| CHAPTER ONE In the small town of Seaside California, the sun was beginning to set behind the rare Maple trees that lined massively along the beach side. The ocean was faintly heard above the highly rising winds. It was now the start of fall, and the sky was beginning to set itself up for a heavy rain. A little warm chill still lingered in the air as Swanson Hemingway lit a cigarette. Swanson was walking slowly down the empty bike path from Monterey where he worked at the smoke shop 'Helems tobacco shop'. He didn't work many hours there, but it was enough to pay his rent, which he had to do on his way home this evening. 'I hope I make it home before the rain hits' He said to himself as he lightly tapped his cigarette's ashes off, watching as the tip of his smoke turned bright red with the motion of dropping his hand to his side, and shivered as he felt the acid trip begin within a blue smoke trail. | |
| As Swanson was walking home, he heard something,It was the sound of a screech of cars.He continued on, and ignoring it.Then Swanson felt a breeze past righ by him.The breeze was cold, and when he was about to continue to walk it felt like something pushed him and he fell on the hard and cold concrete ground."Ow,"Swason said to himself quietly. "What the heck was that,"he thought to himself.Then he felt a drop of water on him.It ran down his clothes, and then another.Swanson hurried home before he gets soaking wet and falls all of a sudden again.He made it, and jsut in time.He was wet, but not soaking wet.Drip,drop,drip,drop!The droplets of rain falling on the concrete ground,and window. | |
| He usually didn't mind storms, but this one was making him jumpy. As he heated up a microwavable dinner he found himself keeping a look out for someone, who, he didn't know, but he felt the sense that he should keep an eye out. While continuing to look about the microwave dinged causing him to jump. "Swanson, it's just a storm and that was just the microwave. Everything's fine, pull yourself together." He told himself, hoping it work to convince him. So after getting his dinner he poured himself a little bit of scotch, from the small stash he'd been able to scavenge up over the years. He didn't usually drink, but he figured if he was going to calm these nerves of his it'd do better than a diet coke. | |
| Just then he heard a continuous light tapping noise. It was coming from inside his bedroom. As he concentrated harder on the noise he realized that someone was typing furiously on his computer. A chill went down his spine. Who could be typing on his computer? He lived in the apartment by himself. No one even came to visit him. He was a complete loner. His eyes wide, he slowly kept the glass of scotch down on the dining table and made his way to his bedroom. Bracing himself he jerked the door open. A familiar figure sat in the chair facing his computer, still typing something. He looked up and smiled “Son.” Horrified, Swanson looked at his father who had died when he was ten years old. His father, the famous psychologist, Dr.George Hemingway who had committed suicide in his own home fifteen years ago. Swanson had seen his father a lot in his dreams but never like this. Before his death his colleagues thought he had gone mad over something. A few days later he had committed suicide without leaving behind any explanation. Now he was here still typing away something. This must be his imagination, he decided shaking his head. But he was still there. He looked up again and his handsome face broke into a smile “You could have done much better than work in a tobacco shop my boy. You are more smarter than that. But, there are hidden forces that you have to face now boy. They are coming. This place is not safe.” He heard a deafening clap of thunder and someone started knocking on the door loudly. He looked at the main door to his apartment and looked back at his father. He was no longer there. He had just disappeared into thin air. Despite himself Swanson felt drawn to the computer. What had he been writing? The knocking on the outer door grew so loud it appeared someone wanted to knock the door off is hinges. | |
| Swanson looked from the computer to the direction of the door. As much as he knew he should answer the door, he couldn't help but feel that he had to see what might have been typed. As he moved towards the computer he heard the knocking stop and the lock being undone. He ignored it though, he had to know. Just as he reached the screen he heard a familiar voice shouting for him. "Swanson, you here?" it was his friend Mac. "Yeah, in here." he responded, feeling as if he'd just been brought out of daze. Taking one last glance at the computer he walked out of the bedroom. "Good to see you're alive. Gosh, I was knocking for like five minutes until I figured I should just come in. I thought you croaked or something." Mac explained as he fished around in Swanson's refridgerator. "Well, I'm very much alive, thanks for caring though. So why'd you come?" | |
| "For the night I wasn't going to, had a date down town, but she stood me up. I had nothing better to do, and waisted the meal I had planned, so I decided to come see my friend." | |
| "How very thoughtful of you," Swanson murmered slightly aggrevated. "Go ahead, just help yourself to anything in my fridge," he continued in his mind. Mac, though his name was much like the Apple brand, didn't have many brains when it came to common courtesy. He pulled out a loaf of rye when he noticed Swanson gazing at the glowing screen of his PC. "You, uh, ok?" "Huh? Oh, yeah... sure" | |
