probably won't finish it, I never finish anything, but here it is (this is the unfinished prologue):
C&C appreciated



The crisp night air cascaded upon the steps of the local memorial museum, a slither of light escaping the smallest of many windows that littered the face of the building. The crescent moon crept from behind the clouds, and illuminated what could only be described as the most overtly-decorated fountain in the middle of the town square. And yet the fountain did not seem out of place in this quiet town. The below-zero temperature was rivalled only by the first pitter-patter of a downpour that was sure to ensue.

Inside the room that expelled the lone light was a single man. A man, of no older than 30, that was frantically searching for something. The row of cupboards on the far wall lay open, their contents spewing themselves upon the deep red carpet. Bottle after sheet after book after parchment, the floor of this particular room was barely visible under the havoc that had been caused. And he was not finished. Not until he could find what he was looking for. Now the man rested against the edge of a dark mahogany table, his eyes darting back and forth between the dozens of sheets lain before him. Beneath the sweat of his brow, the panic in his eyes would have been menacing to anybody that should decide to stop and peer through the window of the third room on the first floor of the Costhorpe memorial museum. Somebody like Andrew Gracier.

Unfortunately for Andrew, his 70-odd year old mind sometimes led him to places that he never truly intended to be. That night, of course, was no different. On his way home, after taking the garbage down to the local waste-bin, and just as the rain started to heave rather than fall, he noticed a single light coming from the third room on the first floor of the museum. Surely, he thought, nobody should be inside at this time. As a small town person, Andrew decided it was in the communities best interests for him to scale the steps and peer into the room. The man that he saw, he thought, could be no older than 30. But what in the hell could he be doing emptying the entire contents of the room? It was then that he noticed the strange attire that this particular man upheld. A dark leather jacket seated on top of a pink button-down shirt; the sort of shirt that a man would wear to a formal dance, only a dance not of this century. His trousers were corduroy and a dark brown hue, lengthened only to the fitting of his ankles, which remained slightly visible atop the clogs on either foot. Around his neck, viewed only in part due to the matted hair that lay upon his shoulders, rested a large, purple crystal strung to a leather necklace, if you could call it that. It is at this moment, whilst Andrew pondered the man and his motives, that the enigmatic figure noticed a curious set of eyes peering from the window in the mirror's reflection.