Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

The dead don't talk	By : aethan Category: M through R > Odd Thomas Series Views: 1641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Odd Thomas. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The dead don�t talk
- 1
Hello. My first fanfic on one of Dean Koontz’s books. I’ve tried at ff.net, but they don’t have a category for that in there, at least that I know of. Odd Thomas… gee, I saw this category few days ago, and I couldn’t help writing this down. I love that book… and I love every bit of it. If anyone is reading this, please, could you review it, only one? It doesn’t matter what you put on it… I do not want them just to have a bunch of them and be falsely proud of my story… It’s just… this is my first fic in English. I really, really, would like to know, if, my spelling… anything… is wrong. If you could help that would be great. So, stop babbling, and onto the story! Hope you all like it!He sighed. Again. It wasn’t easy to live his life, but, he lived it, anyway. Besides, he felt it like he owed to Stormy, his beloved Stormy. She was… a walking angel. She was his protector, his meaning of life…, his destiny. They were meant to be together. The card from the fortune-telling machine had said so. They-
Odd sighed again. This was taking him nowhere.
He walked silently through the park and welcomed the fresh air with a small smile. The weather had definitely improved. December seemed devoid of any winter cold, as it should be… but surely it was a strange and late fall wind. No snow, either… but, Gods, no Hellish heat that no one missed.
It was night, and Odd really didn’t know the exactly hour. By the time he got out of the park, he realized that perhaps it was time to get home.
It was getting chilly, and he was wearing just a thin jacket. He put his arms around himself and tried to get warm while he repressed a yawn. Okay, so it was late that night.
He didn’t know how much time he spent walking, and walking… just thinking. Remembering.
Today was December 15, three months now from the… the…
Stormy…
Three months now, since the incident at the Green Moon Mall. Where nineteen people perished. Where… where she….
The moon was beautiful this night. The walk had been indeed pleasant. The wind was getting colder by the time… but the moon and the bright stars made up for that.
The walk, in part, had been to think over… about, that day. But, also… well, since that day, most of the people in Pico Mundo recognized him now, as a hero. A local hero. He didn’t want to deal with the media and the reporters at that time, and still now, for the few that wanted an interview, he tried to avoid them… But sooner or later, they had found him… and he really wanted to be alone, especially after…
So, that required to take nightly walks where most of Pico Mundo was now in dreamland. But that didn’t matter; it was even better, because the stars, and the moon, and the chilly wind, and his fingertips now tickling, and the beauty of a sleeping city… all that… well, in Odd’s way, was comforting. Ironically… this was, perhaps, the closest feeling that could ever get, to the way that Stormy’s arms had felt around him.
Today, December fifteen, was the anniversary, to Stormy’s death.
And he had, somehow, managed to live through it. She had said that she loved him, as much as he loved her; she also had said she wanted him to be happy, to persevere.
And so he did. And so he will. Until fate allows them to be one again. Until his responsibilities here on Earth, had been fulfilled. Until he died.
His closest friends, Terri, Little Ozzie, the chief and Karla Porter… they had thought for a while that he might succumb into depression. A deep one. But- he didn’t. Not after those fabulous five days where he spent her first days of being dead with her. She stayed… she remained here… for him, because of him. And he had to let her go. He must. He did.
He did not grieved. Not for his life, his gift, or her death. He tried to live his life and hers. He still tries.
Odd still lives in Stormy’s house. He still felt calm in that house. And even though his father –probably blinded by the thoughts of the media, and un-started projects about movies, books, even journeys to big world (as he called it)- has offered him a small house, near his own, really beautiful and much more large than Stormy’s, he had chose to stay right here. Where he belonged. Besides, his father probably only wanted him near to get public attention, too. Funny how he was the one that looked for Odd nowadays, not the way around, like it used to be.
He still visited Rosalia, though. As he had promised, he had not become invisible that day, as she had feared. She still needed him to tell her he could see her, all right, fine and beautiful, like all the past mornings.

He continued walking, yet pondering on his thoughts. Home was nearly a couple of blocks away, and surprisingly, when the day was about to end, he had not felt saddened. He missed… and longed for… but no sadness crawled over him. Not yet. And he did not want that to happen. He made a silent promise to Stormy, and that he would do.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man walk by not far from him. Not suspicious enough, but not calmly enough, too.
He turned his head towards the man without stopping. He recognized him at once: one of the dead. Still on denial, the men seemed to be normal, and alive, walking as if nothing matter with the world, and he was one with the rest of the community.
Well, with the rest of the living community. It’s amazing the number of people that did not accepted yet their deaths. Lots of people died everyday in Pico Mundo, and Odd saw them walking once every while, sometimes crossing their pat, sometimes not.
The man now seemed suspicious, though. If he was alive, he wouldn’t. But he isn’t, so he did seem strange to his environment; both the living and the death.
It looked like the man was minding his own business, for he did not acknowledge Odd. Not every person who dies and stays on Earth goes to see him, or cross his pat.
Certainly, there could be a way Odd may be of help to that man. But… the man did not seem to be looking for it, and Odd felt just too tired to go ask him. Perhaps tomorrow.
Like he once said, and really knew, there were no coincidences. If this man was walking on the same street he was, right now, perhaps he should do something about it. But, if the man crossed his pat once again, then there would be no doubt about it.
And now there is.

Hell, today had been a normal day, an anniversary day, a Stormy’s day, but a tired day. He didn’t know, nor did he want to find why. The nightly walk was about to end, and thank God, he wanted bed. Stormy would be there with him.
So he paid no more attention to the man. He got to his house, unlocked the door and yawned silently pausing on the threshold. God, he was tired.
He locked it again and rubbed his eyes. It would do no good if he fell asleep on the floor against the door. He thought about waking up tomorrow about five thirty, so he thought three times five fifteen aloud in his mind.
He didn’t bother to check out the actual time. He could only think of bed. A wonderful word, if you’d ask him.
The house, still in darkness, wasn’t brought to life by the light. Odd again, didn’t bother. He kicked out his shoes, and just fell flat on the bed face down. Sleep is stronger than a tiny cold, and Odd did not go under the covers. He closed his eyes, hugged his pillow, thought of Stormy with a small smile on his face, and shuddered.
Perhaps it was the other way around; cold was stronger than sleep… but it wasn’t this cold just moments ago. And…
Odd frowned. Was that a hand on the back of his neck?
Still frowning, he opened his eyes and slowly moved so he could see if someone was behind him.
Odd isn’t afraid of the unknown, with that he could deal just fine; the known was what scared him.
Now, in the present situation, he did not know what to make of that. Was he scared, or not?
Fungus man, Robertson, was smiling down at him, his hand still on his neck, and his eyes, unusual on the dead, were lightening with old sparks, that had not yet been forgotten, and in fact, were, brighter than ever. ____
I will update soon. If you can, please review. Anyway, if this works out like I want, I plan on making of this story, several chapters, so don’t you worry if you like it and want more.
Though, I wouldn’t know that. Please review?
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The dead don't talk