New Fiction #10

This one I never got around to continuing so it isn't finished, in fact this is a rough draft. When I write I try to pick a culture or country I know nothing about then I do a fuck ton of research to get it right, from what the landscape looks like to when the rainy season is, what their homes look like and what they eat and what grows naturally in their environment. So for this one I chose Hungary which is known for its gypsy population. I looked up Hungarian names and phrases, looked at maps and pictures of certain towns to create this.


She wandered through the forgotten garden as her pale white dress trailed behind her as mist in the silver light as she came to rest at the dried up well. The stone had eroded and left the foundation of the well crumbling much like the rest of her surroundings. Some people blamed her for the state of the estate that had once been beautiful but now lay in decay. 
It wasn't her fault, she had been born as part as the ultimatum given to the family who used to live in the building. Misfortune or death. Those were the only terms given, the family chose misfortune but in order to appease the curse at least one family member had to reside in their former seat of power. When she was ten years old the last member of the clan to live in the estate had passed away and she was chosen to take her great aunt's place. 
She was younger and was more capable of living a fuller life within the walls of this now hollow and cold prison. So she was left alone by her mother who could not stay to take care of her. The curse only called for one soul to suffer alone in the house, and no more than one and if the rules were broken then everyone in the clan would suffer fates worse than death.
But they were all suffering somewhere in their own way. 
She only had the vermin and stray birds for company but that didn't make her Snow White or any other fairy tale princess. When she tried to clean the rooms or the kitchen, the dust she had just swept away would creep back into their corners, the stain on the windows had also behaved peculiarly as did everything else she tried to clean.
It was the magic that bound the family to the curse and the house that prevented it from being restored to its former glory. Her family had to pay the price for what they've done and they couldn't do that properly if the estate glittered and shone like it once had when they were corrupt and abusive.
The people in the town located south of the estate could only look up at the broken swinging iron gate and shudder at what tragic events transpired there. A few of the townspeople scoffed at their misfortune saying it was for the benefit of the population that they were gone, others sympathized their downfall but no matter the personal feelings, everyone stayed away from the Grey Estate.
Moving from the dried up well, she sat on the edge of the fountain, she had heard from her mother and uncles that the fountain had been lively once and rich with turquoise water imported from a distant sea and that small lights had been placed around the fountain to give it a sparkle at night as the water gently flowed from the top of the ornate tier.
Now the water that had once been vibrant in color rested shallowly at the bottom with tinges of green and yellow. Algae began to form giving the fountain a moss like quality that smelled as bad as it looked but it was the only grand fountain she had ever seen even in its deteriorated form.
She didn't dare dip a hand into the water, especially not when the bloated body of a mouse floated only several inches away. The water wasn't even safe enough for a rodent, she felt pity for the creature for a second before changing her mind. Vermin carried diseases and with so many scurrying about, she ran the risk of being bitten by one. Dead rodents were a good thing for her.
Standing, she dusted her hands off, the sky threatened rain not that she was afraid of getting wet, she had just become bored being inside when there was nothing to do but play the piano in the ballroom that was still in tact. She couldn't play as a child but with all the years of residing in the home, she taught herself out of a dire need to distract herself from loneliness.
She sometimes wondered how her great aunt died, if it was being alone, a rat bite or boredom that caused her demise and if she was going to suffer the same fate. Turning away from the courtyard, she entered the door under the stairs that led up to the first floor. It had been a workshop of some kind and left without any supervision as a child, she became quite apt at building little trinkets and carpentry but she doubted anyone would buy her creations. Not with the whole town thinking she herself was the curse.

