Young Writers Society

Prologue

The trees swayed back and fourth in the brisk night, as two lights gleamed from the windows of a white mansion. In one dimly lit chamber where a man sat and wrote, blood-curdling screams could be heard from a large room directly down the hallway were another light shown.

The man was writing quickly on pieces of parchment bound together by a hard leather cover. He was extremely tall and had to hunch over the desk in which he was writing by candle light. The candle illuminated the room in which there was a four banister bed, a desk, and a small bureau that was place in the corner. He kept writing:

…they found me. I don’t know how. You must distance yourself from the others; scatter. When everything calms down, make your move. I think he is in on it. We trusted him too. There is so much going on. I think they are executing us one by one. I will come see you…if I make it out alive.

Don’t Trust Anyone,

Rider Silver

Suddenly the screaming stopped; footsteps filled the hall with soft whispers. Jolting up from the desk the man took the book and pulled a floorboard away that revealed a musty blue trunk. After placing the book into the trunk, it was returned to its hiding place under the board. The foot steps were even closer now. Sensing that any moment now the hard wood door would be swung open, the man glided over to the desk and blew out the light. Finally the he shuffled quickly over and behind the bed. Just then the door knob was twisted and three tall men entered into the hazy dark room. The man in the lead stepped forward, he was dressed in a black suit with a tall dark hat and an off white smock that had been stained by what looked like…blood—except with a more greenish tinge to it.

“We know you are in here,” the man spoke while helping his colleague light a dim match that instantly went out. Now the other man stepped forward that was behind the man in the smock. He muttered something in his ear, then exclaimed in an unknown tongue, “Edah spanila veniculason!”

Then the man that was hiding from behind the bed leapt forward with inhumanly speed and lunged toward the man wearing the smock, but was tackled by the man that had spoken in a different tongue.

While being held down on the hard wood floor the man spoke, “You traitor, you slaughtered your own people for what…”

“It needed to be done,” he interrupted. “You will understand some day, if you live…” With that the man stabbed him with a long silver spike. The man let out a cry of help then lay motionless on the floor before being dragged out by them. The door slammed. All was dark and silent once more.