Please note, only my second draft.
Prologue
It was over, job done. He had the creature safely contained inside the chest and he had lugged it into the boat. Now, he could sit back and relax, and savour his time on Earth, which came few and far between. He had to meet at the agreed point in three hours time in order to hand over to the experts, so there was a chance for a lazy journey down the river.
Johannes gazed over the side of his wooden rowing boat that was small and unremarkable and attempted in vain to access some of his memories of Earth, but deep inside he knew it was useless. The memories from before his activation were locked away somewhere in his brain, inaccessible until he finally returned for good. Of course, returning would be ludicrous now, when he was finally beginning to unravel the mysteries that had plagued the Clan for so many hundreds of years.
There were woods on his left and his right. He sighed as he watched the wildlife scurrying through them, wondering what it would be like to be free and not trapped inside a world full of misrepresentation, mysteries and mistrust. It seemed now, as his understanding increased, that the task ahead was more impossible than ever. Manipulating the very building blocks of existence, just to save a single race? Surely there must be something else behind the rapid gene mutation; it couldn’t be the Ruling Being’s bricks of creation faltering. If only he had a lead to work on…
And now, this latest disaster. How had this creature managed to breach the impenetrable defences of Earth? It was a modest thing, not much bigger than his head, and it just symbolised the desperation of the mutation situation. If it couldn’t be stopped, slowed or controlled, then it was a matter of time before the defences fell for good.
Lost in his dreams, he was awoken by a sudden knocking noise coming from the chest. But the creature was dead! Surely, surely he had killed it? Or perhaps this was another side effect of the rapid gene mutation, a creature that could not only penetrate Earth’s defences but was also immune to death? No, he thought, the mutation hasn’t come on that far; there is no way that anything can have developed immunity to death.
He tentatively stepped towards the box, and put his ear against it. He knew the beat of the knocking, he had heard it somewhere before. If he could only just remember it…
He carefully unbolted the chest, still holding it down. He may have not killed it, but it would be weak, and he would be ready for it. With his harpoon in one hand, he took a deep breath, and flung the lid open.
Immediately, he regretted his decision, as the creature was ready and struck him across the face, temporarily blinding him. The harpoon fell from his hand and clattered uselessly across the floor. He flailed and jumped on the box of the lid but was unable to bring it down upon the creature. All the while he bore in mind that he mustn’t look in its eyes. The fight would be lost instantaneously and the mission failed, not to mention Johannes himself, who would be left fighting for his life.
He reopened his eyes, no longer stinging from the initial blow, and quickly considered his options. There was no way he could make a grab for his harpoon, because the creature would jump out. On the other hand, he couldn’t hold the lid down on the ever-strong creature much longer before his strength gave out. So he used a classic schoolboy trick, and quickly lifted the lid up, taking the creature by surprise.
Harnessing that split second of surprise he flung it back down again, but as he did that, his eyes made the smallest of contact with the creature’s eyes, and he felt the life rapidly drain from his body. With the last of his energy, he thrust the bolt back across the chest, locking it. He had succeeded in saving the Earth, but as everything went black and the splitting pain that meant the creature was starting to attack his mind took over, he pondered whether he would succeed in saving himself.
Chapter 1
So far, it had been an ordinary day in the life of Chad Bourne. School, at his age still the dominating aspect of his life, had been filled with the usual ups and downs. Design Tech, his favourite subject, obviously featured on the list of highs, and of course Classics had balanced it out. The latest setback in Chad’s attempt to have a life away from school had come in the form of extra Classics homework.
The assignment was truly enough to bore a man to death. It weighed heavy on his mind as he set off from the school gate and trudged down the footpath. While he crossed the high street and headed towards his house he reflected on the dull routine of his life, like the ‘tick-tock’ of a clock, with no deviations to the rhythm. He gazed at the dreary grey office blocks and the dreary men in suits that left them and drove off in their equally dreary cars. There were no birds singing; in fact the only sounds to be heard were the engines of he cars, idling in a traffic jam nearby. A stench of factory fumes filled the air. Chad thoughts drifted to the moment that he could leave this town and live a life of his own. He was not to know, however, that today would be the last day he ever complained of boredom.
