Several of you will remember the teaser of the story most currently on my plate, and others still, will remember that I gave you all a time frame that it would be completed in if I had no major hang ups...Well...I've been hung solid for about a week now, so I thought that I'd post the rough first chapter...Mind you all that it is ROUGH so there are still spelling mistakes, continuity mistakes, and prob'ly grammer and a few others.
I wanted to give everyone a more solid taste of what they can expect, but to also say that as soon as I finish the last of my research, I will be posting the whole complete thing! Until then, though...here is Chapter 1 of: Endevours!!!
There was a man that was one of the most renowned psychics in his field; he was a spirit hunter. His job was to go from haunting to haunting, prove or deny its authenticity, and then, if real, drain the spirit of its wrath, and send it to where it is supposed to be. His travels were varied, ranging from town to town within a state he’s visiting, to international travels. The assignment that he was returning from had been one of his most harrowing.
He found himself deep in the forests of Japan, investigating the reports of a spirit that was attacking travelers that were venturing from village to village. It was believed to be the residue of a ceremony to honor the dead: a ceremony that had gone horribly wrong. As the festivities were opening, several villagers from the west inquired about the particular dead that they were appeasing. His brothers from the east looked at him solemnly, and told him that it was supposedly the body of a Yeti that had been slain by the errant arrow of one of his comrades, but there had been something wrong with the creature. It was overly large, almost 36 Hands tall, with large talons, longer fur, huge, yellow eyes that gleamed in the sun and what appeared to be the remains of horns.
The man from the west looked at the men in horror, and asked them if what they said was true. Told that it was, he fled the place screaming at the top of his lungs. The word he was calling meant nothing to the easterners, but his comrades from the west followed his, also screaming in terror. The ceremony went wrong soon after. A strange call was heard by the remaining villagers, and many left, fearing that what they had taken for terror, was really a call to an attack. Those that remained to fight, were never heard from again.
However, it would have been better if they had never been seen again, also. Their remains were found the next day, by a brave young man who wanted to see why none of the other men had returned. There was a terror filled scream several hours later, and he was seen running into the village later on. When he was found under the bed of his beloved by the wives of several of the missing, he was found uttering a single word over and over, in a piteous voice: "Akuma".
The women of the village went to the area the ceremony was to be held, and were met by carnage.
There was blood staining the ground a deep black, and made much of the area a bog. There was also blood spatters on almost every tree in the range of 200 feet. The men’s bodies were torn to shreds, and it appeared to have been done by a huge sword. The cuts were clean, but deep, and savage. At first, the villagers thought that it may have been done by a crazed villager, but then one of the others found tracks...They lead away from the area, where trees were seen to have gashes in them at a height that no man could reach...36 hands up. The tracks them selves were an anomaly. They were human-ish in their structure, but the toes were seemingly ended in ragged talons, and as they went, they seemed to fade, not because they went so far, but because the culprit seemed to get lighter as it walked away.
The women sent the last strong man to the city in their only vehicle to get the authorities. When he got there, he was almost laughed out of the police station. To placate the man, they sent an officer back with him to see what the trouble really was. Not an hour after he should’ve arrived, there was a call in to the stations radio, "Chief, you need to get out here...Bring as many men as we can spare, and bring some really big guns..." The radio attendant was about to radio the officer to get a grip, and calm down, but everyone head the raw edge of his voice: it was all that he could do not to scream in fear.
The Chief, along with nearly 200 men, most armed with either shotguns, or grenade launchers(several men, both) drove to the scene as fast as possible. Upon their arrival, they found the first officer in a local garment. When asked why his simple, albeit embarrassing, answer was that first he threw up, then after he looked about some more, he "washed his trousers". When the rest of the force went to the scene-proper, their reactions varied from outright terror, to cold indifference. Those that felt nothing had a good reason though: they were so overloaded, that their emotional responses were shut down, to preserve their minds. The Chief knew little what was going on, so he went to interview several of the inhabitants of the west village upon hearing the accounts of those in the east village; mostly, his goal was to see what they had been screaming as they fled.
Most of them refused to say what the word meant, for fear of bringing a curse upon their village too. The headman of the village told the officer that he would write it down, but only under the condition that the officer didn’t open the note and read its contents until he was out of the village. He agreed, if only to appease the man and get the information that he needed. As he was leaving the village, he saw numerous people give him a warding sign, as if he was an evil spirit. He then realized that he held in his hand, what could be the key to danger...
When he was out of the village and on his way back to the crime scene, he opened the paper to reveal one word: WENDIGO. At first, the man didn’t understand what the word meant, until he realized that it was in English, not Japanese. When he made the connection, he had to stop and balance himself against a tree, because he knew what it meant. As a boy, he had been an exchange student to Canada. While there, he learned a great deal of mythology, and knew that there was no creature more fearsome than the Wendigo. It was a monestrous demon created by one of great evil who is physically transformed to reflect the hunger in his heart.
