Prelude

Prelude

A Chapter by Mitch
"

Nora is on the trail of something that is causing incidents along the route of a highway. What she finds when she catches up to what she's been chasing isn't quite what she expected.

"

For some reason I have a penchant for diners.  They have this cozy feel of Americana.  Some you find have updated themselves to a more contemporary look in an attempt to look cool and keep up with the times.  Other ones I’ve found are those run down mom and pop places that are the staples of the communities they serve as the only other breakfast place the town has besides the Hardee’s just down the street.  No matter which one you find yourself in you can always order the same kind of stuff place to place.  It’s like some unwritten rule that keeps all the diners in the country in some kind of formation with one another. 

 

I like to sit and think in these places.  The familiar feel from one place to the next keeps me at ease and lets me relax a little.  Plus, there is always coffee.  No matter if it’s six in the morning or midnight, there is always coffee. 

 

I’m about half way down into my third cup as I still pour over my notes.  An odd string of events has led me here but I’m still having trouble figuring out exactly what is going on.  People keep reporting mysterious things happening, but nothing is exactly the same.  The one kind of constant is the appearance of some kind of woman, early to mid-thirties, who just seems to be sleepwalking around.   Sometimes people see her outside, sometimes she pops up behind them out of nowhere.  She never harms anyone though.  At least I think she doesn’t.  No one has reported any direct contact with her but there is usually some kind of damage done.  Broken windows, things are flying across a room and breaking, even people being pushed by some unseen force somewhere.  Whatever happens, it happens along this highway; almost like its migrating to somewhere.  What the hell is this thing?

 

I’m starting to get pretty tired; I hope this lady hasn’t given me decaf.  Ugh, flipping through newspaper articles and police reports that I’ve managed to acquire aren’t getting me anywhere.  I need to take a break.  I look up and focus on the room around me.  It’s pretty late so there aren’t many people around at this time of night.  There’s a trucker in the back corner working over some steak and eggs.  I bet it’s his diesel rig outside.  There’s what looks to be a dad and I would guess his son.  The man’s in his mid-thirties maybe and the kid has to be in high school.  Maybe late middle school?  No, probably high school.  I’m horrible with ages.  They are pretty quiet while they work their way through some cheese sticks; kinda mopey looking.  This late there is only one cook and one waitress working the place.  There’s me and then…wait.

 

In front of me is a woman in her early to mid-thirties and I swear she wasn’t there a minute ago.  She has this vacant look in her eye like she’s staring off into space at nothing in particular.  It’s not too seconds after I notice her that I hear a gasp behind me.  It’s the man with his son. 

 

“Dana…?”  The dad stumbles out of the booth and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. 

 

“Dad, what is it?”  The kid looks around but doesn’t seem to see anything.

 

“Sir, are you okay? 

 

For some reason it seems like the only people in this whole place that can see this lady is this scared shitless guy standing in the middle of the place and me.  The dad stammers like he wants to say something but just can’t.  I look back to where the lady was sitting and she’s gone.  I turn my head back to the guy and she’s moved to standing right behind him whispering something in his ear. 

 

How the hell did she do that?  Ok, this lady is definitely something out of the normal.  That explains why I can see her and no one else can.  It’s part of my…condition.  The veil on all the stuff on the world outside of the normal isn’t there for me anymore. 

 

The guy is still standing and is shivering with terror; he can’t move.  The boy moves in front of him and tries to get him to snap out of it but isn’t having any luck.  The waitress moves to call someone for help.  Then I see the look on the creepy lady’s face change.  She’s not zoned out anymore but sharply focused.  The poor crying b*****d now sinks to his knees under her gaze.  That’s when I get to my feet.  I’ve done this enough times to know something is about to go down.  I need to be ready to move.  You know what?  No one needs to be here right now.

 

“It would be a good idea if we all step away and wait for help to get here.”  Maybe these people will listen to me.  I’m not that lucky.  The trucker moves up to the guy and puts his hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey, man, you alright?”  Stupid.  One, don’t walk up to someone having some kind of nervous breakdown.  That never ends well.  They could just as easily attack you.  And Two, “You alright?”  I hate it when people say stupid crap to people.  He can’t see the creepy chick either.  Really not good.  She levels her raging eyes at the trucker and pushing on his chest sends him flying through the glass ten feet behind him.  The waitress screams and now runs for the door along with the cook.  I tried to tell them. 

 

“Dad?!  What’s going on?” 

 

I go to grab the boy and get him out of here before he gets hurt too.  “Come on kid, she’s going to hurt you too if you aren’t careful.”

 

The dad is in a puddle of tears by now.  The lady looks at me and lets out a blood curdling scream that shatters all the windows in the place.  Scratch that, all the glass.  Police would find later that each glass, coffee pot, window, whatever made of glass is broken.  I pull the kid outside and look back.  She’s gone.

The kid pushes himself out of my hands and runs back inside to his dad.  I follow back in as I start to hear sirens on their way. 

 

“Kid, don’t go back in, she may still be in here.”

 

The guy on the floor mutters “Sh-sh-sheees g-g-gone…”  Still a freakin mess but at least he’s talking.  Kind of.  Cops are here and run to the trucker out on the asphalt.  He’s moaning in pain, so at least he’s not dead.  At least there’s good news there.  More cops come in and see to the dad.  He’s not saying much more.  I try to say something to comfort the kid.

 

“Don’t’ worry; they will be able to help your dad.  He’ll be ok.”

 

He turns and looks at me.  “What did you say?”

 

“They will be able to help him.  Or at least get him to someone who can help.  You dad should be ok.”

 

“No, you said she’s going to hurt you too.”

 

S**t. 

 

“I did?”

 

“Yeah, you did.  You saw her too.  My dad sees her some times and crazy stuff starts to happen, but not everyone sees her too.  You did though, didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I did.  You didn’t?”

 

“Not all the time.  It’s my mom.  She doesn’t always hurt people or break things.  When my dad sees her though, things go wrong.”

 

Looks like I found what I was looking for after all.  I’m just glad I didn’t get thrown out of a window this time when I found it. 

 

“Don’t worry kid; I think I can help out with this.  It’s kinda something I do.  What’s your name?”

 

“Kyle.  Who are you?”

 

“My name’s Nora.  Kyle, I think I’ve been looking for you and your dad for quite a while.”

 

I had a good sense that these two were haunted by the dead spirit of the kid’s mom, Dana.  I guess in a sense they were, but I would find out later, the actual story is always better than what I can ever come up with on my own. 



© 2016 Mitch


Author's Note

Mitch
please review. I am looking to accept plenty of notes. This is my first go at a prolonged story

My Review

Would you like to review this Chapter?
Login | Register




Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

200 Views
Added on October 25, 2016
Last Updated on October 25, 2016
Tags: prologue, intro


Author

Mitch
Mitch

AL



About
I've been in performing arts for about 20 years and work with students who are just starting out in order to find their own talents. I've recently begun writing in order to expand my own horizons. I.. more..

Writing