Trapped!

Jan. 10, 2009
Chapter 2 ( in sections: section 1 )

Hanz had grown up in Alabama, in a black neighborhood. He had grown up playing with black children, to him it was normal, to him it was the way of life. He remembered when he had first learned that other people did not think this was right.
It happened the day they had moved into the neighborhood, they were the first white kids Hanz had seen in a long time, other then his brother. And he could not help but stare at them as he watched them move into the house across the street. They had three kids, two big boys who looked about three years older then Hanz and a girl who looked to be about his same age.
He soon discovered they were a poor family whose father had lost his job and all he had had. The only place they had been able to afford was a small house in a black neighborhood, Hanz soon discovered the kids did not like this.
It happened the day he was at the park with his best friend Danny. The two boys had been playing army, using sticks as guns. They were chasing each other around in the sand, making shooting noises, when the brothers and sister had come into the park.
“Why look at that!” the oldest boy had scoffed. “This is what happens when a boy is raised in a place like this!”
Hanz and Danny had stopped running about and looked at the three other kids. “What do you mean?” Hanz asked finally.
The second oldest boy laughed. “It warps your brain living with blacks!” he had taunted.
Hanz looked over at Danny who suddenly seemed nervous. He put his arm around his friend's shoulders and said, “Don't listen to them Danny, you are smarter then any of them!”
The boys had glared at them as they had walked off and the girl yelled, “You will pay for this!”
Hanz wished he had believed them, that he had told someone about the threat, wished he had done something about it. It happened one night, a week after their encounter. Hanz and Danny had been out playing all that day, running about the park and relishing in the freedom of boyhood where all was care free and full of new adventures. They had parted that day with a promise to meet again the next morning and continue their game.
Hanz had not been able to sleep that night, he just did not know why until the next morning when he had run over to Danny's house, and found the door wide opened. Slowly he crept inside wondering what could possibly be wrong for the door to be open.
Slowly he crept through the dead quiet house, all was within order, and yet he knew something was wrong. He crept upstairs where the bedrooms were. He went to Danny's room first, softly calling out his friend's name. Danny was not answering.
Hanz reached the door and with pounding heart he slowly reached out and touched the door, it swung open and Hanz screamed at what he saw. Danny was hanging in the door way, his feet dangling off the ground, the chair he had been standing on laying on its side. His chest was covered in blood because whoever had hung him had nailed a sign to his chest that read, “This is the black’s future!”
Hanz screamed again and stumbled backwards, crashing through Danny's parent’s door, he hit something hard as he crashed to the floor. Looking up he screamed again when he saw Danny's parents hanging above him.
Another scream tore from Hanz's throat as he stood up and ran out of the house. He ran back to his house and ran into his dad's arms. He tried to tell his dad what he had seen but had only been able to get out the words, “Danny!”
His dad had left him with his mom and went to look for himself, and found the same scene as had met Hanz's eyes. He returned grim faced and angry, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He called the police but they blew the matter off, and Hanz's dad was the one who ended up paying for the burials so that they could have descent ones.
As Hanz stood and watched Danny's casket be lowered into the cold earth, and he saw the three siblings standing and watching with uncaring eyes, he knew they were the ones who had done this, and he knew he was going to have his revenge on them.

By Raina & Theynore

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Jan. 5, 2009
Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Britt wasn’t your ordinary shoe maker. Especially for one living in small-town Montana; since the population was only a little over 2,000. It was one of the smallest towns in Montana barring ghost towns; Malta, Montana. Like most people yearning the small-town life he had a past. But it was littered with wet laundry that only he knew about. Fall was in the air, and it was crisp and fresh to his nose. He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair and through the sheets back off the bed. Most shoe makers lived in a house that was outside town, but Britt had picked his house special.

It was right inside the shoe store, so it was an easy commute. It would boggle your mind how much the people of Malta needed him, especially how many shoes they would by in a week. He had bought the small warehouse only three years ago in hopes that many travelers would need to get shoes on their way through onto US Highway 2 or US Highway 192. The minute he had stocked his shelves and opened his doors people flooded in from everywhere; direct from town and out. He had almost closed down the first day because of so much business. He had thought that because of this the business would die down and he would have to close, or it would continue on at a snails pace until the next fresh wave of newcomers.

