Post by ThatRainbowGirl on Aug 10, 2012 1:16:20 GMT -5
Uh... I guess I may as well post my story here too. It's a horror AU that I also started when I was thirteen (no big surprise there), and I'm currently working on continuing it now. Unfortunately, I'm stuck halfway through the chapter I'm working on, so any ideas/prompts/whatever are welcome!
I'll split up the chapters by posts.
Also, I'm pretty sure that italics and stuff are screwed up, so I'll go back and fix it later.
---
When The Cicadas Cry - Prologue
It was a silent, serene summer night. Not a sound was heard other than the faded cries of the cicadas and the rustling of leaves, pushed by an invisible wind that whispered through the branches of their home. A slight chill could be felt, along with the summery tang filled with the scent of beaches and flowers. A pale moon shone overhead, its meek light empowered in occasional short bursts with the help of the street lamps placed evenly along the paved roads that casted dark shadows in only the deepest corners of the town; keeping the rest of the hungry, twisting darkness at bay for the passerby.
Well, that was what it was on the surface. At least, until the screams began.
They all came from one lone figure. A raven-haired woman, easily in her early twenties. Her bare feet pounded on the sidewalk, the loose material of her white nightgown swishing with the movement. Spastic gasps of breath were emitted as she ran, glancing backwards with bright blue, fear-crazed eyes. Eyes that had filled with smiles, laughter, tears, and silently watched for a whole lifetime. But the sparkle was gone, replaced with a dark, cloudy shadow, turning the bright blue to a dull, cloudy gray-blue.
To the onlooker, though, nothing was behind her.
"No!" the first shrill cry pierced the air, sending the cicadas in the trees above her into a frenzy of broken screeches. The pounding of flesh on cement grew louder and louder. Her footsteps were uneven, her pace quickening. "No! Stop it! Go away!" the hoarse yells were ripped from her throat one by one, as she ran faster then she had before in her life, long hair flying out behind her like a dark shadow. This went on for quite some time, and she had not once faltered.
And then... she made the move that sealed her fate.
She stumbled.
Stumbled, stopped, bracing herself as she fell to the ground. Rough scrapes instantly appeared on the soft, unbroken skin of her palms and knees, blood welling underneath. It would surely bruise.
That was obviously the least of her concerns right now, even as her teeth gritted together from the painful landing. Her hair fell in front of her face, exposing the back of her smooth, pale neck but hiding her expression. She flipped herself over into a sitting position, pushing against the nearby wall, her breath growing more and more panicked even as it should be evening out "No! No, nonononono..." she covered her ears with clammy, skeletal hands, squeezing her eyes shut as she curled into a shivering ball. Her movements were stiff, controlled - rocking back and forth, back and forth. She didn't dare look up, for fear of what was there; whatever haunted her fearful mind, something only she could see.
"It's coming..." she let out a shaky, crazed laugh. Her grip tangled into her long, dark hair, straining at the roots. "It's coming... who will be next? Who.. will.."
A grotesque tearing sound pierced the air, along with one last, ear-piercing scream.
Red stained the pale sidewalk, seeming to seep through the cracks of the sleeping little town. The little, oblivious town, carrying on with life even as the fate of of their own were settled, one after the other.
The scream quickly dissipated, whisked away into nothingness by the wind. The cries of the frenzied cicadas finally settled down, serenity creeping back on the town like a dark shadow, as if nothing had gone awry that fateful night.
The nameless, raven-haired woman with the once bright blue eyes was dead.
Who was next; who would solve the mystery she left behind?
Or will the deceased remain unavenged, their deaths a mystery until even after their bones wear and crumble?
When will the cicadas cry again; the shrill noises growing louder with each death, crying out to help the unfortunate victim, until they too are silenced?
Just pray that it's not just one the next time, or else this tragic story will never end.
Until then, we just have to wait until when the cicadas cry once more.
---
The next morning, many of the townspeople awoke to the sound of sirens.
The shrill noise pierced the air, pulling even the hardiest sleepers from their dreamland. Pointless noise from radios and hastily shouted orders only added to the fragments of chaos. And why was a little, stately town such as this thrown into such hectic disorder, you may ask?
