Tag Archive | twisted

Flash Fiction: Sheep & Wolves

(originally from May 2008)

 

Her is another short story written to songs, this one is to Linkin Park’s  album Minutes to Midnight. If you know it you’ll notice a phrase here or there that should be familiar. My last one of these was to Don McLean and funnily enough it had the same damn subject matter.  Go figure!

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A black wind sweeps through, looking dissatisfied at its destruction. Cold and alone the world trembles in its grip, and the sightless stare through the dim purple haze that rules the days. Heartless, the weeks creep past in silent disarray, leaving nothing behind but aching memories and bitter tears that fall uncounted to the dust beneath the blackened feet and twisted limbs. This is the new world order, this is the future, this is the apocalypse.

And how they rushed to meet it. How they hurried forth with smiling eyes and shining faces, arms open to greet the technological wonders that flowed from a seemingly endless fountain of prosperity. Then, the prosperity ended and still they craved more, pressing and demanding, pushing and meddling, and to what did it lead? Now, on the brink of the world the few stand, praying for death and crawling through the dead.

Truth hangs in the spoken lies and mumbled words; doubt disguised as faith and despair as hope. Voices lift against the howl of the wind and make promises that they can never keep; their words banish regrets and promise the stars to those who will  listen. And, like sheep, they listen Their ears so dull with the pain of the former silence, so in need of some escape that they fall into the dark traps laid by the new wolves.

And the wolves smile as they gather the remnants together and work to rebuild their former kingdoms. Their false smiles and empty words bring them all crawling from the darkest corners, leading them forward and into their brighter future. Their lips utter false love, while their hands stay in their pockets, afraid to touch the unwashed masses. Afraid of being infected and soiled with their weak decay.

And the sheep bleat and bow. They follow blindly and they do as they are told and generations slip away. The sky slowly heals  its wounds, the ice recedes and the ash blows away in the merciless wind until life returns and history has passed away into legend, a macabre old religion to be debated by the enlightened, stories to mock, not heed nor listen to, lessons fallen through the cracks of science and left to wither beneath the floor, forgotten.

The world marches forward bravely and wolves watch from their hills, smiles on their faces, herding the sheep into the snares of their own making. And while the sheep are sacrificed, still the wolves survive, bathing in the blood of those who are beneath them, bloated with their greed and hunger for power, always marching forward, always pushing them into the brighter tomorrow, never changing, for where there are sheep there will always be wolves.

And so they rush forward, following their false profits and greeting the future with open arms, their eyes smiling and their faces shining as they embrace what should be theirs…

And so it goes again.

A black wind sweeps through, looking dissatisfied at is destruction….

 

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And now that I have brought a ray of sunshine I am off!

Song playing at the moment – “Gone Away”- Safetysuit

Flash Fiction: Window Glass

(originally from April 2008)

 

The rain pelts the window glass, but all I can see is you. You stand in front of it, fastening your shirt and blocking out the view. The cold white light illuminates the deadly smirk on your face, and shines in the depths of your eyes; cold orbs that have forgotten me already.

You turn away and walk out the door. You hurry to your car and leave me on the floor like a broken doll, my clothes removed by the unkind hands of my new owner. Why is it that a child’s first game is to strip their newest toy naked? Does it start even at that tender age, the desire to take everything away, to see what lies underneath and assert their dominance?

I climb slowly to my knees. Now I can see the muddy rain splashing on the glass. Large drops wash over the roof and bring down the dirt, leaving filthy streaks. The rain is just like you; something beautiful and pure that ruins as it walks by. Something I thought I wanted that has left behind its sick pollution. Something that should have been good but wasn’t, betraying the very hearts that longed for it.

My skin is pale and the blue veins run beneath it like slithering snakes. I can see each one as the blood courses through my body, keeping me alive. I suddenly want to end it all but am too afraid. I lack the courage to cut into that pale skin, to set the writhing serpents free and watch their crimson tears leak onto the carpet, like fallen rose petals. I am too afraid to live, but too afraid to die. A broken doll abandoned by her new master.

