Since we aren’t dropping a new ep this weekend (our 2 year anniversary show drops Monday, so keep your eyes peeled for that), I thought it would be cool to give you a 2nd look at the story I’m writing.
What follows is just the rough 1st draft of page 2.
Please keep in mind that this is just page one of 12.
The hope is, once completed, that we may turn it into an audio drama for our Bandcamp page.
And just so you get the vibe I’m going for, check out this playlist I made of mood music.
Sort of an unofficial soundtrack.
Also, just in case ou missed it, be sure to check out Page 1!
Anywhoo, let us know in the comments below what you think of it.
Without further ado, enjoy this 2nd taste of, what is tentatively titled, The Franklin Affair!
“In the quarter hour it took to ride out, the sun had set and the air took on a chill.
When we finally got there and dismounted, the horses were clearly unsettled.
As each rider climbed off, their horse backed away and bolted up the hill we’d just come down.
If something bad were to go down, we were alone.
A clatter came from the small house and we all cleared leather in near record time, while still advancing slowly.
We crept forward in silence, when our boots hit the porch, a creak came from somewhere just beyond the door.
As the sheriff reached for it, the door exploded outward on its hinges with such force it shook a hanging lantern from the nail holding it up and shattered on the porch soaking the old wood, and splattering the front wall, and door.
Willard Franklin charged out of the house, snapping and growling. Bloodstained and shockingly pale his hands groped frantically out in front of him in search of some unknown purchase.
As we all stood there stunned for a second, he hissed and a thin stream of blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth.
Before we could recover our senses, Willard lunged at the sheriff and sank his teeth into the left side of his neck.
Blood oozed and frothed from the wound as Franklin continued to gnash and slurp.
The sheriff crumpled to the ground still clawing at the gaping hole in his neck and gagging on blood.
Willard then turned his attention to the rest of us.
Brought back to reality by the shock of violence we all unloaded on him.
After a good fifteen seconds of dancing in the hail of our gunfire, Willard collapsed to the porch thrashing and growling in a pain.
With his gun still drawn, Toby ran up to check on the sheriff.
Even from several feet away it was pretty clear the sheriff wouldn’t be making it back on his own.
Toby asked if any of us had a cloth to try and stop the bleeding as the sheriff clutched at his deputy and desperately whispered in a hoarse voice.
I could swear I heard him say “kill me”.”