Westerfield (Work in Progress)

We are currently putting on the finishing touches to it.
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Grunt

Halloweeen is the best time of the year. It is a time for frightening, for masquerading, and for comedy. It is the one time of year when it is acceptable to be yourself or anything else you would ever wish to be. It is the time to not hold back, the time to free oneself from all notions of correctness. Halloween is a celebration of the past, of traditions, and of horrors. A great number of people enjoy being frightened at Halloween, including myself.
I am writing this as I sit here, surrounded by dust-covered books in the dank, damp basement of Samuel's bookstore. This room is lined with oak bookshelves, filled with rare decaying books. Some of the books are in need of repair, and otheres are simply too valuable to place with the rest of the books upstairs. The bittersweet musk of aged paper overwhelms anyone who enters the basement of the store, immeadiately greeting their senses as they descend the stairs. I help with the store above this room, and am the only employee of Mr.Samuel...Come to think of it, I have been working form him and living with him for a while and I simply cannot recall his last name...I should know this...he has told me...I think. Oh there I go rambling again!That is not a very polite thing to do to such a friendly journal like you! Mr. Samuel should be closing up shop soon; he had wanted to record the last sale of the day himself. He is an odd little old man, he had the need to hire me as a caretaker, and yet he still demands that I do not help him!
In his old age, Samuel has found himself not as capable as he once was at minding the store; mainly he takes it easy, sitting in one area of the store to help the customers while I mind the register. In the back of the bookstore, he sits with his feet propped up on an ottoman. His favorite chair is an old leather wingback, an normally I see him sitting there with a book of verse under his nose. With how steep the angle of his face gets while he reads, I am surprised that his glasses stay on his face, and do not fall onto the pages of the book he reads. Occasionally from my post at the front desk, I see the flash of bright white hair move from that chair and through the maze of bookcases to help a lost looking customer. Being the ever friendly man Samuel is, he veiws the store as his 'relm;; the customers are his subjects, and his duty is to protect them from buyng the wrong book. Samuel loves talking to the customers, asking them how they are, and if he can help them. Mr. Samuel always has a bright smile on his wrinkled face.
It truly amazes me how he approaches them. One would expect a ninety-nine-year old to move very slowly, using loud, jerky movements, but that is not the case with him.Sometimes we joke that he was trained as a ninja or assassin, to be silent and stealthy. Those who do not frequent the bookstore sometimes mistake him for a manikin. Once I had the opportunity to observe him whilist his attention was captivated by a new novel. I could barely tell when he breathed, and my only clues to whether he still lived, were the turning of paages and the different emotions in his light gray eyes. Our frequent visitors know better, for they never fall for his silent, almost motionless act. Some of the feistier oldies try beating him in staring contests; those contests always end in laughter when Samuel beats them.
He takes his time bserving people; he watches them silently, waiting to make a move as he decides whether or not to help them. If he does not wish to help them, he will make fools of them; Samuel only helps those customers who are kind and not causing trouble. He hates when the younger crowd come into the store and cause a ruckus, from distracting the other patrons, to being rude to me at the front destk. If he can scare then, Samul will. One of his favorite pass times is putting arrogant people in their places. He has a lot of energy for being so old, and this shop has really kept him going since his wife died. She past away about ten years ago, and for a while Samuel hardly did anything, he just sat and read books. That is why I moved in with him, not only do I work here in the store, but I also take care of him. I make sure the house is taken care of as well. The maintenance and bills were falling behind before I came to help. I clean his house, take care of the gardens that his wife plantec, cook for the both of us, and generally make sure Mr.Samuel keeps going.While he is old, there are still pleanty of things Mr.Samuel has to live for here in town. He is well liked and many people here hate to see him upset.

Admin

Wow, you are a great writer. I can't wait for more! Wink

Admin

Indeed she can write.

