Herd In Hiding: Chapter 1
A vow. A meeting.
In Equestria:
Hawthorne leaped across the bloody battlefield with maniacal glee. His orders from Lisskiira, the Princess of Disdain were to mop up. The battle was going so well that there were few ponies left to savage. Too bad she sent Chagnos, the Thief of Innocence to help out. Hawthorne thought he could handle things without his help.
Yes, this was a good day. He strode over to a dying Royal guard, its white fur was stained with gore. The pony raised its head. A defiant look came into its green eyes.
"Well pony, it's over, we have won!" Hawthorne hissed with malice.
The dying pony laughed, blood sprayed out of its mouth like a guttering fountain.
"We have won, even now my people are escaping, you will never find us," The guard expired with a smile.
Hawthorne started to howl but the Horns of Recall drowned him out. They had to leave or be torn apart by the Banishment spell. Reluctantly Hawthorne opened a gateway back to the Pit of Y'gggara. Before he went, he vowed to make the ponies suffer when he found them again.
Seattle Present time:
Detective Gillmore Rodgers, or Gil as he was called parked his car under the blinking streetlight. He was in the bad part of town but the next block was the worst. It was dark, barely lit by the fitfully working lights at both ends. The next block had already succumbed to darkness a long time ago. Gil looked down the block at the boarded-up storefronts and the empty street. Someone could get a nightmare-filled night's sleep in the street and more before any cars arrived.
No one would be pawning items or eating Chinese food on this block. Even the graffiti felt threatening; too many sharp edges and strange curves. What language was the scrawling in? Gil did not want to know, ignorance was probably better. He didn’t want to meet the tagger either.
Gil felt like he was out in some wasteland far away from anyone. Strange things happened to people in those places, words like disappear or vanish come to mind. Any cry for help would be swallowed up by the silence. Two blocks away people were living their lives however badly, the difference was two blocks.
He pushed those thoughts away, it was bad enough his "gut" was screaming at him to get back in the car and drive back into the bad part of town. Hookers and street punks were better than almost total silence. Again, he had to remember why he was here.
Oh yeah, it was the "Snatcher Jack" murders. Some wacko was killing people, taking their eyes. He or she was up to victim number four. Of course, some sicko in the press came up with the Snatcher Jack name, too bad it was popular now. Gil was assigned to the case as part of a task force. When he started it looked like there were no leads but he found a link between all of the victims. They were psychics, the real deal. Gil interviewed the relatives of the victims and found out that the victims somehow were able to sense or see future events. Too bad they did not get enough advance notice to contact the police. The next step was to find out how the killer's life and the victim's lives intersect. Gil was trying to do that when he got the voice message.
The scratchy message offered Gil info on Snatcher Jack for some money. They would work out the details at the meeting. The phone call sounded like it was from the oldest phone from way back in the day. Heck, even two tin cans and a string would make it easier for Gil to understand what the guy was saying. Too bad he had to replay the message several times until he heard everything. Then the mystery caller gave the address of the dark building in front of Gil. He had a bad feeling about this meeting. It's a good chance, maybe a certainty that he would meet Snatcher Jack. One of them would walk out of the building, the other one would be in the news one way or another. Maybe being ripped off was a better alternative.
Gil looked at the outside of the building. It was nothing remarkable or memorable, many other houses looked like this. He could smell piss, it was really strong almost like ammonia. Some of the windows above were broken. Yeah, these are definitely luxury apartments, he thought. Gil opened the flimsy wooden door, walked into the building, and put on his night vision goggles.
The ground floor had broken bottles all over except for the area leading to the staircase. He leaned over the edge of the broken glass area and looked down the hall. Could see the glint of more shattered bottles. Other than that the ground floor was clean. Something about this gave Gil a chill and his gut wanted him to leave. Usually, abandoned buildings become public toilets, this one missed that fate. After glancing around for possible threats he went up the stained carpeted stairs.
The second floor had cut-up cans instead of bottles. The implied malice made Gil feel even more nervous. He went up the stairs. His gut was screaming overtime, and the hairs on the back of his neck were raised.
The third floor had nails pointing up but there was a clear space up to room 3A. Room 3A was where the meet was happening. Gil stood at the door for a minute to listen for any sounds. He heard nothing. After looking around he pulled his gun out of the holster anyway and flicked the safety off.
Gil opened the door slowly, there was a lamp on a dusty table with two overstuffed chairs next to it. He stepped in and looked to the left. The area looked clear. He started to look to the right, something came up so fast he barely saw it. Gil's gun was knocked from his hand. A vice-like grip closed around his neck and he was slammed against the wall. Gil's ribs creaked from the impact.
A visage with slitted brown eyes stared up into his face. Some balding guy wearing a stained brown coat with a hell of a grip had him in the air like a kid’s toy. That was not the worst of it. Gil could see something inside the man, something that was wearing this guy like an old suit. The man's eyes opened wider, and Gil could see that his captor's eyes were bloodshot.
"Ahhh, one with Vision, You can see me, this is my lucky day! I am most fortunate," the man said or maybe what was inside him said that.
The demon-possessed man grabbed Gil's night vision goggles, pulled them off of his head, and threw them further into the shabby apartment. Whatever spoke had terrible breath, it smelled like many things were rotting besides the man's teeth.
Then the demon took his other hand then put it in Gil's face at eye level. Even though the man looked pudgy, his arms were thin and his hands claw-like.
"Well now, it's time for me to get the eyes, get the soul," The demon said with a bored tone then it sniffed Gil.
"What's this, pony? Now things get interesting," The demon said. He slowly released his grip on Gil's neck.
