Jack Hook
Chapter 1: The man that isn’t and the man that shouldn’t be
The man was wearing the face of James Walter, head of the English department at St. Nathaniel’s secondary school in Chiswick. He’d taken advantage of the summer holidays to convert the basement of St. Nathaniel’s science building into a rather delightful summoning chamber. The corpses of two unfortunate victims hung from the ceiling, a large engraved basin placed beneath them to catch every drop of blood spilt from their slit throats. In a wide circle around the basin stood monoliths carved from black wood, looming imposingly over the scene. The man that wasn’t Mr. Walter was dressed appropriately, a loose black cloak with a tendency to billow out like the wings of a great raven whenever it was needed for dramatic effect. He was halfway through his summoning chant, sweat starting to form across his face as he threw his arms out and let loose a string of guttural words from an ancient language known as The Unforgiving Tongue. He was so focused on his enchantment that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps at first, making their way down the stairs.
“Well this is a bit cliché...” The intruder said with a tone that implied the rolling of eyes, the summoner broke off his chant “It’s like Lovecraft 101 down here.”
The man that wasn’t Mr. Walter turned on his heel, smiling internally as his cloak billowed very effectively, barking “Begone from this place, intruder. I will show mercy now, for when my ritual is complete you will die regardless. You and the rest of the fo-”
A “Shh” was heard from the shadows where the intruder stood and the summoner was so surprised he actually fell quiet.
“I can put up with a lot” Came the voice “But I cannot stand these boring stereotypes. It’s the 21st century man, come on.”
He stepped out of the shadows and the man that wasn’t Mr. Walter paled. The intruder was stocky and tanned, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that wasn’t even attempting to hide his muscular build. A variety of tattoos ran down his exposed arms, all the way to the index and pinkie fingers of his right hand.
“What exactly are you planning to summon anyway, the Forgotten Ones?” He asked, a smirk on his face as he looked around at the monoliths “You know they’ve been dead since the 1300s, right? Hence everyone calling them Forgotten.”
The summoner finally found his voice, noticeably lacking its previous bravado, and mumbled “Oh fuck, it’s you...”
“Well yeah, thanks for pointing that out. I was starting to doubt that I was me.” He said, stepping closer.
The summoner flinched and quickly recited more words from The Unforgiven Tongue. A light of a noxious green colour flickered into existence and sailed across the room, bursting against the intruders chest. He kept on moving closer, stepping through the spell. The light dissipated around his form and he was unharmed.
“No small talk then?” He said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a short but wicked-looking knife.
The man that wasn’t Mr. Walter didn’t even have time to realise how badly he’d messed up before the blade was buried in a place that isn’t usually talked about in polite company.