Chapter 1
THE STORM
The harsh August Sun plagued the dry soil of a small town know as Ashford soaking up every last drop of moisture held within it. There had been little to no rain in the area for quite some time, and it placed a heavy toll on the community. Ashford’s residents, being mostly farmers, had seen some terrible droughts, but this one was by far the worst this small town had seen in years. And the hardships brought with it had many praying desperately for a miracle.
One of these residents in particular was going through a distinctly hard time. Mr. Creed, an older man with rough features had been farming his whole life just as nearly everyone else in Ashford had. And being the lonely old man he was had over the years lost all patience with people. The only thing that interested him was his farm, and all the hard work he put into it. It was the only thing in the world that he had to keep living for, and it was slowly slipping away.
Mr. Creed had always been a bit of a gambler downtown with a knack for losing, which had cost him dearly when the drought hit his crop. He was left with no money, and a lot of debt, forcing him to sell just about everything without sentimental value, and some things with it. His car and the clothes on his back were the only things he had now, along with his determination not to lose the farm.
The bank that he had borrowed from had sent him numerous letters in the past informing him time after time that his loan was far overdue. Mr. Creed arrogantly ignored all of them, half hoping that it would solve his problems. His problems however did not go away, and soon enough the bank started sending employees to his house in an effort to get it through to him. In response, Mr. Creed simply stopped answering his own door. He knew of course that this could not go on forever; sooner or later they’d get what they wanted. All he needed to do was buy a little more time, but what for; even he had yet to answer.
Mr. Creed awoke to the normally dull Monday morning, the morning light seeped through the blue curtains that covered his bedroom window, casting a soft blue glow on the room and illuminating the dust particles that softly floated through the air. The noise of grasshoppers and crickets made overnight had now been replaced by the chirping of birds, which could be heard fluttering around in the nests that they had made in the gutters.
He stumbled out of bed yawning as he pulled back the window curtains to welcome in the new morning, and then drearily headed for the kitchen. Mr. Creed had never been the tidiest person around, and should you ever set foot in his house this would become immediately apparent. A stack of dirty dishes sat in the sink, papers and other miscellaneous items littered the countertops, covering its surface. In the center of the room was a small round table, and a single chair. Still half awake he sat down with his usual morning cup of coffee and yesterdays paper, skipping through any news that so much as even mentioned the drought. Page after page however seemed to be filled with nothing but bad news, and a whole lot of it. Sickened, Mr. Creed set the paper aside, finished his coffee, stood up, and headed for the door.
As soon he stepped outside he was instantly greeted with vast pale blue cloudless skies, and the relentless august sun which beat down upon his head. Mr. Creed let out a long sigh as he caught sight of the corn field that lay waist before him, not a stalk was left standing after what Mother Nature had thrown at him. It was a grim reminder of the looming threat against all he had ever worked for.
Breaking away from his gaze, he stepped down from the patio to a small tool shed that had become worn over the years, its original red coat of paint was chipped and peeled from the elements to reveal a dark brown underneath.
He stepped down from the patio and made his way toward a small , worn down shed only to stop and sigh at the door as he caught sight of the corn field that lay waist before him, not a stalk was left standing after what Mother Nature had thrown at him. It was a grim reminder of the looming threat against all he and his family had worked for.
With a sudden jolt of energy, Mr. Creed began to feel his morning coffee now kicking in. He stepped into the tool shed and began rummaging around until he finally laid hands on what he was looking for. He pulled out his grandfather’s old rifle that had been passed down to him before he died. Mr. Creed paused for a moment cleaning off the dust as he stared down with a face full of sorrow at one of his most prized possessions. He knew he needed the money, but was it really worth it he thought to himself.
Only moments later Mr. Creeds deep thought was broken as he caught sight through the small shed window of a shiny new truck pulling up to his house. Mr. Creed stepped outside, curious to see who would possibly want to visit him. Though as he did, his heart skipped a beat when he realized it must be one of the loan sharks that had been looking for him over the past few weeks for the money he owed.
In a panic he looked from side to side in search of a quick escape rout, but there was no getting away from it this time, the truck had already come to a stop, and out stepped a red haired man who didn’t appear to be from around here at all. He wore some expensive looking clothing with a western style hat, as well as a large toothy smile as he walked up to greet Mr. Creed with an outstretched hand.
“You’re a hard one to find Mr. Creed. Been looking for you for a long time I have” said the man with a thick accent, Irish by the sound of it.
“Is that so” said Mr. Creed with an annoyed smirk as he reluctantly shook the man’s hand.