The original human is one that ate the flesh of another man to survive, instead of facing his death with bravery. When this creature didn’t kill, his sightings were said to bring horrible pestilence upon the one who saw it. If he sank his claws into the soil, it would be tainted with his evil aura and never allow another thing to live there. If the ground was sacred, however, his touch was worse. If the grounds were used for burial, the later entombed bodies were said to rise up, hungering for the flesh of the living, and if one was caught and allowed to speak, it would speak of only the evils you had done in your life; if you were pure of heart, he would corrupt your soul, and turn you against those you loved, if only to laugh at your soul when he was returned to the Underworld.. No matter what the Sacred reasons that surrounded the grounds, it would turn evil, and reverse the role is had before it’s corruption.
If the physical body of a Wendigo was killed(usually only under the absence of a moon), it’s essence would remain, and nightly kill anyone who dwelled upon the lands. There were only a few ways to remove the evil where it’s essence rooted; most were so unpleasant that the areas were, more often than not, abandoned, and marked off from travel.
Uncontrollable shakes continued to wrack the body of the Chief, as all the lore flooded into his mind. The thing that truly terrified the man, was that the descriptions that were always given to the demons was the same one that one of the villagers had given him as the best that they were holding the ceremony for, because it had been killed by an errant arrow. He knew what it could mean for the villagers if they were right, especially if it had dug its claws into the soil as it had died.
He got back to the village as night fall was nearing, and told his men, under no uncertain terms, that if they weren’t back into the city before night fall, all of them would be busted. At first, no one moved, because to hear such a comment coming from their Chief was unheard of. When he said it again, adding the phrase,"Listen here, damn it..."they moved. On the road, he got on the open channel within the vehicles, and told them everything he knew. After he spilled it all, one of his men said only a name: Drake Masters.
There was silence on the radio, as the entire force thought about the varied stories that they had head about the men. One remembered reading an article in which he had helped prove that Dragons had once walked on, and flown over(and breathed fire upon) the earth; another man thought of a tabloid he’d read that said his works were only able to be done because he was the Devil incarnate; another had heard just the opposite. Even the Chief had heard stories about the man, but he was the only one that had ever met the truth behind the legends.
All in all, the Chief wouldn’t have believed he was who he was had he not seen the tattoos on his wrists: On the left was the Kanji ten-meaning heaven. On the right was the Kanji-chi meaning earth. Later on after a few drinks, Drake finished convincing the Chief of his identity when he showed him the kanji on his chest: Hito- meaning personality. Drake said that it was a reference to part of the Bushido- the Samurai code of ethics, which the Chief had verified; over all, though, Drake was only about 6' tall, and weighed in at 225 lbs. He looked like your typical American skater kid, except for his muscular frame, and the scars.
He had a set of two on either side of his face, the set on the left set went from the orbital bone and back into his side burns; the set on the right also started at the orbital bone but followed the curve of his face to end at his jaw line. The odd thing about them, was the fact that both sets were about two centimeters apart. When the Chief asked him about the scars, Drake rubbed the right ones thoughtfully.
"Well, Chief, it was about two years ago...I was researching a case about a slasher that had been found dead in an alley behind a local cemetery. I wasn’t usually called in for murder cases, so I knew that there had to be something more to it. However, when I got to the scene, it looked like the place had been cleaned up, and everyone had scrammed already. I then began to notice movement...it was then that I realized that I was having a postcognitive vision; I was seeing what had lead to the slashers death.
"As everything commenced, I saw that one of the graves was pulsing with a powerful aura. It wasn’t evil per-say, but it was definitely after the slasher. I watched the scene closely, and found out that the spirit was one of his former victims. She possessed the body of a large man in the area, and used his hand to kill the slasher. However, it seemed that the slasher had other ideas..."
Drake stopped and took a long pull on his beer. Gathering his thoughts again, he continued his story.
"When I emerged from the vision, I had been standing at the scene telling everything as it happened. The man that had killed the slasher was later released due to my findings. I dare say that it was one of my more interesting cases."
The Chief looked at Drake. "I will admit that it is an amazing story, but it didn’t explain the scars."
Drake looked at the man, and then began to blush like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "You’re right, that was the point, huh?" Laughing, he re-continued his story. "I was told by witnesses later on, that the slasher had been seen in the area causing mayhem. Knowing that he was dead, I decided to say in the area to observe.