Well, the answer was a simple one. They had found the latest victim of the town's hauntings - not that they knew that yet, of course.
It was a grotesque scene. A woman had laid dead on the pavement, face-down in a pool of her own blood. That same blood covered her long, bare neck - the muscles inside ripped apart, her head tilted at an odd angle. Her spine was most likely shattered.
A small, clean hole ran straight through both her hands and her skull, as if pierced through by a metal rod. Hardened blood clung to her dark hair and long nails. The police had deducted that it was a wound from something like a gun or an arrow - but how one shot could cleanly pierce both the hands and skull, with no clues left behind was unknown.
If that wasn't bad enough, at least half her face was smashed inward. Only a tear-filled blue eye remained.
Yet, other than the head wounds, no visible wounds were seen on the rest of her body. Well, except for small scrapes on her hands and knees, which only made the situation more confusing. Had she put up a fight before her death... and, if so, exactly what was she running from?
The death was instantly labeled as a homicide, most likely first degree murder; what else could it have been? It was physically impossible that it was anything other than homicide, and this brutal murder did not look unplanned.
One of the first at the scene had been Inspector Jones - a middle-aged, slightly balding blond man, part of the town's small police force. He had been out training a rookie, and the poor boy had stumbled across the corpse - and within his first week of training. He had puked and ran off, of course, leaving the older cop to deal with the mess.
The blond man sighed. He had quickly called for backup - not that there was any immediate danger; the woman was long dead, no one else in sight. Her body had been arranged to be wheeled away as soon as possible, an immediate autopsy scheduled, but at that moment the bloodstained body still sat as proof of her untimely, gruesome death. In between the blaring sirens, obnoxious orders and the seemingly impossible death, the Inspector was beginning to get a headache.
By now, you're probably still wondering who the woman even was. The problem was that no one even knew.
At this point, many of the town's residents had begun to notice that something was amiss. Still clothed in their nightclothes, citizens had began to gather around the edge of the scene, muttered words exchanged between themselves.
"Oh my god!"
"Is she really dead?"
"She looks like she was... murdered... who would do such a thing?"
And here is where we meet our protagonists; a group of four (not so) normal teenagers.
The first, a tall boy with dirty blond hair, seemed to be the backbone of the group. Unlike most people, he was fully clothed in a short-sleeved, white polo shirt and slightly faded jeans, white Nikes sticking out from under the blue. The only thing that was missing was his signature ascot. He stared unblinkingly at the scene before him, blue eyes reflecting his disgust.
The second, a somewhat fragile-looking redhead refused to look at the grotesque scene before her, her face buried in the blond's shoulder. Unlike him, she was still wearing a short purple nightgown, having only woken up a few moments prior to then. Because of that, her hastily brushed fiery hair was in slight disarray, the ends falling in messy waves.
Next to the first two was an even smaller girl. Her hair was a wispy brown that fell just past her chin, hovering just above her shoulders. Large, black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes, making them seem almost bug-like. She, like the first girl, was still clothed in orange pajamas. She wore an expressionless, if not somewhat calculating mask, but even she was obviously shaken by the scene before her.
The last of the four was another boy, almost as tall as the first one. His hair was a mousy color that fell in messy layers around his face. His eyes, oin the other hand, dark brown, almost black color and somewhat bloodshot. He, too, was fully dressed in a green shirt and brown jeans, albeit for a different reason - a reason that explained his tired expression.
You see, absent from this group was a rather significant member.
This member was, well a dog. A Great Dane.
A large, brown, talking Great Dane - Scooby Doo.
He had been missing since last night. If that wasn't bad enough- since Scooby, despite his massive size, was a huge chicken- there had been a murder the exact same night. Shaggy, the second boy, hadn't stopped worrying since he had woken up. He couldn't tell the rest of them now though, not until after this.
As the four- well, three, the redhead still refused to look at the bloodied body- watched, the woman was covered and wheeled away. The crowds dispersed as the scene was emptied, quickly and efficiently barricaded off from the public.
The shadows reached out hungrily as the lazy sun rose in the sky. The steady sound of the cicadas still rang through the town mockingly, emulating serenity.
