Crescent of Darkness
By Virgil Thornton II
For Coach Boone and Pokie
Published by Weird Disciple Publishing
Edited by Marrisa Thornton, Articulate
© 2014 Virgil Thornton II
© 2018 Virgil Thornton II (Final Version)
ISBN (e-book): 978-1-7326548-0-8
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7326548-3-9
ISBN (hardback): 978-1-7326548-7-7
Edited by Marrisa Thornton, Articulate
© 2014 Virgil Thornton II
© 2018 Virgil Thornton II (Final Version)
ISBN (e-book): 978-1-7326548-0-8
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7326548-3-9
ISBN (hardback): 978-1-7326548-7-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prelude
Chapter 1: Moving Day Chapter 2: He Threw A What? Chapter 3: Terrifying Purple Nurse Chapter 4: The Decision Chapter 5: A Whole New World Chapter 6: Casual Magic Weapons Chapter 7: Water Lasers Chapter 8: Ghost Stories Chapter 9: Royal Staring Contest Chapter 10: Insane Wizard Dictator Chapter 11: Dark Reflection Chapter 12: Casual Napping Chapter 13: Clipped Wings Chapter 14: Unfair Rain Lady Chapter 15: Sing Well or Die Chapter 16: Lots of Explosions Chapter 17: Critical Cousin |
Chapter 18: Cruising with the Fellas
Chapter 19: A Typical Concert Chapter 20: The Fated Food Contest Chapter 21: Casual Family Dinner Chapter 22: The Hayride of Doom Chapter 23: Nima’s Secret Chapter 24: Betrayal Chapter 25: Word Duel Chapter 26: Ambush of Vengeance Chapter 27: Queen of the Undead Chapter 28: The Impossible Battle Chapter 29: Qasim’s Stronghold Chapter 30: The Assassin Train Chapter 31: Casual Rendezvous Chapter 32: The Celestial Conference Chapter Finale: Great Sir Yatniv Epilogue End Credits |
Chapter 1: Moving Day
~ Matthew ~
Today was a really boring day… well, at least the first part was. The moving truck is full of silence as we coast down the interstate. I’ve explored every other aspect of my brain at least three times already during this never-ending car ride, so I’m not surprised when Dad starts to come to mind.
It’s been around three years since he died, and almost a year since my grandmother died. Wow… I just realized that means everyone on my father’s side is gone (oh, excluding Uncle Gyro). After the accident, if I can even call it that, weird things have been going on with Mom. She, like Sam and I, was depressed, but somehow, Mom found Dad’s wedding ring in her pocket after the crash. That really messed her up. To this day, she sometimes cries out his name while she sleeps, and when Sam and I go in there to check on her, she’s usually tossing and turning roughly while clinging onto her comforter.
Sam and I gave her plenty of weeks before we started to ask her about “Guitar” or “John 15:13”, but the only response she’d give was either stomping off in complete rage or acting like we hadn’t said anything. We stopped after the second attempt and try to avoid the topic when conversations grow quiet.
I frown at those thoughts, but then remember my old therapist’s joke ‘It seems like you don’t want to be here, so just know; a smile a day keeps Dr. Psi away.’ Try to focus on other things. I attempt a smile, but who am I kidding; my body is overflowing with boredom. Where I’m sitting doesn’t make it any better; I got the half-chair half-armrest put in the middle of all moving truck front seats.
We’ve been on the road for almost five hours, and I feel a headache slowly growing in my temples. Sam and I don’t even know where we're going; we just know we're moving to somewhere in Alabama. I was suspicious that it was going to be my grandmother’s old house, but it can’t be. That thing was huge and probably costs a fortune.
I look down in my lap to find my portable console. I had been playing something earlier, but nearly forgot about it. After one lackluster glance, I close the gaming device. In the moment, I just wasn’t interested in playing any more, but if I knew what was to come, I would've had a game marathon.
Instead, I sluggishly roll my head over to Sam to check out what she was doing. Bummer; she’s doing the same thing she’s done since we first got in the car. What she calls ‘multi-tasking’ is composed of listening to death thrash metal or whatever you call that deafening stuff, absently chewing on clearly used-up gum, and scrolling through posts on her social network page. How can she do that for five hours straight?!
