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writers_loft2008-04-15 09:24 pm
judas-loj.livejournal.com) wrote in writers_loft2008-04-15 09:24 pm
Up To You
This is a series of short stories I'm writing called 'Up to you,' it's about a Paranormal Investigator (P.I., so it often gets confused with a Private Investigator, done on purpose) that, well, investigates the paranormal, usually ghosts. Currently, he has no name, as will none of the other characters, except for the ghosts, and the mainish characters will be defined by physical attributes (clothes included). Ideas come and go, and for these stories I'm greatly inspired by a series of music tracks called 'Ghosts' which is a project done by Nine Inch Nails. I will finish the current arc before moving on to the next one however, even if I'm feeling uninspired, so the level of writing depends on my mood.
Here's the finished product of my first chapter, I hope you enjoy it. Criticism is always welcome ^.^.
Here's the finished product of my first chapter, I hope you enjoy it. Criticism is always welcome ^.^.
“Further examination of the room indicates a scuffle, perhaps a fight or murder took place here, it’s hard to determine,” a voice says into a grasped tape recorder, a black light in the other hand examining the floor of an office. “Furniture seems to have been moved recently, barely any dust has collected on the wood surface of the desk,” the man said, dragging a finger across the wood, its surface shiny and clean, but distorted by the light. Bringing the tape recorder back up to his mouth, he sighed into it lightly “Further investigation is needed,” he finished, clicking the stop button. Turning the black light off, the man stood in the darkness of the room. Sheets to prevent light from entering had blacked out the windows. Sighing, footsteps echoed in the room as the man walked across its wooden floor. Light flooding the room for a moment, he closed the door behind him. Sticking his recorder and black light in his brown trench coat pockets, the man walked down the dusty hall. The ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign that was hanging from a nail stopped swinging as a cocking noise resounded in the hall.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me exactly what you were doing in that room just now?” a fat, stout man asked, a stained white tee and blue Dockers adorning his frame. A 12-gauge shotgun was firmly grasped in both of his hands.
“You called a P.I., didn’t you?” trench coat replied, his hands stuck in his pockets as he looked sternly down the barrel of the gun.
“That was months ago, and he already told me there was nothing he could do. So, you’re gonna tell me what you were doing in that room,” he responded, pumping the shotgun as he pointed it at the other man’s belly.
“Well, listen, I got this case passed onto me by that guy, otherwise, how would I have known about it if you had requested it months ago? After all, I’m not your normal P.I.,” trench coat quipped, shrugging his shoulders while still staring down the barrel of the gun. The short man thought about it for a moment, shotgun still pointed at him. After a moment, he lowered it and let out a sigh of relief.
“Finally, maybe someone can stop that incessant racket,” he mumbled, waddling over to and down the stairs. Trench coat followed, swallowing the giant lump in his throat he had acquired from the shotgun. “That last guy said it was out of his league, I don’t remember the details, but I’ve closed off that entire floor since then, luckily it was the top floor,” he told trench coat, continuing to waddle down the steps.
“What’s the history behind that room?” trench coat asked, following slowly behind him.
“Well, it’s got a history all right. I’ve owned this building since my pops gave it to me when he passed away, and let me tell you, that room has had some serious things happen to it. Black market, drug trafficking, illegal arms sales, you name it, it has happened in that room. The people on the floor below complain about some noise, but I haven’t been up here in a while, so I wouldn’t know. I insist no one lives there though, but they keep saying it sounds like someone is shifting the furniture,” he informed as they reached the ground floor, the old man taking a breather. The man in the trench coat scratched his nose as he thought over the information. Looking up at the ceiling, he asked a single question.
“Has anyone died in that room?”
“D-Died?” the short man repeated, wiping his forehead with his pudgy hand.
“Yea, dead, deceased, killed, murdered,” he responded, looking down at the man.
“N…not that I know of,” he stuttered, not looking at the man with the trench coat in the eye.
‘Bad liar,’ the tall man thought, checking the lobby floor for anything of interest. “Well, I’ll continue my search elsewhere,” trench coat said, giving the man a slight nod before exiting the building. ‘I’ve got a few choices as to where I can continue my search’ he thought to himself as he walked through the streets of this city. ‘The library, my detective friend, or back to the apartments,’ he rolled his thoughts over in his heading, trying to determine the best course of action.
Pressing his finger against a button outside another apartment complex, the man drew his coat tighter to his body. “What? Who is it?” a voice on the other side of a speaker asked “I’m listening.”