Eventually he reached his beautiful country house, away from the hideous town. He stopped outside the gates and admired its beauty. This house was the deviation, however small, in his rhythm. It comprised three floors, eight bedrooms and a top of the range kitchen complete with an ever-warm Aga, amongst other rooms. It was built in the Tudor period and had stood the test of time as well as many advances by property developers. Chad’s bedroom was by far his favourite room; his bed was king-sized and ultra comfortable, he had his very own plasma television, a collection of his favourite DVDs… even the carpet was nice!
He paused for a few more seconds, admiring the job his father had done that morning painting the front of the house and in so doing restoring it to its natural gleaming white, before he entered the house and kicked of his scuffed school shoes. His mum embraced him before he could even look up and squeezed him tight.
“How was your day at school, dear? Did you see the brilliant job your father did before he went to work?” She finally began to loosen her embrace and Chad slipped under her arms and sprinted to the stairs. He loved his mum, but he was no longer seven years old.
“The usual, mum!” he replied over his shoulder as he disappeared up the staircase.
Chad’s room was on the second floor, away from his parents and with only the spare rooms for company. That was how he liked things, away from everyone else. He was able to play his music loud if he wanted, or even watch a DVD in the middle of the night, and nobody would ever know about it. But on a sunny day like this one, Chad had other plans.
The Bournes’ luxury home was situated on twenty four acres of woodland that had a crystal clear river flowing through it, slicing the estate in half. This was Chad’s favourite place in the world, better even than his bedroom. He just revelled in the freedom of the woods, the fact that every single tree presented a different challenge. He loved the wildlife that made the woods their home, the squirrels that scurried along the branches, the rabbits that raced across the terrain. But above all he loved sitting on the riverbank, on a sunny day, with his toes in the water, enjoying the good things in life.
So that was what he set out to do on this perfect day. He pulled on some casual clothes, disregarded his Classics assignment, and set off for his trek through the woods. As he left the well-mown lawns he consciously noticed how the flat grass underfoot changed to a rough, varying landscape littered with leaves, twigs and pinecones, populated by various insects.
Chad knew these woods like the back of his hand. To an outsider, there appeared to be no paths or distinguishable landmarks. It would be very easy to get lost. However, Chad knew every route, every shortcut, even every different tree in some of his favourite parts. If he was dropped in the middle of the woods with no map, you could find him back by the riverbank in five minutes. Presently he set off along his main route through the woods, the M20 as he called it. This route ran from start to finish and passed directly across the river, over the bridge he had erected the previous year with the help of his father, and all the way to the far boundaries of the land. The bridge was flanked by a mini-jetty that reached halfway across the river, where Chad had moored his homemade raft. It was barely a raft, though, as it capsized when you put too much weight on it.
He nearly took a wrong turn as he daydreamed about his raft and he paid close attention to the route he took for the rest of the journey. When he arrived, light from the sun flooded his eyes as he left the cover of the trees. He shielded them and, eying the water, decided to go for a dip. When he had stripped down to his underwear he climbed the tree that overhung the river, and, edging towards the tip of the branch, he let go, and plunged into the icy cold water.
It sent shockwaves through his body at first, but he soon became acclimatised, having learnt to swim in the water at the age of five. It wasn’t long before he was swimming from one side to the other, fighting the current. If he was too weak and the current swept him away, he could grab the bridge that was just low enough and pull himself back to the bank.
Chad lost count of how long he spent swimming, but he knew his mum would probably be worried. He had foolishly forgotten to bring a towel and so, scooping his clothes up in one arm, he began to make his way back, feeling cold despite the warm summer weather. When he finally reached the lawns that led to his house, he was thankful for the hot sun drying his back. Once again, he kicked himself for forgetting to bring a towel.
As he approached the house, Chad caught sight of his mother waving frantically at the window. He could tell that he had been missed, and that he would be in for a scolding for not telling her where he had gone, as well as forgetting to bring his mobile or towel.
“Chadwick, how many times have I told you not to go down to the river alone?!?”
Chad shivered, not just from the cold. He despised being called by his full name and refused to answer to it. However he couldn’t stop his mum when she was angry and he had to admit that he was in the wrong this time.
“I’m so sorry mum, I shouldn’t have gone down there,” he replied, and then, trying his ‘I’m-so-hard-done-by’ expression, he added, “But now I’m so cold and I forgot to take a towel. You know about the icy river water!”
