Werewolves of WoD
Spirit of Lost Hope
Spirit of Lost Hope
Despite the fact that this is a small town, people still have hopes, and dreams for the future. One day, a man drove into town, a trucker. This man stole the heart of young Emily Richardson, who fell in love with the gruff trucker, and his stoic demeanor. For his part, he played into her fantasies, as it had been a long time since he knew the touch of a young and willing woman, one who did not demand payment in advance. He told her everything that she longed to hear, and promised her everything in order to gain her trust, and her virtue. He had to leave, though. He had to finish his truck route. She made him promise. He would return. He would fly back into town on the next available airplane, just as soon as he finished his route. She lit up at this, envisioning a life with him, forever, on the road, driving to foreign and exotic locales, his truck as their chariot, her home, her life. Her friends derided her for her stupidity, and her family shunned her for her indiscretions. She ignored them all, confident of her love and her destiny. The trucker drove off, never intending to fulfill his promise, or ever return to this town at all.
Unfortunately for him, young Emily had taken the precaution of procuring his cell phone number, and began to call. The trucker, being a man afraid of confrontation, and of low moral character, was unwilling to admit to his base behaviour, so instead expanded the lie. He was on another route, he said. Next week, he said. Next week turned into next month, and next month turned into next year. She would call him, and he took to giving her exact details; flight numbers, reservation numbers. And yet he never showed. Finally, he tired of the constant calls and badgering; after giving her one last set of flight data, he changed his phone number.
Emily waited at the gate, in the chair closest to the door. She could see the plane, with all her hopes and dreams embarked upon it, making its descent. She could see her future stretching out before her. She could see all that she desired, all that she lived for, and all that she sacrificed for taxiing to the terminal. A few businessmen got off, and she waited. The flight attendant disembarked, and she waited. As the crew went to close the tunnel, she leapt up, protesting; surely there was just one more passenger, waiting to disembark? Perhaps he had fallen asleep in his seat, unaware that his trip had ended, and he was re-united with her once more? The captain assured her that no, no one else remained on the plane. Emily protested, furious; her man was on that plane, and she could prove it! She stepped to the nearby pay phone, the one she had called him from so many times, and dialed the number, the one burned into her heart and soul, her one connection to her one true love. The one thing of his that she had, the one proof she had of his existence.
“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please, hang up, and TRY AGAIN“
The doctors concluded that poor Emily had died of natural causes, that her diet of high cholesterol foods and family history of heart disease had struck early. It was a shame, but what could anyone have done?
Those with a deeper perception know otherwise; Emily was murdered by the that operator’s pre-recorded message just as surely as if the phone company had put a bullet in her head.