White ChinaMan

The apartment building stood tall and massive with a pale and were down color to it. The surrounding buildings seemed neglected, almost crushed by the one on the middle.
The sky was clouded and heavy with dry rain and dead thunder. Right in the middle, directly on top of the massive building, hovered the darkest cloud anyone as ever seen, a black hole sucking air, water and light,
A layer of ice covered the last two floors and the now out of use radio/TV antenna that still hangs in place even after s many decades.

The boy stood there, looking at the pale set of bricks, wondering why? Why couldn’t his life be normal? Why isn’t he playing somewhere or at the movies?
“Hey! Kid!” said the middle age man from inside the taxi. “It’s 37 bucks kid and hurry that I have to get going.” The kid wakes up, turns around and leaning over to the window, he takes a couple of twenty from the right pocket.  “Sorry, here, keep the change”
As soon as he hands over the money the cab bolts away, leaving almost no time to step back and even less to try to stop it. A curtain of smoke, running down the street and through the block, was all that was left.

The wind picked up a bit, chilling the skin. The boy tried to close the unbuttoned gap of the jacket around the neck, but it just wasn’t enough. He breathed deeply and reached for the back pocket, nothing. He started to try the jacket pockets but stopped only to reach inside. There it was possible to see something shinny, round and small with a golden coloration and hanging by the neck, a single medallion, a mix of a crucifix with ancient runes.
Bellow the pocket holding the golden cases, a tin box all beat up, rested with a dragon head lighter.
Rolled up cigars, all lined up with the exception for the place for two. He takes one out and reaches for the dragon. The dragon breath lights up his tired and weary face.
As he takes that first deep puff, he steps towards the entrance, showing through the smoke curtain a hint of the situation. Hands, scratches, beaten down walls and unfamiliar faces hurting, begging for release.

He heads directly to the lift whiteout hesitating. It started moving with just is weight. He reached for the last floor button and it started moving with a tremendous effort, almost dragging along the cables, squeezing every inch of the way.
As he reached the top three floors, the cold winds and air that were visible from outside, were now felt on the skin, the cigar slowly died and the boy reached for one golden case.

He raised it with the left hand and with the right hand he grabbed the dying cigar and used it to light up the case. A light burst fills the lift and the 19 and 20 floors, in a flare that was seen through the windows and the roof, forcing down the service door on the roof, open.
As the burst dissipated, a “bing” sound was heard and the lift doors slide open with uncanny speed. He cleaned is jacket as he stepped out, coughing a bit with all the smoke and dust.

In the last floor, the 21 -“Just my luck. Fuck!” - He mumbled between the teeth and the dead cigar. He reaches for the lighter and realizes, the burst didn’t touch this floor! He stood still and instead reached for the door bell.
Rings once, no sound or bell, rings a second time, again no bell, nothing. He stepped back and with his right hand, wearing a serpent wrapped ring, he knocked once, a dead knock, a deaf one.

Right on that moment the handle starts to move and slowly the door opens. An intense light blast blinds him for a second. From there on forward only darkness came out of the house, a darkness so great that not even the person opening the door inside was visible. Only when the door fully opened it was possible to see anything.

A regular house with a normal family it seemed but the darkness remained in the background, hidden behind the walls, inside the persons, in every corner and crony.
He instinctively reached inside of the jacket and grabbed for one of the two flares but calmed down. The little girl holding the door slowly started to speak “Yes? Can I help you with something?” she asked with a sugar covert honey voice. “Young, Vincent Young.” He replied.

The girl stood still in ignorance and suddenly the door slammed. Behind it the darkness seemed to grow and grow, consuming the building. It stopped by the lift and was trapped on that floor, stock by cleansing left by the burst of the golden case.
From the darkness a horrible, death penetrating scream emerged at a high pitch, crumbling the walls a bit.

Neither impress nor worried, he reached for his left pocket and picked a piece of chalk. With a few hand motions he draws, on the door, a few runes and with some of the cigar ashes, that he still hold on his mouth, he scratches a vertical cut through the runes.
The runes picked fire and merged with the door. Then the door began to crack on the borders and finally blow up towards inside the house. With that action, the darkness retreated further inside, to the furthest and now only place he could, the nursery.

Vincent walked right in, paying some attention to the passed out family, all lying down, unconscious.
From the nursery a cry echoed. An innocent child frizzed on the unbearable weight of that dark being. As Vincent reached the room the baby suddenly became quiet, but it was still possible to hear the faint gasps of shocking.
He rushed in, removing one pendant from one pocket and places it on the baby chest. With that action the baby releases an unnatural scream. To finish it up, Vincent chants a few ritual words, that brings the being out a bit. With the chant finished, a crack, a rift of light appeared over he’s head, that pulverizes the darkness.

He gets back to his feet and reaches for the dragon breath. Still holding in the corner of his mouth, all beat up, begs to be light and so he takes a deep one.
He cough up a bit, “Shit” pushing the smoke away from the kid. He leaves the room, passing through the awaking family, leaving at the entrance a card, “Vincent Young – Mysticism, Occult, and Witchcraft. Chinatown, Ying Ching nr 2”


Back at home, pouring intensively like it always seem to be, a old man stands at the window, waiting. It was raining intensively, so much that you couldn’t see pass a few feet’s and the tall buildings disappeared in a mix of fog and down pouring rain. From the fourth floor up not even the lights of the TV’s or the lamps could be seem.
As the boy gets out of the cab and try’s hopelessly to light the up a smoke, he’s interrupted by the old man, “Vincent! Hurry up and get in”. He looks up from behind the cigar case and the sparks. He put everything back in place and heads toward the building. From the second floor window, the old man went inside, leaving a charm hanging.
After entering the building he shocked himself to take away some of the water and climbed up the stairs. Before reaching the door it opened and the old man stood there waiting. The boy with a tired face drags itself pass the old man.
He goes directly to his room, leaving his jacket on the sofa and says, “I’m going to bed.”, as he slams the door.