As I stare at my skin I can see your fingerprints, dark smudges left behind in colors of blue and black. Tender spots of pain, the marks to prove where you have been. I long to wash them away and cleanse myself of your lingering scent.  And so, though it hurts, I crawl to the door and out into the rain. The drops land on my body like cold slices of reality. They shock every place they touch, like a hurtful lover. The water runs over me, and I hold my arms out, begging to be clean. But the rain is just as dirty as I am, and instead of washing away your touch it leaves its little trails on my flesh, streaking me like the window glass.

That is what I am, a dirty pane of glass that anyone can see through should they try, but no one does. No eyes have ever tried to see what lay on the other side, only used me to admire their own reflections. And still I hold my brittle smile and I show them what they want to see while praying that they never notice the cracks slowly spreading across my silver surface. Tiny crevices that grow larger with each passing year until one day I’ll shatter into pieces at their feet, no longer useful.

The thunder rumbles and I lay on the ground, my body numb from cold and pain, but I know that there is no end for me. Tomorrow it will be the same and then tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Each day racing onwards while another sliver of my soul dies, leaving me empty and alone, until sweet oblivion finds me and I finally break; nothing left behind but shiny shards. And then you’ll finally be forced to look past yourself and into the dark room beyond, into the depths that were so long hidden behind what you wanted to see, and then, only then, will you finally see me.

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I dunno. Nothing autobiographical here or anything. Just some fun.

Fav song of the moment – “Hell” – Disturbed

End of the World – Flash Fiction

(originally from November 2007)

 

While waiting for my brother to come home I found myself with three options to fill the time. 1- do dishes. 2- finish taking off my cemetery pictures. 3- screw around in Word. Guess which one I picked? *hint* I am typing in Word right now.

Sooo… I wrote a strange story – it’s 500 and some words and a product of Don McLean again. In fact there are four phrases – not complete sentences – from the song Orphans of wealth in here :p one is three words, so I don’t know if it really counts….. anyway, here you go 😛

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“There is no time to discuss what is right, there is only time to act. No time to contemplate or think, only time to do. When the tides rise where will you be?”

Those words had echoed through my small living room, followed by the hiss of static as the television stations disappeared. I thought it was a joke, that the newscaster had gone insane. He certainly looked maniacal when he’d interrupted Friday prime time to make his strange announcement.

Now, the rain falls against the window. The pattering sound seems to fill every moment, swelling until it’s a rhythm to go insane to. Darkness presses in on me and there is no light to hold it back anymore. The electricity went at half past ten.

I crouch against the white painted wall, rifle clutched in trembling hands to defend myself from the unnamable.  Furniture lays overturned, broken glass glitters when the lightning flashes, remnants of the earth quakes. They started at precisely eleven; soft tremors that slowly grew to earth shaking proportions.

Where is our technology now? Where are our instant messages, our cell phones our beeping pagers?  Where is all that noise that signals civilization and life? The quiet is killing me. It drums into my brain, worse than the sound of the rain, worse than the terrible fear gnawing at my ribs, worse than the bone chilling cold settling around me.

I wipe tears from my eyes – or is it rain falling through the broken roof? Shattered beams cast shadows like the hands of the dead reaching out through the never-ending darkness to clutch at me and drag me to hell with them. Memories flit like ghosts behind my eyes, cold and untouchable as they taunt me with moments that were at once warm and terrifying: farewells whispered over the coffins, a red sun rising lazy against a golden sky, cold heartbreak as I read the handwritten goodbye letter, a brightly lit Christmas tree glowing like a beacon against the white snow like a lonely sentinel.

Alone. I am alone, as I have been for all my life. Alone as I always wanted to be. There was no time of anyone – no time to listen or care; time only to work, to hurry, to trudge through the lonely days until somehow the true magic of life would be revealed. One more pay check, one more promotion, one more day and then the mysteries of happiness would be revealed. Yet I never noticed the trail of dead I left behind me: dead hearts, dead eyes, dead feelings, all murdered as surely as if I had used some weapon while I waited for happiness to be handed to me.

But there is no happiness now. There is the smell of death and the screams haunting the night between the cracks of thunder. There is the rifle; cold steel clutched in my shaking hands. There are my tears slipping slowly down my face as all around me the world ends. Alone in this darkness there is no one for me to cling to, no one to comfort me in these last terrifying hours. There is no hand for me to hold, no soothing words, no one for me to even say goodbye to.

