Bloody Conviction (discontinued)

Prologue.

Prologue

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the rain was dismal and bleak as it fell from the pouting grey clouds stuffing the sky. the sound of pattering rang out across the forest and small towns that huddled in the valleys, small streams snaked through cracks in the relatively flat fields. every bird, rabbit, fox and badger was in their burrow or nest, squeezing together with their family for warmth, and waiting for the rain to stop.

across the fields, the huddled towns were becoming greyer under each drop of frigid water, and every windowlight was dimming and flickering off. the thunder pounded in the sky, rumbling despite the absence of visible lightning.

one lone stone house sat apart from the hamlet, its small olden structure surrounded by a small stone wall, a small winding stone path, and a small herb garden filled with stone structures. small stone rabbits and toads sat paralyzed, their blank glances the liveliest part of the entire plot. one window of this cottage faces west, away from the village, and on it's windowsill sat a candle, white, simple, and flickering with an odd lilac hue.

behind this pattered window, observing what was either the candle or the blurred view of the sun setting into a grey ocean, was an old man lying in his deathbed.

the man was wrinkled, and very old, wearing an old fashioned night-gown. he sat, unresponsively staring out the window, at the candle, and did so miserably. by his side sat a younger man, barely growing hair on his chin. this man was staring into the face of the older man, and clutching his hand he whispered;

"Grandpa?"

the old man made no reply, not even a flintch.

"please.. I know you remember me.. somewhere deep inside there!" he pleaded.

again the man made no attempt to respond, his only sound a rasping few gasps for breath. he lay heavily, propped against a worn pillow, and continued to rasp.

the younger man sighed, and bowed his head in resignation. as he pushed back and attempted to get up, the sudden chill of his Grandfathers hand was firm and tight on his arm, and he rasped;

"HE WILL RETURN"

"what!?" the grandson replied, startled witless.

"HE WILL RETURN!! PRAY YOU DO NOT SEE HIM!! PRAY MY BOY!!"

the Man's eyes were alight with terror, bloodshot with a vision of blood, and evil.

"what?!" the grandson cried again.

but the grip loosened, and the man slumped back into the bed, his last rasp and breath hanging off of his lips, dangling, and taunting the reaper who would be standing over the bed post. he died.

there was a powerful gust, sweeping across the open land, buffeting life and bending trees and crops in its wake. the gust hit the windows in a clattering, and the house threatened to fall over in itself. the Grandson looked about him in terror, as the last light, the candle wick blew out like a figure had marked the end of the old man's life. the gust ceased just then, and the boy jumped up to reach for the light switch, forcing the neglected and reluctant lights to flicker on.

he looked about him, assuring he was alone, then grasped his head and whispered to himself it had just been his grandfather's dementia.. the alzheimers and such.

having calmed down under the assuring shine of lightbulbs, the grandson sat back in the chair by the bed, he looked miserably at the terrified figure of his dead Grandfather. with a scowl of unjustified feelings, he swept his hand over the dead face, closing the widened eyelids, and gaping mouth. returning the wily hair to a calmer frizzed position, and moving his hands to a peaceful rest on his chest, the Grandson cried. he cried over the shelter his grandfather had shown him after the deaths of his parents as a boy, over how his grandfather had slowly lost his mind over the last few years, over how he was gone.

"I'll miss you, be sure I will.. so dont you forget to bring those beers when I hit the hay for good. just as we promised long ago.. just as we promised.."

the young man drifted into a sea of memories, heading downstairs to pour some whiskey from the heavy wood cabinet full of only the best. he made a mental note to call the undertaker as soon as he could, hopeing that the funeral would pass quickly. he thought about all the codnolences the town would give him, not worrying about the sincerity in their words, he knew it would be sincere, everyone loved--had--... had loved his Grandfather. he thought all this painfully, painstakingly correcting himself that all the days of 'Old Saint John' and his kindness were over.