Welp, for anyone who happens to notice I will be back up and running, though not at a pace of a post a day. Sitting around and doing nothing for the first two weeks of break have been marvelous, but I suppose I ought to do something other then sit around. In theory I will have another section of the temporarily titled Vulgaris writings up by tomorrow night. They have become my official "learn how not to be a crappy writer" writings.

The Alchemist

Well if anyone was wondering, its finals week here at Harding, I have other things to do then dabble in writing. Regular posting will probably resume this weekend when I am home.

The Alchemist

The bell rang in the hall outside the elevator.

“Ten minutes”, James thought. It was morning, time for his eight o’clock class. As was his custom, James pressed the button for the third floor followed by the second. The third floor was actually closed off. While constructing this addition to the science building the school had run out of money, and so the third floor was left incomplete. As to prevent mischievous college students from messing around up there the stairs were locked and the button for the third floor was somehow disabled. The first time James had been told about it he had become curios about the button. The next time he had been in the elevator, just as every time since, he always pressed the third floor button, just to see what would happen. After letting out a slow yawn James noticed something was different this morning. The dormant button had sprung to life, and luminously, it informed him that they would go to floor three.

Moments later the door split open and granted him entrance to the third floor. It was dark and for some reason the air was musty with a strange scent.

“Smells like something crawled up in here and died” he complained to the darkness, covering his nose with his t-shirt. He glanced at his watch

“Eight minutes” he muttered aloud.

He turned and glanced suspiciously at the elevator. If he let it go downstairs again it might not come back up. He didn’t’ much care for the thought of explaining to the dean how he had come to be trapped on the third floor so he set his backpack in the door. When the door tried to close the backpack would stop it, keeping the elevator here.

He reached into his pocket to produce his LED pen light. It seemed the Boy Scout motto of always being prepared had paid off for him today. With flashlight in hand he set off into the darkness to explore the third floor.

Supposedly, the new floor was going to contain a research lab for the chemistry department. It would be neat to see all of it before they finished it next fall.

There was a draft. That didn’t really make much sense because all of the windows had been installed and even though it had been windy outside, there shouldn’t be places for the air to circulate through here.

James wandered the halls whistling as he went. At most of the doorways he would stop and point his flashlight in. There wasn’t really much to see. The rooms were unfurnished and some hadn’t even had drywall put up. You could see the wiring in a lot of places. There was something about being up here, however, that was invigorating; perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be in the first place.

He glanced at his watch.

“Five minutes” he told the darkness.

He was about to turn to head back, hoping that the elevator might let him up here again after class, when he got another strong whiff of that smell. Something was definitely decomposing up here.

“Dr. Poe would probably love to show the dead animal to his parasitology class.” He thought, smirking.

He was certain that he must be fairly close now. Having lived on a farm he had been around his fair share of dead animals. The dogs had always loved to kill squirrels and leave them lying about. Just one more smelly thing he’d had to clean up with a shovel.

He wandered down the hall to an area he guessed would become a set of faculty offices.

“It would be neat if I used one of these some day”

As he wound the corner into one of the office spaces that he suspected the smell was coming from, he paused to look at his watch.

He still had a few minutes left.

He was taken aback by the scene that greeted him in the next room. There were men. He was shocked terribly at first. Thousands of thoughts ran through his head.

“Who are these guys?”

“What are they doing here?”

“Do I need to get out of here?”

He realized however that the smell must be coming from them. Dead people really don’t pose much of a threat. They were homeless, all except one. Each was leaned against one of the unfinished walls, propped up in all their final glory, almost as if on display for him to see. He couldn’t imagine what these guys could be doing here. They were all most likely dead, at least from the smell. His first instinct was to run.

He stopped to think for a moment.

“There is no reason somebody would hide bodies up here, these guys were probably in need of shelter and died one night.

“All five of them.”

He decided that perhaps they weren’t all dead and maybe one of them might need help. He went from body to body, checking for a pulse where it seemed needed, and sure enough one after another turned up dead. The strange thing was that each was in a different stage of decomposition. One looked like he had been dead for a while, and number four looked like he had only died just yesterday. He stopped at number five.

Number five was different than the rest. He was bald. His eyes were slightly sunk into his head and he wore a weird frock, or robe looking thing. It was brown and tied with a rope at the waist. He felt like he had only died a few hours ago when James touched him to feel his pulse. He had, it seemed, just recently assumed room temperature. His skin felt completely normal other than being cold and he wasn’t really rigid or anything like that.