There is only darkness.

Darkness and cold.

***********

Cheerful, huh?

Dark Story – Part 14

(Originally from October 2007)

 

This is a study in free flow writing. It may not make sense when it’s finished. Oh well.

**Mature content warning**

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The warm sun washed her skin and warmed her face. Keena woke, blinking at the golden beams and trying to get her bearings. she lifted a hand to shade her eyes and nearly cried out as she beheld her flesh returned to its former youth.

“You’re awake.”

She looked up to see Querin standing over her. He still wore the mud stained clothes from the night before and weariness clung around his eyes and mouth, but he couldn’t hide the relief on his face.

“Yes.. where am I?” She sat up uncertainly. The small sunlit room seemed familiar, but somehow foriegn.

His voice as rich with amusement, “You’re in the house of your aunt where sunlight has scarce been, though I am afraid she won’t be able to conduct her hosting duties.”

“Where is she?” It was a question that needed asked, though she dreaded what the answer might be.

“Gone” he replied simply. “Her magic was strong but her sprit was not strong enough to withstand the spells.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she simply nodded and asked another question. “The  village?”

“Some survived.”

She dropped back into the bed and closed her eyes. “I don’t understand where they came from. Those… things.”

“You can thank your aunt, though she ceased to be your aunt years ago, after she gave her soul to the dark prince. The winter of the wolves was brought on by her and her attempts to summon demons from beyond the veil.  She mistakenly created the pack, and when the village sent its men, my brother included, to kill the wolves, the wolves simply made their hunters like themselves. She went to find them, seeing her husband, and tried to use magic far too strong for her to handle, which is how she withered herself.”

Keena silently allowed his words to sink in.

“She has been taken by the earth now,” he added. “I have no doubt her soul, such as it was, is now in the keeping of Beelzebub himself.”

Keena studied him intently. “And what will you do now that you’ve found your brother?”

“I will go home,” he said simply.  “I have found everything I sought, so I have no need to remain.”

“Oh,” se replied, he voice small.  “Of course.”

“If you were wise, you would go with me,” he said casually. “You have a great power slumbering within you, as have all of your line for many generations.” He offered her his hand. “I was trained from infancy by the greatest warlock in our country. A man with hair of red copper, who left this town when he was but a child, leaving behind his sisters. I know whose blood runs through your veins, and who your ancestors are, just as they knew you when they saw you. At the death of my master I swore never again to use my powers for darkness, and should you make such a vow then I would ask you this: Come with me, and together we can hide from all the great sorcerers, mages and witches of the world.”

Keena cocked her head to one side, thoughtfully. Her village was decimated, her aunt, her last remaining family, dead. Her life was destroyed and there was nothing but vile memories left for her. “Yes,” she said softy. “I will go with you.” But she would make no vow.

The end

(I see that there is room for a sequel. There will be no sequel. One was enough for me!)

Dark Story – Part 13

(Originally from October 2007)

 

This is a study in free flow writing. It may not make sense when it’s finished. Oh well.

**Mature content warning**

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Keena stood slowly. She shook the cold mud off of herself and tried to wipe her face clean.  not far from her, she could see another of the flaming creatures swooping through the air, but it was too busy dangling a child by the leg to notice her. Waving the child, it taunted the boy’s shrieking mother before dashing his skull against the nearest building. Then it  lifted the lifeless body so that the blood to poured from the ruined skull and all over its horrific face.

Shuddering in horror, she forced her stomach down, refusing to be sick. The demon grabbed the wailing mother, and Keen purposefully turned her back. Screams sounded all around her as people died, but she ignored it all.  she needed to focus. Her spine straight, she strode with purpose, searching for Querin, the one person amongst the terrified rabble who might know what to do.

She found him standing like a rock amidst a stormy sea, his arms raised towards the churning sky. She instinctively came to a halt. A great energy swirled all round him until the very air crackled with electricity.  As he had in the clearing, he seemed to grow taller and larger, swelling with some dark power. When he spoke, his voice echoed through the far reaches of the decimated village, thundering over the pounding of the rain. His words were thick and twisted, that strange language her aunt had used to create this havoc.

