I am The Leopard of the Shadows. I am the essence you feel when you read the lines I have written. I stalk the souls of those who read my stories, thoughts, and poems. Enchanting them with the subliminal messages that hide amidst the lines. My spells swirl amid the words, entering through your eyes to fall upon your mind with the sorcery of a lost soul. You can not help feeling the energy and aura when you hear the howl of one who is nocturnal. Beware Reader of the wisdoms contained in that which I have written. For Wisdom is the theif who robs us of the naivette of innocence! There is truth to be found in even the greatest fictions. How much more in tales based upon the truth? There is more to the stories upon these pages than what I can write in them and many more written peices of these records that I have purposely left out for the next Outlaw Manuscript. I am a Pagan, a vessel spirits and creatures of other realms and dimensions use as a voice. They are calling you! It is not your adoration, nor you weath or worship that they seek. As you read through these memoires of confusion you will feel them tug at the energy inside of you, drawing heat from the flame which is found at the core of each temple we call our bodies. Do not be decieved by who I am or what I have done, these things were lessons meant to teach me what I need to know about the enemies of my mistress, the Night. email; leopardofshadows@hotmail.com Twitter: LeopardofShadow
An Order of Chaos
The Outlaw ManuscriptsAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 The Leopard of Shadows
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-8651-7Chapter One
The Witch
As a preteen, he had already learned how to hustle. When he was eleven, he made his first drug transaction, and with the help of a few other latchkey kids he had taken a man for a month's wages as well as a pickup truck during a day's worth of doubling up at the pool tables. The fellow that lost was an honest, hardworking sort, the kind of man whose pride just could not take getting beat by a snot-nosed kid. Yet it was also the kind of pride that made him feel obligated to pay, no matter how spiteful he felt about his defeats.
The kid had grown up with a Christian background; however, the tragedies of death and abuse had broken the heart of his mother and the mind of his father. His older brothers, reeling from the pain of his sister's death and the emotional solitude that was piling up upon them, had left home in their early teens. Still just boys, they left their broken home hoping to find some way to face the realities of an unforgiving and unforgivable world. Still, his brothers had been baptized in their beliefs for many years and stayed mostly to their moral upbringing. The boy had no guidance when he had questions; there was no one he respected whom he could follow or idolize, and as such he was a lost and lawless child.
The extended family and the peers of his parents only escalated his feelings by passing judgment on the family. He became the town's poster child for the devil's handiwork at prayer meetings and coffee shop gossip sessions. Life had placed a path before him, and having no other available options, he simply followed. Hungering for acceptance and someone to tell him it was not his fault, he awaited what was inevitable.
It was one o'clock in the afternoon on January 27, his thirteenth birthday. He had decided to skip school for the afternoon and had gone down to waste his lunch hour in the arcade; it was bitterly cold outside. He decided it was too cold to walk back to school. The only other person in the arcade building was the proprietor; he always stayed in the back smoking pot. He liked to play an illegally obtained, stand-up, video style, strip poker game. He would eventually burn out and then retire to a hidden room, where he would sleep like the dead.
The boy had a strange sense of honor that was not bothered by theft or robbery; it would never allow him to steal from a friend or family member, however. One might say he believed in honor among thieves. The pool hall was his second home and the place where he made money, so he was vigilant and protective of its existence and would not dream of shitting in his own back yard. The proprietor knew this and took advantage of it, having the kid work the business anytime he happened to be there.
So it was that the boy was minding the place while the proprietor slept. He had just finished racking the balls when he heard a car door slam harder than necessary. A woman's voice followed the loud intrusion; it was husky but feminine. She was yelling something along the lines of, "You son of a bitch! It was worth twice that just for the lie that fed your ego!" Another car door slammed, and he looked out the window to see a wine-colored Lincoln Town car peeling away from the curb. It was a car he recognized.
The woman, who had apparently been in the car, was chasing a few bills of unknown denominations down the sidewalk. She was wearing heels, a tank top, and a skirt. Her wardrobe was certainly not suitable for the temperatures. The only article of clothing she had somewhat befitting the seasonal weather was a dark-colored, short mink coat she had draped over her arm.
He shook his head in naive wonder at the odd behavior of the woman, and then he turned and walked back to the pool table. As he was chalking the cue, he heard the chimes above the door jingle and felt the draft of the door opening and closing. He turned his head to see a raven-haired woman in her mid-twenties. She had devilishly green eyes that took in everything as she entered the shop. At first glance, she seemed somewhat plain. Her face had a sprinkling of freckles, and her lips were plump but not full. As she moved closer, her incredibly large breasts demanded attention. The cleavage above the tiny white top showed a long, tight line; it threatened to burst the drawstring that seemed a small restraint for assets so large. Her hips and ass were voluptuous and seductively swung as she walked. She was the type of woman that was enjoyable to voyeur when she moved.
She looked directly into the boy's eyes as his roamed nervously over her body. Finally, his eyes met her own in a puppy dog fashion. Then she acknowledged his manhood by saying, "Well, hello there, Mr. Incredibly Handsome. Do you own this establishment? What does a lady of the night need to lick to get a coffee around here?"
His response came like anyone with hormones that travelled at the speed of light. She had placed the confusion upon him when she had addressed him as an adult, and that caused the stutter. He replied, "Um, uh, well, no. Um, I do not even, uh, really, um, work here. But I, uh, can get you a, uh, a coffee, if you would like. Uh, free! And well, uh, well, a woman as beautiful as you, should not, uh, well, need to lick anything for it, anyway! Uh, should you?"
As he rounded the counter and grabbed a cup and the coffee pot, she put out another hook. "My, my, a gentleman with a silver tongue. I bet the girls your age enjoy such a tongue. Have you tickled any virginities lately?" She looked around. "Are you here alone?"
As he did his best to pour the coffee without spilling it all over, he answered, "No, the owner is here. But he, uh, he is in the, um, he locks himself in the backroom and sleeps when I am here. He will not wake up, uh, unless I go kick the door. No one usually comes here on, well, on days like this. At least until, uh, well, until after school is out." He handed the brown-haired woman her coffee. She had an intoxicating smell: it was sweet and musky at the same time. He had occasionally encountered women with the same smell. Nevertheless, he could not name the perfume. He was not sexually inexperienced; he'd had several conquests in regard to the fairer sex. A few of the high school girls liked to hang out at his place and enjoyed going the distance. A couple girlfriends his age were always together, and they liked to share their victims. However, this woman overstimulated his senses. The way she spoke so dangerously inviting and dirty was amazing.
"It's so nice to meet a sweet guy like yourself and have the opportunity to enjoy some quality, one-on-one time with him. It is really a shame we could not just close the curtains to block the view from the street and lock the door. That way we would be guaranteed some brief privacy," she said knowingly. As she said this, she circled her thumb and forefinger around the pool stick he held, moving the small circle up and down slowly. Then she asked, "Would you allow a single girl to take a stroke with your cue and scatter your balls?"
His jaw dropped as she took the pool stick from his hand. She leaned over the table, parting her legs enough that her hips lifted her skirt and he saw heaven. Her female parts looked kind of red and puffy. The intoxicating smell grew stronger as her gender bared itself for him to admire. He unknowingly took in a huge breath through his nose in a very unattractive way. "Hey, handsome, the curtains and the door?" she hinted without looking back.
"Uh, um, uh, ya!" he stuttered. He...
