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Rated: ASR · Book · Fantasy · #1464235
Fannie finds a new world.

~Prologue~

The darkness that enshrouded the alley was impenetrable. Gregory glanced up and down the alleyway to make sure that he wasn't followed.
He didn't hear anything, nor could he see for the darkness, but Gregory Purled was a man of sensitive nerves. He felt more in one second than most people see and hear in a lifetime.
As if on cue, thunder rolled in the distance.
"I don't like it. Not one bit. I don't, I don't, I don't!" he mumbled emphatically to himself. He had acquired that habit lately. Mumbling was something his wife hated. Probably even more than she hated him.
Oh well, that was the essence of life. They either hated you or loved you. Never in between.
At least he had Fannie and Nathan to enjoy... "Oh! Bother!" he thought. There was no need to be dwelling in his mind. He needed a sharp one if he would make it tonight.
The darkness began to wrap around him as he proceeded down into the alleyway.
Why did clandestine meetings always happen in a dark alleyway?
Could they not have met in a nice library or coffee shop?
Gregory began to hug the walls.
He was a man of many faces, but one of them was not bravery. He could fight, if his life or those of his family were at stake, but reckless behavior such as this was something Gregory had never had.

“Gregory Purled,” came a withered voice behind him, causing him to jump and yelp in surprise.
He whirled to face the voice that had frightened him so and found he was looking at the oldest man he had ever seen. If fact, he appeared old enough to be dead, with his skeletal face and bony hands peering out of a long cloak. If Gregory didn’t know better, he would say that he was, indeed, very dead.
“Do you have the book, Gregory?” the old man said haltingly.
“Yes sir,” Gregory all but whispered, “I have it right here.” As he spoke, he patted the upper right hand corner of his chest.
“You were sure to not be followed, were you?” came the withered voice again as eyes peered around Gregory into the opening of the alleyway.
Gregory followed his gaze, and in doing so, felt the jolt of a presence nearby. He froze, his eyes on the alleyway opening.
Why was he just now feeling the form that moved somewhere very near? He had always had such sensitivity to the auras of people, but he could not feel one tonight, just a dark presence, lingering unknown in the alleyway.

“What is it Gregory?” whispered the old man. “Do you feel someone?”
Gregory nodded, his throat too dry to speak. He did not want to meet anyone who wanted the treasure he carried. They would be very dangerous, frightening, and perhaps, not even human.
“Quickly, Gregory, bring me the book!”
The old man was reaching into his cloak with one hand as he hurriedly gestured for Gregory to come closer.



Gregory hesitated only a second before striding quickly to the man and handing him the precious package he had carried to near to him for so long.
The old man pulled from his cloak a locket in the shape of a small faery. The gold was beautifully worked with color added, increasing the reality of the piece. The faery was holding in her small hand a strange creature that Gregory had only seen once in real life. He smiled even now with the remembrance of the meeting.
“Take the locket,” the old man wheezed, “Take the locket and the book. Run, run and hide them, now!”
Gregory looked into the sharp blue eyes that peered from their sunken sockets and saw the urgency from them.
He turned to glance behind him and seeing nothing, looked back at the old man.
That is when he saw it.
A dark shadow looming in the gloom of the alley behind the old man.
The fear in Gregory’s eyes told the old man of the danger behind him as he leaned into Gregory and whispered, “Run!”
Gregory grasped the old man’s hand to pull him along with him, but he pulled away from Gregory with surprising strength and turned to face the shadow.
Gregory stood still for a moment, then turning to opening of the alley, proceeded to run quickly for the safety of streetlight.
He stopped and turned once to look after the old man. He should have kept running.
The shadow had confronted the old man, and Gregory witnessed a horror that reached into his very soul and shattered it into a thousand pieces.
The shadow was a figure of a monster. It was huge with a beaklike face and sharp razor teeth, its arms stretching into claws as it reached the old man.
No sound was uttered, but Gregory stood, transfixed, watching the old man as he bowed his head submissively and the monster swallowed him whole.
He could not move. The monster’s yellow eyes turned and saw him. He could not move!
Run, Gregory! He told himself frantically. His feet did not move. Run, run, run!
The monster grinned, if the wicked sneer could be called such, and began to approach Gregory.
This was the end. Gregory thought of this, as he stood, unable to move, and watched as his doom approached him slowly.
The monster hiccupped.
Gregory remained petrified.
The monster’s face became puzzled in expression. It hiccupped again.
Gregory, still unable to move, watched as the monster began to hiccup violently and then, with light pouring from every opening, exploded into a thousand little pieces.
The black cloak from the old man floated softly to the ground.
Gregory regained his capacity to direct his own movements, and fled down the street.
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