Post by 0 on Nov 30, 2017 5:51:01 GMT
Time's up.
One day he was roaming the grounds of the abandoned factory, and that thought just so happened to pop into his mind.
The old machinery groaned as he pulled himself aside, glaring out at the surrounding forest.
The leaves had not only changed color, but nearly all had fallen from their limbs.
Little but creaking skeletons were left.
He'd been stuck here long enough.
Waiting far too long for a crazed man who never showed.
He wasn't going to stay here forever.
He'd been sitting in the town for almost all his afterlife, and now he'd been sitting in this building since first he escaped that empty place.
Not nearly so long as before, perhaps, but his patience wore thin.
He had no reason to stick around a place he had no attachments to, even if he had no idea where any one direction would take him--no, because of that!
He SHOULD venture forth into the unknown.
Haunting the empty building had become a bore as it rightly should.
Besides...he had no weapon.
What was the point in waiting for some hapless traveler when he had no means of affecting them?
So: time's up.
No longer shall he dilly-dally; it was time for ACTION.
With nary a last look into the dusty old building, the man stepped through the wall and disappeared into the forest beyond.
Perhaps he would get lucky and throw that other ghost for a loop, get rid of her before she even knew he himself was gone.
Much as a phantom did he roamed the woods with nary a bustle, hustle, or rustle left in his wake.
The sun wheeled through the sky and before long it was gone, replaced by the sharp, yellowed grin of a crescent moon.
He stepped tirelessly over the ground, eyes searching for a hint of life.
Just a building.
Any building.
No building existed without something SHARP in tow.
It wasn't until late into the night, when clouds began to roll under the stars and a breeze whipped up the branches, that he finally found a glimmer of light.
The trees thinned out, falling just short of a wide asphalt strip.
Tall street lights shed solemn rays across the black tarmac.
He paused in the bright circle drawn by one of those lamps, his incorporeal body nothing but a faint shadowy shimmer to the air in the eyes of most humans.
In one direction the road led to emptiness, but in another it led to rows upon rows of lights.
Not just a town--a CITY!
A narrow grin crawled all the way up to his cheeks.
This would be the jackpot.
Not even some irritant bimbo could stop him there!
No way, no how!
In silence he continued forward, eventually arriving upon the city's outskirts when the first rosy rays of dawn began to slip across the still-growing oily clouds.
Those metal monstrosities became all the more common almost at once, whipping by across the highway; he'd seen a few here and there on the cracked road he'd followed in, all going much too fast for him to catch up to.
They were still too fast here, but that mattered not when the sight of lights in the windows of late night and early morning businesses met his eager eyes.
Why, he had the pick of the litter here!
The ghost rubbed his hands together and cackled most maliciously.
If only he had a mustache to twirl.
Oh, well!
He hummed a little tune, running his finger about, and settled on the building his pointer ended up pointing to upon the tune's end.
Bakeries and coffeehouses were always one of the first buildings to open at the start of a new day.
A business that dealt in both?
Why, it must have had to open twice as soon!
The scent of freshly baked bread and piping hot cocoa infused the air so much that, although the ghost had little but sight and sound with which to experience the world, even he could practically see the odors wafting about, smelling it in his memory.
Simply spectacular.
Customers crowded in on tired bakers and brewers before they, too, inevitably had to leave for their own work that day.
A hodgepodge of billowing bodies and chattering teeth that were all missing only one, teensy, itty-bitty little thing.
Their shapes were all wrong!
Yes, yes--and what a terrible travesty it was!
Their heads on their necks, their bellies all sealed...oy vey!
He walked behind the counter and through one of the workers, who shuddered as if at a gust of cold air, though the front door at that moment was closed.
His eyes scanned what lay behind the counter, poking his hands into open-faced cabinets.
Any place that worked with food had to have....
He smiled as his fingers finally closed around something solid, pulling something sleek and shining into the light of the building's ambient amber lamps.
He caught only a glimpse of it, for the second he was holding it, was the same second in which he whirled around and thrust it through the chest of the nearest man.
It wasn't exactly a knife; why, it was hardly sharp at all!
And it was certainly nowhere near sturdy enough for such a feat.
But, well, there it was, apparently good enough for a job well done: an icing spatula shoved through blood and bones, muscles and organs--and who knows what else.
Drops dribbled off the flattened silvery surface; the body through which had been forced choked, gagging as blood rose into the throat.
At the sight of vivid scarlet the dead man's spiritual energy began cracking like a whip.
The living man clutched at his chest when the stainless steel spatula was removed, and it wasn't until he stumbled into another that those nearby could see how injured he was.
A hand smeared across the counter before he fell, a fellow worker and even a customer reaching for their phones to call for an ambulance.
All orders put on hold while bodies both curious and dutiful mingled and shuffled around.
Someone threw up.
It might have been the dying man.