From the darkened alleyways, a pair of glowing eyes gleamed with mirth.
Come, you're just in time for the show. Let the never-ending games begin!
I'll split up the chapters by posts.
Also, I'm pretty sure that italics and stuff are screwed up, so I'll go back and fix it later.
---
When The Cicadas Cry - Prologue
It was a silent, serene summer night. Not a sound was heard other than the faded cries of the cicadas and the rustling of leaves, pushed by an invisible wind that whispered through the branches of their home. A slight chill could be felt, along with the summery tang filled with the scent of beaches and flowers. A pale moon shone overhead, its meek light empowered in occasional short bursts with the help of the street lamps placed evenly along the paved roads that casted dark shadows in only the deepest corners of the town; keeping the rest of the hungry, twisting darkness at bay for the passerby.
Well, that was what it was on the surface. At least, until the screams began.
They all came from one lone figure. A raven-haired woman, easily in her early twenties. Her bare feet pounded on the sidewalk, the loose material of her white nightgown swishing with the movement. Spastic gasps of breath were emitted as she ran, glancing backwards with bright blue, fear-crazed eyes. Eyes that had filled with smiles, laughter, tears, and silently watched for a whole lifetime. But the sparkle was gone, replaced with a dark, cloudy shadow, turning the bright blue to a dull, cloudy gray-blue.
To the onlooker, though, nothing was behind her.
"No!" the first shrill cry pierced the air, sending the cicadas in the trees above her into a frenzy of broken screeches. The pounding of flesh on cement grew louder and louder. Her footsteps were uneven, her pace quickening. "No! Stop it! Go away!" the hoarse yells were ripped from her throat one by one, as she ran faster then she had before in her life, long hair flying out behind her like a dark shadow. This went on for quite some time, and she had not once faltered.
And then... she made the move that sealed her fate.
She stumbled.
Stumbled, stopped, bracing herself as she fell to the ground. Rough scrapes instantly appeared on the soft, unbroken skin of her palms and knees, blood welling underneath. It would surely bruise.
That was obviously the least of her concerns right now, even as her teeth gritted together from the painful landing. Her hair fell in front of her face, exposing the back of her smooth, pale neck but hiding her expression. She flipped herself over into a sitting position, pushing against the nearby wall, her breath growing more and more panicked even as it should be evening out "No! No, nonononono..." she covered her ears with clammy, skeletal hands, squeezing her eyes shut as she curled into a shivering ball. Her movements were stiff, controlled - rocking back and forth, back and forth. She didn't dare look up, for fear of what was there; whatever haunted her fearful mind, something only she could see.
"It's coming..." she let out a shaky, crazed laugh. Her grip tangled into her long, dark hair, straining at the roots. "It's coming... who will be next? Who.. will.."
A grotesque tearing sound pierced the air, along with one last, ear-piercing scream.
Red stained the pale sidewalk, seeming to seep through the cracks of the sleeping little town. The little, oblivious town, carrying on with life even as the fate of of their own were settled, one after the other.
The scream quickly dissipated, whisked away into nothingness by the wind. The cries of the frenzied cicadas finally settled down, serenity creeping back on the town like a dark shadow, as if nothing had gone awry that fateful night.
The nameless, raven-haired woman with the once bright blue eyes was dead.
Who was next; who would solve the mystery she left behind?
Or will the deceased remain unavenged, their deaths a mystery until even after their bones wear and crumble?
When will the cicadas cry again; the shrill noises growing louder with each death, crying out to help the unfortunate victim, until they too are silenced?
Just pray that it's not just one the next time, or else this tragic story will never end.
Until then, we just have to wait until when the cicadas cry once more.
---
The next morning, many of the townspeople awoke to the sound of sirens.
The shrill noise pierced the air, pulling even the hardiest sleepers from their dreamland. Pointless noise from radios and hastily shouted orders only added to the fragments of chaos. And why was a little, stately town such as this thrown into such hectic disorder, you may ask?
Well, the answer was a simple one. They had found the latest victim of the town's hauntings - not that they knew that yet, of course.
