Wednesday, April 8, 2015

04-08-15 Wednesday Write-up
2:24 PM

04-08-15 Wednesday Write-up

Artwork © lostknightkg, All Rights Reserved -
Story and Characters © Brannon Hollingsworth, All Rights Reserved 
Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

"Please state your name, Sir." The reporter tried to level his green-eyed gaze at me, but he simply did not have it in him. The kid was young, and inexperienced. With his explosion of tawny, curly red hair and peach fuzz on his chin, he looked like someone trying to get me to buy lemonade at his stand, not grill me for his campus newspaper. I doubted he'd had much experience with getting angry with the subjects of his interviews before.

I deadpanned, "I'd rather not."

Emerald orbs fluttered and lips spluttered. "Ah. Um. Ok. Well, this is Timothy Hammer, reporting with the New Dawn magazine. It is April 13, 2001 and we're sitting in the Padre Hotel in Bakersfield, California - reportedly one of the Golden State's most haunted sites. I'm speaking with Mr. X -- a purported expert in things paranormal -- in response to last night's explosive Coast to Coast radio show. What New Dawn readers would like to know, Mr. X, is what can you tell us about Shadow People?"

I knew that the recording would likely not even make. Devices like that simply do not mix well with those of my ilk. It did not matter, however, I knew what I had to say was for this man, if no one else. I know the Truth, and I'm bound to speak it--forever.

I glanced to my right and Áine was nodding vigorously. Her blue eyes were gone--replaced with my own odd eyes--and she was screaming. "TELL HIM! TELL HIM! YOU DIDN'T TELL ME, TENET! TELL HIM, YOU BAST-!"

"-Sir! Are you well?" Timothy asked, his voice panicked. I could only imagine what my pale face looked like, faced with Áine's rantings. Of course, Timothy could not see her, still screaming as she was. Áine was my own personal revenant with which to deal.

I sighed. "Believe don't want to know what they are. What they are is the sort of thing that will scare a sane person so badly as to cause them to run screaming to their beds, pull the covers over their heads, and never, ever come out. That doesn't change the fact that they are absolutely real, that their greatest desire is to create massive amounts of fear and that they definitely are not, by any means, "people". Far from it, actually."

Timothy looked like he was shocked that I could string so many words together all at once. I could not blame him. I'd probably not spoken more than five words in a row to him since we'd met over a year ago, in this very hotel, in fact.

"So, where do these...things come from? What are they?" he asked.

"We will continue calling them Shadow People for now. Of all the things we could call them, this gives them the least amount of power. Despite what you might have heard, Shadow People have been around since shortly after the Fall, which is also their origin."

Timothy looked perplexed. "The Fall? Do you mean the fall of Man, as mentioned in the Bible?"

I nodded, stroking my black and silver-streaked chin beard. "Yes, as detailed in the third chapter of Genesis..."

The reported lad laughed aloud. "Mr. X, surely you do not expect me, or the readers of the New Dawn, to accept the Bible as a credible source? That is preposterous!"

I arched a brow. "Really? What, then, do you think that Zebul was referring to when he spoke to Gaal?"

The look on Timothy's face was priceless. It was the same as if I'd just told him that his breakfast was made of manna -- complete confusion and utter bewilderment. I spared him and continued speaking, "Judges, chapter 9, verse 36: 'And when Gaal saw the people, he said to Zebul, “Look, people are coming down from the tops of the mountains!” But Zebul said to him, “You see the shadows of the mountains as if they were men.'"

The young reporter scrunched up his face. ", what are you saying?"

"Simply that. These things that you refer to as Shadow People have been amongst us for quite some time."

"You've still not told me what you think these things are, Mr. X."

A scowl passed over my pale features, and while Áine screeched into my ear like a banshee (unheard by the other Padre patrons) I contemplated my next words carefully. "I KNOW what these things are Timothy...but I shall not tell you. Not only would you not believe me, it is not for you to know at this time. Suffice it to say that they are tied to Berith and the Sons of Hamor."

I watched the blood drain from Timothy's face.

"H-H-Hamor?" he stuttered.

"Yes", I nodded. "Your ancient ancestors..."


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