“Boy was I wrong,” Britt said with a chuckle as he reflected on that day, “I’m glad I didn’t close down!” He reached for his pants and shirt that lay on the chair at the desk and then walked to his dresser. He grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and went to take a shower. The set he bought almost a week after opening was still shining like new. That was partly because he cleaned it every time he wasn’t making shoes, taking orders down or helping customers.

Britt turned on the old radio that hung next to the door in his bathroom and undressed. He stepped into the shower and listened to the weather that was going over. “And there will be a strong chance for showers in the next few days, so be prepared to cancel all outdoor plans this week. Now back to your regularly scheduled programs.” The soft music of Glenn Miller drifted over the sound of the running water and made Britt dance slowly in the shower for a second. Most could call him weird or nostalgic for liking this kind of music, but he didn’t care. He loved it. Always had and he always would.

He heard the phone ringing in his bedroom and shut off the water. In as much haste as he safely could he jumped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, racing to the phone. “The Shoe Surplus, how can I help you,” Britt said in a relatively professional voice. He hadn’t been a shoe salesman this long for nothing. “Yes,” a soft and sweet voice drifted over the phone, “you can tell me where you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” He knew that voice. “Is that you Gwen?”

“Well it certainly isn’t Hillary Clinton!” she retorted. Britt gave a laugh and said, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find it soon enough. It’s the only shoe store in town. By the way, where are you?” There was a small suppressed giggle on the other end and then Gwen answered, “Right outside your front door!” The blood dropped from Britt’s face. He didn’t know she was THAT close. He dried off the rest of the way as best as he could and threw on the old ripped jeans of his and a black t-shirt and rushed down the stairs.
A horn honked twice and he realized that it indeed was Gwen, waiting out in that old hotrod she had gotten back on graduation day. Ah yes, so many years ago that was, but at times like this it made Britt even more nostalgic than ever. He could see the door of that old roadster open as Gwen stepped out. She looked much older; professional some might call it, than Britt remembered. Her hair was slicked back into a plain, shoulder length cut and she had a business suit on. But other than her air she looked no different than the day he left Billings. She begged him to let her come with him, but he foolishly said no and had regretted it ever since.

Her cool brown hair bounced as she came to the door, and he stared mystically into those hazel blue eyes once again. Coming back to his senses he opened the door for her and said, “Well look at you!” Gwen didn’t hesitate and jumped into his arms and gave him a big bear hug, lifting him several inches off the ground. Ordinarily any other man might have been surprised, but not Britt. It would have been truly remarkable to a bystander, but Gwen is one who possesses a deceptively large amount of upper body strength.

“How are you Gwen?” he asked as she put him back on his feet. She smiled widely at him and said, “Fantastic now that I’ve made it here! And I’m quite surprised you’re in shoes now, coal doesn’t suit you?” Britt laughed and said sarcastically, “Very funny Gwen! What brings you out all this way?” Walking in she turned back and said, “I’m here to see you! Well, of course I do have some other business in town, but I decided to see you first.” Britt accepted that explanation and asked politely, “Are you hungry? I can take you to breakfast.”

Gwen patted her stomach, “Breakfast would do. I drove all night to get here.” Taking that note he ran upstairs, grabbed a light coat and raced back down. “Shall we walk?” Britt asked, offering his arm to Gwen. “Let’s” she said as she smiled at him. Britt locked the door behind them and they went to the local eatery called “The Charcoal Grill” and entered, arms still locked. Aunt June, or so everyone affectionately called her, stepped up to “the pulpit” and asked, “Table for two?” Britt said yes and they walked behind Aunt June and took their seats. What a lot they had to talk about, and talk they would, for it seemed that Gwen had nowhere to go for a while.