"Tell me about the pony that you're screwing!" The demon asked impatiently before he removed his bony talons from Gil's bruised neck.
Gil hunched over gasping, trying to get his breath back while trying to plan a way to get out of this mess.
The demon backed up, sat down in the farther chair, then pointed at the other seat. When Gil sat down, some dust and stuffing puffed out of the old chair's cushion.
"Wh- wha- what are you? A demon?" Gil asked between gasps for air.
"You can call me Hawthorne. As far as being a demon, yes and no. I do not serve that group of wimps in that daycare center they call Hell. I come from a much darker place," Hawthorne said.
While Hawthorne was talking, Gil got a glimpse of a tall impossibly thin creature carrying a banner against a sky so black, that a coal mine at midnight would seem like pure white. The creature's face was thin and full of disdain.
Gil started to pray.
Hawthorne grimaced and stuck his taloned hand in Gil's face. One more inch and the sharp fingernail would be scratching Gil's left eye.
Gil faltered then stopped.
"Do that again and I will take your eyes and soul before you notice that they are gone!" Hawthorne threatened. "This is what I want, I want ponies! Tell me where I can find a herd and I will let you live." His eyes narrowed to razor-thin slits.
Gil could see that the creature was not going to kill him, maybe he could negotiate something. It looked like he had a chance, a slim one at best.
"Ponies? I don't understand," Gil said.
"You sleep with one and you do not understand?" Hawthorne asked,
Gil could feel the icy contempt in Hawthorne's voice like a blast from a sub-zero wind raking his face.
"I have a girlfriend, but she is no pony. She is human," Gil replied. He had a feeling that he should not tell this creature what his girlfriend's name was.
"You meat bags are so dense! Your girlfriend is a were-pony. She looks human most of the time but at the end of the lunar cycle she reverts to her pony form. Have you noticed that she has one or two days in which you can't be with her? Have you seen that she does not eat any meat?" Hawthorne asked with some fury in his voice.
Gil thought about what Hawthorne said. It sounded true but he wasn’t sure. On the other hand, he was quite certain that the ice was quite thin here and each word had to be chosen carefully if he ever wanted to survive. "Yes. I have noticed some of that," Gil hedged.
"Good. I will not hurt your girlfriend. I just want the other ponies. Give me a herd and you can live," Hawthorne said.
A small pile of thousand-dollar bills appeared on the floor in front of Gil.
"How about fifty thousand dollars as a sweetener?" Hawthorne offered. His voice was as sweet as cyanide dipped in honey.
"How did you do that?" Gil asked. He was so sure he had not seen any money when he checked out the room earlier. Then again, he didn’t see Hawthorn until it was too late.
"Don't worry it's real. That money will pass any test you meatbags can throw at it. Use it to help you find the herd. I do not care what you do with the rest," Hawthorne said then waved his talons dismissively. "The deal is simple, I let you live, you get fifty thousand as a sweetener. Show me where a herd of were-ponies lives within two weeks. You do that, we go about our separate affairs," Hawthorne explained the deal like he was talking to a small child.
"Okay. I will do it," Gil said. He was hoping to find a way to get out of the deal. Taking out or arresting Hawthorne would be next. Not sure it was possible though. Killing him might be the only way. Gil knew deep down the demon was lying. After the arrangement, Hawthorne would come for him.
Suddenly Hawthorne lunged and grabbed Gil's right arm. He held it tight. The demon began to speak in a tongue that sounded like someone was happily gargling with razor blades.
To Gil's ears, it was painful. He was expecting to feel blood ooze out of his ears. He looked at his arm. A green flame covered his and Hawthorne's arm. His arm started to tingle and then burn. While he was trying to pull away, Gil could feel the ceiling of the room fade away. Something so large that only one eye could fit was looking down at him with malicious intent.
Hawthorne finished his screaming or singing or whatever. The ceiling came back.
Gil's arm stopped burning.
"I have taken our little deal to the Guarantor. Think of him as someone who will make sure that no one breaks the deal without con-sequen-ces," Hawthorne said.
Hearing Hawthorne pause on the word consequences made Gil get even more concerned. The Guarantor must be pretty powerful to make Hawthorne toe the line. Gil didn’t like how his options were shrinking. "How will I contact you when I find the were ponies?" Gil asked.
"You can summon me with this," Hawthorne pulled out a filthy gray rag from his coat and opened it.
A shiny black rod divided by rough cuts lay inside. Something was not quite right with the way the meager light in the room seemed to slide across the surface of the summoning stick.
"Break a section off, burn it and I will appear," Hawthorne said with a bored tone.
Hawthorne wrapped up the rod in the rag. He gave it to Gil.
Gil put the rag and rod in his pocket. He barely suppressed the urge to wipe his hands on his pants.
"You have two weeks. Do not fail," Hawthorne said with some menace in his voice then he was gone.
Just like that, gone. No footsteps, no noise, nothing. Gil was alone. He pocketed the money then he looked through the shabby apartment for his gun and the night vision goggles. The goggles were wrecked. He sighed. “Goodbye, three hundred and fifty bucks.” The gun was okay. While Gil walked back to the car, he looked closely at his arm. The strange green symbol made him feel a bit queasy. The strange angles and curves hinted at things he didn’t want to know or see. A moment later he covered his arm with his sleeve.
It was time for him to ride out of the worst part of town and into a nightmare.
Author's Note
This is a story I did but I posted it on DeviantArt(DA).
Since I've grown a teeny-weeny bit as a writer, I figured I would fix this story.