Sebastyén slipped past the broken gate without being touched by its cold bars, his luck as a gambler ran out, he lost his home and all of his possessions and no one else in the clan was willing to help him out again, after all the money he had shared with them from his winnings. The ungrateful bastards. The Grey Estate as it was nicknamed since its ruining, was the only place he could go. He knew the conditions that only one could live in it at a time but he was sure he could take his cousin's place.
He knocked on the front door while pushing it open just enough to slide in, "Gizella," he called loudly receiving no answer. Moving through the abandoned lobby where dead leaves crackled breaking apart, he called louder. Searching the first and second floor, he found no trace of her. Did she leave? Was she able to leave? Accepting that she wasn't in, he sat down in an old musty chair while waiting for her to return.
In an hour she came up surprised to see him asleep, she shook his shoulder, "Sebastyén what are you doing here?"
It took several smacks to wake him but when he did awaken, he wiped his eyes, "when did you get here?" He asked but she only snorted.
"Why are you here?"
Sebastyén settled his head back down on his right arm yawning, "I've got nowhere else to go."
"Well you can't stay here, you know the terms."
"I do. I'll just stay for a day or two. Maybe find some work in the town. I don't think they know I'm a Kobor."
Just before he left the next morning to find work in the town below, Gizella showed him the workshop and all of the things she had made out of wood and old pieces of aluminum and copper. She had spun fine craftsmanship out of the metal, creating decoration pieces that could fit finely on a mantel or as the centerpiece of a table.
She created cabinets, small stools and shelves with the wood. "Do you think you could sell these for me Sabastyén, I can't leave the grounds you know."
He pocketed the smallest creation which was in the shape of a small child, "I'll see what I can do." He would make no promises however.
He slipped past the gate without touching it not wanting to alert paranoid citizens that something was coming and going without their knowledge. They might get riled up if their minds conceived his actions as evil or less than friendly, people died in riots created by fear and he did not want to be another victim of hysteria.
The square was where the vendors made the cobblestone street their market, he had never realized what an old town this had been, it looked as if it was some medieval village but it actually was an okay town, maybe not thriving as it had in its past but it wasn't going under yet anyway. He spoke to several of the vendors while he tried to sell the copper doll in his pocket.
Finally a woman bought the little trinket, pocketing the few coins, he set off in the direction of the closest tavern to see about a job.
Gizella waited patiently for Sebastyén to return, she even prepared dinner as best she could with the few sparse ingredients she had. It was past dusk when he came in whistling a spirited tune as he dropped the coins she had earned on the kitchen table. "This is yours for the little doll. If you want to sell the stools and cabinets, they'll probably fetch a higher price."
She scooped up the copper coins, it had been so long since she last seen money and had some herself. "Thank you. I made dinner. So did you find work?"
He sat down at the kitchen table, with it just being the two of them, there was no need to use the formal dining hall. "I did," he started excitedly as he picked up a fork, "taverns, pubs, whatever serves alcohol always have a few unsavory characters looking to make a quick buck or two. It may be illegal deeds but all money is legal period."
Sebastyén "The Gambler" Kobor never changed, he was addicted to high risk situations despite the growing number of people who wanted to kill him. He didn't always cheat in card games but he did do it more often than naught. One day he was going to get himself killed running with the criminals and thieves that he did but she wasn't going to warn or lecture him about his activities, he had to make a living somehow.
They spoke animatedly while eating, Sebastyén being kind enough to tell her how the outside world had changed since she was ten years old. It didn't sound fantastic but it was a much greener pasture than where she was.
That night as she tossed and turned in her bed trying to get warm, the temperature outside had plummeted and she suspected that came morning everything outside would be covered in light frost. 
As she tossed and turned odd images crowded her mind, she could see golden fields of wheat with a lone musician playing a flute to a fleet of caravans crossing the plains, she saw a man with dark hair dressed finely hold a newborn in his arms. She sat up gasping for breath, rain battered the old windows with such force she feared the glass would break.
She quickly dressed in long sleeves and pants to race downstairs where she found her cousin already gone along with two stools she had made. Settling down in the kitchen for a small bit of breakfast, she relaxed while she thought of the strange dreams that occurred during the night.
Just dreams. 
Sebastyén never noticed the figure watching him behind every corner but on occasion he looked over his shoulder to see who would spy his wrongdoing but nothing but rain greeted his vision. He and some other men were paying a shoemaker a little visit as he had taken out a loan but never paid back. It was dishonorable grunt work to be sure but the loaner was paying them handsomely if they took care of a few deadbeats and he could use the money to leave and travel to another city with better fun and games.
On the fifth target, Sebastyén put on his brass knuckles to deliver a jaw shattering blow to the man's face while his stalker smiled and turned to pay the loaner a visit.