Chad’s mother often complained about how cold the river was and tried to prevent him from going down there. But when his father was at home Chad would plead his case to him, and his dad, a great lover of the outdoors, would smooth it over. However when he wasn’t around, Chad had to try a different approach, by almost turning the blame on his mother and making her feel that it was her fault that he didn’t have a towel and was freezing to death. But today, she wasn’t having any of it.
“Well that’s your own stupid fault for going down there in the first place,” she raged, “now get yourself in a shower and I want you down here eating your tea in ten minutes!”
He knew better than to argue, so he trudged up the stairs, dripping water everywhere he stepped.
Chad quickly hosed off, towelled off and grabbed some warm clothes. He took the stairs four at a time and raced to his seat.
He tapped his watch and smiled and his mum tried, but failed to keep a straight face. He had timed himself to the very second. Unable to suppress her grin she turned and went to get his plate. She couldn’t let him see that she wasn’t still angry.
She presented it to Chad who whooped in delight. “Spaghetti Bolognese! So it was worth me rushing!” As he began to tuck in, his father arrived through the door in his pinstriped suit, looking worn out. He attempted to hide his exhaustion as he entered and covered it with a smile. His face betrayed him, however.
“Long, boring day behind a desk, I suppose?” Chad ventured.
“How did you guess?” he replied sarcastically with mock surprise, “Well at least they pay me a fortune!”
He sat down and joined them eating. Barely five minutes had passed before all three plates were clean, and as his father finished sucked up his last strand of spaghetti, he posed a question to Chad.
“It’s such a nice day Chad, and I thought that a bit of father-son time down by the river would be good fun. How about it?”
Chad’s mother looked up and opened her mouth as if to argue, but changed her mind and promptly shut it. He was glad that she wasn’t going to try to stop him. He could do with some relaxing time to take him away from the stress of school.
And as he thought that, it triggered off a memory that he had put to the back of his mind. It hit him like a slap to the face. Classics homework, an hour’s worth of it, sitting on his bed smirking at him. It created a huge dilemma: an evening to relax down by the river, albeit with homework playing on his mind? Or peace of mind, but no time to spend with his father?
“I don’t think I should…” he began to say, and then broke off, thinking how hurt his father would be.
“What was that?”
“Ummmm… I said I’d love to!” Chad replied, mentally moving his homework back to the back of his mind, though guilty about it. Classics could wait, but as to when he would complete the work… that was beyond him, and irrelevant for the moment. However he could still picture just as clearly his teacher’s face, veins bulging from his forehead, when Chad told him that he had ‘forgotten’ to do his homework last time. He tried to banish that memory but to no avail, as it kept niggling away throughout the evening.
“Great then,” his dad smiled, “I’ll just put a coat on and then we can go!” Chad’s father cleared away his plate, thanked his mum and disappeared up the stairway. Chad followed suit moments later and pulled a fleece over his t-shirt in case the evening brought cold.
They met at the doorway a few minutes later, took it in turns to use the bathroom, and then headed down the path.
“Now, Chad, you’ll have to lead the way. You know how useless my internal compass is!”
Chad laughed and set off down the ‘M20’ for the second time that day. He wasn’t to know that it would be a long time before he returned.
Chapter 2
It was at least half an hour before they arrived at the river, far longer than Chad had anticipated. He had attempted a shortcut in order to impress his father but didn’t think to warn him. By the time he had found his way back to one of the paths, assuring his dad that he knew where he was going along the way, he was further away from the river than he had been before, and that cut into his Classics time even further.
They had talked about his school on the walk, with Chad revealing what it was really like there. His dad countered Chad’s far exaggerated tales with his own stories that Chad realised were probably a lot closer to the truth. When they had finished discussing their school experiences his father began to explain to Chad about his work. He talked about his current project, the restoration of a 13th century church. He explained the problems of ‘restoring without modernising’. As project manger and chief of sourcing materials he had to investigate the rock used in the original construction of the church and locate stock of the same or similar rock. Then having found the right rock, he had to negotiate the right price for it, organize delivery, and sort out a host of other small details, not to mention filling in mountains of paperwork. All in all it had sounded like an interesting but unenviable occupation to Chad.
