Prologue and Chapter 1

Characters are introduced, and beginning plot points take shape.

Prologue Dear Journal... It's been ten years today since I escaped from the living death that consumed me. I'll never forget that moment. Yes, my salvation came in a moment. But I will never fully comprehend, or even accept, the grace the rescued me. For as long as I live, I will never forget. Just as I will never forget the moment of my salvation, so shall I never forget the actions that caused a need for it. Part of me died, and I will never be forgiven. I wouldn't want to be. I do pray, however, that my actions and subsequent saving will be an example. I give thanks every day for a love strong enough to overcome all, even myself. I now draw this journal to a close for the final time. I do not believe I could write again, even if I wanted to. I began this journal in hopes that I would leave a legacy; the chronicles of something worth remembering. Now I can only hope that if anyone reads this they will realize how fragile life is. Forgive the cliché, but anyone who reads this will surely know that this simple realization has rocked me to my core. Cherish each day, dear reader. Yours truly... Chapter 1 Dylan Shore, after studiously and painstakingly planning every last shred of detail of this day for the past 3 months, was sure that he had forgotten something. He drove on, running the list through his mind for the hundredth time. Everything was there. Or so it seemed. He was moving to a new town, starting a new job. A new life, for that matter. And he was a nervous wreck. His friend Jason, however, who sat in the passenger seat was the epitome of calm preparedness. Or perhaps blissful ignorance. Possibly the latter, but he was disguising it well if that was the case. He was currently in a stare down with a map, and the map seemed to be winning. “Where are we headed again?” Jason asked as he turned the map sideways. That always helped. “Gentry.” “Quaint...” said Jason. Dylan scoffed. “Yes it is. 400 people live there. Tops.” Jason shook his head. “Remind me again why you're moving here?” asked Jason. A variety of reasons, really. Dylan needed the job at Clearfield, Pennsylvania. Gentry was five minutes away. It was a small place, and he had always appreciated such an atmosphere. Dylan said none of this out loud, however. Jason, though the more level headed of the two, was also the more sarcastic one. Neither of them said anything for a while. Jason finally broke the silence. “So, nervous?” Dylan didn't respond. He turned his head ever so slightly. “Hmm?” he mumbled dumbly. “I said you better pull over; there's a cop behind us.” Dylan's eyes, a hint of restrained fear running through them, snapped to the rear view mirror. Empty. Dylan shook his head and chuckled. Jason clicked his tongue. “I asked if you were nervous. But I think you just answered that for me,” said Jason with a slight chuckle as he looked out the window. Dylan grinned and grunted. “Heh...I guess a little. It's just...weird, you know?” Jason nodded. “I do...” said Jason after a moment of silence. Finding nothing else to discuss, they continued on in silence; besides the occasional small talk. Four hours later they arrived in Gentry, Pennsylvania. Jason had fallen asleep, and was currently slumped against the window. Dylan left the highway and turned onto a smaller road. He pulled to a stop sign and realized he was going to be there for a while. A large black hearse had just passed, and was followed by a caravan or vehicles. Dylan sighed and leaned back in the seat, chewing on his lip. He turned his head and gently punched Jason in the shoulder. “We're here,” said Dylan as he turned his attention back to the procession. Jason opened his eyes, blinked, but didn't move. He took a deep breath and finally sat up, squinting at the cars passing by. “Um, what's going on? The exodus of Gentry?” asked Jason. Dylan chuckled. “You'd think so. I swear, it looks like the whole town came out for this.” His own statement caused him to pause. In a community of this size, most of these people knew everyone else. Dylan looked forward to that sort of environment. Be that as it may, all of the town was driving at fifteen miles an hour, and it was nearly ready to drive him crazy. Two minutes later, he pulled through the stop sign and continued to drive. Three turns and 5 minutes later, Dylan sat in front of his house, and home to be. Dylan and Jason stepped out of the car and onto the curb. They looked the house up and down. It was going to take a little work. But Dylan had always enjoyed work of that sort. Jason put his hands on his hips and nodded. “It's nice, Dylan.” Dylan nodded in agreement. “It is indeed.” Everything had a bit of a surreal aura about it. This was his own house, in a new town, and he was going to