Sci Fi & Fantasy / Regan - Prologue
Prologue.
Although Edendale was now considered by most of its residents to be part of suburbia, ‘country town’ remained the more accurate description. It was hard to tell these days, what with Melbourne and its smaller cousin Sunbury sprawling ever outward, but an outsider would hardly call Edendale ‘urban’. Elements of farm life still permeated the western borders, the bush still stubbornly fought for its strongholds in the North, and, although they didn’t know it, the people of Edendale still exuded a certain kind of “countryness” particular to rural Australia. Drizabone coats, Akubra hats and Blundstone boots were still in evidence wherever you went and it was not unusual to see people riding horses down the side of the main street.
The town boasted one petrol station, two primary schools, three supermarkets, four pizza restaurants, five fish ’n’ chip shops and six milk bars. Franchises had yet to take hold in any significant way – much to the disappointment of the under thirty crowd -and you still had to travel over forty kilometres to get to a cinema.
Edendale was large enough that you could live there your whole life and still know only a fraction of the people, but small enough to have developed its own particular culture of gossip and intrigue. You might not have known all the people who lived in your street, but everyone was on a first name basis with the Mayor. Everyone knew the friendly woman at the bakery who gave the kids free lamingtons; everyone had been snarked at by the cranky old codger who ran the nursery; everyone knew about the Aboriginal widower from Melbourne who’d just opened the new art gallery; and everyone knew the family at twenty-two Digby Drive were to be avoided.
It was a two-acre block of land on which there stood a very large, very old, weatherboard house; three storeys tall with elaborate cast iron fittings, it might once have been considered ‘majestic’. Now it was weather beaten – the paint peeling, the boards splintered and the roof rusted. A problem with the stumping had resulted in a slight tilting of the entire house – which may have been a violation council building codes, but since it was almost entirely obscured by the tangle of trees in the front yard, no one but the inhabitants had really noticed.
In the midst of the trees, and unseen from the street, was an ornate wooden swing, hung from the branches of a particularly tall red gum. Also unseen was the front porch, comfortably decorated with an eclectic assortment of chairs that rocked and creaked, their colourful fabrics faded from years spent under a harsh Australian sun. Hanging above was a dream catcher fashioned from real goose feathers and a large set of wind chimes carved from oak.
Out back was a single stable (housing a single bad tempered horse), and an assortment of birds that roamed the yard as they liked – chickens mostly, but also a couple of ducks and a goose with a jealous habit of honking loudly when it wanted attention. A black cat named Jason wandered in and out of the house by way of a back window that was almost always left open by the youngest inhabitant of the house.
The inhabitants themselves were a family: three generations of Mallorys, the descendants of English immigrants who had arrived in Australia not long after the First Fleet. They’d lived in Edendale for as long as anyone living could remember and had, for the most part, kept to themselves. The kids went to school and the parents had jobs, but none of them ever went out of their way to participate in the community. They never joined committees or manned the stalls at fetes; never turned up to community bingo nights or signed up for extra curricular activities. They were a community unto themselves, not inclined to expand their horizons, and that had made them a subject of both disdain and curiosity amongst the rest of the town.
The rumour was that the family was part of a cult. What kind of cult with what kind of practices, no one really knew, but nevertheless most people disapproved. There was something about the way the family behaved that was off-putting: an aloofness – an arrogance that seemed to be passed down from one generation to the next – that made people uncomfortable. The general opinion was that no good could come of such a superior attitude and that more responsible parents would encourage their children to socialise rather than indoctrinate them with the eccentric ideas that set them apart from their peers. The children might be as strange as the rest, but they were to be pitied – there was little doubt.
And in the end there did come a night when fourteen-year-old Regan Mallory was truly deserving of that pity as she stood, tense and shaking, in the basement of her home.
The light of seven candles and a burning totem reflected dully in the girl’s vacant brown eyes, wide with shock. A wet knife hung loosely from one pale hand, willowy fingers loath to let it go entirely even if Regan herself had long forgotten that she held it. Long brown hair hung limply around her thin, pale face, stringy with sweat and scented oil. The delicate embroidered dress that hung from her frail shoulders was torn in places, and fresh stains of ash, ink and blood ruined what was left the rich blue and gold material.
The air was thick with scented smoke, obscuring the finer details of the room, but about Regan’s feet lay the remnants of a ritual ceremony: gemstones, incense burners, mortar and pestle, lengths of gold rope, feathers, runes, velvet bags containing herbs – and eleven dead bodies; each familiar to Regan, each still warm.
The entire basement was too warm.