It was a grotesque scene. A woman had laid dead on the pavement, face-down in a pool of her own blood. That same blood covered her long, bare neck - the muscles inside ripped apart, her head tilted at an odd angle. Her spine was most likely shattered.
A small, clean hole ran straight through both her hands and her skull, as if pierced through by a metal rod. Hardened blood clung to her dark hair and long nails. The police had deducted that it was a wound from something like a gun or an arrow - but how one shot could cleanly pierce both the hands and skull, with no clues left behind was unknown.
If that wasn't bad enough, at least half her face was smashed inward. Only a tear-filled blue eye remained.
Yet, other than the head wounds, no visible wounds were seen on the rest of her body. Well, except for small scrapes on her hands and knees, which only made the situation more confusing. Had she put up a fight before her death... and, if so, exactly what was she running from?
The death was instantly labeled as a homicide, most likely first degree murder; what else could it have been? It was physically impossible that it was anything other than homicide, and this brutal murder did not look unplanned.
One of the first at the scene had been Inspector Jones - a middle-aged, slightly balding blond man, part of the town's small police force. He had been out training a rookie, and the poor boy had stumbled across the corpse - and within his first week of training. He had puked and ran off, of course, leaving the older cop to deal with the mess.
The blond man sighed. He had quickly called for backup - not that there was any immediate danger; the woman was long dead, no one else in sight. Her body had been arranged to be wheeled away as soon as possible, an immediate autopsy scheduled, but at that moment the bloodstained body still sat as proof of her untimely, gruesome death. In between the blaring sirens, obnoxious orders and the seemingly impossible death, the Inspector was beginning to get a headache.
By now, you're probably still wondering who the woman even was. The problem was that no one even knew.
At this point, many of the town's residents had begun to notice that something was amiss. Still clothed in their nightclothes, citizens had began to gather around the edge of the scene, muttered words exchanged between themselves.
"Oh my god!"
"Is she really dead?"
"She looks like she was... murdered... who would do such a thing?"
And here is where we meet our protagonists; a group of four (not so) normal teenagers.
The first, a tall boy with dirty blond hair, seemed to be the backbone of the group. Unlike most people, he was fully clothed in a short-sleeved, white polo shirt and slightly faded jeans, white Nikes sticking out from under the blue. The only thing that was missing was his signature ascot. He stared unblinkingly at the scene before him, blue eyes reflecting his disgust.
The second, a somewhat fragile-looking redhead refused to look at the grotesque scene before her, her face buried in the blond's shoulder. Unlike him, she was still wearing a short purple nightgown, having only woken up a few moments prior to then. Because of that, her hastily brushed fiery hair was in slight disarray, the ends falling in messy waves.
Next to the first two was an even smaller girl. Her hair was a wispy brown that fell just past her chin, hovering just above her shoulders. Large, black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes, making them seem almost bug-like. She, like the first girl, was still clothed in orange pajamas. She wore an expressionless, if not somewhat calculating mask, but even she was obviously shaken by the scene before her.
The last of the four was another boy, almost as tall as the first one. His hair was a mousy color that fell in messy layers around his face. His eyes, oin the other hand, dark brown, almost black color and somewhat bloodshot. He, too, was fully dressed in a green shirt and brown jeans, albeit for a different reason - a reason that explained his tired expression.
You see, absent from this group was a rather significant member.
This member was, well a dog. A Great Dane.
A large, brown, talking Great Dane - Scooby Doo.
He had been missing since last night. If that wasn't bad enough- since Scooby, despite his massive size, was a huge chicken- there had been a murder the exact same night. Shaggy, the second boy, hadn't stopped worrying since he had woken up. He couldn't tell the rest of them now though, not until after this.
As the four- well, three, the redhead still refused to look at the bloodied body- watched, the woman was covered and wheeled away. The crowds dispersed as the scene was emptied, quickly and efficiently barricaded off from the public.
The shadows reached out hungrily as the lazy sun rose in the sky. The steady sound of the cicadas still rang through the town mockingly, emulating serenity.
From the darkened alleyways, a pair of glowing eyes gleamed with mirth.
Come, you're just in time for the show. Let the never-ending games begin!