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Fan Fiction: Short Stories
Chapter 2:
The Robbery DOZENS of expensive cars lined the semi-circle driveway of the Cranston
Estate. The main room was full of laughter, conversations, and music. Servants moved
throughout the room, carrying trays with champagne and delicacies. Everyone appeared to be
having a good time. A door to the room was opened, creating a rectangle of light in an otherwise pitch black room. With the flick of a switch, a few overhead lights came on and bathed the room in low light. The man standing in the door was dressed in what looked like an assembly of ragged robes with a piece of rope tied around his waist to act as a belt. In one hand he held a bucket by it's handle. The overhead lighting illuminated the central aisle running between the ends of the beds that filled either side of the room, but most of the beds and their occupants remained hidden in shadows. Sitting on the floor at the foot of each bed was a shallow pan, and it was into these that the robed man poured a thick, paste-like substance from the bucket, walking around the room and filling each pan. Anyone else would have had to breathe through their mouths to avoid the foul stench, but this man was used to it. Emptying the last drop into the final pan, he walked back to the door and turned. "Eat. You will need it," he said and left, shutting the door behind him. It was only a short time after he had gone that there was movement from one of the beds. Then more began to move, and soon they were all moving, slowly getting up and shuffling to the foot of the beds, lowering themselves to their knees and bringing the pans to their mouths. Anyone who could have witnessed the scene of these figures eating would have guessed that, though mostly hidden in the shadows, the dark shapes looked almost . . . human. It was around midnight when Lamont Cranston saw the final guest leave, waving goodbye as they pulled down the driveway and into the street. He came back inside and closed the door behind him. Margo was sitting at the miniature bar that had been set up for the event, looking exhausted. The servants were beginning the task of cleaning up. Lamont walked over behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, massaging them. She closed her eyes and rolled her head back. "Oh, that feels so good," she said. "Did you have a fun evening?" "I did." She smiled. "In the year that I've know you, I never knew you could throw such enjoyable parties." He smiled and sat down next to her. "Well, I throw them, but they're for the people to enjoy. The money we raise is really useful to the hospitals and other places it gets donated to." He took a drink from Margo's glass, expecting alcohol, but smiled to himself when he realized it was just ice water. "And how about you? How was your evening?" "Had some . . . trouble to take care of on my way back from the investment meeting." "What kind?" "Had three heists in two hours," he said, sounding as if the very idea of thinking about the evening's events exhausted him. He took another drink. "All I want to do now is just go upstairs and have a nice, long, uninterrupted sleep." He stood and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow." And with that he headed toward the stairs. Margo watched him go and smiled to herself as it looked like sleep was finding him more and more with each step he took. The small bank on the corner of 3rd and Harmon was closed for business, but the security guard was walking around. He whistled absent-mindedly to himself as he sat back in his chair, grabbing the latest issue of National Geographic and putting his feet up on the desk. His only source of light was a small desk lamp to one side, turned to illuminate the page he was reading. The front windows in the entrance doors shattered, spraying into the store in a shower of glass. The guard jolted out of his chair, dropping the magazine to the floor, and hurried over, drawing his revolver. He reached the door to look out, but before he could see anything, something had grabbed him and carried him back through the door, wrenching the pistol from his hand and throwing it outside. The guard gasped for air as the hands held tight around his neck. He tried to make out who it was holding him, but it was too dark to clearly see any details. All he could detect was a foul stench, almost like fish, but a little worse if that was at all possible. The hands released him, and he collapsed to the floor in a fit of coughs and chokes. He put a hand to his throat and massaged the sore skin. Through the window shuffled what looked like seven more figures, all of them emitting the same smell, and in the amount of moonlight coming in from outside, it looked like they were wearing ragged clothing. They moved with a slow walk, one step at a time. Their heads were slightly tilted, as if they were exhausted to the point where they couldn't even hold them up straight. Another man suddenly appeared through the door, but he was not like the others. He was taller and walked normally. "Get the money," he ordered, and the others began moving toward the back of the bank. The guard remained on the ground, not feeling like doing anything, still recovering from the attack. He had been choked pretty good. The man walked over and towered above him, arms akimbo. "You're a lucky man," he said in a distinct voice. "If I had not ordered them well, you would have been dead on the floor." And with that he laughed. |
The Shadow: Master of Darkness
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