The boy from shadows cove.

I just happened to walk by the little store, a rusted sign clinging to life caught my eye. Offering but a broken greeting. However it wasn't the barely legible come in, or the fact that I failed to see how a business such as this could survive tucked away from prying eyes, it's neighbors practically suffocating it. No, it was the gaudy, scribbled, lettering. A note Obnoxious in it's statement pinned to the weathered red door. Flecks of chipped paint and raindrops coating the paper as I tried to make out the words. Almost unreadable. Almost.

"Leave a five by the door."

Intrigued and curious, thinking it was some sort of bad joke, I walked in. A sense of humor this shop-keep had perhaps. Figuring it was worth while if only I got to seen another glimpse of the shadowed figure that'd slipped past my eyes only moments go. A stare as dark as coal peering through the torn lace blinds. Against the better judgment of my wallet I left a five on the smooth marble finish. Watching it rest amongst the others. There must have been hundreds.

A smell thick and stale, stories centuries old mixed with the faint scent of mothballs clung to the place. Layers of smoke, maybe dust I couldn't be sure floating through the air , heavy enough to leave residue on my jacket. Tensing and guarded as I spot the figure once again, only closer amongst the hardwood shelves lined with books. Sleek and graceful among the low lights, he moved.

"He doesn't speak you know."

Startled slightly as I hear a voice come out from the dark. Spinning around only to fall face to face with who I assume is the owner. If the old name tag is any indication. A man in his late fifties, work roughened hands laying a stack of books on the little table next to me. Shuddering as I look around and see a layer of dust covering almost every surface in the place. Without waiting for a reply, seemingly uninterested in what I have to say, he continues.

"Most useless salesman I've ever had. Scurries away from customers, weak as a little girl. He ain't blind but the boy is sure deaf, dumb. I never even hired the little freak. He came in one day, limping and I haven't been able to get rid of him since. I've driven him for miles, dropped him off at the edge of town without so much as a penny, yet like a dirty mutt he always finds his way back. Town like this ain't that big though so I suppose those damn neighbors know of the boy, help him out. Every morning I find him outside on the door step, quiet and curled in a ball, all skin and bones. No use kicking him out, such a pretty face draws in the people."

Unfazed by how he speaks of the boy, I make a quick offer. "Don't suppose you'd sell the lad eh?" I keep my tone light, nonchalant. The idea however, remains serious.

Chuckling heartily the shop keep looks my way, a slight smirk to his mouth as he speaks. "Can't make me much of a livin just selling these old books, no one here reads well if at all anyway. Sides he makes me more then this little shack ever could."

Glancing to my left I catch sight of the shadowed figure again, a curtain of hair as dark as night blocking his face from view. Before I even get two steps closer, just trying to get a better look, the old mans voice causes the young man to scurry.

"Get back to work boy, stop making eyes at the customers." A loud thud accompanies the stern voice as a book goes flying in the boy's direction, catching him mid thigh. Watching as if in slow motion I see him go down as the hardcover bites into what I assume is his bad leg. A crumpled, messy heap on the filthy wood floor. I only manage to make it halfway across the little store before a pair on wrinkled palms land on my shoulders and I'm thrown up against the wall. With so much force I'm left gasping. Searching vainly for breath that'd been knocked out of me only seconds before.

A ghost of hot air rests against my neck as he whispers in my ear, pushing me up harder against the wallpaper. "The little bitch will be fine. And as I said before he ain't for sale. So if you'd keep your hands away from my property and kindly be on your way, I won't cause you any trouble. You're new in town hear kid and I ain't gonna let some city boy ruin the way I run things. "

With this, he moved away. Groping at the five dollar bills that had fallen on to the dull hardwood and made his way towards the back room. Not before setting me in the right direction of the front door.

Looking over my shoulder one last time, prepared to leave and never bother to visit, I catch my last sight of him still laying in a unresponsive heap on the floor. Alarmed when my eyes sweep over some exposed flesh where he pant leg has ridden up. Following the jagged, quivering scars that had been long ago formed in the almost transparent flesh. My mouth slowly forming the words as I read them.

"Help me."

AN/ I'm not a writer, but I figured I'd give it a try. I'll need a beta if I bother to continue this. So, message me if you're interested. This story will be fairly long, 45 chapters or so and set in a very small twisted little town. The two main characters are men but their will be a few straight couples later on. It's an idea I've had it my head for awhile and it keeps screaming to be let out. The next chapters will be alot longer and what not. I have a very strange way of wording things that I understand is not always "correct" and I'm trying to work on it. To me writing is art so I tend to be very free with my descriptions and words, not necessarily following that which is grammatically correct. Mentally I'm on a different wave-link, my own little word if you will so my stories and such may be confusing, please don't hesitate to message me if you don't understand something I'll try to explain it. Thanks, and enjoy.