Missing StairCase

Missing StairCase

by:

COUNT: V V Nicolzah







Prologue.

The thick gray fog smothered the timber of the Bristol Baron forest, like a latex glove suffocating the hand of a nervous surgeon.

The tundra was a nasty looking, dark brown, slimy and emitted an obnoxious, stale odor, making these woods difficult to pass through. But it was rare seeing anyone entering these woods! Mainly because of its horrid past.

Nothing grew well here. Only the Weeping Willows and Agarita bush, causing many to speculate that the soil was impure. And it was... tainted!

YES AN EVIL FOREST! But that was normal, because this is where the eleventh demon, Lazareth lives!

The air was so foul it brought on a layer of disgust to one’s mouth as you breathed! Much like sucking on a cube of sulfur. NOW HOW DISGUSTING IS THAT!

It was no bother for those clansmen living in the remote villages surrounding the boundaries of the Bristol Baron at the base of the Elvesmandwarf mountain range and far beyond. All were well aware of the Cyber-paranormals lurking within, breathing terror into the tree, like life blood feeding a fetus.

For nearly three centuries, beginning on the midnight hour of January first, in the year of our Lord, Sixteen-Sixty, brave Priests, Alchemists, and Kings alike, battled the entity in a ‘Good Vs Evil’ contest! Often with very bloody endings!

Unfortunately, all attempts to subdue the malevolent beast had failed miserably, and the evil carnage continued to devour what it wished.

And this went on, and on and on!

The third century of the entities control was the most dangerous and undetermined! Sixteen-sixty, being the worst year of any.

There were giants in them days, and they resembled nothing like what even your mind could imagine! Of course we should note that these mammoth beings were hideous to view, but mostly acceptable by the surrounding villagers within the region.

They refer to these giants as, Beast-Wanderers, and did they did not feed on human flesh, nor inflict bodily harm on others, man or beast, unless highly provoked. But that too was rare, mainly because an average Beast Wanderer stood an astonishing fifteen feet tall and weighed well over eleven hundred pounds, based on the universal weight scale.

Yes! They were really compact and somewhat scary to look at. The head and body of an Orc combined with the disposition of a lamb, growing human-like hands, fingers, and claws, as well as an Ox's tail.

Their odour was neither foul nor reminiscent of a North American Sasquatch, according to what they remembered from their background. Naturally, other neighbouring species were aroused by the strong odour.

The Beast-Wanders always broke into smaller, more manageable clan numbers, limiting them to only ten and always led by one commander only. Uniquely, the males dedicate themselves to one mate, and one mate only, throughout his life span. When his mate passed, so does his interest in any breeding. This was always the case.

On rare occasions, inter-clan aquarelles would break out, and even more rarely, a physical fight. And this is a highly dangerous thing for either to do, regardless of the quarrel, because they would unconditionally expel the loser from the clan, for eternity! No questions asked!

His clansman name was Leift Bjørn Variant, and he was one of those rare losers, now cursed to wander endlessly by alone. This was not an effortless task for an outcast, as no male had ever attempted survival outside of his clan. This would always produce psychological disorders within one earth year.

Most modern day psychology specialists would describe this mental disease as Catatonic Cenesthopathic Schizophrenia, resulting in a highly unusual psychotic victim. Symptoms were audio/visual hallucinations, unexplainable sudden head pains, up to three individual personalities, and abrupt mood change.

The disease seriously affected Bjørn, as he suffered immense pain every day. Later he discovered he could quite communicate with those he saw around him, within his mind, and what a wonderful relief it was. It also brought him a new sense, never felt before. And that sense was humor!

It was late in the year's season of our Lord, sixteen-six, when the dark, creepy backwoods of the Bristol Baron forest began witnessing its first signs of genuine life returning in nearly three hundred years.

First came the moss, flourishing from the timber bark, and that led to the upraise of burgeoning dark green wild grass. Life truly was stirring, even the Royal Trumpet mushrooms were sprouting up, everywhere. Then came the deer and so on.

Gradually additional beast breeds began emerging out of the ashes of the ancient past, such as Orcs, Ogres, Goblins, werewolves, unicorns, Bogeymen and even three Nymph triplets too.

They quickly formed into separate communities within the Bristol Baron forest according to their strain. The Orcs making up the highest in numbers. It was also the Orcs responsible for infesting the dark woods with the intrepid curse of sin and evil, and all the individual beast clans were well aware of that fact.

“It was sometime around noon when Leift had finally arrived at Auntie Edna’s doorstep, just it time for lunch. With a very gentle rap, he sounded the alarm of his arrival. As always, first to greet him in the doorway was seven pound Tipsy. a three-year-old all white toy Bolognese.

“How do Miss Tipsy!” Leift was enjoying the moment! As always!

“HELLO, MY DEAR BOY!” sounded Auntie Edna from the other end of the sob moss cabin. “Come on in! Got Rum and coffee awaiting ya!” she hollered loudly.

“When did you refinish the great room?” Leift requested, overly curious.

Folks admired Auntie Edna for her unique, sometimes grotesque oil paintings, that she didn’t mind sharing with the public. But there were many, many others deep in the archives of her mind that she could not. She had to keep much of herself and her past well hidden, in fear of a lynching. As what happened to her best friend two summers ago.