“Yes sir, you owe us a great sum of money Mr. Creed. I’m sure you knew by know that the interest’s been upped, and if you don’t manage to pay every penny the demo crew is gonna roll on in, and you don’t want that to happen.”
“Letters, really? I don’t believe I’ve gotten any letters saying that” Said Mr. Creed out of desperation.
“Weather you got them or not don’t matter to me. If you don’t come up with the money before the deadline its demo derby time, and I know a few boys that just get a kick out of leveling cute little farm houses like this one.”
Anger boiled inside Mr. Creed to a point where he just about had it with this guy. Everything inside him wanted to land a punch right on that sickening grin of his, but he knew that wasn’t going to help him at all, he’d just have to deal with it.
“Mr. Creed, way I see it, you got one of three doors” He said simply. “Door number one, you pack up and leave, and we tear down the house. Door number two, you refuse, and we tear down the house anyways. And then of course door number three, in which you come up with the money before next week and everybody walks away happy.”
“But I need-”
“Choose the right door Mr. Creed” said the collector, cutting off Mr. Creed in his attempt at an excuse. “Listen, I didn’t come here for tea and a chat, so I’m gonna get going now, you have yourself a wonderful day” said the man with false enthusiasm as he tipped his hat and turned back to his truck and drove off, leaving Mr. Creed standing dumbfounded.
It wasn’t long after that Mr. Creed knew what had to be done. He headed back to the shed and grabbed his old antique gun without the slightest bit of remorse, and brought it back to his truck to start the engine. When he turned the keys however his positive momentum came to a halt when the engine produced an unexpected faint coughing sound and then died. He hopefully turned the keys once more, but was once again given the same result. Angrily he banged his hands on the dashboard until stopping to the surprising sound of the engine starting.
“Haven’t given up on me yet have ya ol girl” chortled Mr. Creed as he pulled out of the driveway and on to the dirt country road.
As Mr. Creed made his way down the road he was really beginning to wish that his truck had AC as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Hoping to take his mind off the heat he switched on the trucks AM radio, but was only left disappointed when the only sound that came out was a crackly static. No surprises there thought Mr. Creed with a grin, this truck was about as old as he was. Shortly after his defeat however he had spurred an idea, and suddenly he gave the radio a hard whack just as he did the dashboard, and to his delight it too began to work.
Continuing on his way, he passed several other farms much like his which to had been devastated. Corn, wheat and all other crop lay wasted in rotting heaps on the ground, prey for the variety of insects which swarmed around feeding on the rot. This in a way made him feel somewhat better about the whole situation when he saw how he was not alone in these harsh times, even being the lonely hermit he was.
Mr. Creed tuned into the weather station, hoping he hadn’t already missed the morning forecast. He turned up the volume as he tried to listen in over the weak signal, until finally he could make out a man’s voice as he spoke.
“Well folks, It seems like its going to be nothing but sweat and sunshine this week. So have that sun lotion ready, because we are expected to have an average of ninety degrees over the month of August, and possibly some record breaking highs. And now over with your daily forecast, we’ve got clear skies with temperatures spanning from ninety to one hundred degrees throughout your day, as well as through the night. Chance of precipitation is zero percent-”
Mr. Creed quickly silenced the radio as he came upon his destination. He stepped out of the truck and turned to face a small shabby shop which seemed to attract a shady crowd. He stepped up to the screen door, giving a weak sort of a smile to a frightening looking man who continued to stare at without a blink of an eye from the buildings front deck. Quickly he stepped into the shop and walked over to the front desk. To his dismay the man from outside entered as well and quietly stationed himself at the doorway.
“Hi” said Mr. Creed grinning, hoping he would get some sort of response. The man said nothing and continued to stare, causing Mr. Creed’s grin to drop instantly.
On the front table lay a small brass bell which he rang hoping someone would answer. After no response he rang it again until he finally heard a man’s voice call out from the other room.
“I’m coming I’m coming, hold on” Called out the man, sounding aggravated.
An older man with dark grey hair and a cigar in his mouth entered the room, and suddenly noticing who had disturbed him he quickly changed his mood and nodded to the man at the door to leave.
“Err sorry about Frankie there, I had to hire him when the wrong types started snooping around, I got a business I need to protect you know.”
Mr. Creed said nothing but continued to stare at all the probably stolen goods that were lying around the shop. It seemed as if a layer of dust covered everything in the shop, and not surprisingly most the place was filled with things like jewelry and silverware, as well as a whole other assortment of things that would have been easy for someone to steal without detection. Go figure.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” said the shopkeeper, eying the antique gun Mr. Creed was carrying.