The demons screamed, until their cries were in unison. They moved as one, circling around Querin, hissing and snarling but not daring to draw too close, their faces twisted in anger. One swooped low in front of him, a sneer on its face. “You try to banish us,” it hissed. “Would you really be so cruel to your own brother.”

Surprise showed on Querrin’s  face, but he didn’t stop his chant.

“Oh yes, your brother,” the demon laughed. “I took his body and now I hold his very mind within my grasp. Would you banish your own flesh from this world, mortal?”

A voice sounded inside her head, loud and clear as if spoken aloud. It was Querin’s voice commanding her to come to him, to join him in the fight against the demonic beings.  Her only answer was to stare at him in wonder. what help could she possibly offer? The voice came  again, louder and more commanding.  Still unsure what good it would do, she hurried to him, her eyes questioning the reality of his call.

Without looking at her, he caught her hand in his. His skin felt hot to the touch and, as his fingers closed around hers,  she felt the power that was surrounding him flow into her.

He continued his chant and soon she heard her own voice repeating the harsh words, though she didn’t know their meaning or how they came to be in her mind.  Their voices intertwined around one another until she could no long distinguish her tones from those of the man beside her.

The demon’s screams grew louder,  and they dropped to earth, their feet sinking in the sucking mud as they howled, their faming hands over their ears, trying to block out the chanted words. The one claiming to be his brother fell to its knees and was quickly followed by he other two, all three now kneeling and clutching at their heads, the writhing flames growing dimmer as the chant grew louder.

The ground trembled beneath their feet and they swayed. One of the demons dropped to the ground and landed on all fours, and then the other two fell.  The trembling became violent shaking, and the demons sunk deeper and deeper into the mud, slowly disappearing in the thickening slop.

“Noooooooooo!”

Eseldra was suddenly in their midst, crying out in anger as she watched all she’d worked for ruined. Her long red hair fell around her, tangled and filthy. Her naked form was smeared in blood and mud. Even her face was streaked with black ashes.

“Be gone foul  demons!” Querin cried, dropping his raised hand suddenly. The air rippled with his movement and, with a final howl, the demons disappeared in the churning mud, leaving only a scared landscape as proof they’d ever been present.

“And now for you!” Querin stared at Eseldra, his eyes hard. “Your judgment has come, witch. As ye have done so shall be done unto you!”

The chant changed and Keena suddenly stopped speaking, her eyes wide. She staggered as a great force slammed into her, and then she sagged, dropping towards the mud as darkness closed in around her.

To be continued…

(It’s almost finished!!)

Dark Story – Part 12

(Originally from October 2007)

 

This is a study in free flow writing. It may not make sense when it’s finished. Oh well.

**Mature content warning**

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They ran. Querin quickly outdistanced her and soon disappeared amongst the cluster of houses and horrified villagers.  Keena paused on the edge of the town, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, still unused to the old, feeble body. Her eyes swept the scene spread before her. Flames curled up into the dark night and belched out clouds of inky smoke to help block the already cloud shrouded moon.

Thunder rumbled over head, and she instinctively looked up at the boiling clouds. The smell of the coming storm was drown out by the odor of burning wood and thatch, but she could feel it neither the less.

Forcing herself to move, she reached the first house just as the heavens opened up and began to pour rain like the torrential tears of the angels trying to save what remained of the poor village. But it was too little too late, and even as the water fell all around her, Keena could see the skeletal, charred remains of most of the town still smoldering or burning with flames too stubborn to die.

In the town square she found the bodies. Three dead wolves lay in pools of blood, twisted and contorted in agony. Their stomachs were ripped opened as if something had climbed out of them and was now loosed upon the world. Fear filled her as she remembered Querin’s words about demons and gateways. There would have been a time when she would have dismissed the words as ignorant superstition but in the last two years she had seen enough to believe him.