Samantha Blue is my 14-year-old sister. She’s a born blond, but prefers her hair dyed black. Mom just rolls her eyes every time. As of now, Sam’s hair is shiny and smooth, and it reaches down just past her ears. From my angle, her hair is covering one of her aqua green eyes.
Her skin is the color of peach and everyone says we look the same for some reason, disregarding the tiny black mole she has on her left nostril. Her lips have a light pink tint, but she wears purple lipstick (looks weird if you ask me). She's both pure awesomeness and evil, somehow managing to get on my nerves one second and have me laughing the next. She is wearing her trademark soft dark blue hoodie, probably with some edgy rock band t-shirt underneath, and dim gray shorts.
In an attempt to humor myself, I comically toss my head over to look at my mom. It works, and I get a few idiotic giggles out of myself before sinking back into hazy boredom. My mom is Rebecca Kelvin-Blue and she’s in her late thirties (38 maybe?). She has bouncy cocoa hair that flows down to her shoulders from a widow’s peak. Her crystal blue eyes are trained on the road, but they take a quick glance in the side view mirror just out of habit.
After five solid hours, Mom’s gotten pretty good at driving this thing. Her skin is peachy like Sam and I’s, and she doesn’t wear make-up often nor does she have any blemishes. Sometimes, rose blush fades in and out with her emotions, matching the color of her lips.
She’s really understanding and kind, but can easily get strict, and seems to stay stressed all the time. She is wearing a cyan colored shirt and navy-blue jeans. Around her neck hangs a bright gold chain with Dad’s dull silver wedding ring looped in it. She toys with the ring while she drives.
I finally stare forward at what seems like a never-ending three-lane road, worn and gray against the forest’s orange autumn mood. I suppose I might as well describe myself now. I’m Matthew Blue and I am 12 years old. Yes… I know my name rhymes. I’ve been reminded a bajillion times.
My skin color is my mother’s, and so is my hair. I’ve been told I have a wispy, ruffled, curtained hair look, and everyone used to joke about my forehead because of it. That’s not why I have curtained hair though; it’s because I’m too lazy to put real effort into brushing it.
My eyes are sort of like Mom’s, but a creamier blue; not as sharp as hers. They’re probably bloodshot right now because I’m too sleepy to stay awake yet I’m too rested to sleep. Suddenly, I am aware of what I’m wearing; a red shirt and blue shorts today. A tingle rises on my lip and I scratch it… bummer; still absolutely no signs of facial hair. This is a sad, sad thing indeed.
We coast along the barely populated road, and as I feel Mom easing onto the break, I force myself upright to see what’s ahead. What? We’ve reached an interstate exit at last?! Sam just so happens to look up, and we both gaze at the approaching green and yellow sign. My face lights up as I read it, ‘Exit 340B East 565 Huntsville Exit Only’. Isn’t this near the place where Grams used to live before she moved to Canada? What was it… Madison! I let a manic smile play across my face. I used to love visiting Grams; living near her old home is going to be awesome.
When I was little and went over her house during the summer, I remember I thought she was the coolest because she used to play video games, watch movies, and eat snacks with me. It was actually pretty great, and I always remember being surprised at just how good she was at some of those video games.
We glide through a network of streets and hills, pass by shops and fields, and finally enter a neighborhood. I didn’t really catch what the sign said, but I glanced just soon enough to see what looked like ‘Cove’. After turning right past a clubhouse (nice!), we coast down a surprisingly steep hill. I look down the slope and see that it leads to a turn next to a clearing with a lake. As the impossibly familiar houses pass me by, I start feeling jittery.
We ease down the hill and stop at one of the last houses approaching the bend. I could recognize that light gray brick palace from anywhere. It’s not as big as it was when I was a kid, but it’s still pretty large. My head is full of excited screams; we’re actually moving into Gram’s house?! Mom rolls the truck into the driveway, and Sam and I promptly rush out just as we come to a stop. The two of us shake and stretch, breaking free of the stiff molds we’d become over the trip.
Mom marches up to the door, takes a deep breath, keys the lock, and swings open the door. Sam and I go to file in behind her, but she stops. Before either of us ask what’s wrong, we notice a dark, hooded figure in the middle of the living room. It seems to look up at us, holding a pose like a deer in headlights. Mom, Sam, and I freeze as well.
