Status: very, very much incomplete
Throwing Shadows
mouths to feed
She turned around so quickly she almost knocked over a stack of books to her right. The man had a red, grey beard and was wearing a trucker cap. The white t-shirt he wore underneath his plaid flannel was stained with what looked like blood. And the flannel itself was ripped. Along with the worn jeans and boots. His voice sounded like gravel and he had a sweet smell wafting off him, like whiskey. She instantly liked him.
“Yeah,” she said smiling, “I’m Hannah.”
The man, bobby, gestured for her to sit down on a small window seat. The boys just stood in front of an old oak desk, dean leaning back on it, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Whatya got for us bobby?” asked dean. His eyes kept creeping from Sam to bobby and back to Hannah. She was certain he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight fully until bobby gave him the go ahead.
Bobby was sitting in an old wooden chair he pulled in the room from the kitchen.
“So Hannah. You say you were attacked by a dog, right. A big nasty one?”
The woman nodded. Swallowing down the memory of that night, forming a knot in her stomach.
Bobby motioned for Sam to give him an open book on the desk. He took it from Sam and flipped the page.
“this.” he pointed to something written in what appeared to be hieroglyphics.
“Who are ‘the fathers’?” asked Hannah. She was leaning in close to see what was written on the page.
Bobby looked at her puzzled. “You read hieroglyphs often?”
Hannah leaned back against the window. She tilted her to look up at the ceiling. She noticed devils trap spray painted on it. She wondered to herself how she knew exactly what the hell that was. She sighed. “No actually. I’m so confused right now. Please stop looking at me.”
She could feel their eyes on her, bathing her in bewilderment and suspicion.
She leaned forward again. Trying not to meet anyone’s gaze.
“You were saying, bobby?” thank god for Sam.
Bobby looked back down at the book. “Yeah, the fathers. There’s not a lot of written lore about them, most of it comes from word of mouth. Blown smoke mostly. But I found something in this book. It was found in the tomb of high priests. One of his slaves came from deep Africa, told the priest the story one day. The priest believed it so much he had it carved into his tomb, convinced he could somehow make it work for him.”
“Yeah,” she said smiling, “I’m Hannah.”
The man, bobby, gestured for her to sit down on a small window seat. The boys just stood in front of an old oak desk, dean leaning back on it, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Whatya got for us bobby?” asked dean. His eyes kept creeping from Sam to bobby and back to Hannah. She was certain he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight fully until bobby gave him the go ahead.
Bobby was sitting in an old wooden chair he pulled in the room from the kitchen.
“So Hannah. You say you were attacked by a dog, right. A big nasty one?”
The woman nodded. Swallowing down the memory of that night, forming a knot in her stomach.
Bobby motioned for Sam to give him an open book on the desk. He took it from Sam and flipped the page.
“this.” he pointed to something written in what appeared to be hieroglyphics.
“Who are ‘the fathers’?” asked Hannah. She was leaning in close to see what was written on the page.
Bobby looked at her puzzled. “You read hieroglyphs often?”
Hannah leaned back against the window. She tilted her to look up at the ceiling. She noticed devils trap spray painted on it. She wondered to herself how she knew exactly what the hell that was. She sighed. “No actually. I’m so confused right now. Please stop looking at me.”
She could feel their eyes on her, bathing her in bewilderment and suspicion.
She leaned forward again. Trying not to meet anyone’s gaze.
“You were saying, bobby?” thank god for Sam.
Bobby looked back down at the book. “Yeah, the fathers. There’s not a lot of written lore about them, most of it comes from word of mouth. Blown smoke mostly. But I found something in this book. It was found in the tomb of high priests. One of his slaves came from deep Africa, told the priest the story one day. The priest believed it so much he had it carved into his tomb, convinced he could somehow make it work for him.”