She moved through what had every appearance of a war zone. Here and there lay the abandoned bodies of villagers, limbs torn and wounds gouged into their pale flesh. The narrow streets grew sloppy with mud, water, blood and ashes. They mixed into a substance that sucked at her feet. Thick, acrid smoke curled from fires that the rain had extinguished, choking her and stinging her eyes.  She had nearly reached the site of her old home when something large and red came bearing down on her, arms waving as if swooped low on giant bat wings; a creature so completely wreathed in living flame that it seemed to be made of fire.

A scream tore from her throat and she searched vainly for a place to hide from what was most certainly one of the demons Querin had mentioned.  Turning, she ran headlong down the street, her sodden skirt clenched in her hands, but it tackled her from behind, knocking her face first into the ground. Mud sprayed over her face, coated he eyelashes and filled her mouth. She sputtered and spit out the foul tasting substance. Then, she tried to stand, but the weight of the thing was too much for her to shake off.

She closed her eyes,. There was only blackness behind her eyes. With a shuddering breath, she prepared herself for impending death, but instead of pain she felt the weight suddenly lifted from her back. She blinked and slowly rolled over, gasping as she saw the thing hovering above her still, it’s large wings beating a hot wind in her upturned face.

They stared at one another, this creature whose eyes burned her soul like the heart of the sun, and what appeared to be a small, withered old woman. Finally, releasing a howling call that rent the night, the burning creature flew up and away from her and towards its brothers.

She lay in the mud, staring at the spot it had vacated, incomprehension her only accompaniment. The cold rain continued to fall, and finally it woke her from her state of semi-shock. She needed to move.

To be continued…..

(This is the story that never ends…)

Dark Story – Part 11

(Originally from October 2007)

 

This is a study in free flow writing. It may not make sense when it’s finished. Oh well.

**Mature content warning**

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Querin continued to chant, and the writhing wolves began to change.  It was slow,  almost imperceptible at first, but as Keena watched she could see their legs and torsos lengthening and their heads changing shape. As the strange mutation continued, it gained in speed, rapidly bringing the creatures to their new shape until the space as no longer filled with whining wolves but screaming men.

Keena stared dumbfounded at the changes before her, noting with an almost surprising amount of horror that the dark wolf had changed into none other than the mysteriously returned Torick. He threw his hands over his face, trying to shield his eyes, screaming for Eseldra – who didn’t come.

The men nearest to Querin shrieked louder, and tendrils of smoke curled up from their skin. Dark spots, like bruise colored flowers, blossomed on them. They clutched at themselves, howling in their agony, as Querin’s voice grew louder and more forceful, no doubt  commanding them to die.

At the last Keena had to look away, unable to watch their demise. She covered her ears to drown out their death screams, but nothing she did could block the sound. She shuddered noticeably. Tears stung her clenched eyes as the men died. Torick’s  voice rose above the others as he continued to desperately scream for his wife.

The last echoes of his agonized voice died away, and Keena opened her eyes in time to see the golden light wink out, leaving the woods in blackness and silence.  Unable to resist she drew forward.   Querin surveyed the bodies that lay scattered at his feet, each one black and charred, their features and limbs twisted to reflect the  agonized frenzy they had died in.  Her eyes were drawn towards the darkened figure of what had once been her uncle, his burned mouth still opened, silently screaming for she who had abandoned him.

Querin was soon at her side, his hand on her shoulder. “Come, we have not finished yet.”

She nodded slowly and let him lead her away from the carnage, her head bowed.

As if reading her thoughts Querin spoke calmly, soothingly. “They were no longer human, but something else. Possessed by dark demons that gave them the power to take the shape of wolves. They would have taken the entire village in a bath of blood to complete their spell and free themselves of the demon’s gift.”

Her voice was a barely audible whisper, stating things even she wanted to ignore, “But if they wanted free then weren’t they still human inside?”

He took a moment to answer. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it was the demon’s wish for freedom that drove them. They only like to be trapped inside a mortal body so long and then they want released into the world. They cannot break through the membrane that separates our plains alone, they must use a vessel, a living body as a gateway. Had we left them they would have devoured the village and then the demons would have been released from their prisons of flesh to roam the earth and cause death and destruction.”

She nodded again and fell silent, though it was hard to agree while  the memory of Torick’s screams reverberated in her ears, reiterating the humanity he’d still possessed.

