This week's topic for GBE is confounding me.
Do I go literal and talk about where I was a year ago? Not in a good place, but I'm not much better now so do I keep beating that dead horse?
Poem? Nah, would just be dark and cryptic anyway. Fiction? Eh, haven't written any fiction since almost.....a year ago! There we go. A re-post!
But a re-post....isn't that lame? Admitting that you can't come up with anything new and original?
Eh, fuck it. Deal with my re-post.
Ok, it's stretching the "one year ago" topic a wee bit cos I posted this on October 28, 2010 on my old [now deleted] Myspace blog but it's close enough. It's almost Fall, and the store I work at already has Halloween decorations up. But it literally was the last piece of fiction I tried to write so, without further ado.....
A Spooky Graveyard, originally posted for BFF (Blogging For Fun)
An eerie mist spread over the cemetary as the shadows of the trees lengthened in the twilight. All was quiet except for the muffled footsteps of the last visitors, walking quickly back to their cars before it got too dark to see. All except one.
The man had come earlier that afternoon, laid down in front of his late love's grave, coat bundled under his head as a pillow, and proceeded to talk to her as if she were right beside him. He chatted about the comings and goings of his life, what he'd had for lunch that day and how the waiter had been rude. After the mundane topics were covered he poured his heart out to her about how much he missed her, how unhappy his life was and how he didn't know how he was going to continue this way. Tears streamed down his face and fell onto the dry leaves underneath him.
"If only I could join you, wherever you are," he whispered, "I'd be content." With that thought, he closed his eyes and dreamed of her face.
He awoke with a start a few hours later, noting that he was laying in complete darkness, the only light coming from the moon shining through the mist. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep in a cemetary....and he was sure the sound that had woken him up was something to be wary of.
He sat up and cautiously looked around. Were the gates locked, would he even be able to get out? He supposed he could scale the fence if it came down to it....or maybe there's a night watchman somewhere around. As he was contemplating his situation, he heard the sound again....a groaning, shuffleing was coming right from underneath him.
An absurd thought of a mole trying to get out passed his mind and he nervously chuckled....for surely it's a mole. Or some other burrowing critter. Yes, of course, it must be, for the alternative was impossible. He refused to allow his mind to dwell on the alternative....better not let the old imagination start running wild!
But the sounds kept coming, more clear and more frequently. His fight or flight response was starting to kick in and his mind was screaming at him to get the hell out of here, now! But he sat rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear, and with a stubborn need to prove to himself that it really was a mole and that he was just being silly. Surely he'd be laughing about this with his friends down the pub once it was over. Just sit here and wait, there's nothing to fear!
But now he heard another noise, like footsteps walking towards him. He looked up and saw a figure cloaked in black, a hood obscuring its face. It stopped right in front of the man and stood looking down at him, his breath coming in soft hisses. It spoke, and the man felt a stab of menacing fear go through his heart.
"I heard your request, and have come to grant it," the figure intoned in a voice that sounded as if its throat was filled with gravel.
The man sat staring, dumbfounded, for stuff like this doesn't happen in real life, only in cheap horror films! What the hell is going on here? Just then he not only heard, but felt something move underneath him. He started in fright and tried to roll off to the side but as he moved something punched out of the ground and held tight to his forearm....his late love's decayed hand showed blue in the moonlight.
The man screamed and screamed until he felt he would drown in the sound as the hand pulled him down toward the gaping hole that was becoming larger by the second. He felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest as he tried to wrench his arm out of the deadly grasp; he saw the black figure point at him in condemnation and as he did so a bright light came flying towards his face. "Noooooo!" the man screamed, violently fighting to be free.....
He came to and realized that the night watchman was standing over him, shaking his arm trying to get him to wake up, his flashlight pointed at the man's face. "Come along now mate, t'place closed hours ago. Ye got t'leave now, shhh, stop shouting! Ye like t'wake the dead if ye keep carryin on like that, come on now...."
The man sat up and looked at the ground; no hole. No decayed hand. He looked around; no cloaked black figure. His sleep-terrified mind was racing to catch up; he stared at the night watchman, confusion written all over his face. "There's a lad now, ye've jus' had a wee drop too many I reckon, get up and le's get ye on yer way....say mate, you alrigh'?" The watchman looked down at the man's white face with concern.