Aunt Edna was not a black witch, nor was she a white one either. Her interests lay in abnormal, parapsychological communications, and in most cases was the specialty spirit.

It was a frightful, but harmless practice, often resulting in hyper-psychological breakdowns upon contact with the other side. Later she had discovered that she not only was speaking to the undead, she was also being involuntarily crossed over into another dimension. Usually the fifth.

It was not always a pleasant experience, often leading to weeks of severe depression and anxiety.

When she met King Henry the Eighth, several years ago, he tried putting the move on her, and that did not go over well. She cast a rebellious spell on him, sending the poor fat man to Canterbury, an all male homosexual pigmy island retreat, deep in the south Pacific. OUCH!

Leith made his way to the rear of the home where successfully found the coffee pot, waiting.

“Care to join me?” he asked with a twinkle in one eye.

“I absolutely will! How come you came alone? Where is Sfinkter?” she asked, a bit puzzled.

“Back at the ranch. He was still polishing off a bottle of rum, last I knew.”

Aunt Edna shook her head, slowly. “That fool had better slow down on his drinking before it pickles his dad's liver, liver. Damned fool!”

“YEAH! Like he really cares!” Leift had a special chair he sat in because of his enormous size and weight. It was quite uncomfortable, but it was something to rest on after a long, dusty hike over the Bremby pass trail.

“So, son. What brings you to my neck of the woods, ON this fine day?”

Leift hesitated, knowing well that if he wanted anything special from Auna Zeldah, as was not to beat around the bush, just be direct. He gathered his courage, finally asking. “I was just wondering... if it won’t be a problem.” He hesitated again. “Um...”

“Whatever it is, just simply spit it out, Leift!”

Again hesitation. “Ah... yes ma’am. Um. Well... I was wondering is you wouldn’t mind taking me to the StairCase for the weekend? I mean... that is, if it’s no bother.”

Aunt Zelda’s heart sank. She gently laid her thin wrinkled hand upon his. “Leift... Sweetheart! You must let her go. You have suffered far to long.” She tapped the top of his enormous hairy hand with one finger. “It was God’s will, Leift and there is absolutely nothing that we can do to change that fact.” A subtle tear formed in her eyes. “Please don’t drag yourself through any further heartache.”

Leift gradually lowered his head, breaking eye contact. He slowly nodded his head in agreement. “I know Aunt Zeldah. “I was just hoping that there might be... a chance she would return.”

The subject was hard to grasp, in most cases, as the surrounding region believed that the StarCase mystery was nothing more than a mere phenomenal myth.

REALLY! IS THAT YOUR ANSWER? One can not build on hope, if his foundation does not rest on faith in our Lord, foremost! As taught by the elders of long ago!

“It was only a thought, ma’am. Nothing more.” he mumbled in a low hoarse voice.

Thoughts of wonder bombarded Leift’s mind, as he contemplated other options. However; there really were none, other than a grueling three-week trek out of the Bristol Baron forest and over the northern region’s Tyroleans mountain pass. And that route was hell to pay for! “I have my legs to rely on.”

“OH! Now don’t be like that, Leift!” She gave the top of Leift’s hand a slight slap.

“Of course I will take us.” she answered with a bright, warming smile. “I know how much she means to you, sweetheart.” She reached up high and cupped one palm under the base of Leift’s chin. “You mean a great deal to me, son!”

Leift nearly choked up. “Thank you so much for understanding, Aunt Zeldah. I Love you so much!”

“BACK AT YA, BUCKO!” Aunt Zeldah froze. “Gee whillikers! Are we ever going to have that cup of coffee I offered?”

“OH-YEAH!”

Life has been a tumultuous odyssey, replete with errors and unforeseen escapades! As the ages pass and the vastness of the cosmos gathers its wonders, they commence an eternal festivity by the waters...!

Then it was Sybie’s idea to skip school and start the long three-day weekend early. Bristol Baron Forest was their favorite retreat, besides Silver Strand, that is.

Their sneaky, well thought out plan was so far going smoothly. Even Sybie’s father was a piece of cake! His mind was so deeply buried in Desmond Harris’s “Cryptozoologists: Last Journal!”

He wasn’t even aware of Sybie’s big kiss on the cheek and a hardy, “BYE DAD! LOVE YOU!” as she departed the home. HUMM... Bad parenting?

Sybie gathered her backpack, tent and ECW bag and headed down the long, snow covered driveway that led to Manzanita Dairy Road North. With any luck, her girlfriends will already be there waiting.

Around twenty minutes later, Sybie arrived and with plenty of energy to spare. “Well! I’ll be go to hell!” she exclaimed, seeing Marty Shoewear pickup rounding the corner. “Fricken on time, tah-boot!”

The truck slowly came to a halt, a mere foot from Sybies feet. “HI, SYBIE!” hollered Pebbles Louise Carmichael from where deep in the back of the crew cab.

Pebbles stood only four foot two, and now at age twelve it was highly unlikely she would grow any taller, by the looks of things, so far!

Last summer the other kids left Pebbles behind at the Simpson’s rodeo in Manchester, only realizing it once arriving at her home, an hour and ten minutes later! Sybie caught a serious butt chew’n for that one!