He was the misfortune that visited upon the Kobor family and sent them spiraling downward, he was the apprentice of forces unseen that governed balance and chaos and he returned because the spell that had been placed upon Stone Heart had fluctuated, alerting his masters to another presence inside the decrepit walls that held a 25 year old woman captive.
Their words had been clear in the past, only one person must reside inside the Stone Heart Estate, not two, not even for a night. The one trapped inside had to remain inside alone, to suffer with the cold and despair only then would his masters be pleased enough to consider undoing what had been done.
Not that the Kobor didn't deserve it, even the ones born in desolation could never make up for what their great grandparents had done. 
As he watched Sebastyén bully those who were physically weaker than himself, he only felt a great sense of justice when he murdered the loaner and stole the money he was going to use to pay the hired thugs. Those who took advantage of another's misfortune didn't deserve to prosper but that was the primary influence in this land.
The poor get poorer and the rich become richer. Farmers starved to death after their crops were taken as taxes, artisans' crafts were stolen without them receiving proper payment for their hard work, guards that once protected the citizens and kept order were stained by corruption until assassination was the only way that other men taking up the work could advance. That was the chaos that ran rampant while the Kobor ruled the province. 
Originally they had been merchants from a distant province but they grew wealthy and settled building Stone Heart as a home for everyone in their clan could live peacefully but their reign had become brutal and bloody.
As punishment a curse was put onto their house and family name but the debt was not yet paid in full as it should be. He had come to make sure that they were following orders which meant seeing the condition of the estate as well. Sneaking in wasn't a hard task by a long shot, he was glad to see it in its deplorable condition. He understood why the citizens called it the Grey Estate.
The house itself appeared grey in color when he knew it had been white but weather had worn it down as the spell kept anyone from repainting it. The foyer floor had autumn leaves scattered all over it, a small mouse skittered across from him. He walked silently through the house finding only insects and more vermin. Perhaps he'd catch a snake and let it loose to eat all the rodents.
But that would be helping and he wasn't there to help.
Finally he heard signs of life under the mansion in the form of a hammer banging in nails. He approached the ballroom where the sound permeated from the floor, opening one of the double doors, he climbed down the stairs to listen at the door. Grabbing the knob, he gave it a gentle twist to peak inside. He saw the woman steadily sawing through planks of wood. She was at least playing by the rules.
Leaving Stone Heart, he returned to his masters to report all that he witnessed. The coalition of gypsies in which the Kobor used to be a part of their tribe, they were the successful traders but they broke the unwritten code of Gypsy Law, so responsible felt their relatives of the Kobor's behavior that they placed the curse upon them.
"The Kobor had forgotten their roots but blood is thicker than water...you've done well Hyperion." He nodded to his grandfather then was dismissed from the meeting. Gizella was abiding by the rules.

New Fiction #4

No one gets werewolves right. That bothers me. No one even bothers to look up their real origin. Especially Patricia Briggs, she wrote in one of her books that werewolves were an European invention so only Europeans can be werewolves. That sounds a lot like white supremacy. I've been boycotting her since mostly because she did no real research. Real research will take you back between 2700 BC and 2500 BC when the Epic of Gilgamesh was written in Mesopotamia (now part of Iraq). The story goes according to the Epic, that a poor farmer was in love with the Goddess Ishtar and traveled to her temple to declare his love. Furious that he was poor, Ishtar turned the man into a wolf, you know the actual canine, and cursed him to only return to human form on a full moon. Now this Epic is the oldest on this living planet and far surpasses the Catholic versions we've come to know from the 1700s. Catholics got the story wrong.