Keena had to stop and rest more than once, but Querin was patient with her, always using it as an opportunity to scout ahead in search of Eseldra and the three wolves that had escaped him.  They saw and heard the village before they reached it. A low orange glow in the thickly clouded sky told them of fire, while the echoing screams spoke of an attack.

To be continued….

(It’s Eseldra’s fault this isn’t ending… her and her escaping…. damn her….)

Dark Story – Part 10

(Originally from October 2007)

 

This is a study in free flow writing. It may not make sense when it’s finished. Oh well.

**Mature content warning**

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Eseldra’s chanting grew louder and more frenzied, as did the wolves. They continued to circle her, each pausing now and again to let loose a howl towards the heavens.  Querin’s scowl deepened as he listened to her twisted words, and finally, as her voice reached its highest pitch, he cautioned Keena to stay silent and then flung himself from the dark trees  into the midst of the wild animals.

The wolves bristled and snarled at his sudden, intrusive presence, but Eseldra did not stop her chanting.Her eyes narrowed in anger, but still she carried on.

“You will stop this!” Querin cried, holding out his clenched fist and peeling back his fingers slowly to reveal the shimmering silver crystal he’d used with mixed success earlier in the day.

The dark wolf at Eseldra’s side reared up on it’s haunches, growling fiercely, but she showed no awareness of Querin’s threat. Her voice continued to rise and fall, though the words seemed to come faster, so perhaps she was not so blind as she seemed.

Keena stood alone in the trees,  her eyes large and filled with fear. Her heart hammered in her chest and her fingers, now old and withered, dug painfully into the bark of the tree she clung to.  She watched as Querin held the crystal skyward, twisting his wrist so that it caught the moonlight. The crystal seemed to glow silvery blue, refracting the moon’s light all around the clearing in shimmering beams that had no effect on anyone. Or at least it didn’t seem to at first; but slowly she noticed a change not in the witch nor the wolves, but in Querin himself. He seemed to get taller, larger somehow, and yet she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light. And that’s when she realized, despite what he’d said to her earlier, he was now chanting.

Her mind reeled. Perhaps he truly was on Eseldra’s side….. She took a sharp breath and stepped backwards, unaware of the snapping twig beneath her foot. Though she did not hear her own movements, the wolves were suddenly  aware of her presence.  Three of them broke from the pack, ignoring the man in their midst, and loped towards her place of concealment.

Eyes wild, she backed away, her head snapping in all directions in search of a hiding place or escape amongst the dark underbrush. Her sapped limbs trembled, betraying her in her time of need. All she could do was back up against a large tree as the wolves headed towards her.

And then the world exploded in golden light that illuminated the trees like noon. She threw her am up to shield her eyes from the sudden onslaught, her ears filled with the whining of he wolves and Eseldra’s cries. Blinking against the brightness, she watched the three wolves turn from her and run deeper into the darkened woods to seek shelter.

Querin’s voice rose, filling the void left by the cessation of her aunt’s chanting. His words were as garbled and strange as hers had been.  As he gained volume, Keena slowly moved towards him, shielding er face from the uncannily bight light.

Querin stood in the center of the clearing, still clutching the moon drenched crystal in one hand. In the other, he held aloft a golden crystal that glowed with he intensity of the sun. Several of the wolves lay at his feet, rolling in the dirt and whining, unable to escape him or the light that burned their eyes and flesh as they cried.

Eseldra was nowhere to be seen, but she had left behind the large black wolf who, like his brothers, was caught in the mercilessly scorching glow. He whimpered and his head jerked desperately, perhaps searching for the woman who had been next to him only moments ago.

To be continued….

(this is the story that doesn’t end….)

Dark Story – Part 9

(Originally from October 2007)

 

This is a study in free flow writing. It may not make sense when it’s finished. Oh well.

**Mature content warning**

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Querin murmured to himself as he examined the remnants of the previous night’s ritual,. He shook his head as he knelt over the charred remains of the child in the midst of the circle. With one finger he prodded the ashes, and then stood,  his expression veiled.

