Note: This post has been included in one of the new Chapter drafts, please refer to the Index for the current draft of the story.

Please note, this is currently a very rough draft from NaNoWriMo 2007. There will be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, flat out contradictions, and uneven characterization and pacing. (Content is also subject to constant change as I take an editing chainsaw to the story.)

He stepped into the gravel parking lot, the only other sign of life was an ancient station wagon parked haphazardly over the false curb of grass. Jon could see that the door to the warehouse was open, but only barely in the dim light. The flood light over the door had been broken and the generic security camera hung at an awkward angle, sparking every so often. Most of the illumination came from the lights that were on inside the building.

The dogs flowed forward to circle in front of the door. They looked like a movie on mute, baying and howling and snarling without any sound. They flickered in and out of solidity, eyes and fangs hanging solid, imbedded in shadows.

Jon stood for a moment, just outside the flickering pool of light, tying to tamper down the fear that was quickly overwhelming his shock. The world still had a misty quality to it, as if he was somehow separated, watching it from afar. He wished he could just wake up, shake off the phantoms waiting for him at the door and get back to his normal life.

But the dogs were getting impatient and he could almost feel the vibrations of Tos’s growl. Maybe being killed by the dogs would be better than whatever was waiting in the warehouse, but he was more inclined to take an unknown doom over a very real certainty.

The dogs flowed through the walls, dim echoes of shadows, and Jon followed behind. The door creaked slightly as he eased it open enough to fit through, but there was no reaction from inside the building. The entry room light was on, but he could see lights on further back as well. The room was chilly, but not cold and Jon saw warning signs for cold storage beside the next set of doors.

He carefully crossed the room, waiting for something to spring out and attack, but nothing happened. The cold room doors were propped open, even though the lock had already been destroyed. There were a series of holes and Jon could see the gleam of shell casings scattered about in the corners of the room. Which meant whatever the dogs were after, it had a gun.

Of course if it could carry a gun it probably wasn’t a ghost and that raised his spirits somewhat. He might be able to bargain with someone still alive, the dead seemed much less interesting in rational discussion.

There was a loud crash and the sound of wood breaking from the next room. Interlaced was a stream of curses that was impressive for its volume, although not it’s creativity. The voice also sounded young, frustrated, and maybe a little scared. Which meant a freaked teenager, possibly with a gun. Jon waited a second, but there were no sounds other than the boy, and thankfully no gunshots.

Which meant there wasn’t anyone to rescue so he wasn’t sure what the dogs wanted him to do. Was he supposed to talk to the kid? Stop him? From doing what?
The dogs really didn’t look like they were out to end this peacefully and Jon really wasn’t prepared to kill anyone. Although if they tried to kill him, he wasn’t adverse to the idea. He’d rather just incapacitate them. Or just talk them into surrendering. Or–

The dogs had solidified into thick mist, and they all stared at him, waiting.