“Actually I was hoping to get something off my hands. How much are you willing to pay for this?” said Mr. Creed holding up the gun in front of him.
“Ah, now isn’t she a beauty” said the shopkeeper taking the gun into his hands for examination. “I believe this model here was issued to the army during the nineteenth century, and is in surprisingly good shape for its age by the looks of it. You’ve done good taking care of it, Mr.?”
“Creed” replied Mr. Creed abruptly.
The shop keeper continued to examine the rifle, eyeing over every scratch and imperfection to be seen. After about five straight minuets of further examination Mr. Creed gave an annoyed sort of a cough, snapping the shopkeeper out of his gaze.
“Well she’s got a few nicks and scratches on her, but that can only be expected from anything as old as this. I’ll give you three grand for it, how about it?”
“Five thousand” Said Mr. Creed unsatisfied, knowing three wouldn’t be nearly enough.
The shopkeeper stood there for a moment and considered the offer, though his greedy instincts persisted.
“Four thousand, that’s as low as I’m willing to go,” He said.
“Deal,” said Mr. Creed knowing he probably wouldn’t get a better offer.
Mr. Creed stared down at the heirloom with a face of sorrow; the emotions of parting with one of his most prized possessions were now finally starting to sink in. Though once again he gritted his teeth and pushed away all thoughts remembering how much he needed the money. It had to be done he told himself.
“You drive a hard bargain my friend,” said the shop keeper smiling to himself happily as he counted the money and handed it over. If there’s anything else you need I think you’ll find I have large selection of goods here if you’d be interested.
“No thanks, I think I’ll pass on that one” said Mr. Creed with a grin. “Well, seeing as were all done here I think I’d best be on my way.”
“Are you sure there is nothing else that would interest you?” He persisted
“Quite sure” said Mr. Creed making his way around the doorman.
“Well then, if there is ever anything else you want to sell you know who to come to,” Said the shop keeper.
Mr. Creed gave a week sort of smile in response and muttered under his breath “hopefully I won’t have to” he then turned and walked out the shabby door and hopped back into his car, ignoring the continuous stare from the man who stood outside the door.
Still not fully convinced of the shop keeper’s trustworthiness, he pulled out the wad of money that he had just received and began counting it. Only after several counts and recounts was he finally satisfied, and he set the money aside to start the car.
Mr. Creed turned the keys to the car only to once again here a coughing noise come from the engine. He swore under his breath and banged his hands in the dash board furiously.
“Come on, not again, don’t die on me now, not here!” he yelled.
As he continued to bang is hands on the dash board he stopped suddenly as he heard the engine starting.
“Ha ha ha!” he laughed happily until finally gathering himself and pulling out onto the road.
Along the way home there was still nothing in the sky to suggest that something out of the ordinary was about to take place. It was still the same clear blue skies with the exception of a few stray clouds here and there. Everything was as the forecaster said it would be.
A few minutes later Mr. Creed began to faintly smell smoke coming from the broken AC vents. When he simply decided to ignore the smell he found it became gradually stronger and stronger, and soon enough he began to see black smoke emerging from the vents.
When he finally decided to pull over and check it out it was too late, the truck had suddenly started to make loud popping noises and smoke heavily from the hood, obstructing his view.
Not knowing where he was going Mr. Creed in a panic soon lost control and drove straight into a tree on the side of the road, hitting his head hard on the wheel as he came to a shockingly sudden stop knocking him unconscious.
Mr. Creed awoke to an aching head and the smell of smoke as he looked around, trying to remember what had happened. Dazed, he stepped out of the car and wobbled around a bit until finally falling to the ground. He sat there for a while as his head cleared and stared at his smoking truck, still wondering what on earth had just happened.
Judging by how dark it was, he believed that he had been out for hours. He looked up at the sky to see an unusually dark storm cloud looming above him. Its thick black look made it seem as if it were made out of smoke rather than water.
He stumbled over to the hood of the car from which a thick black smoke emerged, and still in a daze from the wreck, placed his hands on top to open it.
“Arrggg!” he yelled as he jerked his burnt hands away from the searing hot metal. What a foolish thing that was to do he thought to himself as he starred down at his now blistered hands. Now not only was his head aching, but his hands as well. He walked around to the passenger’s side of the truck and opened the glove compartment. Merely moments later he emerged with a pair of work gloves and wrench in hand. Fully prepared, he walked over to the hood and opened it only to be greeted by an engulfing plume of smoke that covered his face with thick black soot.