"After a good few hours of distanced watching, I ventured closer to see if there was really anything amiss, or if it was locals that had gotten too much to drink. When I got to the area that he’d been killed, I instantly knew that there was something horribly wrong. There was an energy in the air that was very dangerous, trying to lash out at anyone that could feel it. The moment that I came into its range, it was after me.
"With no real way to protect myself, since I hadn’t been prepared for an attack, I would have to do with the limited spiritual techniques that I had at the time. I took the blows to the left side of my face as I tripped over a fallen trash can. Using a barrier technique, I got my footing and began trying to find out what I was up against. As I focused, I could see the energy of the slasher. It seemed that the priest that gave him the last rights forgot to leave a rosary by the man’s head as he did it, to help calm his soul, and send it to the other side.
"I knew how to send his soul over, but I didn’t have the supplies I needed. Seeing that the cemetery was sitting right next to the local church, I hoped that there was at least an alter boy still on the grounds. Luck was with me, and a light came on after only yelling twice. Cutting through the cemetery, he was at the fence beside me within a minute. I told him what I needed and he ran to fetch them, because he could see that I was up against something, he just refused to believe what.
"When he got back with everything, I told him to begin reading the prayers for the Last Rights, sprinkling Holy Water after every four words. This was the spiritual help that I needed to help send him over. I took the second rosary from his pocket, and held it in one hand as I thrust it into the slashers spirit. As, the gates opened, he took two more final swipes with his razor, giving me the scars here on the right."
Drake finished his beer, and stood to leave. The Chief asked him how, if he needed him, was he to contact him. Drake looked at him, grinned ear to ear, and said, "Don’t call me, I’ll call you..."
That was three years ago...almost to the day, the Chief realized. He laughed to himself, as he thought, "Well, Drake, if there was any other time that I need you, it would be now..." Then with the thought having barely left his head, the Chief screeched at his cell ringing. "Bullshit..." He muttered. When he answered he got the recording, "Will you accept a collect call from..." The Chief was in shock when the voice said, "I’ll be there in three days." He said that he’d accept the charges, but there was no one on the other end. He was left to his thoughts, for the rest of the ride to the Building.
Elsewhere, Drake was laughing at the guaranteed confusion of the Chief. He knew about the fact that the beast had gotten into Japan, the only question was how. He knew the magick that spirits were composed of in Japan, and the magick that composed the Wendigo were completely incompatible. If a Wendigo spirit were introduced into Japan, it would be corrupted by the native magick’s and turned into something different. No matter how many times he looked at the situation, it came up totally impossible. The only way that anything could’ve created a Wendigo in Japan, was if the magick itself had been corrupted; if that had happened, then the whole ecosystem of Japan could fall apart, and the island could be lifeless in the span of ten years.
Drake decided to call up an old friend of his that had experience with the traversing of one magick from its environment to another, alien, environment. When he finally answered, he told Drake that he knew why he was calling, and the books he needed would be waiting at his hotel room. Drake began to ask him what was up, but he hung up before he had a chance. Laughing, he knew that he would be in for an interesting read.
When he got to his apartment he prepared the things that he needed, he found that there were several packages waiting for him. One was from his brother in the Marines, the other three were from his mom, back in Dublin. For smaller packages, Drake was surprised at how heavy they were, but knowing his mother, she knew where he was heading and had packed a "care package". If she did, it meant that she knew what he was hunting, too...Drake grimaced, thinking of he loading the packages with all that stuff, with her bad shoulder...Sighing, Drake began to open the packages, expecting little and being nicely surprised.
He had been expecting winter clothes and non-perishable foods, but there was a major difference in all of it; most of it was from home. His mother usually bought stuff off the internet that would help him blend with the crowds where he was heading, but all the clothes were Irish goods. Wool jackets, hand knitted sweaters, and more home made deer jerky than he’d seen since his last trip home. The note on top fell to his feet as he was looking at stuff, and he picked it up to read it.
I know that you’re headed to that awful Japan, so I packed some things that you might need while you’re out in the forests. The paper that is under the next sweater you get will give you the package that is waiting for you in customs. Don’t even THINK of calling me and complaining, the magick will help you out. The books will also make things a bit easier.
Be careful and remember, even if you are surrounded in shadow, that just makes the light of your power that much brighter.
Drake shook his head, finding it funny that everyone but him knew where he was staying when his plane landed. He figured that the Chief had arranged things, and everyone else knew that the packages would be sent to where his name was registered. He figured that, or they all KNEW, and just didn’t realize it, which felt like the real reason to him.
The only thing in any of the packages that didn’t make any sense to him, was a camera. He shrugged it off, though, because the alarm on his watch started to go off, telling him that he only had thirty minutes to get his ass to the airport. "Shit...Time to book!" he thought. Throwing his suitcases in his Jeep, along with the one that he put all the packages in, he got on his way to a new adventure.