James moved the LED to his face to get a better look at him. It was like a flashback into the past. The guy looked like some sort of monk or something.

That’s when his eyes opened.

James had been wrong, earlier about that smell. Something dead had crawled up here and had been living.

With a shriek James stumbled backwards into the hall in a desperate attempt to escape his dark discovery. He only made it a few feet before it was upon him. No sound but a gurgle was able to escape his lips as it sank its teeth into the soft flesh of his throat. The smack of hungry lips echoed down the empty hall. Heart racing James tried to worm his way out of the iron grip of his attacker but it was to no avail, and with each passing moment his struggles grew less and less. Before long he laid still upon the icy stone floor.

Downstairs there could faintly be heard the sound of a ringing bell. It was time for class.

Joint pain, that was the one penalty of old age that Anias resented the most. It seemed like he might never stand again when he woke in the mornings. Under his warm fur blankets he began to absently rub at his aching joints. Next to him in the fire place, the last dying embers of his fire gave off the only illumination in the room, and beyond their feeble light it was pitch black.

Sitting up Anias seized his staff and muttered a few unintelligible words. To the untrained what Anias’ words caused seemed simple and elegant, however much more was involved then a few words. By stilling his mind and concentrating he had channeled the very energies of creation and reshaped the universe to his will. Even the simplest spell could be dangerous, for if he lost control of it there was no telling how the universe would be reformed.

This time brilliant white light illuminated the room, casting long shadows amongst the stacks of books. Anias set his staff against the wall so that he could rekindle the fire and make himself breakfast. Taking out some grain meal he mixed it with water in a pot and placed it on the fire to heat. He wanted to be off as soon as possible to Hillsboro to gather the supplies he would need to make this place into more of a home. Then the real work could begin.

Welp, Part Five of the temporarily titled Well of Vulgaris writings will be delayed somewhat. The next part is probably going to be very long and very hard to write, though it is looking like part five might become part five, six, and seven. The last post is from another continuity that my mind has thought up, the main character is going to be some sort of inquisitor or witch hunter, not sure what exactly yet. Currently I am working on editing parts two and three.

Next update sooner or later. Oh, I really don't much care for writing fantasy as it were. I would like to start up a short story or something with a different genre. Suggestions will be taken.

Later, The Alchemist

His fingers were cold, from prying dirt from the frozen ground. His face was cold, from the icy kiss of the wind. Winter was a cruel lover, and as it wrapped Heinrick in its chilly embrace, he shuddered. He had been through worse. Besides, the weather nearly insured that no one would pass by and catch him about his macabre work. A man has to provide for his family somehow, doesn’t he?

And so Heinrick dug his hands into the earth of an old grave in the churchyard cemetery, hoping to find something worth selling to Gavin, the shopkeep in Bramsford. Gavin was what those in the business called a fence. He bought stolen goods cheap, and sold them to passers through the town. Not that there were many of those this time of year. Winter is not the best season for pilgrims, or other sorts of travelers. No indeed, not the best sort of weather for anyone. If he found anything valuable Heinrick’s first act with the money would be to buy himself a nice warm coat, and some new working gloves. The ones he had on had holes in nearly all the fingers and let the snow in.

In his pocket was a silver crucifix and a finger bone. The crucifix was going to Gavin, and as for the finger, an old woman outside town always wanted odd things like that, from the graveyard. Heinrick new better than to ask questions of the likes of her. Like as not to bring some sort of curse down on him she was. It was whispered around town that she was a worshipper of some forgotten pagan god, or maybe even the Old Dark. He doubted it. She was nice enough when brought what she wanted.

Nothing worth taking, as usual. As Heinrick began to pile the dirt back into the grave he heard someone speaking from behind him.

“O Heinrick” the voice began “I never thought I would find you here, thought you were on the straight and narrow.”

Heinrick found himself frozen by more than the wind, but with the easy grace of the lower class went right back to business as if nothing was wrong.

“Oh no sir, yoe see sir, I was just…”

“Spare you excuses,” the voice interrupted “they are better saved for some other fool who might believe them.”

He knew his goose was cooked, it was hard to come up with an excuse for why you were digging up old graves.

“Empty out your pockets Heinrick.”

He did as he was told. The man leaning against the corner of the church came over to inspect what he had.

“Who did you get this bone for?” The man asked.

“Poor old woman.” Heinrick thought, “She’ll be roped to a pier before the sun sets.”