hands were skeletal, with fingers much longer than that of a human.
He was much more ordinary in appearance: white, in his mid-forties, with dark hair of medium length and a five-o'clock shadow. His skin was deathly pale; the sun never shined in this haunted town.
"Чєs, iт's вєєи a шнilє, нasи'т iт?"
"What is it you need?" he asked, harshly.
Her lips, constrained by the staples, moved slightly; she appeared to be smiling, though he couldn't be sure. "Advicє," she answered him, a note of amusement in her voice.
"Advice? We both know how much I owe you... Something tells me you want more than just advice."
"Иoρє. Jυsт иєєd advicє."
"Right. Sure. What do you need to know?"
"Hoш do I gєт тo тнє Soυяcє?"
Immediately, his eyes widened in fear. He could feel his heartbeat racing, and feared that it could stop at any moment from the exertion. His head pounded, as though pulsating, as though being pushed outward by some expanding force within. His posture slackened, and his arms, which had been folded across his chest, weakened, and now hung limp at his sides.
"N-no way. I d-d-don't owe you th-that much!"
He stood near the center, leaning on the round edge of the fountain -- carefully, for he knew what kinds of terrible things happened to those that fell in and touched the lavender liquids inside of the fountain. He kept his head down and remained as still as he could, taking care not to attract the attention of the more malevolent townsfolk that passed through this place.
He didn't like meeting her here. He never had. He was a mortal, and didn't fit in here; only his black cloak, hood pulled down over his face, prevented him from attracting more than his fair share of stares. Waiting here, in the open, made him uneasy. It took all of his self-control to keep from looking around, anxiously, for her.
He felt long, bony fingers on his left shoulder. From above and to his left, he heard a woman's voice say, "Bєшaяє шнєи тнє мooи тυяиs яєd..."
He completed the rhyme: "...for those who see it end up dead."
"Чoυ яємємвєя," she said, a very faint note of satisfaction in her voice. "Taкє мч нaиd aиd ғolloш мє."
He obeyed the instruction, holding her cold, clammy right hand in his. The two ducked into an alleyway. She opened a door, and they went entered, the man carefully closing it after him.
He took off his hood, and looked at her for the first time in two years. She was a tall -- almost six feet -- figure, somewhat ghostly in her appearance. He noticed that she was hovering exactly one centimeter above the ground. The areas of her face between her mouth and scalp were bone, and looked as though the flesh and muscle had been torn clean off many years ago. The cavities in her skull, where her eyes used to be, had an eerie green glow. Her mouth was sealed with multiple metal staples; he briefly wondered how she'd managed to speak to him, before remembering that she spoke with thoughts rather than sound. Her hands were skeletal, with fingers much longer than that of a human.
He was much more ordinary in appearance: white, in his mid-forties, with dark hair of medium length and a five-o'clock shadow. His skin was deathly pale; the sun never shined in this haunted town.
"Чєs, iт's вєєи a шнilє, нasи'т iт?"
"What is it you need?" he asked, harshly.
Her lips, constrained by the staples, moved slightly; she appeared to be smiling, though he couldn't be sure. "Advicє," she answered him, a note of amusement in her voice.
"Advice? We both know how much I owe you... Something tells me you want more than just advice."
"Иoρє. Jυsт иєєd advicє."
"Right. Sure. What do you need to know?"
"Hoш do I gєт тo тнє Soυяcє?"
Immediately, his eyes widened in fear. He could feel his heartbeat racing, and feared that it could stop at any moment from the exertion. His head pounded, as though pulsating, as though being pushed outward by some expanding force within. His posture slackened, and his arms, which had been folded across his chest, weakened, and now hung limp at his sides.
"N-no way. I d-d-don't owe you th-that much!"
Aside from the usual questions (is the plot interesting, how's the writing, etc., etc.), I have a few questions of note:
- I'm thinking about naming the main character (the ghost chick) Lenore, in reference to The Raven. Good idea or bad move?
- I'm particularly concerned with whether I described her appearance effectively. I'd upload a pic I drew, but my phone can't transfer anything via USB without a microSD card (despite allowing me access to a 105MB space with an unknown purpose).
If y'all're interested in the story, I'll keep it going and maybe even develop a loose plot to work with. If not, I'll probably just drop it now.
None.
)