Mr. Creed wiped his face and stood still for a moment in an effort to control his boiling rage, until finally noticing that it was beginning to rain. This was odd, he thought to himself in disbelief. There wasn’t to be any rain according to the forecast. However, here it was, pouring down on his very face. Once again he looked up at the smoke like cloud above him and saw that it was now moving in an unusual spiraling motion, and it seemed as if he was right in the eye of it.
Mr. Creed couldn’t have thought of a worse time to be wrecked on the side of the road. The crops needed the rain of course, but why now out of all times he asked himself as the rain began to pour harder. And just as he thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, a bolt of lightning struck in a field not to far off, causing him to give a startled jump, and hurry back to the safety of the truck for shelter.
He stared out into the vast darkness of the night from inside the truck watching the rain fall until finally he began to doze of, accepting the fact that he would be here the rest of the night. However, as his eyes began to close, yet another bolt of lightning struck out in the same field as before, causing his eyes to once again become wide open.
When he tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, a third bolt struck seemingly in the same place as before, this time grabbing his interest and forcing him wide awake. How unusual, he thought to himself, lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice, let alone three times. Curiosity began to brew inside him as he peered through the window into the gaping rain half hoping to see something happen.
His eyes scanned the terrain several times back and forth until noticing a dim red glow off in the distance where the lightning had struck. The first thing that came to mind was of course fire, but after some thought he knew it would be impossible due to the heavy rainfall. This sparked his interest enough to where he decided to go take a closer look in hopes of finding an answer.
Mr. Creed grabbed his flashlight out of the glove compartment, stepped outside the truck and began to move closer to the glow, unsure of what he would find. His boots sloshed in the mud as he trudged on through the swallowing rain, minding his feet as to not slip and fall. Several times Mr. Creed found himself losing his footing on the slick muddy surface, just narrowly catching himself time after time from falling to the ground. Despite his carefulness however he eventually found himself loosing his footing on a rock and fell, just as he dreaded he would, face first.
He groaned through the mud as he pulled himself up to find that his flashlight had run out of batteries. This was just great, he thought to himself wiping off his face. Now he was muddy, wet, and without a flashlight. The only thing left to guide him now was the mysterious red glow which grew closer and closer with every aching step he took. His pure stubbornness was the only thing driving him now, he was going to find an explanation, he couldn’t turn back now after trudging half way through the rain and mud.
After what had seemed like forever he was finally getting close to the glow, so close in fact, that he could swear he was feeling the heat illuminating off of it, sinking deep into his skin as he trudged on, squinting to get a better view of what lie ahead.
A few steps later and Mr. Creed pushed aside a few parched stalks in his way which revealed a small crater, the scene of the occurrence. Mr. Creeds heart skipped a beat however as he realized that he was not alone. Down in the muddy crater before him was a cloaked figure kneeling before a small basket at the craters center. The figure noticed Mr. Creeds presence and turned his hooded head to inspect Mr. Creed. The two of them simply starred at each other for several moments, Mr. Creed to shocked to say anything, and the cloaked man contemplatively inspected Mr. Creed with his bright blue eyes which glowed from within the shade of his hood.
This silent, dragged on moment of shock and fear for Mr. Creed was ended when the cloaked man broke his gaze upon him and fled deeper into the field of parched stalks, disappearing from sight.
Mr. Creed broke from his shock and rubbed his eyes, he wanted to believe it was all a dream, but the consistent rain drops that were hitting his head forced him to believe otherwise. Mr. Creed then redirected his view down to the crater to see just what the strange person had been kneeling next to, but was left dumbfounded when he found that it was far from anything he would have ever expected it to be. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief he made his way down to the glow to get a better look, as if he expected it to turn out to be something else when he got closer. The fact did not change however, and he stood with a mouth wide open before a basket, with the glow seeping out from a bundle of blankets within, casting a dim light on the rotting corn husks that covered the ground.
Cautiously he pulled back a series of blankets as if he were dealing with an atomic bomb, half expecting a monster to jump out at him as he pulled back the final layer. What he found however was not a monster, but an infant, with white hair and unnaturally bright green eyes that stared Mr. Creed right in the face. And the source of the glow, a mysterious red stone tied around its neck. At that moment, just as quickly as the rain started it had stopped, leaving Mr. Creed kneeling next to the child underneath a clear starry canvas.
A pawn shark, as it were.