Story draft. No title

The wind sieged the small town of Anchor, with all its might it battered the town throwing arrows of rain at its darkened streets. Tormented it howled in futile efforts against this bastion of man-kind. Thunder played amongst the borealis, highlighting red and green hues of colour with cracks of blue hidden within the clouds.

In this fine weather a figure hurried into town. Clad in a brown waterproof jacket she hurried along an old sandstone pavement, a single azure book held in an oversized jacked pocked pressed against her chest, plain looking; its dirty cover read no title or had any discernible markings,chilled she pulled the jacked closer, hugging her self as she ran through the rain.

As she hurried towards the hushed lights in the centre of the town she glanced back into the shadows of the forest from which she had made her way out of.The shadows looked back at her with crackling and unknown intelligence, yet nothing seemed to follow her into the light of the town, civilisation seemed to hold the black at bay. A ward against this final evil which had followed her, ever so present within the rough bush that engulfed much of the blue mountains region.

Panicking she trips over her own feet and stumbles,the book falls out of her front pocket as if with a life of its own. It opens and the wind swishes through the hand written pages turning them this way and that. grabbing the book she breaks into a hurried pace, always glancing back at the unknown behind her.

The wind pushes her as if trying to hurry her into the centre, an inhuman cackle pierces through its howl and feeds her movement with new haste,panting she makes it to the centre of the town, Glancing up at the clock tower briefly she races to a nearby pay phone.

She enters into the confessional booth sized compartment and clutches for the phone while digging for change. She pushes change into the mouth of the phone and is greeted by a dial tone she attacks the keypad on the phone, glancing out of the booth, only a slight howl of the wind to keep her company. The phone dials for an endless moment and a half asleep voice answers after some time “What is it?”

“It’s me Mick” the girl whispers. “Casey? where are you? I thought the cabin had no phones?” Mick said sleep still in his voice. “I am at Anchor.I need help”
“What happened? Anchor is ten kilometres from the cabin in thick bush!”
“Look I walked, I cant really explain right now I think I am in danger, can you pick me up?” Casey held back some tears but the stress had started to show in her voice.
”Sure Case, I can be there in about forty five minutes or so, there has been some sort of emergency declared at Mitburn so I not sure how good the roads will be, can you make it to the Cornerstone? I think they are still open”

“Ill try, please hurry, I have so much to tell you.” The phone cut off as the dollar fell into the coin repository in the phone.”Shit” she swore as she put the handset back onto the receiver. Casey took a deep breath and opened the door, the Storm fell about her and picked up her tangled hair as if greeting a long lost friend, she rushed out of the booth and back into the lonely night. crossing the road she passed one of the many alleys that made up Anchor’s old colonial streets, she stopped for a moment and peered into the blackness.

“Hello?” her voice was thrown at her by the wind, she took a step closer and gasped; it was black. Almost a shadow, swallowing Casey walked into the black and the outline became more familiar. a storm pipe hung loosely off the side of the building,

she sighed and pushed on. The cover from the alley wrapped with the sound of rain, a moment of peace from the weather was interrupted by the wind following causing the drain pipe to bang against the side of the building, reaching the other side of the building she was greeted by the pale yellow of streetlights, rain had died down some but the wind had still managed to keep pace, blowing rubbish and refuse all over the street. in the distance Casey could hear some rowdy band playing at her destination, the band piped with strange sound of violins and rock n roll, chimes of eastern style chords and low underlying thump of the bass could be heard.

On the lamp post a broacher proclaimed that ‘Titus’ would be playing tonight at the cornerstone, relaxing a little Casey slowed her pace and followed the music. Cars packed the streets and a strange surge of comfort came over her as she came closer to her goal, passing through another alley she stopped in front of The Cornerstone, one of the oldest buildings in Anchor, it had survived several fires and a riot in the late 1800s and had lost none of the charms bestowed upon it from colonial architecture the sandstone structure had stood the test of time and century old stained glass windows reverberated, barley containing the noise coming from within.

Casey stepped into the pub, two burley security guards, weathered the storm and eyed her as she walked passed them into the warmth. The lights were dimmed and the audience hung back each in their own little private corners chatting quietly, the violinist was playing a quiet piece while the drummer used his hands to play a constant background beat.

Casey slumped over to a chair next to a roaring fire and warmed herself while she listened to the band play. She glanced over the inside of the pub, it was a large structure, some three stories, portraits almost as old as the building were littered around the walls as well as well as antiquated ads for old beers, the bar itself was made out of a local wood, gnarled and etched with graffiti from bands that had long ago played at the venue, the slight smell of tobacco, years old beer and hot chips lingered. An old man stood behind the bar, filling up a pint for a customer. He glancers over at Casey and yells at a near by waitress for service

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