When they did finally arrive at the river, Chad found the best seats on the riverbank where they would not be up to their armpits in mud and they lay back, enjoying the picturesque sunset with its multitude of different colours. As they lay sprawled across the bank, Chad lost track of time, being so immersed in his thoughts. It was at least half an hour before either of them spoke. It was his dad who broke the silence in the end, and Chad felt almost sorry that the stillness was no longer. He liked peace and quiet, and he would often lie on his bed, just strolling through his thoughts at a leisurely pace. He was a through and through daydreamer; it made sitting through dull lessons even more difficult. Detention was almost a mandatory extra lesson for him because rarely a day passed without him making a fool out of himself staring out of the window while his teacher attempted to engage with him.
“You want to play pooh-sticks?” his dad questioned.
Pooh-sticks. Another thing Chad liked to waste his time doing. He was intrigued by how the current differed along the width of the river. He had mastered the art of pooh-sticks on this river, his river. He knew that some sticks moved faster than others and were less likely to get tangled in the reeds, and that some sticks that were large enough could bore themselves a path through the reeds.
Instead of answering his father, he hauled himself up and ran a few yards to the boundary of the wood, scouting for the right types of wood. It wasn’t long before he had an armful of world-beaters and he saw his dad carrying an armful of also-rans. He allowed himself a little chuckle.
“I have decided that it’s best if I experiment with different types,” Chad’s dad announced, noticing his reaction, “Because trial and error usually works for me.”
Chad sniggered again at his dad’s clueless approach. On the count of three, they dropped their sticks and, as predicted, Chad took the victory.
After having played many games, the majority of which Chad had won, his dad queried him on his constant success.
“It’s a game of luck, Dad,” Chad lied, his voice dripping with kind-hearted sarcasm, “how could I possibly have any sort of advantage?”
“I know one thing I could beat you at,” his dad retorted, laughing, “a race back home!”
He began to sprint away but Chad called after him, “I’ll catch you up in a minute!” and he slowed.
Chad returned to his previous patch on the riverbank and lay back again, feeling the setting sun heating his face. He began to relax his whole body, loosening his muscles and letting the tension go from each part, from his toes up to his head. Just as he sunk into a meditative state, he was jerked back to reality by a sharp crash against the bank. Without even opening his eyes, he could tell by the sound of splintering that it was probably a small, wooden rowing boat. His suspicions were confirmed as he slowly prised his eyes open. A boat similar to the one Chad had imagined was floating down the river, and Chad ran towards his mini-jetty. It had escaped the current and veered towards the mini-jetty. Wood struck wood, sending a shiver through the plank’s beneath Chad’s feet. The boat came to rest with its flank against the wooden ladder the descended to the river bed, as if inviting him to climb down and board it
It was still now, but not silent. On the deck lay a long box of wine-red wood, studded with tiny, tarnished mirrors. From within came a soft but insistent knocking.
Ignoring this strangely rhythmic knocking, Chad noticed with surprise that the boat was not in fact unmanned. Behind the chest lay a young man, clothed in sopping wet rags. It became apparent that he was dead, and upon further inspection he guessed that the man had drowned. As he examined the ghostly white body, carefully peeling off the rags, he saw a large burn mark over the corpse’s chest that appeared to be made up of hundreds of tiny letters. Looking still closer it seemed that the letters were swimming around, like diminutive fish confined to this body, reorganizing themselves, and they finally settled to form words. The message, Chad could see, was short but sharp: “Great danger awaits. Leave this boat and never turn back.”
He couldn’t work out what had given this warning. Was this ‘man’ still alive? Was he some sort of strange, unknown alien? Or was this mysterious creature that continued to knock in an uncanny beat the cause of all this? At least, Chad presumed it was a creature, as he couldn’t imagine a knocking just occurring out of the blue. Perhaps the knocking meant something; it followed a strange beat. Chad scoured his brain for what it could signify. Perhaps it was Morse code? Whatever it was, he could not understand. He began to step out of the boat and leave this surreal scene, returning to the comfort of his home, when the knocking turned into a low pitched whine, which grew louder and louder until it was almost unbearable. The box was rocking side to side manically. It was clear that whatever was in there was desperate to escape from its wooden incarceration. Chad began to ponder the thought that this dead ‘man’ had possibly been killed by whatever was in this box. He held his ears and fell to the ground, huddled up in a ball, as the low-pitched whine became a high-pitched screech.
Chapter 3
It was breaking out. The creature was pounding at it wooden confinement and the chest would not survive much longer. The mirrors that studded the box one by one began to shatter as the screech reached just the right pitch. It was now only a matter of seconds before the wood would splinter and Chad would be as dead as the ‘man’, lying there in his drenched rags. His mind screamed out, ‘RUN!’ but his body, frozen by fear, remained static.
