Post by nightmareoliverblack on Oct 3, 2018 17:42:17 GMT -8
South Dakota
December 2003
It was a brisk cold winter night in South Dakota when the cops had pulled up to the small quaint farm style house. The red and blue flashing lights alternating against the stark white of the snow. The crunching under each step as two officers slowly approaches the house, guns drawn, cautious. The local precinct of the small Dakota town had received an alarming and confusing call from the home. But with the inclement weather had delayed their arrival by 20 minuets and both officers had no idea what they were prepared to walk into.
They noticed the screen door a jar, a slight squeak with each breeze that moved in and blew the door. The taller of the genylemen, mid forties slowly opened the door before a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. It was his younger, plumper partner. As the leading partner turned to question the pause he saw it too, saw him too. A small boy, 10 to 12 years old with cold hazel eyes and a mop of dirty blonde hair. Wearing a thin thermal shirt and pajama pants, barefoot underdressed for the cold winter nights winds. He sat against the house, his knees pulled up to his chest, dried blood freezing around his finger nails. Officer Nighthorse, the older officer, recognized the boy as the same who lived at the residence.
::Officer Nighthorse::
Son, where are your parents...
Bending down to meet the boys eye level. However the boy did not respond but only looked in the direction of the open door still blowing in the wind.
::Officer Nighthorse::
They are still inside.
Not so much a question for the child but a statement. He now knew the scene he was prepared to find... Or so he had thought. As he slowly regained a standing postion next to the door.
With his gun in one hand, he slowly pushed a jar the front door of the farm house. The house was quite small, from the front door one could see through the living room to the kitchen and to the back door. The interior was still decorated in late seventies fashion with shag carpet and gaudy tiffany rip off lamps and light fixtures. Upon the yellow tiled floor a pool of blood and a single foot peaking from behind the kitchen counter on the floor.
A rustle came from behind the counter, as the Nighthorse silently motioned to his partner that there was something behind the counter. As the two men rounded the corner they froze in shock, in terror. As it wasn't a robbery gone wrong or a victim of a domestic altercation as they had predicted. Upon the linoleum kitchen floor layed the bodies of the boys mother and father, and surrounding them was three large wolves. One black, one white, and one a dark grey and each was eating the victims... Their prey.
It wasn't long before the white female raised her head noticing the two men watching them, a snarl grew across her face. Her low growl drew the attention of the other two wolves. For a moment both parties stood there frozen in eye contact.
As Officer Nighthorse slowly raised his gun towards the wolves and prepared to fire upon them a small scream could be heard as the boy from outside lunged onto the officers back tearing at his face, in an effort to protect the wolves. The sudden attack caused the gunshot to go astray, breaking the kitchen window. The distraction and misfire was all the wolves needed as they slipped past the officers, out the door and into the darkening night.
New Orleans Boys Boarding Home
January 2004
It had been only a few weeks since the young Oliver Black had witnessed the murder suicide at the hands of his step father end in a stand off with police on his own front lawn.
While life would never be normal from that night forward, Ollie had found comfort in the steady structure and schedule in a small New Orleans all boys boarding home. But in Janurary that would all change.
After diner in the dining hall, Oliver had retreated back to his room that he had had to himself for a few weeks to find a boy around his age sitting on the other previously empty bed. The boy with cold hazel eyes and blond moppy hair. He looked scared, still unsure of where he was and what his life had become.
Ollie remembered his first few nights in the room alone with his thoughts and felt sorry for him.
::Oliver::
Names Oliver, but most my friends call me Ollie.
Oliver reached out to the boy as he sat on his bed opposite him. The boy stared but didn't reply. Oliver shrugged at the response and kicked his feet back up onto the bed and laid down with his hands behind his head on the pillow. The two boys sat in the dark room, only a small desk lamp on, in silence for a few minuets before the boy replied to Oliver.
"Wesley.... Wes"
To be continued...
December 2003
It was a brisk cold winter night in South Dakota when the cops had pulled up to the small quaint farm style house. The red and blue flashing lights alternating against the stark white of the snow. The crunching under each step as two officers slowly approaches the house, guns drawn, cautious. The local precinct of the small Dakota town had received an alarming and confusing call from the home. But with the inclement weather had delayed their arrival by 20 minuets and both officers had no idea what they were prepared to walk into.
They noticed the screen door a jar, a slight squeak with each breeze that moved in and blew the door. The taller of the genylemen, mid forties slowly opened the door before a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. It was his younger, plumper partner. As the leading partner turned to question the pause he saw it too, saw him too. A small boy, 10 to 12 years old with cold hazel eyes and a mop of dirty blonde hair. Wearing a thin thermal shirt and pajama pants, barefoot underdressed for the cold winter nights winds. He sat against the house, his knees pulled up to his chest, dried blood freezing around his finger nails. Officer Nighthorse, the older officer, recognized the boy as the same who lived at the residence.
::Officer Nighthorse::
Son, where are your parents...
Bending down to meet the boys eye level. However the boy did not respond but only looked in the direction of the open door still blowing in the wind.
::Officer Nighthorse::
They are still inside.
Not so much a question for the child but a statement. He now knew the scene he was prepared to find... Or so he had thought. As he slowly regained a standing postion next to the door.
With his gun in one hand, he slowly pushed a jar the front door of the farm house. The house was quite small, from the front door one could see through the living room to the kitchen and to the back door. The interior was still decorated in late seventies fashion with shag carpet and gaudy tiffany rip off lamps and light fixtures. Upon the yellow tiled floor a pool of blood and a single foot peaking from behind the kitchen counter on the floor.
A rustle came from behind the counter, as the Nighthorse silently motioned to his partner that there was something behind the counter. As the two men rounded the corner they froze in shock, in terror. As it wasn't a robbery gone wrong or a victim of a domestic altercation as they had predicted. Upon the linoleum kitchen floor layed the bodies of the boys mother and father, and surrounding them was three large wolves. One black, one white, and one a dark grey and each was eating the victims... Their prey.
It wasn't long before the white female raised her head noticing the two men watching them, a snarl grew across her face. Her low growl drew the attention of the other two wolves. For a moment both parties stood there frozen in eye contact.
As Officer Nighthorse slowly raised his gun towards the wolves and prepared to fire upon them a small scream could be heard as the boy from outside lunged onto the officers back tearing at his face, in an effort to protect the wolves. The sudden attack caused the gunshot to go astray, breaking the kitchen window. The distraction and misfire was all the wolves needed as they slipped past the officers, out the door and into the darkening night.
New Orleans Boys Boarding Home
January 2004
It had been only a few weeks since the young Oliver Black had witnessed the murder suicide at the hands of his step father end in a stand off with police on his own front lawn.
While life would never be normal from that night forward, Ollie had found comfort in the steady structure and schedule in a small New Orleans all boys boarding home. But in Janurary that would all change.
After diner in the dining hall, Oliver had retreated back to his room that he had had to himself for a few weeks to find a boy around his age sitting on the other previously empty bed. The boy with cold hazel eyes and blond moppy hair. He looked scared, still unsure of where he was and what his life had become.
Ollie remembered his first few nights in the room alone with his thoughts and felt sorry for him.
::Oliver::
Names Oliver, but most my friends call me Ollie.
Oliver reached out to the boy as he sat on his bed opposite him. The boy stared but didn't reply. Oliver shrugged at the response and kicked his feet back up onto the bed and laid down with his hands behind his head on the pillow. The two boys sat in the dark room, only a small desk lamp on, in silence for a few minuets before the boy replied to Oliver.
"Wesley.... Wes"
To be continued...