After an infinite second of this, Mom reaches into her purse, but then the intruder bolts at us. As the figure moves closer, I can tell it’s a guy. Mom and Sam back away, but I stand my ground, half out of fear and half out of defense. Well, since I’m here, I might as well fight. He’s instantly in my range and I throw a surprise hook. It’s too slow, for he ducks under it with ease and tackles my legs. With the force from the tackle, he causes me to fall forward, the world flipping around me.
I quickly put my hands out to break my fall, and while the rest of my body hits the porch first, my arms shield my face. Pain runs through my body like falling dominos. With a clattering noise, my game system slips out of my pocket.
From behind me, I hear Mom shout, Sam grunt, and then what sounds like two people hitting the ground. Did he just throw them both down at the same time? Suddenly, the intruder’s feet come into view. I watch as an arm reaches down and snatches my game. Hey, that was a gift from my father! As a last resort, I swing my leg around and kick his shins. Satisfyingly, he trips, banging his face into the railing and twisting roughly down the small porch stairway.
All of us are completely stunned for a good 3 seconds, and then we begin to chase him.
It’s been around three years since he died, and almost a year since my grandmother died. Wow… I just realized that means everyone on my father’s side is gone (oh, excluding Uncle Gyro). After the accident, if I can even call it that, weird things have been going on with Mom. She, like Sam and I, was depressed, but somehow, Mom found Dad’s wedding ring in her pocket after the crash. That really messed her up. To this day, she sometimes cries out his name while she sleeps, and when Sam and I go in there to check on her, she’s usually tossing and turning roughly while clinging onto her comforter.
Sam and I gave her plenty of weeks before we started to ask her about “Guitar” or “John 15:13”, but the only response she’d give was either stomping off in complete rage or acting like we hadn’t said anything. We stopped after the second attempt and try to avoid the topic when conversations grow quiet.
I frown at those thoughts, but then remember my old therapist’s joke ‘It seems like you don’t want to be here, so just know; a smile a day keeps Dr. Psi away.’ Try to focus on other things. I attempt a smile, but who am I kidding; my body is overflowing with boredom. Where I’m sitting doesn’t make it any better; I got the half-chair half-armrest put in the middle of all moving truck front seats.
We’ve been on the road for almost five hours, and I feel a headache slowly growing in my temples. Sam and I don’t even know where we're going; we just know we're moving to somewhere in Alabama. I was suspicious that it was going to be my grandmother’s old house, but it can’t be. That thing was huge and probably costs a fortune.
I look down in my lap to find my portable console. I had been playing something earlier, but nearly forgot about it. After one lackluster glance, I close the gaming device. In the moment, I just wasn’t interested in playing any more, but if I knew what was to come, I would've had a game marathon.
Instead, I sluggishly roll my head over to Sam to check out what she was doing. Bummer; she’s doing the same thing she’s done since we first got in the car. What she calls ‘multi-tasking’ is composed of listening to death thrash metal or whatever you call that deafening stuff, absently chewing on clearly used-up gum, and scrolling through posts on her social network page. How can she do that for five hours straight?!
Samantha Blue is my 14-year-old sister. She’s a born blond, but prefers her hair dyed black. Mom just rolls her eyes every time. As of now, Sam’s hair is shiny and smooth, and it reaches down just past her ears. From my angle, her hair is covering one of her aqua green eyes.
Her skin is the color of peach and everyone says we look the same for some reason, disregarding the tiny black mole she has on her left nostril. Her lips have a light pink tint, but she wears purple lipstick (looks weird if you ask me). She's both pure awesomeness and evil, somehow managing to get on my nerves one second and have me laughing the next. She is wearing her trademark soft dark blue hoodie, probably with some edgy rock band t-shirt underneath, and dim gray shorts.
In an attempt to humor myself, I comically toss my head over to look at my mom. It works, and I get a few idiotic giggles out of myself before sinking back into hazy boredom. My mom is Rebecca Kelvin-Blue and she’s in her late thirties (38 maybe?). She has bouncy cocoa hair that flows down to her shoulders from a widow’s peak. Her crystal blue eyes are trained on the road, but they take a quick glance in the side view mirror just out of habit.
After five solid hours, Mom’s gotten pretty good at driving this thing. Her skin is peachy like Sam and I’s, and she doesn’t wear make-up often nor does she have any blemishes. Sometimes, rose blush fades in and out with her emotions, matching the color of her lips.
