Epic Jimbo
12-07-2009, 02:30 PM
"It's a perfect evening," the young woman said to herself as she strode along the lamp-lit cobblestone street. She soaked in the warm, orange light of the gas lamps and took a deep breath. It was a perfect evening indeed.
Tucked under the young woman's arm was a worn wooden box, quaintly adorned, much like an old music box. She cradled it as gently as a newborn as she walked into a poorly lit alleyway. Here, she stopped. She looked over the low walls to see many shack-like houses, candles burning in the windowsills.
It was the people, not the houses, that she was here to see though. Men, exhausted from the grueling labor in the mines, smoking their pipes by the fireplaces. Women, bustling in the kitchens, cleaning up after dinner, or putting the sweet little ones to bed. And of course, the children, dreaming their sweet fantasies in their warm blankets. It was time. The woman set down the box, and oh so gingerly tipped the lid.
The box opened.
With a burst of light, green, smoke-like tendrils shot from the box, twirling in the air in what seemed like a dance. The tendrils split, and shot out, into the little houses. Almost as if it were timed, an orchestra of screams rose from that small street, music to the woman's ears.
Inside the small dwellings, nightmares were coming to life. Goblins and ghosts, monsters and terrors, all from the very hearts and minds of the people they were terrorizing. They tore flesh from bone, and ripped soul from body. They bit, clawed, stabbed and shrieked, bathing everything in a shower of blood.
As the screams started to die and fade away the young woman closed her little box of nightmares. She smiled to herself as she strolled out onto the main street, once more bathed in the dull orange glow of the lamps. She could already see in her mind's eye the headlines the next morning. "Chaos Consumes Downtown! Pandora Strikes Again!" She giggled to herself. Terrorizing humans has always been such fun! She slipped into the shadows, disappearing, becoming part of the night.
It really was a perfect evening.
Tucked under the young woman's arm was a worn wooden box, quaintly adorned, much like an old music box. She cradled it as gently as a newborn as she walked into a poorly lit alleyway. Here, she stopped. She looked over the low walls to see many shack-like houses, candles burning in the windowsills.
It was the people, not the houses, that she was here to see though. Men, exhausted from the grueling labor in the mines, smoking their pipes by the fireplaces. Women, bustling in the kitchens, cleaning up after dinner, or putting the sweet little ones to bed. And of course, the children, dreaming their sweet fantasies in their warm blankets. It was time. The woman set down the box, and oh so gingerly tipped the lid.
The box opened.
With a burst of light, green, smoke-like tendrils shot from the box, twirling in the air in what seemed like a dance. The tendrils split, and shot out, into the little houses. Almost as if it were timed, an orchestra of screams rose from that small street, music to the woman's ears.
Inside the small dwellings, nightmares were coming to life. Goblins and ghosts, monsters and terrors, all from the very hearts and minds of the people they were terrorizing. They tore flesh from bone, and ripped soul from body. They bit, clawed, stabbed and shrieked, bathing everything in a shower of blood.
As the screams started to die and fade away the young woman closed her little box of nightmares. She smiled to herself as she strolled out onto the main street, once more bathed in the dull orange glow of the lamps. She could already see in her mind's eye the headlines the next morning. "Chaos Consumes Downtown! Pandora Strikes Again!" She giggled to herself. Terrorizing humans has always been such fun! She slipped into the shadows, disappearing, becoming part of the night.
It really was a perfect evening.