“It is an uncommon spell,” he said, breaking the strange silence.  “But a strong one. See here,” He pointed to one of the designs on the floor. “This line, it is used to take strength from another, from the sacrificial victim.” He glanced at her and then back to the markings. “The babe was naught more than a minor offering. You were the true sacrifice.” He motioned to another line. “This one, it connects to the victim. No doubt you stood in this area here?” He indicated the spot she’d been only last night.

She nodded, not trusting  herself to speak. She wasn’t sure how to react to the knowledge that her aunt had planned to use her, though the question entered her mind: How long had she planned this ? Had it been on her mind the moment she’d stumbled out of the woods and sealed herself up in her house? Had she always meant it to end this way?

The thoughts made her shiver, but she left them unspoken and soon she and Querin were once again beneath the moon’s soft light, only this time their destination was the darkened woods. Keena hesitated for only a moment before plunging into the thick blackness of the trees, following in Querin’s wake.

The branches of trees seemed to claw at them as they wound through the forest. The brambles caught at their clothes as if trying to stop them. An unwholesome feeling permeated the closely seated trees and underbrush that gave them both goose bumps, though neither spoke of it.

A wolf howled in the distance and Querin drew to a stop. He caught her with an arm and motioned her to silence.  He nodded towards the sound of the wolf and then moved towards it, though slower and quieter this time. As they drew nearer, the  howling grew louder and louder.  It was with great trepidation that Keena continued o follow Querin’s lead. Silently, she questioned his motives and the truthfulness of his account of himself.  Perhaps he was allied with Eseldra and was leading her  into the woods  so that her aunt could finish what she had begun..

Her musings came to an abrupt halt, as did they, when a clearing came into view. In the center of it stood Eseldra, her long red hair flowing around her naked shoulders, her bare arms raised to the heavens as she chanted in that strange, harsh language she’d used in her last ritual. At her feet were gathered a pack of wolves, milling around one another, jostling for a position close to her. At her side sat a large, dark wolf who eyed the others with what amounted to disdain, his fur bristling.

“It is as I thought,” Querin whispered, reaching inside his cloak and removing something. “This will not be easy.”

To be continued…..

(He’s right! This thing is not easy to end! Yergh!)

Dark Story – Part 8

(Originally from October 2007)

 

This is a study in free flow writing. It may not make sense when it’s finished. Oh well.

**Mature content warning**

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Time passed. Querin made them both something to eat. When they’d finished, he produced a silver crystal that shimmered in the firelight and bade her hold it while he chanted something in a language she didn’t understand. When he finally stopped she felt better, but looked no different.  He studied her before shaking his head and muttering about how strong her aunt’s magic must be.

When they emerged from the small house, the burning sun was sinking into a sea of red fire. As they moved through the village, Querin nodded in greeting to someone here or there, but they remained silent.  The Inn was bustling with activity and they entered it and took a table in the dark corner, away from prying eyes.

Querin ordered food for them both, and while they ate they watched their fellow patrons.  Eseldra and Torin made no appearance throughout the meal, nor afterwards.

“It seems we shall have to go hunt for them,” Querin said wryly, finishing his mug of ale in one gulp

“And where do we look?” Keena hissed from beneath her hooded cloak, her face hidden from the other customers.

“I’d suggest the site of the ritual,” he answered mater of fact, his voice low. “If that fails I suspect the woods. Tonight is the full moon, is it not?”

She nodded her head in affirmation and then they stood slowly. Querin dropped a few coins on the table and they left the noisy inn and soon the small town. They walked down a narrow tract under a black sky strewn with glittering stars. An owl hooted in the dark trees and Keena shivered at the all too familiar setting. Only the dead babe was missing.

The house came into view just as the moon broke free from the clouds.  It stood as imposing and dark as it had the night before. The same eerie feeling of something unnatural clung to the property, and filled the air withl a palpable unease.

Keena lead him through the front door, past dark, empty rooms, and finally down the winding stone stair to the rooms below the house. She showed him the intricate designs painted on the floor with whitewash and crows blood, and the cauldron that had been simmering only the night before, now cold, it’s contents thick and oily looking. But nowhere amongst the shadows did they find a trace of Eseldra or her husband.

To be continued….

(one has to hope it is winding up soon…)

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