“It’s me, think you could let me in for a moment?” he asked, looking around the outside of the building. It was just now reaching noon, and a certain hustle and bustle had started of people trying to get to the popular restaurants. He was not hungry, because he had eaten a large breakfast with his friend earlier, however thinking about it made his stomach growl. The door opened quickly, and the gust of wind caught his attention.
“Come on, get in,” his friend said, looking about outside before closing the door quickly with a resounding slam. “What brings you back here so quickly? I thought you could handle this kind of thing,” he poked fun of him, sitting down in one of the chairs in the lobby.
“I am handling it, I just need some information since the old man wasn’t useful,” he replied, giving his friend an evil eye look. His friend just smiled and responded without fear,
“Hah, I told you not to ask him anything, he either ‘doesn’t remember’ or just doesn’t say anything and tries to change the subject, it’s really annoying. Anyways, let’s go back to my place, I’ve got a file I prepared for you.”
“19XX, mafia members found dealing stolen weapons to a revolutionary group, 13 members arrested on site. 19XX, drug dealers from an island are arrested for selling illegal substances under the guise of ‘medicinal herbs.’ This is interested and all, but I don’t see anything important to…” trench coat started to say, flipping through the pages some more before something caught his eye. “19XX, divorce lawyer shoots client, claiming self defense, the lawyer explained in court that his client was showing signs of insanity and that she ‘pulled a dangerous object out of her purse.’ Such an object was found on the scene, a knife, with the assaulter’s fingerprints on the handle. Profile of deceased indicates that she was a furniture saleswoman and that she was suspecting her husband of cheating prior to getting the divorce settled,” he finished, letting his arm with the paper droop at his side. “This, this is it,” he said to his friend, who was currently sucking down a cup of noodles.
“Whassit?” he asked, his mouth half full of food.
“This gives me an idea of what happened in that room, but I still need more information, if you need me I’ll be at the library,” he told him, stuffing the pages with the needed information into his coat pocket while maneuvering between the stacks of paper all over the place.
“Err welcom” he shouted, some noodle bits flying out of his mouth as he waved bye with his fork.
‘Furniture saleswoman, that explains why the furniture moves and why it’s so clean, in the middle of a divorce and killed explains why she’s still here, but, I don’t know the /exact/ reason why. And if I’m going to do this, I need to know some more details,’ he thought as he walk with a speedy gait down the street towards the library. Entering briskly through the revolving door, he sped to the back of the library and began ruffling through the old newspapers, looking for coverage of the saleswoman or the divorce lawyer. Most of the documents contained information that was already covered in his friends report, a few minor details that he would need were picked up, but other than that the library did not offer much new information. Cleaning up, he headed out and to the furniture store to talk with some of her co-workers. Some more details were picked up, and things became clearer to him as he pieced together the puzzle. He discovered that the lawyer had moved away from town to avoid ‘being associated with /her/’ anymore. He consolidated what little information he had and headed back to the apartment, where his client awaited him.
“Knock knock, I’m back,” he said as he headed into the managers office.
“You are, huh? And here I thought you’d given up like your pal,” the manager joked, laughing with a gravelly tone.
“No no, I guarantee you I’m not like that, one should always have faith in your employer though,” trench coat replied, smiling slightly. “Mind if I go back up?” he asked, getting a shake of the head out of him, he proceeded up the stairs. This long flight of stairs, an arduous journey for many who wished to find something that was promised to them. Money, fame, freedom, many had climbed this stairs for one thing or another, and as he climbs them, he realizes he is searching for the exact same things. Only this time, it’s for and from a good cause. A rumbling sound echoed down the hall as he reached the top floor, his hands in his pockets as he walked down the linoleum floor. Of course, the rumbling became louder as he neared the door, a short of shifting noise like wooden furniture moving across a wooden floor. He reached for the brass doorknob and grasped it tightly but turned it slowly. As the door creaked open, the noise stopped and the man stepped in. Closing the door softly behind him, he moved inward but stopped somewhere near the middle. This wasn’t his first time dealing with a ghost, and he had a feeling it would not be his last. Summoning the feelings of redemption, he called out to her.
