Book of the Blind - Part XIII

Gibson barely had time to say, “Shit!” before the tentacles were wrapping themselves around Keira’s head, phantasmal suckers leaving very real raw wounds where they clutched at her face.

Clay charged forward, ducking past swaying, boneless ghost limbs, and tore the crystal talisman from Keira’s grip, breaking the glittering necromantic link.

Book of the Blind - Part XII

“I am nameless!” the figure cried, as some of the tentacles unfurled, searching out into the night air. “I am part of the living amalgam. I have stared into the Light!” Then the man's face was etched with fury. “And you must pay for your interference! Especially you, necromancer!” He shot a glare at Keira, and on cue a half dozen tentacles lashed out at her.

Book of the Blind - Part XI

“Write that down,” Gibson said, not taking his eyes off the channeled specter.

“Already on it.” Clay was hunched over a notepad to protect it from the rain, scribbling furiously.

“What's your name?” Gibson asked.

“I am Havok'Thun, the Illuminated, the One-Maker!”

“No, goddammit,” Gibson said. “Your real name.”

Book of the Blind - Part X

The sucker-lined tentacles swayed and hugged the phantasm, who continued to laugh and twitch.

“All right, buddy, I’m going to ask you once,” Gibson said. “Who killed you?”

The phantasm giggled. “I did not die, I have been reborn! Havok’thun, He Who Walks In Light, will hold sway over all! Klgtha non irdun Roth hrkan!”

Book of the Blind - Part IX

The ectoplasm swirled into a life-size image of the dead man, writhing and laughing, a low demoniac drone sounding somewhere in the background. And something was holding him, enveloping him, something that looked like—

“Sean, are those tentacles?” Clay asked.

“Sure as hell look like it,” Gibson said.

Book of the Blind - Part VIII

The hairs on the back of Gibson’s neck stood up as the air charged with weird energies. His scalp prickled, but he refused to be bothered by it.

A coruscating strand of light reached up from the dead man’s ruined chest and touched the dangling crystal.

Keira’s eyes rolled back and pale, wispy ectoplasm began to pour from her eyes, mouth, nose, and ears.

Book of the Blind - Part VII

“Well, time to get to work.” Keira produced a blue crystal on a chain from a pants pocket under her slicker. “You might want to stand back, fellas.”

Clay took the suggestion, but Gibson remained where he was, stonefaced.

Keira knelt by the corpse, dangling the crystal over where its heart used to be, and began to chant in Elder, low and quick.

Book of the Blind - Part VI

“You and me both, champ,” Keira said, drawing even with the detectives.

Clay startled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t.” Keira frowned at the crime scene. “God dammit, Gibson. I was hoping I’d get to use actual science this time.”

“Sorry,” Gibson said, not sounding like he meant it.

Book of the Blind - Part V

Clay scoffed. “Forensics? Doesn’t that outfit have, like, two people in it?”

“Two people we need to lean on,” Gibson said. “Unless, of course, you see any leads here.”

Clay covered his eyes with a hand, shielding them from the continuing downpour. He sighed. “I’m just not a real big fan of necromancy, you know?”

Book of the Blind - Part IV

A woman in a slicker holding an umbrella emerged from the car. She had red hair and a wine-colored birthmark on her left cheek in the shape of a heart.

Clay had recovered from his nausea and joined Gibson at the corpse, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Wow, Sean. Who’s she?”

“Keira Mortenson,” Gibson said. “She runs forensics.”

Book of the Blind - Part III

Gibson surveyed the scene, cigarette between his lips. The body belonged to a young white guy—maybe twenty, twenty-five. Rain had washed away all traces of blood before Gibson and his police retinue even arrived. Probably all manner of other evidence, too.

It was going to be a long night.

Off in the distance, a car pulled up to the pier.

Book of the Blind - Part II

Detective Sean Gibson, Precinct 4 of Eschaton PD, lit a cigarette with one hand, supporting an umbrella with the other. He was black, mid-fifties, and looked like he'd seen way too much of this bullshit in his time.

He could hear his partner, a twentysomething newbie named Clay Turner, throwing up over the edge of the pier. Poor guy. First time is always rough.

Book of the Blind - Part I

Eschaton City, the City at the End of the World, loomed over Finish Bay, which in turn emptied out into the Atlantic.

The city and the water were both polluted, and it was raining. Down on Pier 23, rainwater was collecting in the charred, blasted-out chest cavity of a naked corpse.

Forensics was going to throw a fit.

Book of the Blind - Introduction

I've had the itch to write what more or less amounts to a superhero tale, and I think that's what I'm going to kick things off with. Keep in mind that, while I have a vague idea of where things are going, there is practically nothing planned in advance. But I do have a hunch that this story may take place in a world where the mundane meets the Lovecraftian and the steam-powered.

This, however, is simply conjecture. Off we go!

-James

P.S. In order to navigate the story, just keep hitting the "newer posts" button. That will take you through all the daily entries in sequence.

About The Author

Hi! My name is James, and I'm more than a little bit crazy. I reckon you have to be to want to make a living as a writer. Which I'm not, at the moment, but hopefully that day will come soon. Until then, I'll carry merrily on as clerical staff, not begrudging a single moment that nets me a paycheck.

I have a cat who is the most adorable thing on four legs and likes to remove my glasses with his teeth. I'm fond of Hellboy (comics and movies), Avatar: The Last Airbender (the show, not the movie), HP Lovecraft (because shoggoths), and Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (because giant robots throwing galaxies like shuriken are awesome). My taste in music changes with the tides, so don't ask me to define it. It'll get messy.

This site is basically a big experiment. We'll have to see if it pans out. If it doesn't, I'm going to get put back in the box.

What The Hell Is This?

This is a space that I have created as a home for a rather...unusual approach to fiction. Every day (whether this includes weekends or not I have yet to decide), I will post another small chunk of a story. Each day, if the plan holds, the story will progress forward just that much more. As a measure of about the amount each post will contain, I aim to make it the approximate amount you could fit on a 1" x 2.83" mailing label--you know, the kind that come in sheets of thirty-three.

It'll be just a tidbit each day, but hopefully the fact that the story in its current state will all be present and accounted for here will make it easier to digest.

Anyway, just kick back and enjoy the show. It ought to be a helluva ride.

-James