The creatures we think as werewolves, aren't even werewolves, their humbabas which comes from Persian mythology. Werewolves should be from wherever real wolves live, China, Central Asia, Europe, US & Canada, etc.

So I have this werewolf character named Gilgamesh who's a descendant of the man Ishtar turned into a wolf but the wolf bite is highly transferrable so now he has an entire world of hiding werewolves. This particular chapter is a rough draft of Gil's life isn't finished, and deals with an enigmatic immortal man who wants to end his immortality.


 Gilgamesh the King of Wolves recently added the Damaged Wolf to his Brotherhood Pack but due to his being damaged, he would have to stay within the Pack House until Gil felt he was able to live on his own. He was something the centuries old King had never encountered before. 
He was immortal but he didn't come from the immortal races. He sought out Gil to end his immortality. No one had ever done that. Gil was interested enough to take in the pup. 
He was 5'8" approximately, he had a build that wasn't made by lifting weights in a gym and being conscience about it. His eyes and hair were dark with small splashes of grey to accentuate his age. He had two names but purposely chose the fake one over his real one.
He called himself and allowed others to only call him Darius Riga.  
He wore a long green thermal shirt and black jeans, his hair was loose falling to his back and looked uncombed or as combed as it was possibly going to get. Autumn in New England could be very cold just as it could be very warm. That day was a good 49 degrees Fahrenheit. Darius didn't drive cars, he didn't know how so it was up to Gil to bring him to the University where he worked as a professor of ancient history. 
His class was an elective and was only taken by students needing the extra credit, he felt insulted by that. 
During his own lunch break, he sat at one of the tables in the teacher's lounge with a bottle of water sitting in front of him as he reached into his jean pockets to remove the plastic pill bottle. His colleague asked him about it, it wasn't allowed for students to pop pills on campus nor the professors.
"I have Antisocial Personality and Dissociative Personality Disorder, the medication is non optional. I have to take them." He answered popping one of the pills for his Antisocial Personality Disorder in his mouth then chasing it with the water. 
His colleague watched with interest, "what is Antisocial Personality Disorder? Sounds like something all teenagers have." She huffed out with a laugh then became demure after realizing she might have offended him.
"It's known as sociopathy. Means that I like gambling too much and have a hard time trying to understand why other people are important." He looked away not that he was ashamed of his condition, he had nothing to be ashamed of. His colleague thought it over, so he was a couple steps away from being a psychopath so luckily he was taking medication to control it.
The Dissociative Personality Disorder was formally called Multiple Personality Disorder, she asked about that but made sure he knew that he didn't have to answer her if he felt uncomfortable. It was fine, he'd answer.
He put his hands to his own chest, "this personality here is Darius but not the original. You don't want to meet the original guy," he smiled.
He went back to class after lunch to further instruct his students on ancient cultures while debating tons of off topic subjects as well. He knew his English wasn't the best but he communicated his lessons well enough. He stayed even after the students left to head to their next class then left several minutes later.
He waited outside for Gil to pick him up from the University, he pulled out his Karelia Royal cigarettes and lit it with a match rather than a lighter. His Karelia Royal was for every day use, his Sobranie Black Russians were for special conditions although he preferred smoking from his hookah pipe. 
Gil pulled up to bring the man back to his house where he dropped off the chain smoker. 
Dylan, one of his students, wandered back into the lecture class to check his seat for his pen, it must have fell out of his pocket and he only had one pen on him. He found it on the floor, muttering a curse to himself he picked it up but didn't leave, instead circled around the professor's desk out of curiosity to discover a plastic bottle on the ground.
He couldn't believe the name he was reading on it, Darius Riga, his professor had real psychiatric problems and the pills in the bottle would be worth a lot. He pocketed the bottle with intentions of selling the medication inside.