“Cindy,” he said in a firm yet quiet tone of voice. “Cindy,” he repeated, never expecting an answer on the first call. “Cindy, I know” he called once more, knowing that he had her attention now. The air had a certain chill to it. “I’m here to help, Cindy,” he told her, his breath now visible because of the cold. The sound of moving furniture bounced through the room as a chair moved and turned itself towards him, and a creaking noise like a bottom pressing on a seat reverberated in the silence. Two sets of breathing could be heard, causing the man to smile. “Cindy McDougan, I assume,” he said, pulling out the other chair and sitting down. “I understand that you were murdered in this very room, and that justice was not served in your name, causing you to stay attached to this world. However, it must be said that you cannot stay. I am not an exorcist, I am neither angel nor demon, and I am certainly not a ghost buster. I came to tell you about the events that transpired outside of this room concerning you,” he began, clasping his hands in front of him. “Back in 19XX, you became suspicious of your husband, coming home late, not paying attention to you, the usual. Unwavering of your suspicions, you confront him on it, and demand a divorce without so much as an explanation. Seeking a lawyer, you came upon this office, where you arranged for the divorce. Unwilling to see your husband, you stayed at a friend’s house to calm down and get away from him but to no avail. He called you that night and asked you to come home, you erupted in anger and shot back all the evidence you had against him. He, as well, erupted in a blind rage and admitted to having an affair, causing you to sink further into despair. The next day, you reach the lawyer again to speed up the process. However, as lawyers often are, he apologizes for ‘not pushing the paperwork’ and politely tells you that he will call you as soon as he has the papers arranged. Feeling as depressed and unremorseful as you were, you reached into your purse for something but didn’t have time to pull it out as he pulled out a gun and shot you. He was a terribly edgy man, even though he was a lawyer. Realizing what you were doing was not threatening at all; he decided he would cover it up flawlessly instead of taking the heat. Setting up the scene, he pled his case and got off the hook and immediately moved away. That is the story, as you know it. The truth is, your husband never had an affair. While he was satisfied with his job, his father wanted him to take on the family business and they spent countless nights arguing about it. Agitated and tired, having you explode at him for a wild accusation made him think his entire world was against him. When he called you that night, he wanted to make amends, but instead, he went along with your accusation just to get you to stop yelling. After you had died, he lost a lot of hope, and gave in to his father’s demands. To this day, he still loves you,” he finished, smiling at the ground, his eyes closed. “I hope this eases your weariness,” he told her, standing up and leaving the room.
The next day, he returned to the apartment building, only to be greeted by a smile from the manager.
“I don’t know what you did my boy, but that room is as good as new,” he was informed by the man. Smiling back, he headed back up the stairs and into the room. All the furniture was gone, and light now shone onto the dusty floor. Stepping into the room, trench coat looked out the window, but a reflection in the window caught his eye. It was a woman, brown hair, hazel eyes, and soft features, smiling at him.
“Phew, I don’t know what happened, but all the furniture was gone when I came up here this morning,” the old man said from behind him. Turning to face him, he grinned and looked like he was taken aback.
“Oh really?” he asked, looking back at the window, the face gone. The manager started rambling on about things that had happened in his lifetime as he moved towards the window and placed a hand against it. “Good bye, Cindy,” he whispered softly, before turning around. “So, I was wondering, think I could have this space?” he asked.
“Sure, sure, anything for you, free rent for the first two months,” he chuckled as he turned around to walk out. Following after, he took one final look back at the window, the image of Cindy was there again, only, she seemed to be hugging the manager in a tight embrace before he stepped out of the room, and then she disappeared again. Smiling once more, trench coat walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Type your cut contents here.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me exactly what you were doing in that room just now?” a fat, stout man asked, a stained white tee and blue Dockers adorning his frame. A 12-gauge shotgun was firmly grasped in both of his hands.
“You called a P.I., didn’t you?” trench coat replied, his hands stuck in his pockets as he looked sternly down the barrel of the gun.
“That was months ago, and he already told me there was nothing he could do. So, you’re gonna tell me what you were doing in that room,” he responded, pumping the shotgun as he pointed it at the other man’s belly.
“Well, listen, I got this case passed onto me by that guy, otherwise, how would I have known about it if you had requested it months ago? After all, I’m not your normal P.I.,” trench coat quipped, shrugging his shoulders while still staring down the barrel of the gun. The short man thought about it for a moment, shotgun still pointed at him. After a moment, he lowered it and let out a sigh of relief.
“Finally, maybe someone can stop that incessant racket,” he mumbled, waddling over to and down the stairs. Trench coat followed, swallowing the giant lump in his throat he had acquired from the shotgun. “That last guy said it was out of his league, I don’t remember the details, but I’ve closed off that entire floor since then, luckily it was the top floor,” he told trench coat, continuing to waddle down the steps.
“What’s the history behind that room?” trench coat asked, following slowly behind him.