Blood pooled from the newly dead, soaking into the house and into the leather of Regan’s sandals. She felt the warm liquid touch her toes and wondered vaguely what it meant – a leak somewhere? The metallic smell was overpowering and she sniffed at it in blind confusion, shaking the cobwebs from her head and blinking hard to clear her blurred vision.
And then she saw him.
He was young, early twenties, and judging from his clothing he was one of them. No one from Edendale would ever be covered from head to toe in black – or be holding such a wicked looking sword for that matter. A ‘rapier’ Regan identified the weapon dumbly. She’d seen them on TV.
She wished she could move. She knew she should run, or do something with the knife she now remembered was in her hand, but numbness had crept into her limbs and they no longer seemed able to obey her commands. She’d had dreams like this – dreams in which indistinct horrors came for her at night as she lay frozen, incapable of defending herself in any way.
The man watched her with a tight jaw, slender hands clenched around the hilt of the rapier as he held it before himself. He was handsome she thought, in a dark sort of way. Tall. She would be killed by a tall, dark, handsome man. Had he been here this whole time? Why had he not gone with the others? Was he now trapped? Was he afraid of her? The last thought made her want to laugh. Mad laughter it would be – if it ever came out. It didn’t.
He held her gaze, tense as he studied her. Eventually he let the sword fall limp at his side. Regan simply continued to stare, unaware of the tortured appeal in her eyes. The man’s stoic expression broke for a moment to reveal pity, and then he was gone. It seemed to Regan that he melted. Melted away leaving nothing behind but swirling smoke. No proof of what had happened here.
She was now alone in every sense of the word.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
This 284 word review has not been unlocked.
This 138 word review has not been unlocked.
The numerical progression in paragraph 2 is interesting, but doesn’t really lead anywhere. You might consider either expanding it, or eliminating it entirely.
The 4 paragraph starts rather abruptly. You might wish to add some context to “It was a two-acre block of land”, and the sentence as a whole scans poorly. It could benefit from a rewrite.
An “of” is missing between “a violation” and “county building codes”.
The first sentence of paragraph 6 is long, and should be split.
The indenting in the entire prologue is inconsistant.
The sentence describing his sword in paragraph 15 is somewhat choppy, and could flow better.
As for the story: Most of the detail presented in the first half of the prologue is superfluous, and lacking context. The cat’s name is Jason? Great! But why should we care? Is it ever going to be an issue later in the book?
The transition in the middle is delightfully abrupt, and, dare I say, is well done. It beautifully contrasts with the beginning of the chapter. Looking forward to the rest of the book.
- add/view comments (0)
This 111 word review has not been unlocked.
This 138 word review has not been unlocked.
This 135 word review has not been unlocked.
This 364 word review has not been unlocked.
I think maybe you should consider experimenting with starting the piece with the description of Digby drive to act as a hook . The paragraph beginning “Digby drive was a two-acre block..” would be good for this..
“And in the end there did come a night..” is not for me an exciting way to start the real part of the tale?
Theres a good story to be had here but i feel it needs rearranging a bit.. maybe mention the dead bodies right at the end, a sort of discovery by regan and the bombshell that this prologue needs after a slow burning build up?
The town boasted one petrol station, two primary schools, three supermarkets, four pizza restaurants, five fish ’n’ chip shops and six milk bars. Franchises had yet to take hold in any significant way – much to the disappointment of the under thirty crowd -and you still had to travel over forty kilometres to get to a cinema.
(ok this is too numerical it dosent seem real. and im guessing your from outside the us with the kilo’s ill have to ask the guys i work with about milk bars never seen one myself lol. but really its just too numerical. change it up a little.)
or be holding such a wicked looking sword for that matter. A ‘rapier’ (i never thought of a rapier being wicked in any since its a thin blade sword with very few caratis other than the hilt with also has to be relitively small to keep proper balance. i would put in a diffrent word describing the sword or tell me why its wicked. was the blade black red. if your cant ell im a weapon fanatic a rapier is concidered a gentemans sword, very light and agile, keep this in mind. i would suggest you look up some fenceing sights and maybe do a little reserch on diffrent weapon. their is so many to chose from.
i liked the begging very nice start great visulation hope to read more you have a grat wrighting style the ending inst bad but a little bland cmpared to the rest of the story. wel hope i was of some help have a good one
I think it’s excellent. At first it didn’t feel much like a prologue – more like a proper chapter; however, the sudden switch to the young girl and the apparant violence and gore of the ritual really drew me in, and the mystery of the tall, dark and handsome man in black, with the ending did make it feel a lot more like a prologue.
It’s very well done, in my opinion, and you left a sufficient number of questions hanging in the air to really make me want to read more.
Showing 1 - 10 of 24
Next →
Review item
Add to faves
GENERAL
REVIEW QUEUE
Ratings & Rankings