At eight, Darius reached for his medications to find one missing. He searched his small bedroom in case he dropped it. He searched the entire estate for it to no avail. He inhaled a deep breath, he would be fine if he didn't take it for a day. What was the worst that would happen?
He ate with Esther, the caretaker of Gil's estate while concealing the fact that he lost his medication. The first day without it, he felt fine, normal, that night he began to feel a bit depressed but as the long night dragged on he realized his beloved wife was dead. Tears began to stream down his face as he recalled that his son was also dead. 
He didn't get any sleep, his eyes were bloodshot at work.
He missed them. His wife, his son and his sister, hell, he even missed his brother, that asshole. 
He lamented their passing.
The second day his depression deepened until it became slight intolerance towards everyone else. On the third day he sat at the white table in the teacher's lounge with his arms outstretched, his fingers flexing in his attempts to retain control. He could feel himself slipping into dark places that he didn't want to revisit. 
He was a terrible person in his past, all those centuries ago. He was born a patrician but became a pirate when the opportunity rose and the life he lived wasn't a child's pirate tale. He was a murderer, he was a thief and on occasion, a rapist, but he always made money. He had over 80 ships in his fleet when he retired and he retired a very wealthy man as did all of his crew. 
He was never just a pirate, he was a business man who built trade posts and harbors across Europe, Africa and Asia. He raised armies and conquered lands but his name had been forgotten by history and was regarded as a myth. 
He looked for his name in history books but only found small tidbits, his ships and treasure were never found so historians disregarded him. Those ignorant bastards. He kept his eyes shut as he clenched and unclenched his fists, his intolerance of ignorance and children was turning to anger that he couldn't control. 
He sucked in a breath as his colleague touched his hand, asking if he was okay. He opened his eyes to stare at her hand on top of his, he raised his narrow dark eyes to view hers. She jumped back, there was a different man looking back at her, a dangerous one. She let his hand go. "No...I'm not all right. I lost my medication......" He admitted then stood up and walked out to his last class.
"I'm feeling a bit short of temper, ladies and gentleman, so don't provoke me." He leaned over his desk with a feral smile, then slammed his fist against the metal thing to gauge their reaction. "We were on ancient Greek society. Tell me what you know and go. Just shout out the answers. Come on." 
He waited for some brave soul to say something.  
Kevin, an open Pagan, slightly raised his hand, "boys began learning virtues and wrestling from older men at the age of seven."
"Yes." He signaled for more with his hand.  
Throughout the lesson, Dylan watched his professor closely, he had the man's medication in his dorm room. He had been selling the pills individually and mutliple ones for a steep price. He made fourteen hundred dollars alone off of 15 pills. He thought about telling the older man that he had it but decided against it. His teacher's lost was his gain. 
After class he lit his Karelia cigarette and walked to Gil's house despite the whipping cold wind that blew the beautiful red, gold and brown leaves around the dirty roads. He needed time to himself.
When he reached the house, he re-searched it for his medication. Not being able to find it, he shut himself in one of the bathrooms, confused, he turned on both the taps as he scrubbed his face. He stared at himself in the mirror unable to recognize the long hair and beard, he felt his head become fuzzy as his surroundings suddenly became foreign. Where was he?
Supreme anger flowed through his veins as he grabbed his shears to shave down his beard. When it was a heavy stubble, he began to cut away his long locks. He always cut his hair himself, he rarely allowed other people to do anything to his head. He kept at it silently until it was short. He ran his hand through his hair. 
Leaving his stray follicles all over the bathroom given to him for his private use, he grabbed his jacket but stared at the gun resting inside one of the dresser drawers. He wasn't sure if he would need it but took it anyway. His behavior had taken a turn for the worst while out of the school. He became a short fuse lashing out at Gil and everyone else.