He frantically searched around for something that he could use against whatever this monster was. The problem was that trying to move his legs was like trying to sprint the hundred metres through treacle. In his frenzy to either escape or find a weapon, Chad nearly missed the dead ‘man’s’ chest starting to glow, the burn mark illuminating to such intense brightness it became impossible for him to look at it. The ‘man’ started to speak, but in a spooky way. His lips were moving but the rest of his body remained eerily motionless and you could be forgiven for thinking that a dead man was talking.
Indeed, that was what was happening. He spoke in a harsh tone, as though possessed by some demon.
“Give up your fight now, foolish Slayer! I have already pushed your soul to the edge of its confines and soon -” Suddenly, the voice was cut off and replaced by a barely audible whisper that sounded pained and full of effort.
“You will not possess me! I shall f…fi…fight!” Whoever was speaking was trying to sound affirmative, but it was clear that they were losing this battle. As the anomalous burn mark began to stop glowing, the letters quickly spelled out another message: ‘Help me! You can stop the demon by attacking the creature in the chest! Use the harpoon!’
As if the message epitomized a call to arms, Chad’s body sprang to life and he instantly located the aforementioned harpoon. He clutched it, feeling its weight and power. He knew that saving this ‘man’s’ life would rely on his immediate and unhesitating compliance with his instructions. Chad strode towards the nearly ruined chest and positioned the harpoon above it. Summoning all his strength he raised it above his head, and then thrust it down with such force that it struck the riverbed. A sickening cry filled the air, a cry so hideous that it rattled his very skull. Then, silence reigned, and the chest fell still.
Chad watched as the colour began to return to the ‘man’s’ body, and he knew that he had won the battle for him. He saw the ‘man’s’ lungs beginning to work again, and his heart starting to beat. An enormous sense of fulfilment filled Chad, accompanied by dread that his life might never be the same again. He guessed that after what he had seen, this ‘man’ would not let him go. Not in a negative way, not being kidnapped. Chad could sense that this surreal scene had been part of a greater mission and he imagined that he might have some part to play in it. And if he did, he knew that this man would be with him every step of the way.
Chapter 4
It was only when the boat began to fill with water that Chad registered that the hole he made with the harpoon was sinking it. He scrambled to drag the ‘man’ back onto the mini-jetty as the boat went down. He managed to heave over the chest before the boat disappeared beneath the water.
As the ‘man’ began to regain consciousness, he was groggy at first but then thanked Chad profusely for what he had done. He explained to Chad (although his words were slurred and overlapped each other and he could only understand some of what he was saying) that he was a member of a ‘clan’ and that he was known as the ‘Slayer of Otherworldly Creatures’. He said that he had inherited this position from his Grandfather and that the only way to become a member of this clan was to be ‘activated’ by a direct ancestor of you who is in the clan.
This clan was apparently in charge of preventing humans from ever learning about beings from other planets: namely aliens. There were different sections: alien intelligence, alien technology, the Army against aliens etc.
Chad sat intently listening to this ‘man’ talking and trying to pick out the words in his slurred speech. His first reaction was to dismiss him as a madman raving, but there was some instinct that told him that this man was speaking the truth. Although he found it difficult to understand many parts of what had just happened and what he had just been told, there was one bit that Chad was particularly curious about.
“What was the burn mark all about, and the letters, and the message they gave me?” he questioned.
The ‘man’ chuckled and explained that clan members, upon activation, were bestowed with many incredible gifts. One of the most useful gifts, which Chad had seen in action, was the ability to display messages to others if when you are unconscious. However, only people in the clan bloodline were able to read the messages. And when his chest began to glow, he explained, it was because he was sending a cry of help to other members.
“If I was able to read the message,” Chad asked him, “Does this mean that I have clan blood?”
“Dear boy, if my suspicions are correct, you are far more than just a potential clan member. The things you demonstrated today, saving a clan member from certain, ahem, death, fulfil the basis of a clan prophecy. Of course, it could have been pure chance, but it is highly unlikely that this was not fate. And if I am right, we will have to call upon the Grand Master of the Clan himself, to activate your blood.”
As those words began to sink in, Chad began to grasp the true scope of the things that had happened today.
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!
Your prologue was excelent, it had a note of mystery which is good. It will keep your readers reading.