Grunt

This town that we live in, it is a small town; filled with old blood and towering cypress. Not on any map, Westerfield is a well hidden secret from the rest of the World. The outskirts of this town are marked by thick forests, spotted with random areas of swamp. Westerfield is separated from the advances of the modern world by these natural barriers. The town itself is very quiet,and has one long cobblestone road that serves as the central divider of town. The main street of the town has many storefronts along it, and allows for the residents to find all that they need in order to live comfortably.
The general store, the grocery store, the barbers shop, Samuel's bookstore, the tailor and the jailhouse all lie on the main street. Their outer appearances are that of buildings from the mid eighteen hundreds. At the top of the street sits the townhall, serving as the courthouse and a gossiping perch for anyone who wants to know what is happening around town. The newspaper office sits a few buildings down, though there is not much news to report on here in this quiet town.Most conflicts are resolved within the same hour of coming to a climax in Wwesterfield. I once saw two feuding teenagers causeing a scene; they were screaming and going on loudly outside of the store. The teenagers were tapped on their shoulders by three elderly women who had just exited the bookstore.These women calmly whispered things into the ears of the younger two, whose postures were still beset with hostility, and the teenagers tensed up before looking defeated. The elderkind stepped back and watched,while smirking mind you, as the two teenagers shook hands. Once the exchange had ended and the quiteness once more took hold over the town I was still staring out the window with an eyebrow quirked. I wondered if the elder generation really had that type of control over the younger one...and if that was the case I longed to know the reason why. I desired to find out what excatly the teenagers had been told, and why they were so obedient of their elders. I just had so many questions about the strangeness of Westerfield.
When I first moved in with Samuel, everyone I know found my stories of Westerfield bizarre, from the way that the town planners laid out the streets, to how the entire town grows silent after nightfall. It gets so silent here...as if not even the frogs dare to croak for fear of disrupting some unspoken decree. I just get the feeling that the town is hiding something, what other reason would there be for such an odd occurrence? Westerfield even has a curfew at night fall;everyone who lives here mucst abide by it as well. The curfew states that all residents must be inside their homes by nightfall. Odd I know, but Samuel said that it is necessary to protect the townsfolk from the evils of the night. The day he let that information slip, he got very pale and sent a glance out the window. We were at home for that conversation, and her glance was wearily cast towards the foggy treeline.
Naturally, his caution of the woods made me even more curious about them. I suddenly had a very strong urge to find out the nature of the 'evils of the night' I was to avoid.
I have lived here for about a year now and there exists a very storng sense of being watched at night by something in those woods. They surround the entire town, and whenever I go outside, I feel as though I am watched by unseen eyes...eyes that lie on the other side of the dense fog that rolls off of the swamps. The fog hides things...and the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me those things are evil...and filled with hatred and malice. The hair on the back of my neck stands up whenever I gaze at the fog rolling out from under the branches of the cypress. Even Samuel't property is boredered by the deep woods, where rows upon rows of cypress trees extend for hundreds of miles. Each tree is so much alike with the ancient, gnarled branches, reaching out as if they were trying to pull at a person...they give off bad vibes to me.

Admin

MOAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Admin

I agree with the above statement. ^^

Grunt

It is the woods that set my levels of unease at dangerous hights. Every time the forbidding silence of the night falls over the town my fear increases immensely. The only sound that cuts through the silence is the creaking of the cypress as the gnarled branches sway in the night air. With such a spooky setting, I believe it is only natural for my fear to motivate me to abide by the curfew. If it wasn't for that fear, I would break the law.
I am by far more of a night owl then a sparrow, so for me The best time of day is the night. I long for it, and it welcomes me with arms wide open. The night is the only time when my quest for solitary moments can be fufilled. The house at night reminds me too much of a cage...the pale colors on the wall being washed out by the moonlight, back when I was more brave...or maybe I was simply oblivious to the evil...yes that is it...I traveled in the darkness. I shrugged of my unease and walked in the silence of the night. I used those walks, in which the only sounds besides the creaking of braches camefrom me, to find my way thoughout Westerfield. My nightly strolls aquainted myself with the sights around town, and each night upon my return to Samuel's home I drew a map of my journey. In my spare daylight hours I went over the same paths, adding details that I had missed with only the moonlight as my guide.
Every night I ventured in another direction from Samuel's houme. I walked steadily thought the forests with a pair of hiking boots tied tightly around my ankles. The fog was thicker in the woods, causing visibility to be terrible on my walks. It seemed to glow where the moonlight hit it. With each step I took, my legs jarred on the hard stones that dotted the otherwise squishy floor of the forest path. I had to be careful and avoid the random areas of swamp, simply for my own safety. If the swamps lured me into their shadowy vices , there would be no one to save me. The moonlight that reached the foggy forest path was, at best, sparse. The tall trees kept most light away from the ground, and I knew the lack of light made the danger far greater for me.
If I became ensnared by the swamp, stuck in the murky silt on one of my walks, Samuel would be left alone again. The town would not search for me. They only search for family members in the swamps. Since moving here I have been a part of a few searches, unfortunately those who had become lost remained that way. They are called the lost citizens of Westerfield. The searches were for a few members of the old families that had returned to the town after a few generations. They didn't heed their grandparent's warnings about the evil here in Westerfield, an evil that still holds the townsfolk in it's fearful grasp.
It was a simple enough story, one that spanned back to the foundation of Westerfield...and it's founder. At first I didn't pay it much mind and continued my walks during the night. I moved in secret and I did not care much about some old dead man who lived a long time ago in Westerfield.

Admin

Sweet, looks nice thusfar! Yeah, I love writng, and Reading, so I'll stay tuned to this. Great Job. You are a very talented writer. cheers

Shinigami

You guys expected any less? she is MY little sister.

Good story Ducky, is it the same one you posted on Not For Sale Productions?

Grunt

Whoa. this stuff is spectacular!!! you're and awesome writer. keep it up. =)