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    Descent into Madness
    Descent into Madness
    Descent into Madness
    Ebook67 pages54 minutes

    Descent into Madness

    By Shantnu Tiwari

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A homeless boy starts seeing ancient monsters walking among humans.

    And not only does he notice them, they notice him.

    With normal society dismissing him as mad, and the monsters hunting him, he realises he only has one choice: To let the madness take over. It will save his body, but at the cost of his sanity. Is he willing to make the choice?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherShantnu Tiwari
    Release dateFeb 4, 2018
    ISBN9781386079682
    Descent into Madness

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      Book preview

      Descent into Madness - Shantnu Tiwari

      1

      The evening sun was starting to set by the time I reached my home .

      Home was a garbage dumpster at the edge of town, a place no one visited, not even the drug dealers and low-level criminals that were the bane of society.

      That was the reason I had chosen that place. It was guaranteed to be deserted at this time in the evening and would guarantee me a peaceful night’s sleep.

      The garbage dumpster didn’t smell at all. In fact, it was quite clean. Stuck in a side alley behind a shutdown jewellery store and pawnbroker only open for a few hours a day, it had been forgotten by all and was no longer used. I saw no reason for such a nice place to go to waste and so had chosen it as my place of dwelling.

      This part of the town was a bit out of the tourist pathway, so no one came here after night. And it was far away from the local pubs and nightclubs, so did not attract any undesirables.

      I had been homeless for almost six months, ever since I had come to the city. Blue Shire, it was called. The city of dreams. A city that had grown rapidly ever since oil had been found just a few kilometres offshore. Oil had brought wealth, prosperity, and with it, the scum of society. Criminals, drug dealers, pimps: everything could be bought here for a price.

      But that was not why I had come here.

      I had no place to go.

      Two years ago, the orphanage I had grown up in threw me out. Not because they were evil or something, but for the simple reason that I had turned eighteen and was no longer a child. I had no family to speak of and had been living off the streets since then.

      The first eighteen months I had spent in Birmingham, but after constant threats and attacks by local drug dealers, I had decided to move. Blue Shire was not my first choice, seeing how it had an even bigger crime problem, but beggars are not choosers and the train staff had thrown me out here.

      I was lucky to find my current dumpster; at least this area was safe. Provided I stayed hidden after dark, the police didn’t bother me either.

      I reached into my jacket and pulled out the crushed and crumbling sandwich I had bought from a local shop. It was almost past its expiry date and I had gotten it for only a penny.

      Being homeless was not easy, but The Big Issue charity had helped me a lot. I sold quite a few of their magazines at three pounds fifty each, and they let me keep more than half the profit. I made enough to have a decent meal, and even pay to have my clothes cleaned at the local laundry once a week. Of course, I never made enough to afford the outrageous rents the locals charged.

      But hope was alive. I had been saving every penny I could, buying discounted sandwiches and drinking tap water, just so that I could one day afford to put down a deposit and rent a tiny place.

      Of course, that was the day destiny came calling.

      I had barely eaten my sandwich and was about to enter the dumpster that was my house when I heard someone walking down the alley towards me.

      I froze for a second. No one usually came here. The few shops in the area were closed and most of the people who lived here were old retirees who went to bed early. So who was it walking towards me this late?

      When I saw him, I mentally cursed. It was the last person I wanted to see.

      I didn’t know who he was, of course. But I knew the type. Wearing skintight jeans and a white vest with no shirt, hair spiky and dyed with a mixture of blonde and black, tattoos all over his arms and face, and his nose pierced.

      He was a local drug dealer, member of a skinhead gang that had just last week beaten up a black teenager they suspected of dating one of their girls.

      And now, he was in my alley.

      He evidently believed I was in his area.

      What you doin’ in my area, boy? he said in broken English.

      Don’t want no trouble, mate, I said. Just trying to get by. This is my dumpster.

      I don’t know why that made him really

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