Trenchcoat Sam: The Rangehunter Chronicles – Chapter One

Fiction, Trenchcoat Sam


Firstly, where on earth did this come from? A Facebook message to a friend. Why the idiotic sounding name? Because I tried to think of the most ridiculous cliché defining name and tagline I could come up with at the time, and now I don’t want to change it. This is entirely on the spot writing, it isn’t trying to be anything amazing, the point was to make someone laugh. Weirdly, the first chapter came from the prompt ‘Mohawk’ which is clearly nowhere in the text. It is, however, coming later. I can’t say when, because as I’ve already said, everything is spur of the moment. No planning! I imagine the story is going to get pretty jumbled, especially as it’s already jumped back and forth in time about three times as of me writing this note. Good luck with reading it. No, really.

Chapter One

In which we are vaguely introduced to Samuel; there are too many cats; a feline mafia is hinted at and an angry spirit is awoken. The last part is a lie.

Samuel hated cats. This was particularly problematic for him due to his current proximity to a great many feline creatures. The mouth of the alley he had rashly entered was quickly filling up with a yowling mess of his least favourite furry beasts; scratching, hissing and circling, but most importantly and unfortunately fast approaching where he was standing. This was a problem.

He span around, searching for a way out. It was, of course, a dead-end, but everyone knew that in movies there was always a fire escape you could pull yourself onto, or maybe a washing line he could swing from until help arrived. Sadly for Samuel, this was real life. He made a half-hearted leap for a window ledge, but missed. Partly because it was six metres up, partly because at that point the lead cat clamped its claws around his leg.

Unfortunately for the cat, Samuel was not of the athletic breed. His miscalculated jump had been terrible to begin with, but with the added weight of a large tomcat on one side he became an unbalanced falling machine (inventing such a thing there and then) and crashed down, landing full on the ginger tom. While this had the positive effect of cushioning the end of his swift descent, it also made the cat very angry. Now, with a whole host of inexplicably furious cats closing in this may not seem like it posed much more of a problem, but this would be a false evaluation of the situation.

This was not just any cat. This was generally considered (in the cat underworld) to be the leader of the leaderless mob. So while they could all agree they were free beasts and bowed to no master, this tom was the one they generally agreed that they definitely didn’t HAVE to obey. It’s just if they didn’t ears might go missing. It was a choice, clearly. So of all the cats: male, female, ginger, stripy or hairless, this was the one that Samuel should not have landed on.

The last thing he knew was a deep, intimidating purr, out of line with the howling all around him, then suddenly blackness. And silence.

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