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Reymart's Writing > The Midnight Visitor

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message 1: by Reymart (last edited Jun 15, 2012 06:17AM) (new)

Reymart Dinglasa (ReymartwritesAbook) | 58 comments this is the prologue of my still-in-writing-state book The Midnight Visitor. Some of the sentences here are italicized in my original manuscript.

Hope you'd like this.


/Prologue/
The phone rang. Exactly at midnight. When the world was out there sleeping in its own crib. Deputy Haughton slid out of sleep. Half awake, he slid off from bed and search for his slippers then rushed groggily at the table next the half opened window, curtain swaying in bringing cold wind, making him sleepier.
Outside, the world was beyond imaginative landscape. Just dark and whispery. The wind sipping in was stronger when he looked through the icy window pane, so he pulled the ledge down and locked it. Blocking him from what was out there. He shook his head a bit; headache was coming any minute.
He brought the phone in his ear halfway ringing, cutting it. Somehow, the silence willed the headache to slow down. But there it was, creeping inside his brain. The line was nothing but rushed talking and clicking, a familiar voice made him touch the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.
“Yes Chief.” Haughton said, breaking the rushed speech across the line.
“Good morning Tim. I’m sorry I called when you’re in your slumber.” Haughton thanked him in silence, still massaging the bridge of his nose. “I just got a report in my table just now. Something freaky strange. You gotta see this. Myra and Castor saw them personally before arriving here.”
Something freaky strange. Chief Charles Gaston usually said this phrase when he knew it was peculiar enough to be a board-news in Chester’s Mill Police Department. Timothy Haughton was a Deputy Chief of Police of Chester’s Mill and the youngest to own the title at the age of 26. He has a reputation; his late father was once a Chief until he died 3 months ago. And Tim Haughton was a lighter side version of his father, and behind his back everyone thanked how lucky they had a younger and peaceful one. And Charles Gaston treated him already as his son. That made him feels sad sometimes.
“How many officers is on shift right now, Chief?” The slight throbbing grew in his temples.
“They’re seems to be all here ─ Myra, how many are you tonight out there?” A soft thin voice of a woman slipped through to answer and Charles echoed it for him. “Three are out, son, five on shift and two of our men are out the road.”
“Okay. Seems okay, Chief.” Haughton brought the phone with him inside the comfort room, the light was not turned off inside and its brightness hurt his eyes. He must take Advil tonight if he wanted to come over to the Quarters. Two were enough. “So what is that about? You sound like you just got a Football Ticket or something.” He opened the cabinet attached behind the mirror and the bottles clattered when his fingers passed through each. Some shaving cream, deodorant and perfume and toothpaste. Some bottled medicine. He grabbed the bottle of Advil and by a single hand clicked the lid open. “I’ll be there in a minute, Chief.” And he brought the open lid in his lips, bringing three Advil in his mouth.
“Some photos that would positively become news around here tomorrow.” Gaston said. Haughton knew it was Gaston’s way of telling him he must be in the Quarters to see the full story.
“Okay. Wait up Chief. I think I’ll be having an early ache visit today.” Haughton lowered his head and with his free hand sipped the flowing water from the faucet. It was cold and he felt them all slipping in his throat.
“Hey. Hey son.” Gaston interrupted. Haughton switched off the faucet and looked at his wet reflection in the mirror. He saw a face he knew for a very long time. Brown eyes, brown hair and thin pink lips. A scar visible under his chin and an expression changed when someone important left him alone. He changed. And that was when the head ache came in, throbbing on both sides of his forehead.
Gaston continued. “I’m not saying you have to go here. Stay.” Too late Chief, Haughton thought, I need to see it myself.
“No Chief. I’m in my car now, actually.” Out there in the dark waiting for me to drive it. “What’s the name?”
“Well. I think we saw this kid several times or maybe every day.” There was a smooth scratchy sound on the line. Gaston was looking for a name. A kid. “Oh. Here, son. He’s name is David Brown.”
Who’s parents were killed somewhere in Black Ridge Road 3 months ago. Same time my father died.

1979


message 2: by cy (new)

cy that is really good! continue please! :)


message 3: by Reymart (new)

Reymart Dinglasa (ReymartwritesAbook) | 58 comments If you want a copy Cy just ask me. okay? there are parts here that are supposed to be italicized. So I prefer giving you a pdf file instead.


message 4: by Bookgeek_zah, Head (less) Mod (new)

Bookgeek_zah | 181 comments Mod
Rey, I've created a folder just for your writing okay? That way everyone can scroll down and find all your work in the same place. :)


message 5: by Ayesha (new)

Ayesha tats so gud!


message 6: by Reymart (new)

Reymart Dinglasa (ReymartwritesAbook) | 58 comments Zahraa wrote: "Rey, I've created a folder just for your writing okay? That way everyone can scroll down and find all your work in the same place. :)"

Oh thank you. and sure thing. Actually, I'm writing a lot of stuff right now. :) The Walk is coming.


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