begin a new life there. Dylan began to walk up the pavement to the steps, digging the keys from his pocket. He flipped through them, found the right one, and unlocked the door. Simple enough; but Dylan found a sort of secure symbolism in this act. He opened the door and stepped in. The musty smell of aging wood wafted through the air. Dylan breathed deep. He loved that smell. The house had been built nearly 80 years ago. It had been well taken care of until the last few years, when the latest tenant was incapable of the upkeep and maintenance required. He was an older man, and was unable to keep up with it all. Dylan hoped to turn the situation around before long. Jason walked up beside of Dylan and looked around. He let out a whistle and began to hum the Munsters theme music. “Dude, that's just chessy,” Dylan said as he walked on. Jason smirked. “Tell me you saw this place before you bought. Just please tell me that, ” Jason said as he cringed with each creak of the floor boards. “Yes, I saw it,” Dylan said wryly. “Twice, in fact.” He wasn't interested in conversation at the moment. He admired the house, and looked forward to his time in it. Forcing his reverie to a close, he began to tour the house. It was a two story, three bedroom house. He briefly looked at each room once more. But he saved a certain room for last. It was a room he was unable to see on his previous visits. It had been closed off both times. To say his curiosity was piqued was an understatement. He finally found his way downstairs again, and turned to the left. A small hallway lead to the main living room. On the left wall of the hallway was a door. He opened it and stepped in. Dylan drew in his breath. It was the largest room in the house. The room was a large cube: at least fifteen feet tall, long, and wide. Every square inch of all four walls was packed with books of every variety. Dylan was amazed. He didn't think he had ever seen a personal library that was so extensive before. Jason once again walked beside of him. He had taken the tour one room behind Dylan. “Hoo boy,” Jason said with a grin. He and Dylan had been best friends all of their lives; and in the most literal sense possible. From the time they were old enough to remember, they had been friends. As such, Jason knew that this was a veritable heaven on earth for Dylan. If he wasn't behind a camera, he had his nose in a book. Dylan immediately began to admire the collection. Despite his initial excitement, he forced himself into reality. This library wasn't his because he owned the house. It belonged to whomever owned the house before he had signed the papers. But hope sprung eternal. A thought crossed his mind: maybe he could increase the payment and receive the library in the deal. Unlikely; but there wasn't much he wouldn't give for a collection like this. Jason walked around the room in a large circle. He reached the end of the final book shelf and turned to face it. “Hey Dylan, take a look at this.” Dylan crossed the room and followed Jason's eyes. On the end of the bookshelf was a slightly yellowed envelope. In decorative calligraphy were the words “To Current Resident.” “First day here and already junk mail,” Jason said with a shake of his head. Dylan looked at Jason and put on a mock grimace. “Har har.” Dylan gently pulled the envelope off of the shelf. The alarm on his wrist watch sounded. “Darn...” He stuffed the envelope into his coat pocket and began to walk. He had to meet the real estate agent to finish some things up. He'd look at it later. He also made a mental note to ask about adding the library into the payment, should the previous owner be willing. Dylan and Jason walked out of the house, Dylan locked the door, then they both walked down the pavement and slid into the car. Forty five minutes and one long, boring discussion with a real estate agent later, Dylan and Jason agreed on staying at a hotel that night. There were no beds in the house as of yet. They had opted out of trying to move any of Dylan's things into the house that night. They would tackle that in the morning. There was no hotel in the small town of Gentry, so they drove to Clearfield for the night. After finding a decent hotel, they settled into their room and tried to get some rest. Jason grabbed the remote, slumped on the couch, and set out in search of the Discovery channel. Dylan, however, crashed to the bed in the next room and attempted not to move. He was exhausted. He felt his eyes slowly falling shut, but he forced them open. He sat up in bed and dug the letter out of his jacket pocket. The letter reminded him of that he had forgot to ask the agent about the price and the library. He chided himself and vowed to take care of it tomorrow. Despite the fact he would really rather not have anything to do with that agent again. Moment