Unheard and unseen, the ghost grinned, giggling.
One day he was roaming the grounds of the abandoned factory, and that thought just so happened to pop into his mind.
The old machinery groaned as he pulled himself aside, glaring out at the surrounding forest.
The leaves had not only changed color, but nearly all had fallen from their limbs.
Little but creaking skeletons were left.
He'd been stuck here long enough.
Waiting far too long for a crazed man who never showed.
He wasn't going to stay here forever.
He'd been sitting in the town for almost all his afterlife, and now he'd been sitting in this building since first he escaped that empty place.
Not nearly so long as before, perhaps, but his patience wore thin.
He had no reason to stick around a place he had no attachments to, even if he had no idea where any one direction would take him--no, because of that!
He SHOULD venture forth into the unknown.
Haunting the empty building had become a bore as it rightly should.
Besides...he had no weapon.
What was the point in waiting for some hapless traveler when he had no means of affecting them?
So: time's up.
No longer shall he dilly-dally; it was time for ACTION.
With nary a last look into the dusty old building, the man stepped through the wall and disappeared into the forest beyond.
Perhaps he would get lucky and throw that other ghost for a loop, get rid of her before she even knew he himself was gone.
Much as a phantom did he roamed the woods with nary a bustle, hustle, or rustle left in his wake.
The sun wheeled through the sky and before long it was gone, replaced by the sharp, yellowed grin of a crescent moon.
He stepped tirelessly over the ground, eyes searching for a hint of life.
Just a building.
Any building.
No building existed without something SHARP in tow.
It wasn't until late into the night, when clouds began to roll under the stars and a breeze whipped up the branches, that he finally found a glimmer of light.
The trees thinned out, falling just short of a wide asphalt strip.
Tall street lights shed solemn rays across the black tarmac.
He paused in the bright circle drawn by one of those lamps, his incorporeal body nothing but a faint shadowy shimmer to the air in the eyes of most humans.
In one direction the road led to emptiness, but in another it led to rows upon rows of lights.
Not just a town--a CITY!
A narrow grin crawled all the way up to his cheeks.
This would be the jackpot.
Not even some irritant bimbo could stop him there!
No way, no how!
In silence he continued forward, eventually arriving upon the city's outskirts when the first rosy rays of dawn began to slip across the still-growing oily clouds.
Those metal monstrosities became all the more common almost at once, whipping by across the highway; he'd seen a few here and there on the cracked road he'd followed in, all going much too fast for him to catch up to.
They were still too fast here, but that mattered not when the sight of lights in the windows of late night and early morning businesses met his eager eyes.
Why, he had the pick of the litter here!
The ghost rubbed his hands together and cackled most maliciously.
If only he had a mustache to twirl.
Oh, well!
He hummed a little tune, running his finger about, and settled on the building his pointer ended up pointing to upon the tune's end.
Bakeries and coffeehouses were always one of the first buildings to open at the start of a new day.
A business that dealt in both?
Why, it must have had to open twice as soon!
The scent of freshly baked bread and piping hot cocoa infused the air so much that, although the ghost had little but sight and sound with which to experience the world, even he could practically see the odors wafting about, smelling it in his memory.
Simply spectacular.
Customers crowded in on tired bakers and brewers before they, too, inevitably had to leave for their own work that day.
A hodgepodge of billowing bodies and chattering teeth that were all missing only one, teensy, itty-bitty little thing.
Their shapes were all wrong!
Yes, yes--and what a terrible travesty it was!
Their heads on their necks, their bellies all sealed...oy vey!
He walked behind the counter and through one of the workers, who shuddered as if at a gust of cold air, though the front door at that moment was closed.
His eyes scanned what lay behind the counter, poking his hands into open-faced cabinets.
Any place that worked with food had to have....
He smiled as his fingers finally closed around something solid, pulling something sleek and shining into the light of the building's ambient amber lamps.
He caught only a glimpse of it, for the second he was holding it, was the same second in which he whirled around and thrust it through the chest of the nearest man.
It wasn't exactly a knife; why, it was hardly sharp at all!
And it was certainly nowhere near sturdy enough for such a feat.
But, well, there it was, apparently good enough for a job well done: an icing spatula shoved through blood and bones, muscles and organs--and who knows what else.
Drops dribbled off the flattened silvery surface; the body through which had been forced choked, gagging as blood rose into the throat.
At the sight of vivid scarlet the dead man's spiritual energy began cracking like a whip.
The living man clutched at his chest when the stainless steel spatula was removed, and it wasn't until he stumbled into another that those nearby could see how injured he was.
A hand smeared across the counter before he fell, a fellow worker and even a customer reaching for their phones to call for an ambulance.
All orders put on hold while bodies both curious and dutiful mingled and shuffled around.
Someone threw up.
It might have been the dying man.
Unheard and unseen, the ghost grinned, giggling.