1st 5 Pages July Workshop - Sova Rev 2

Name: Jericho Sova

Genre: Young Adult Paranormal Thriller

Title: The Lates Society

Pitch

Twenty-five years ago, the tiny town of Autumn was rocked by a serial killer. In all,  seven victims were killed in a brutal, ritualistic fashion that included signs of alchemy. But then the murders just stopped. 

Now, as Percival Wolfsbane is trying to finish his first year at Autumn University, the killer comes back. At first, Percival wants nothing to do with the murder case or the gossip surrounding it. But that all changes when he meets Lilith, a smart, mysterious woman, who lives in a graveyard. She has a few theories about the killer. She just needs Percival’s assistance to prove them.

Agreeing is Percival’s first mistake, as he soon discovers Lilith is hiding some dark secrets of her own. Her father is a mad scientist and the number one murder suspect. She looks exactly like her dead aunt and, at times, doesn’t even seem human. The more Percival digs into the mystery, the less things make sense. But one thing becomes certain. The killer doesn’t like Percival’s investigation. And after an attempt is made on his life, Percival is left with a choice: trust Lilith or take his chances on his own.

Chapter 01

It was a cold day in Autumn, and the leaves were turning blood red. 

"I don't know what happened," Percival heard someone say as he sat on a bench overlooking the courtyard. "It's too early to tell if it was him." 

Having been gone for a month, Percival didn’t know who they were talking about, and normally he wouldn't have cared anyway. Campus gossip was something he preferred to ignore. But today there was a tone to the conversation that Percival didn't like. A certain kind of fear was behind that other student’s voice; a fear mixed with reverence. And looking around, Percival caught the same dreadful unease in other people as well. It was hiding in the way a woman was rushing to her car before the sun set, swimming in the wide-eyed gazes of two passing professors, and flaring up in the cigarette of a man smoking in the library gazebo. The fear was everywhere, permeating the campus like a disease.

And yet, Percival tried to ignore it. He told himself it was just his nerves and a byproduct of dealing with his brother’s death. Since the accident, Percival had been ignoring a lot of things. He found it easier than dealing with the pain. Instead of asking what was wrong, he flipped his notebook to a math problem he’d been working on and focused on solving it. 

Percival liked solving math problems. The concentration they required had a way of drowning out the world’s sharp edges, and when he bit into one, he didn’t let go until it was done.

This one, however, was a nightmare. He’d been working at it for three solid hours, and the only thing he had accomplished were a few eraser marks and one bat-winged smiley face with fangs drawn in the upper corner of the page. 

Now, he concentrated on the problem and tried willing the numbers to fall into place. But they were obstinate things and refused to listen. Everything he attempted failed to work. 

Frustrated, Percival slammed the notebook closed and shoved it into his pocket. Then the clock tower clanged announcing the time as six o'clock. Percival’s stomach grumbled, and he made his way toward the cafeteria. As he crossed the courtyard, a rush of cold air swept through the valley, tearing leaves off their branches. One leaf danced its way around his head and landed in his untamed black hair. He shook the leaf out and continued on, while somewhere in the distance police sirens screamed.

After the buzz going on outside, the Autumn U cafeteria had all the excitement of a well-kept mausoleum. The walls were a beaten dull gray; the floors a coffin wood brown. People shuffled from one food kiosk to the next like zombies while they waited for their share of sizzling mystery meats and blighted vegetables.  

Percival made himself a salad and found an isolated table in the back. While he ate, he refused to look at the math problem as a matter of principle. It had already given him enough trouble as it was and adding indigestion to the mix wasn’t going to help.

He had been content to eat alone, but when Benjamin’s tray clattered onto the table, causing him to jump, Percival found he was glad to have some company. And Benjamin was good company. Sure, he was somewhat odd, but he was a friendly face, and since the accident, those were scarce. 

"You scared the hell out of me," said Percival.

Benjamin sat down and examined a slice of pizza for defects. He was gangly and thin with unkempt straw-colored hair and thick framed glasses. If he were a bit less animated, he might have made for a good-looking scarecrow. 

"Nice to see you too,” he said. “When did you get back?" 

"Yesterday."  

"And you didn't call? I'm hurt."  

"I don't even have a phone. Mine was on my brother’s account."

Benjamin’s smile faded. "I’m sorry. If there was anything I could have done."

A familiar sense of loss rose in Percival’s stomach. He shoved the feeling back down and forced a grin. “It’s fine. Besides, what was it your favorite author said? ‘Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt?’”

“Too true. Now let me be the first to welcome you back to Autumn U, or as the shirts say Au, the gold standard.”

Percival took a bite of his salad. “It’s good to be back. And maybe you can tell me what I’ve been missing.” 

Benjamin tore a burnt section of his pizza off, flicked it away, and bit into the pizza’s other side. “You mean you haven’t heard,” he said around a mouthful of cheese. “The Triangle Killer's come back." 

Percival nearly choked on a black olive. He had heard about the killer. Everyone in Autumn had. It was the campus ghost story, the thing seniors told freshmen to keep them up at night. There were seven original victims, if he remembered correctly. Each one had their hands chopped off and placed on either side of their head. Signs and symbols were cut into the flesh, the most notable of which were triangles sliced into the victim’s palms. Last of all, the victim's blood was used to write cryptic messages. No one ever figured out what the messages meant, and the killings stopped after a few weeks.  

"Are they sure it's the Triangle Killer," said Percival. "I mean that was what, twenty years ago?”

"Twenty-five,” said Benjamin. “And no, the police haven't confirmed anything yet. But I was talking to someone on the force, and she says it's definitely the killer.”

“How does she know?”

“Something to do with the symbols used. She was kind of cagey on the details.” Benjamin leaned in close. “And you want to know the best part? I think this might be supernatural.”

Percival rolled his eyes. Here it went again. Benjamin’s second greatest fault. His first was his fondness for breaking into places he shouldn’t be, but followed closely behind that was his desire to make everything paranormal. In his world, Occam’s razor could be summed up in three words. Ghosts or aliens. 

“You can't be serious,” said Percival. 

Benjamin shrugged. “Look, the original killings stopped when that fire happened over at Lates Hall. Someone died in that fire. Do you see how these things add up?”

“No, not at all.”

“Obviously, whoever died in the fire was the original murderer, and now they’ve come back to finish the job.”

Percival rubbed his forehead. This attempt at logic pained him. “Oh my God. How many times have I told you correlation is not causation?”

"Look, twenty-five years is a long time to go between murders. And to come back without missing a beat seems supernatural to me."

"Twenty-five years is not that long," said Percival. "If the killer started when they were twenty, they'd only be forty-five now. It’s more likely the killer’s just… come back."

“Don’t you mean come back from the dead? There is no way you’re going to convince me this isn’t supernatural.”

“Nothing is ever supernatural. There’s just things we know and things we haven’t figured out yet.”