{"id":269,"date":"2023-08-11T20:06:17","date_gmt":"2023-08-11T20:06:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/?page_id=269"},"modified":"2023-08-11T20:06:17","modified_gmt":"2023-08-11T20:06:17","slug":"the-taker","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/?page_id=269","title":{"rendered":"The Taker"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The Taker slips into town at dusk, unraveling his string-bag of wares as pauses in the long shadows of evening.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The raccoons pawing the trash nearby pay no notice. When they feel a wash of unease and cold dread, they hurry along.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The Taker leers down into the bag, landing on the tools, visible to him, and only a few others. <\/span>This one could be helpful<\/span><\/i>, he thinks, running brushing his hand against the handle, fingering its sharp edge.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Quickly.\u00a0 <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Into the pocket of his smudged coat it goes. Along with a small ivory block and something amorphous. It could be a rock.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The Taker glances up just once. His delicate rolling of the string-bag back just as deft as all his motions.\u00a0 He slips the bag into his inner coat pocket.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He knows he has not been heard. He would have felt a gaze, heard the breath. He is not easily seen.<\/span><\/p>\n

Unhurried.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The Taker smooths his coat, long fingers gliding over patches that were rough, just moments ago.\u00a0 Careful not to allow his pointed fingernails to touch the coat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He angles his nose for a moment, leaning his ear just left. This is part of the routine. One he follows nearly every evening. Rarely in the same town, or adjacent villages.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He hears what he has come for; what he needs.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 There is a party tonight, and many unsuspecting people to meet in town. No need to rush.\u00a0 The Taker can extract what he needs at his leisure.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 But, he is so very hungry. Just a sample would be nice; take the edge off a bit. A quick flick of a tool, a moment of pain, then it is forgotten.\u00a0 He could do it now.\u00a0 There is a young couple ducking in and out of shadows nearby. Giggling. The sound tempts him.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 No use for it. He reaches for the man.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The Taker sees no reason for a full drain.\u00a0 He has mastered that urge now. The poor soul, in that faraway town, quite some time ago. It was a feast. But it drew too much attention from the wrong interests.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 There was a bit in the news about it. You may recall.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Unless you have met The Taker.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Then you may recall a little less. Your memories slip away like smoke.\u00a0 Even if you reach for them, they escape. You cannot seem to remember why.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Has this happened to you? Maybe more than once?<\/span><\/p>\n

I see you have already met him\u2026.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The Taker slips into town at dusk, unraveling his string-bag of wares as pauses in the long shadows of evening. \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The raccoons pawing the trash nearby pay no notice. When they feel a wash of unease and cold dread, they hurry along. \u00a0 \u00a0…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":191,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-269","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/269","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=269"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/269\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":270,"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/269\/revisions\/270"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/191"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.314stories.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=269"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}