“Well, it’s got a history all right. I’ve owned this building since my pops gave it to me when he passed away, and let me tell you, that room has had some serious things happen to it. Black market, drug trafficking, illegal arms sales, you name it, it has happened in that room. The people on the floor below complain about some noise, but I haven’t been up here in a while, so I wouldn’t know. I insist no one lives there though, but they keep saying it sounds like someone is shifting the furniture,” he informed as they reached the ground floor, the old man taking a breather. The man in the trench coat scratched his nose as he thought over the information. Looking up at the ceiling, he asked a single question.
“Has anyone died in that room?”
“D-Died?” the short man repeated, wiping his forehead with his pudgy hand.
“Yea, dead, deceased, killed, murdered,” he responded, looking down at the man.
“N…not that I know of,” he stuttered, not looking at the man with the trench coat in the eye.
‘Bad liar,’ the tall man thought, checking the lobby floor for anything of interest. “Well, I’ll continue my search elsewhere,” trench coat said, giving the man a slight nod before exiting the building. ‘I’ve got a few choices as to where I can continue my search’ he thought to himself as he walked through the streets of this city. ‘The library, my detective friend, or back to the apartments,’ he rolled his thoughts over in his heading, trying to determine the best course of action.
Pressing his finger against a button outside another apartment complex, the man drew his coat tighter to his body. “What? Who is it?” a voice on the other side of a speaker asked “I’m listening.”
“It’s me, think you could let me in for a moment?” he asked, looking around the outside of the building. It was just now reaching noon, and a certain hustle and bustle had started of people trying to get to the popular restaurants. He was not hungry, because he had eaten a large breakfast with his friend earlier, however thinking about it made his stomach growl. The door opened quickly, and the gust of wind caught his attention.
“Come on, get in,” his friend said, looking about outside before closing the door quickly with a resounding slam. “What brings you back here so quickly? I thought you could handle this kind of thing,” he poked fun of him, sitting down in one of the chairs in the lobby.
“I am handling it, I just need some information since the old man wasn’t useful,” he replied, giving his friend an evil eye look. His friend just smiled and responded without fear,
“Hah, I told you not to ask him anything, he either ‘doesn’t remember’ or just doesn’t say anything and tries to change the subject, it’s really annoying. Anyways, let’s go back to my place, I’ve got a file I prepared for you.”
“19XX, mafia members found dealing stolen weapons to a revolutionary group, 13 members arrested on site. 19XX, drug dealers from an island are arrested for selling illegal substances under the guise of ‘medicinal herbs.’ This is interested and all, but I don’t see anything important to…” trench coat started to say, flipping through the pages some more before something caught his eye. “19XX, divorce lawyer shoots client, claiming self defense, the lawyer explained in court that his client was showing signs of insanity and that she ‘pulled a dangerous object out of her purse.’ Such an object was found on the scene, a knife, with the assaulter’s fingerprints on the handle. Profile of deceased indicates that she was a furniture saleswoman and that she was suspecting her husband of cheating prior to getting the divorce settled,” he finished, letting his arm with the paper droop at his side. “This, this is it,” he said to his friend, who was currently sucking down a cup of noodles.
“Whassit?” he asked, his mouth half full of food.
“This gives me an idea of what happened in that room, but I still need more information, if you need me I’ll be at the library,” he told him, stuffing the pages with the needed information into his coat pocket while maneuvering between the stacks of paper all over the place.
“Err welcom” he shouted, some noodle bits flying out of his mouth as he waved bye with his fork.
‘Furniture saleswoman, that explains why the furniture moves and why it’s so clean, in the middle of a divorce and killed explains why she’s still here, but, I don’t know the /exact/ reason why. And if I’m going to do this, I need to know some more details,’ he thought as he walk with a speedy gait down the street towards the library. Entering briskly through the revolving door, he sped to the back of the library and began ruffling through the old newspapers, looking for coverage of the saleswoman or the divorce lawyer. Most of the documents contained information that was already covered in his friends report, a few minor details that he would need were picked up, but other than that the library did not offer much new information. Cleaning up, he headed out and to the furniture store to talk with some of her co-workers. Some more details were picked up, and things became clearer to him as he pieced together the puzzle. He discovered that the lawyer had moved away from town to avoid ‘being associated with /her/’ anymore. He consolidated what little information he had and headed back to the apartment, where his client awaited him.
“Knock knock, I’m back,” he said as he headed into the managers office.
“You are, huh? And here I thought you’d given up like your pal,” the manager joked, laughing with a gravelly tone.