| "I don't know just yet" Swanson said more calmly, sad as it was, that his father died over 3 years ago, was now returning. His dad he didn't know very well. His dad barely had time to spend with Swanson. His work was his dad's life's ability. He couldn't see 3 feet around his Dr.'ness, and the shock of his dad returning like that, disappeared and was replaced with a envious anger. | |
| He wasn't though. It wasn't the fact that someone had typed something up on his computer. It was the fact that someone who shouldn't be there who had been dead for three years had typed something right in front of Swanson's eyes. Now he knew he hadn't really had that much, only a glass, so he knew he hadn't been drunk and then the thought that had crossed his mind many times before was going at him full time now. He was crazy. He knew that that was the cause for his father's death, he'd been mentally insane. Many of his collegues figured this much. Dr.George Hemingway would claim to see people in the night, telling him things. Sometimes he'd listen, sometimes he wouldn't. Then one day he was found dead. They all figured that it was the voices in his head taht had told him to do it, but there would never be an explanation to it. Swanson was here now, he just saw his father and he saw nothing on the screen now. He knew his fears must be true. His father's insanity had finally caught up with him. | |
| Shaking his head, thinking he needed a good sleep to drive away the madness, he shut down the computer. Mac came in with a can of Coca-Cola in his hand. Swanson sighed. He wasn’t up to chatting with his friend. “Hey bud, your comp having a virus or something?” he asked. Swanson looked back at his computer and said with a frown “You figure that there is a virus just by looking at it?” “No. It’s just that the CPU light is still blinking. A program is still running on your comp. Most likely a virus program.” He said with a shrug, taking a long drag from the Coke can. Swanson looked up in prayer “God, not a virus. I have almost every anti-virus program installed on that stupid thing. What is wrong with it? You are the comp expert Mac. Give it a check.” He urged. “For your kind information one good anti-virus program is enough. Having too much could be problematic in itself. Now let’s see.” He said as he started the computer. Instead of the starting window a page with a big eye came on it. “What the hell. Swanson, you didn’t turn off the comp did you? It appears it’s just in standby mode.” He mused looking at the picture in front of him. “No. I did turn off the computer” he said uneasily. The night was getting bizarre by the minute. “You practicing ancient magic or something? This thing looks strange.” He said looking at the picture that looked more like a screen saver. Like a slide show the picture with the eye turned to a picture of the pentagram and then a picture of a poised snake followed by the sign of the hindu om and the celtic open triad knot. “What is this Swanson?” Swanson just stared at the signs. They were familiar to him. “Symbols. Ancient Symbols.” Mac gave him an incredulous look “You studying symbology or what?” Swanson didn’t answer. He just stared at the symbols. Mac asked him uneasily “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t know this was on your computer? Damn, Swanson, what the hell are these?” “Symbols. The eye of horus, the pagan pentagram, the snake on the crowns of pharaohs, the om and the celtic symbol of protection and inspiration. All symbols of protection.” he said. Damn his father. He had died with all these around him. Was he bringing the craziness back to him too? | |
| But was it crazy to see his father there? Swanson aisk himself now feeling a little different now. He seemed to recognize that the Earth itself might not be too normal either. The earth never is the same. | |
| "You ok?" Mac asked as Swanson had slipped into a sort of daze. "Yeah, just tired, busy day." Swanson said, giving him a half hearted smile. "You want me to go home?" Mac asked, suddenly concerned for his friend. "Actually if you wouldn't mind. The boss wants me in early and if I don't get any sleep I won't be any where early." Swanson said "Alright. Well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, maybe we'll grab some beers together." Mac said as he moved to get out of the room and go towards the door. "Yeah." and with that Mac was gone and Swanson was once again alone; left with the writings of what appeared to be his father. | |
| The spot was cold where his father sat. | |
| "What are you trying to tell me, Dad?" Swanson said into the air as he grabbed for a flannel shirt to put on so he could get a bit warmer. He walked over to a box full of old books, his father's books. There was one in particular that he was looking for, his father's journal. Nobody had taken the time to go after it, only because it was too hard. He now had to look at it, had to see if there was any explanation of what was happening. |
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Author notes
"NO FIRST PERSON POINT OF VIEW. DO NOT TURN THIS STORY INTO ROMANCE, KEEP IT DARK AND SCARY! Please use word play, and be descriptive. Have fun with this story!
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