of distraction past, he carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a hand written letter in long, flowing cursive script. “Dear Proprietor, Congratulations! You are now the newest owner of this estate. Don't be fooled, (or taken, whichever the case may be at the time) by appearances. The old adage, though by this time more of a cliché than I would prefer, 'if walls could talk' is more pertinent here than I believe most people realize. I must admit, I am a lover of history. Some of the world's greatest leaders modeled their strategies from previous leaders. Through such an educating of themselves, they gained the ability to avoid many of the same errors. I apologize, I realize I'm rambling; but I don't think I can stress just how important I believe history to be. Because of this passion of mine, I am gifting this entire library to you. Within are book of all sorts. World history, specific histories therein, (even a history of the town) biographies, journals, classic literature, and many more. There are your's to read whenever you wish. May they bring you as many hours of enjoyment as they have brought to me. Sincerely, Timothy Holbeck.” Dylan's jaw dropped open and he drew in his breath. He had never met this man, and yet he had given Dylan one of the greatest gifts he had ever received. Dylan read the letter again, praying it hadn't magically transformed in the thirty seconds he had been gawking. It was all still there. He stood and walked into the main room. “Jason, read this,” Dylan said as he handed the letter to him. Jason skimmed over it, his eyes grew wide, and he read it again; this time with greater intensity. “Wow...that's amazing!” Jason said evenly. He had never expressed much emotion, but Dylan knew he was honestly impressed. “Um, yeah!” Dylan grabbed the letter back, afraid to let it out of his sight. Despite his exhaustion, Dylan found it difficult to squash the urge to rush back to the house at once. He convinced himself it would be better to spend the night here, and begin his searching in the morning. He grew quiet, like a child waiting for Christmas morning. If he were to be completely honest with himself, it didn't feel much different. Here he was, a 22 year old grown man, excited about a bunch of dusty books. He found solace in his unique desires. The silence sat in the room for a while; Jason engrossed in a 2 hour documentary on great white sharks, Dylan balancing between utter exhaustion and irrepressible excitement. Dylan chuckled to himself at the fascinating hybrid. “So, when does work start?” Jason asked absently, on an epic quest to avoid any and all commercials. It had been a pet peeve of his for as long as Dylan could remember. The question gave Dylan pause. In his apprehension of moving, and subsequent thrill of his inheriting the library, Dylan had nearly forgotten the reason he had moved. Not a good thing. Dylan had applied to, and was accepted by, the newspaper in Clearfield. He was a photographer; his dream job. “Umm...in three days, I think. They gave me a little extra time to finish moving in...” Dylan's words trailed off. Jason merely nodded as commercials disappeared and a white shark's tooth filled jaw appeared on the screen. Conversation over. Dylan chuckled to himself and walked back into the bedroom He dropped back into bed, and was asleep within five minutes.

Author's Note

Basically, what do you think? Yes, grammar and spelling are nice to note. But I want the majority of critiques to be those on the story. What do you think of the characters? Do you like what direction the story is heading? That sort of thing. Be heard! And take note: I appreciate constructive criticism. No, I don't like "that waz terrble wher did u lrn to right?" sort of comments. Leave comments that will actually help improve this writing.

Reviews

[Dan Ryoma]

I thought it was great. I loved how instead of presenting the contents of the letter immediately, you kept it a mystery and left the reader sit anxiously for a minute. Also however odd this may be, I thank you for using names that are common.

However, I thought that the mentioning of a cliche in the beginning should be removed. From the writing before it, Dylan seemed distressed and troubled by his past, anxious to write the last word in his journal, maybe even in a hurry. I wouldn't imagine a distressed man to be preoccupied by what the reader thinks about his cliche. Also I thought the letter could have been shorter and more direct in order to shed more mystery on the house, its past, and its owners. Assuming of course that the house has a secret. If my assumptions are accurate I think the letter detracted from this secrecy. However, these aspects of your story were small and didn't do much to distract the reader from the compelling story that surrounded them.