Unspecified Fear

By Edmond Goss, Oliver Redig and Kyron Fugette

fear
/ˈfir/ noun
noun: fear; plural noun: fears
an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716190117

Book preview

Unspecified

Fear

A Novella

Edmond Goss & Oliver Redig

1

Forward

My first idea to begin to write a book about began in the 5th grade, I was bored out of my mind of math, and was imaging a movie I had watched days earlier. The scenes replayed in my mind over and over, I wanted to create my own scene. At that point in time I could not create a film, not a good one anyways, so I thought of other options to create those amazing scenes. It happened to me in language arts, we were assigned different books, and as I was reading mine, it struck me. A novel. A novel where I could express my dreams to create a beautiful scene from, using complex words and real definitions, but I needed help. I spoke to my companion Oliver Redig about my idea, he loved it.

My first book I attempted to write didn’t succeed, it was written by 3 other people as wel . But then one day as i was struggling to come up with a plot, with a theme, it strikes me hard, and a lightbulb goes off. I wanted a novel to be written with action, loss and drama. I wanted to have a novel

which was like my own and not taken from other entertainment. I chose the topic of Zombies, kind of, it started out as an idea with monsters that terrorize a city, to an idea of a viral spreading disease which turns people into the monsters we envisioned. We wrote multiple drafts and short stories, both for fun and for whenever our language arts teacher would tel us to write a short story. Our short novels which were anywhere from 2 to 30 pages impressed both our teachers and classmates.

We had one classmate try and join our writing, but we knew it was just so he/she could get recognition, he had no interest in writing a future best sel er. I remember when we started

Unspecified Fear or as we first cal ed it The infection, we had changed so much of the book since then, the chapter lengths had been a problem the most, we couldn’t decide which ones were to be long and which short. We continued on the book til highschool years, or rather I should say, the first few months of freshman year before we had given up on the book. Editing was hard, we knew that, we knew to look through each and every word and letter and use of a word would take months.

Sadly we didn’t have the patience, so we dropped it. But here in your hands is the incompletely edited(the only version)novela. I discovered the word novela in 8th grade when doing research on short stories. I knew our book didn't qualify as a novel nor a short story, for it was 100 something pages(which we were very proud of)the word, novela popped out. That’s what our book was, I knew it. It was in between both, it wasn’t long enough for a novel but wasn’t short enough either for a short story. When writing The infection I wanted the book to be as realistic as possible, but at age 11 or so it’s difficult, as we looked back on our project in summer break before highschool we noticed how childish it sounded, it stil does, but it was greatly improved, believe me. We changed the plot multiple times, added twists and our best attempt at depressing moments. I would say I am proud and satisfied with what we have created with our time, this book wil be a treasure to read when we are older and possibly have children. This is the most dedicated piece of Art I have stayed with in a very long time. I Appreciate anyone who I had asked to read this, and who had suffered through it, just so it didn’t hurt my feelings, thank you. Also for the amazing criticism from everyone, there is no bad criticism, only good, and I learned that. This is my only Novela ever written, I have moved on to cinematography, I have found new interests. But I am happy that at some point in my life I had created a book, it made me feel accomplished and proud. Thank you al .

-Edmond Goss

2

Prolouge___

"Seven robberies, and thirteen bodies." The detective slid the metal chair across the concrete floor, creating a raspy scraping sound. He sat down, wiping his sweat-drenched forehead with the back of his sleeve.

Opening the file, he sat back and sighed.

You know, normally I’d be coming in here to interrogate you. The detective shook his head. "But you, you’re a different story. We already got all that we need to know.

Security cam footage, eyewitnesses, fingerprints, you name it. The convict stared down. A look of boredom crossed his face. So why are you here? The detective grinned at him. Nice of you to finally speak up. I’m here to get the names of the gang members."

The Detective got up. Three years in the Indigos, then four in the Blackhounds. Now you run your own. The Làzos, isn’t it? You’ve been switching from gang to gang, robbing banks and Jewelry stores since you dropped out of Highschool. The detective opened a nearby cabinet and pulled out another file. "You probably know this, but we got enough dirt on you in here for a life sentence.

You have been, by far, the hardest man to catch. And now, now, we caught you in a drug bust. The convict looked up, finally showing a little interest in what the

3

detective had to say. The two ways that I see it, I could ask you right now who your members are, the detective slid over a clip board with a paper and pen attached, and in turn, get a simple answer, and I could chip away at your life sentence, and if I pull a few strings, then I could get you down to only half of a life sentence in prison. Imagine that.

The detective sat again. Or, I can just leave and you would get yourself a full sentence. The detective stared blankly at the convict. What are their names? He waited, sitting patiently at the table with his arms folded. He knew that he now had the man’s full attention.

He sat still, waiting. No answer? Alright, your call. The detective turned to leave, opening the door to the interrogation room.

I aint no snitch. The detective turned around. What was that? I aint no snitch. Detective Nolan chuckled.

You rather, withhold your members than go to jail for all your life? "What a stupid decision."

The wall of the interrogation room exploded, showering the detective with chunks of brick and metal. He coughed and toppled over, grabbing the doorway as he fell for support. Dust filled the room, and the sprinklers activated.

The detective could see several dark figures enter through the hole in the wall, just before the dust and smoke clouded his glasses. Reaching under his coat and pulling his pistol out of his arm holster, the detective

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aimed into the gray-tinted room. He hesitated, then fired three rounds off into the darkness.

The detective waited, hearing no sounds except for the sounds of the water droplets hitting the metal table and his bullet casings bouncing on the ground for a few seconds.

The sprinklers turned off and the bullet casings too fell silent, leaving his breathing and coughing as the only sound he could hear in the dark room.

Edging away from the wall, the detective covered his mouth with one hand, while keeping his pistol aimed forward with the other. He continued through the dusty room, which was now slowly flooding with a slight bit of light.

Suddenly, the detective bumped into a hard metal surface.

Feeling the surface, he realized that it was the smooth metal table that the convict had been seated at seconds ago.

As the dust settled and the room cleared, he saw what he feared he would. The file and the convict, gone. All that remained were the handcuffs that the convict had been wearing, a small pick jammed in the lock.

I told you. The detective jumped, turning around.

Immense pain quickly followed after the loud shot of a shotgun filled the small space and the bullet dug itself into his ribs.

The shot threw Nolan back and over the table to land among the rubble scattered on the floor. His glasses fell off of his face and onto the concrete ground, cracking on

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impact. The detective held his arm to his stomach holding in his internals, groaning in pain.

The convict smirked, picking up the glasses with his right and crushing them with one squeeze of his fist. I aint no snitch. He nodded to the man next to him, and the bulk man pulled a cigarette lighter and the creased file out of his pocket, igniting it.

The convict’s eyes glimmered orange as he watched it burn, watching as all the evidence that could imprison him, cease to exist.

1___

Evan walked through the alley, trying to get to the new mall on time. Shinola watches were going for half price for the first hundred customers, and Evan was dying for one. It was no Rolex but it was still a luxury.

He went through a short cut down an alley, passing a homeless man on the way, when suddenly a manhole cover opened up before him. When he looked in, he was startled