She’s really understanding and kind, but can easily get strict, and seems to stay stressed all the time. She is wearing a cyan colored shirt and navy-blue jeans. Around her neck hangs a bright gold chain with Dad’s dull silver wedding ring looped in it. She toys with the ring while she drives.
I finally stare forward at what seems like a never-ending three-lane road, worn and gray against the forest’s orange autumn mood. I suppose I might as well describe myself now. I’m Matthew Blue and I am 12 years old. Yes… I know my name rhymes. I’ve been reminded a bajillion times.
My skin color is my mother’s, and so is my hair. I’ve been told I have a wispy, ruffled, curtained hair look, and everyone used to joke about my forehead because of it. That’s not why I have curtained hair though; it’s because I’m too lazy to put real effort into brushing it.
My eyes are sort of like Mom’s, but a creamier blue; not as sharp as hers. They’re probably bloodshot right now because I’m too sleepy to stay awake yet I’m too rested to sleep. Suddenly, I am aware of what I’m wearing; a red shirt and blue shorts today. A tingle rises on my lip and I scratch it… bummer; still absolutely no signs of facial hair. This is a sad, sad thing indeed.
We coast along the barely populated road, and as I feel Mom easing onto the break, I force myself upright to see what’s ahead. What? We’ve reached an interstate exit at last?! Sam just so happens to look up, and we both gaze at the approaching green and yellow sign. My face lights up as I read it, ‘Exit 340B East 565 Huntsville Exit Only’. Isn’t this near the place where Grams used to live before she moved to Canada? What was it… Madison! I let a manic smile play across my face. I used to love visiting Grams; living near her old home is going to be awesome.
When I was little and went over her house during the summer, I remember I thought she was the coolest because she used to play video games, watch movies, and eat snacks with me. It was actually pretty great, and I always remember being surprised at just how good she was at some of those video games.
We glide through a network of streets and hills, pass by shops and fields, and finally enter a neighborhood. I didn’t really catch what the sign said, but I glanced just soon enough to see what looked like ‘Cove’. After turning right past a clubhouse (nice!), we coast down a surprisingly steep hill. I look down the slope and see that it leads to a turn next to a clearing with a lake. As the impossibly familiar houses pass me by, I start feeling jittery.
We ease down the hill and stop at one of the last houses approaching the bend. I could recognize that light gray brick palace from anywhere. It’s not as big as it was when I was a kid, but it’s still pretty large. My head is full of excited screams; we’re actually moving into Gram’s house?! Mom rolls the truck into the driveway, and Sam and I promptly rush out just as we come to a stop. The two of us shake and stretch, breaking free of the stiff molds we’d become over the trip.
Mom marches up to the door, takes a deep breath, keys the lock, and swings open the door. Sam and I go to file in behind her, but she stops. Before either of us ask what’s wrong, we notice a dark, hooded figure in the middle of the living room. It seems to look up at us, holding a pose like a deer in headlights. Mom, Sam, and I freeze as well.
After an infinite second of this, Mom reaches into her purse, but then the intruder bolts at us. As the figure moves closer, I can tell it’s a guy. Mom and Sam back away, but I stand my ground, half out of fear and half out of defense. Well, since I’m here, I might as well fight. He’s instantly in my range and I throw a surprise hook. It’s too slow, for he ducks under it with ease and tackles my legs. With the force from the tackle, he causes me to fall forward, the world flipping around me.
I quickly put my hands out to break my fall, and while the rest of my body hits the porch first, my arms shield my face. Pain runs through my body like falling dominos. With a clattering noise, my game system slips out of my pocket.
From behind me, I hear Mom shout, Sam grunt, and then what sounds like two people hitting the ground. Did he just throw them both down at the same time? Suddenly, the intruder’s feet come into view. I watch as an arm reaches down and snatches my game. Hey, that was a gift from my father! As a last resort, I swing my leg around and kick his shins. Satisfyingly, he trips, banging his face into the railing and twisting roughly down the small porch stairway.
All of us are completely stunned for a good 3 seconds, and then we begin to chase him.
Ah, sorry. Legal just called and said to stop copy-pasting. I guess this is where we gotta end for now. What did you think? If you were at least mildly impressed/intrigued, I'd encourage you to give the whole thing a look. It definitely picks up from here; the first few chapters are quite tame compared to the epic antics Matt and company get themselves into. Regardless of whether or not you click the button below and further consider taking the full journey, thanks for taking the time to read what's up here!