The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

  • Mood:
  • Music:

Finish the story!

It's been a while since I wrote last, prose, at least. Be gentle with any criticism. It's supposed to resemble and H.P. Lovecraft, so um... yeah. It started off as a parody; but I think it's ending up more of a modern-day homage. Enjoy it for what it is, and if you actually like it, hey, bonus!

Wind whipped wisps of snow to and fro across the desolate local highway. We pulled off into this bookstore called "The Phoenix" and my jaw dropped, slightly. The place was literally overflowing with books, to the point where they were stacked and shelved outside, heedless of potential theft. Who would come all the way out here to steal books on Accounting Law?
We stayed outside as long as I could stand the cold and then walked inside, clutching a few interesting works of nonfiction with whitened fingers. The young goth girl behind the counter nodded as I pantomimed us setting our books down on the counter, and we did, leaving us unburdened to explore the shelves in this quaint building. It had been, at one time, a barn— a storehouse for grain; now it stored knowledge, information older and more diverse than even that now spread across the Internet. Some of it was granted, as spurious, but it had a palpable history to it, in every crack, in each tinge of yellow, in the very smell of aged paper.
My girlfriend had brought me to this place, knowing of my love for quaint volumes and used rarities. She steered me immediately to the horror section, aware that I was at that point, very interested in the horror stories of the last century's turn, having been pressed into reading them by some of my associates at the University. I amused myself looking at the titles for sometime, until I'd noticed she'd wandered off. I went to follow her, realizing that the bookstore was larger than I'd thought. What I'd thought was the back room turned out to be the first in a linked series of rooms each full of old books that no one wanted anymore. Or, if someone did want them, they hadn't yet stumbled upon this tiny bookstore in the middle of Upstate New York.
As I turned a corner, I saw a 'hidden' section of occult books. I use quotation marks because it was in the first place a snooping troubleseeker like myself would look— behind and under a staircase. I vowed to return, once I'd located my significant other.
I did not need to search long, as I soon found her in an even more unsavory section; poetry. I flashed her a smile and she waved, so I hastened back to the occult section to see if they had any copies of the Necronomicon, by that mad Arab, Abdul Al-hazred. They did indeed have a few from the turn of the last century, when mass-printing occult texts that had once been in scarce quantity due to the lengthly process of manuscript replication had been the fashion. I picked one up and thumbed through it, not feeling any particular madness seizing my mind, nor feeling the inexplicable urge to faint, I was most disappointed. But I saw one charming edition that was leather-bound (not quite human skin, but hey) with a shiny brass buckle, and I felt I had to have it.
I tucked it under my arm with a few other books I'd selected and escorted my sweet to the front desk, where we collected our other books and prepared to pay. Eternally the gentleman, I allowed my girlfriend to pay first, and then I stacked my volumes on the counter. The young girl, descended no doubt from the ancient family that owned this place since it had been farmland, smiled, which unnerved me. I was prone to never trust a goth that smiled. I purchased the texts regardless, and we were the two of us merrily on our way.

That's all I've written. I'm assuming if you've actually read this far, you're interested in the story. I'm sure this is hardly an lj first, but I'm going to open it up. That's right, you can, in the comments section, submit the next portion of the story. I want to see where it goes. I think most people have played a variant of this game before. I'll be moderating and all that junk; deleting any entries that are just nonsense to ruin everyone's fun. Don't worry about not having skill at writing or anything. I don't let it bother me (Alf: HA!).

In other words, please please please write! This'll be no fun if I just come up with my own ending... I have a middle of the story in mind that I might post, but no end yet. So give it a shot.

  • Gender, what a concept!

    This is an essay I wrote but never shared after *last* year's #ComingOutDay. I touched it up a little, but it's still very rough (I've learned a…

  • Where ya from? :)

    The following piece is a monologue I performed for "The Griot Show" last weekend: I get asked this question a lot: "Where are you from?"…

  • Coming to rest.

    Copied from facebook (sorry, but it's something). One of the topics I was researching yesterday was sundive trajectories. It may be surprising, but…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.