At the airport, he found himself under the impression that it was still under construction, but he knew that it was impossible; he flew out of there all the time. His vision flashed, and he saw the airport as he should, and then, like a double exposure he could see the under construction version. Knowing that there was something he was supposed to find, he began paying close attention to the vision, blocking out the built terminal completely. He wandered back to where his plane was waiting, both because he needed to be there, and because that is where the pull of the vision was strongest.
When he got to his terminal, he could see a slight glow coming from under the tile by where the fire exit would’ve been. He shook the vision long enough to ask an employee if anyone had lost something important during the construction of the terminal.
"I don’t really know, sir, but if you ask Jane, she might know. She was one of the original stewardess’ when this building was built."
Drake thanked the woman, and approached Jane. "Miss? I need to ask you something."
The older woman looked at him with a smile. "Yes, what can I tell you?"
"Well, I saw that someone lost something important to them during the construction of this building. Would you happen to know who, and what it was?"
The old woman looked at Drake with confusion for a moment, and then realization hit her features.
"Oh, my! I lost my wedding ring during that time! But...how did you know?"
Drake looked at her and smiled. "Let’s just say that it is a talent I’ve always had. Who would I talk to so I could have part of the floor pulled up?"
The woman looked at Drake in astonishment. "You mean, you know where it is?! I’ll go get the manager!" The woman headed for a phone just as a man about her age stopped her. After some rushed whispering, Drake was sent two men, a wedge, a hammer, a bucket of water, and a warning. He was told if the ring wasn’t there, he would be held responsible for destruction of property, and be reported to the police.
With a grin on his face, Drake began to pull up a two foot section of the floor. After about three minutes, he reached into the crawlspace he had opened up. With a grimace, and the sound of squelching mud, he brought up his hand. Dropping the muddy contents into the bucket, he began to vigorously wash something off. With a flourish, he brought his closed hand out of the bucket, and motioned for Jane’s hand. With a wolfish grin, he dropped her long lost ring into her hand.
Tears immediately began to flow from both Jane’s eyes, and the eyes of the manager that she brought with her.
Drake made the connection instantly; they were married, and that was the ring he gave her. He then saw that she wore no band on her finger, and Drake was compelled to ask.
Smiling the woman knelt in front of Drake, and kissed him, to emotional to talk. Her husband, told him the story. He had been one of the men on the construction team that built the building, and Jane had visited him often on the site. One day, after months of saving, Randy was able to get a ring, so he could properly propose. Which he was able to do the next day, much to Jane’s shock, and the encouraging hoots and hollers of his fellow workers.
However, Randy had partially overestimated the rings size, and it was slightly loose on Jane’s finger. She loved it though, and wasn’t going to say anything to Randy for fear of hurting his feelings. It was a mistake on Jane’s part, though, because she didn’t realize just how loose it was. Later on in the week she went to go see Randy, and walking over to where he was, she felt the ring slip. She began to look for it, but it fell in a patch of thin mud, and sank. She refused to get a new ring, because Randy had saved for months to get that one, and it was the only one she wanted. Even for just the wedding, she refused to have a temporary ring for the ceremony.
The couple thanked Drake endlessly, and pulled some strings and had him bumped to first class, as thanks. Knowing the expense of the gift he had been given, Drake told the couple to call him if they ever needed any help of any kind. Giving them one of his cards, he smiled, thanked them again, and went to catch his plane.
After he left, the couple looked at his card. It was bare of graphics, but it didn’t need any, his name was world renowned, it read simply, "Drake Masters, Psychic, Spirit Hunter" and his numbers. The old man turned sharply to look at the terminal he had disappeared into, ans said his name to feel if it was right. A feeling of doubtless confidence hit him; he knew that a world famous man, had just done a simple job, for which the old man could never really show his full thanks for. He thought, however, that his gratitude was enough for the young man; the upgrade was luck, or a lucky break. The man looked at his wife, smiled, and the two went to the lounge for coffee.
Upon entering the plane, Drake knew that he was out of his element. He was used to riding coach, since he had been doing it for so long on is travels. He wasn’t used to the extra leg room, or the better meal; on his lay over atSoekarno- Hatta International Airport in Indonesia he was re-downgrading, it was much too luxurious for his tastes. He supposed though, that maybe he shouldn’t, because if the old man somehow found out, he would be crushed by Drake rescinding his offer at the next stop. He decided that maybe the attention might do him a little good, because first class did have first class Scotch, after all...
-Just wanted to mention that I just finished the first half of my research, and if it all continues going this well, I'll be back to writing at the begining of next week! That means that you should all have the full story by the middle of next month!-