“No no, I guarantee you I’m not like that, one should always have faith in your employer though,” trench coat replied, smiling slightly. “Mind if I go back up?” he asked, getting a shake of the head out of him, he proceeded up the stairs. This long flight of stairs, an arduous journey for many who wished to find something that was promised to them. Money, fame, freedom, many had climbed this stairs for one thing or another, and as he climbs them, he realizes he is searching for the exact same things. Only this time, it’s for and from a good cause. A rumbling sound echoed down the hall as he reached the top floor, his hands in his pockets as he walked down the linoleum floor. Of course, the rumbling became louder as he neared the door, a short of shifting noise like wooden furniture moving across a wooden floor. He reached for the brass doorknob and grasped it tightly but turned it slowly. As the door creaked open, the noise stopped and the man stepped in. Closing the door softly behind him, he moved inward but stopped somewhere near the middle. This wasn’t his first time dealing with a ghost, and he had a feeling it would not be his last. Summoning the feelings of redemption, he called out to her.
“Cindy,” he said in a firm yet quiet tone of voice. “Cindy,” he repeated, never expecting an answer on the first call. “Cindy, I know” he called once more, knowing that he had her attention now. The air had a certain chill to it. “I’m here to help, Cindy,” he told her, his breath now visible because of the cold. The sound of moving furniture bounced through the room as a chair moved and turned itself towards him, and a creaking noise like a bottom pressing on a seat reverberated in the silence. Two sets of breathing could be heard, causing the man to smile. “Cindy McDougan, I assume,” he said, pulling out the other chair and sitting down. “I understand that you were murdered in this very room, and that justice was not served in your name, causing you to stay attached to this world. However, it must be said that you cannot stay. I am not an exorcist, I am neither angel nor demon, and I am certainly not a ghost buster. I came to tell you about the events that transpired outside of this room concerning you,” he began, clasping his hands in front of him. “Back in 19XX, you became suspicious of your husband, coming home late, not paying attention to you, the usual. Unwavering of your suspicions, you confront him on it, and demand a divorce without so much as an explanation. Seeking a lawyer, you came upon this office, where you arranged for the divorce. Unwilling to see your husband, you stayed at a friend’s house to calm down and get away from him but to no avail. He called you that night and asked you to come home, you erupted in anger and shot back all the evidence you had against him. He, as well, erupted in a blind rage and admitted to having an affair, causing you to sink further into despair. The next day, you reach the lawyer again to speed up the process. However, as lawyers often are, he apologizes for ‘not pushing the paperwork’ and politely tells you that he will call you as soon as he has the papers arranged. Feeling as depressed and unremorseful as you were, you reached into your purse for something but didn’t have time to pull it out as he pulled out a gun and shot you. He was a terribly edgy man, even though he was a lawyer. Realizing what you were doing was not threatening at all; he decided he would cover it up flawlessly instead of taking the heat. Setting up the scene, he pled his case and got off the hook and immediately moved away. That is the story, as you know it. The truth is, your husband never had an affair. While he was satisfied with his job, his father wanted him to take on the family business and they spent countless nights arguing about it. Agitated and tired, having you explode at him for a wild accusation made him think his entire world was against him. When he called you that night, he wanted to make amends, but instead, he went along with your accusation just to get you to stop yelling. After you had died, he lost a lot of hope, and gave in to his father’s demands. To this day, he still loves you,” he finished, smiling at the ground, his eyes closed. “I hope this eases your weariness,” he told her, standing up and leaving the room.
The next day, he returned to the apartment building, only to be greeted by a smile from the manager.
“I don’t know what you did my boy, but that room is as good as new,” he was informed by the man. Smiling back, he headed back up the stairs and into the room. All the furniture was gone, and light now shone onto the dusty floor. Stepping into the room, trench coat looked out the window, but a reflection in the window caught his eye. It was a woman, brown hair, hazel eyes, and soft features, smiling at him.
“Phew, I don’t know what happened, but all the furniture was gone when I came up here this morning,” the old man said from behind him. Turning to face him, he grinned and looked like he was taken aback.
“Oh really?” he asked, looking back at the window, the face gone. The manager started rambling on about things that had happened in his lifetime as he moved towards the window and placed a hand against it. “Good bye, Cindy,” he whispered softly, before turning around. “So, I was wondering, think I could have this space?” he asked.
“Sure, sure, anything for you, free rent for the first two months,” he chuckled as he turned around to walk out. Following after, he took one final look back at the window, the image of Cindy was there again, only, she seemed to be hugging the manager in a tight embrace before he stepped out of the room, and then she disappeared again. Smiling once more, trench coat walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Type your cut contents here.