Preface/Prologue

A short prologue I put together that could really go in any direction.

Preface

The metal cover swayed in the wind, as it balanced delicately on the edge of the manhole. The dim glow from the nearby street lamps illuminated the surrounding road. The eery silence was broken only by a periodic hissing sound, accompanied by bursts of blinding green light that engulfed the tunnel below. There were no roars of car engines, no echoes of footsteps, no birds chirping, just the deep murmurs of Tristan's breath as it vaporized into the night's crisp cold air.

Tristan couldn't justify to himself what had motivated him to drive over five hundred miles to the small desolate town. In fact, he hadn't even noticed that he remembered nothing of the journey. All he knew was he possessed a deep, inexplicable attraction to the green light; an attraction he had to fulfill. His arms quivered as he used them to gradually lower his body into the abyss of the city's sewage system, his toes curled in anticipation.

There was a thud as the young man's feet hit the stone floor. He let out a groan as the small stream of murky water began to filter into the fibers of his shoes and the hems of his jeans. His nostrils flared at the awful stench that filled the narrow passageway he now found himself in, but his predetermined curiosity for the light did not falter. The flashes of light had become more frequent, and his surroundings were gradually becoming clearer. Cobwebs laced the tunnel's ceiling, the odd shadow of a rat could be seen scurrying around in the distance. Tristan ambled forward, reluctantly using the slime encased walls for balance. Under usual circumstances he would have been repulsed, but the light had a magnetic-like pull that removed any element of doubt from his mind. 

 

The hissing had become less regular, and significantly louder. In fact, it almost sounded like a heated conversation in some obscure language. That's when Tristan heard it, a deep masculine voice resounding against the walls, slowly chanting his name. "Tristan...Tristan." The hissing had stopped, and the light had become a dim vibrating glow. Tristan's previously racing thoughts had been vanquished into a single urge. His slow amble had become a steadily paced stride. Tristan's eyes were fixated on the shimmering light in an almost trance-like fashion, his attention never wavered from the distant flicker of green. His environment was much clearer now and if he been in a more focused state of mind, he would have realized the water he was submerged in was now glowing itself.

Never in his thirty eight years had Tristan ever done something so rash. He lived with his wife and two children in a four bedroom suburban house. He worked for a small-time advertising firm in the inner city.  He was well renowned in his local community. He ran the neighborhood watch, volunteered at the local homeless shelter once a week, helped set up a local children's soccer team that both his children participated in, and he never missed church on a Sunday. It had been a regular Saturday night, yet something possessed Tristan to sneak out of bed in the wake of the night, fire up his sedan and drive. No note, no explanation. He had no predetermined destination, yet somehow he knew where to go. Now he found himself pursuing that unmistakable glow that had hijacked his every move.

His steps became quicker, as did the chanting. "Tristan, Tristan." As the glow became closer, it became apparent that it was being partially masked by a half-cracked steel door. "Tristan." His family, his commitments, his job; nothing mattered now, his head was a blank slate. "Tristan, Tristan, Tristan." He approached the heavily scratched and dented steel frame, his fingers clasped tightly around a silver knob that protruded from the center of the door. It took him several tugs, but finally the door cooperated and swung open. No more than a second after the door opened, Tristan was engulfed in a shocking emerald flame. His screams resounded through the clammy tunnel, shrieks of pure agony and distress. His voice reached a staggering peak before the flames ceased. The door slammed shut and the tunnel was once again filled with the familiar silence. There was no glow. No hissing. Just silence.

Author's Note

Would be interested in your opinions of what direction this story could go.