By: Theynore

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Dec. 29, 2008
Prologue

The old farm house was falling down, but still Lars Franks refused to move. His farm was thirty miles from the town of Malta, Montana, a small town where nothing ever happened.
As Lars walked from his barn to his house he could not help noticing the black storm clouds rolling in. Kicking open the screen door Lars entered the house and made his way to the kitchen carrying two buckets of fresh milk. Entering through the wide door frame Lars stopped dead in his tracks, horror gripping him at the sight before him.
There was blood on the floors, lots of it! Slowly stepping into the room Lars dropped the buckets with a heavy thud when his eyes landed on the sight before him. His wife lay on the floor, a gun shot wound to her head and her throat slit. His son lay next to her, still breathing though he had a bullet wound to the chest.
There was a man standing over him, a man dressed all in black, in one hand he held a bloodied knife, in the other a colt pistol. Lars felt his head start to spin as the man pointed the gun at his son and shot him again. His son went limp and Lars could not believe what he was seeing. He grabbed onto the door frame as the man came after him.
Lars felt the knife plunge into his gut, and a shot to the chest ended the farmer’s life.
***
The storm was coming, moving in with a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the earth to its core. Lightening flashed every twenty seconds, lighting up the dark world for a brief moment before plunging it back into a darkness that seemed all the dark for the light. The clouds that were rolling in where black, and moved as though they would swallow up the small town.
Before the storm a man walked. Dressed all in back and with a black, wide brimmed hat on his head, he looked as dark and foreboding as the clouds which loomed behind him. Though the storm was moving in fast he seemed in no hurry, walking stiffly, moving as though he owned the world and had nothing to fear. Maybe he didn’t.
He reached the town just minutes before the thunder storm fell upon it in all its fury. Walking to the local in the man entered with a gust of wind and slammed the door closed behind him causing the innkeeper to jump. She looked at the man who stood leaning against the door, his face hidden beneath his hat.
“Can I help you?” She asked with a slightly shaking voice.
“I need a room,” The man’s voice was deep and cold, as cold as the wind that was rattling the windows.
The innkeeper turned to pluck one of the keys from the rack behind her, her hand shook as she grabbed it. Something about the man was unnerving her. “Rooms cost ten dollars a night,” She said as she held the key out to him.
Leaning over he grabbed it from her shaking hand and asked in a low voice, “I am looking for a man who calls himself Britt Redding.”
The woman kept the fear out of her voice, having him this close nearly made her heart stop.
“He, he is on the other side of town.” She stammered.
The man rose up to his full height and looking down upon her said coldly, “Thank you, you have been most helpful.” He grabbed the key and walked up stairs and to his room. Opening the door he stepped inside, shut it, and locked it. Then he walked over to the window and looked out.
The storm had hit full force and all that could be seen from the small window was blackness, as black as a moonless night. The blackness seemed ready to swallow up everything it touched; there was no relief from it except for the sudden flashes of blinding light that almost made the darkness seem better then the light.
Wasn’t this how it was though? He could still hear his uncle’s words, ringing through the house. “When a light comes on in a dark room the person does not wish it to be turned off. Thus it is when Jesus enters our hearts and brings light to us.”
Well, this light was being swallowed by the darkness, as the light in his heart had been. All that was there was darkness, darkness and hate and a desire to kill! And he would kill! But not before he broke, there is nothing worse for a man then having his will broken. And he was going to break Britt’s will!
Hanz Diederick leaned his head against the window pane and felt the coldness seep through him, it seemed to enter his heart, his already cold heart, and turned it to ice. Hatred was what kept his heart beating, hatred and death. It consumed him like the storm outside consumed the town.
There was a bigger storm coming, one bigger then any these people had ever seen. One that no one would be able to hide from. This was only the warning, compared to the storm coming this was just a summer squall. And in the end of that storm only one man would be left standing, either Britt or him, and things were not looking to be in Britt’s favor.
Hanz pulled the colt from its holster and spun it around his finger. Leaning against the wall Hanz allowed a smile to creep across his face, like shadows creeping over the land as the sun set. This time Britt was going to pay.

~by Rainia

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Dec. 10, 2008
New Book!

Everybody is probably wondering, "Who is this guy, what is he posting and where did Raina go?" Don't be alarmed! I am Theynore! Wait! Hold on! Don't pass out! Breathe! Just Breathe! The reason I am here is because Raina and I have collaborated and we are going to be writing a book together! We will be putting chapters on here for all of you to review and tell us how we're doing, what we need to fix, you know, basic feedback. We would appreciate as much of it as possible, and we encorage you to tell your friends. Enjoy this creation that God has inspired us to write!

~Theynore & Raina (who is not here at the moment)

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