"Yeah....I think so," he said. "It must have just been a dream," he added under his breath. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and slowly stood up. He followed the night watchman through the winding paths towards the front gate, which the watchman unlocked for him. "Take care mate, no 'arms been done, ye get along 'ome now," the watchman said kindly.
The man had come earlier that afternoon, laid down in front of his late love's grave, coat bundled under his head as a pillow, and proceeded to talk to her as if she were right beside him. He chatted about the comings and goings of his life, what he'd had for lunch that day and how the waiter had been rude. After the mundane topics were covered he poured his heart out to her about how much he missed her, how unhappy his life was and how he didn't know how he was going to continue this way. Tears streamed down his face and fell onto the dry leaves underneath him.
"If only I could join you, wherever you are," he whispered, "I'd be content." With that thought, he closed his eyes and dreamed of her face.
He awoke with a start a few hours later, noting that he was laying in complete darkness, the only light coming from the moon shining through the mist. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep in a cemetary....and he was sure the sound that had woken him up was something to be wary of.
He sat up and cautiously looked around. Were the gates locked, would he even be able to get out? He supposed he could scale the fence if it came down to it....or maybe there's a night watchman somewhere around. As he was contemplating his situation, he heard the sound again....a groaning, shuffleing was coming right from underneath him.
An absurd thought of a mole trying to get out passed his mind and he nervously chuckled....for surely it's a mole. Or some other burrowing critter. Yes, of course, it must be, for the alternative was impossible. He refused to allow his mind to dwell on the alternative....better not let the old imagination start running wild!
But the sounds kept coming, more clear and more frequently. His fight or flight response was starting to kick in and his mind was screaming at him to get the hell out of here, now! But he sat rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear, and with a stubborn need to prove to himself that it really was a mole and that he was just being silly. Surely he'd be laughing about this with his friends down the pub once it was over. Just sit here and wait, there's nothing to fear!
But now he heard another noise, like footsteps walking towards him. He looked up and saw a figure cloaked in black, a hood obscuring its face. It stopped right in front of the man and stood looking down at him, his breath coming in soft hisses. It spoke, and the man felt a stab of menacing fear go through his heart.
"I heard your request, and have come to grant it," the figure intoned in a voice that sounded as if its throat was filled with gravel.
The man sat staring, dumbfounded, for stuff like this doesn't happen in real life, only in cheap horror films! What the hell is going on here? Just then he not only heard, but felt something move underneath him. He started in fright and tried to roll off to the side but as he moved something punched out of the ground and held tight to his forearm....his late love's decayed hand showed blue in the moonlight.
The man screamed and screamed until he felt he would drown in the sound as the hand pulled him down toward the gaping hole that was becoming larger by the second. He felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest as he tried to wrench his arm out of the deadly grasp; he saw the black figure point at him in condemnation and as he did so a bright light came flying towards his face. "Noooooo!" the man screamed, violently fighting to be free.....
He came to and realized that the night watchman was standing over him, shaking his arm trying to get him to wake up, his flashlight pointed at the man's face. "Come along now mate, t'place closed hours ago. Ye got t'leave now, shhh, stop shouting! Ye like t'wake the dead if ye keep carryin on like that, come on now...."
The man sat up and looked at the ground; no hole. No decayed hand. He looked around; no cloaked black figure. His sleep-terrified mind was racing to catch up; he stared at the night watchman, confusion written all over his face. "There's a lad now, ye've jus' had a wee drop too many I reckon, get up and le's get ye on yer way....say mate, you alrigh'?" The watchman looked down at the man's white face with concern.
"Yeah....I think so," he said. "It must have just been a dream," he added under his breath. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and slowly stood up. He followed the night watchman through the winding paths towards the front gate, which the watchman unlocked for him. "Take care mate, no 'arms been done, ye get along 'ome now," the watchman said kindly.
The man thanked him, and went through the gate. Instinct made him turn round and look back towards the spot where he had lain.....he could just make out the faint outline of a figure cloaked in black, looking back at him.
