Sample Writing

I wake, gasping for air, a bead of salty sweat across my brow. The silence of my bed chamber echoes on the stone walls. A shrill wind whistles through the open window as I struggle to pull my gimped leg over the edge of the bed to sit up. My collar is soaked, and the air sends chills the moment I pull the blanket off my chest. I look to my left and see the bed is empty, the sheets cold. I have been alone for some time – hours, perhaps days. Time flows as in a dream with no foundation. 

I wobble in a haze, thoughts lost before they translate to movement. My eyes open, but remain unfocused, fogged as I question whether I am truly awake. Rising slowly, I drag myself over to the window, the brace on my right leg scraping across the floor as it lags behind each hobbled step. The breeze cuts through my linen, and I welcome the discomfort for it reminds me that I am alive. I reach the limestone wall and perch myself against the window sill, staring at the retreating night’s sky. Stars fade, slowly yielding to the coming light. The vast expanse of the valley below remains shrouded in shadow with a forested black hole. My breathing remains shallow, labored, as I struggle to pull a deep breath. I choke on the frigid breeze and double over the ledge in a fit. The episode passes, and I straighten up and stare once again into the void. 

There, far out in the nothing, IT lurks. The wind shifts, pulling with it with a sticky scent. A pungently sour wave pours over the walls and fills my nostrils with the familiar stench of the distant darkness. I pinch my eyelids shut for there is nothing that I wish to see. I had prayed for the passing, prayed that IT would leave, that IT would leave me, finally. But IT remains, and so I am cursed to press on.

I lurch back to the edge of the bed and retrieve the creaky wooden crutch perched against the bedpost. Tucked under my calloused pit, the crutch strains as it takes my weight. I take one step toward the door and the wind slams it shut, the wood rattling against the frame. The latch clicks locked, and I am prisoner once again. Internally I wail, but no sound escapes my mouth. I don’t want this struggle any longer. I don’t want to feel the pull from beyond. I tell myself I can resist, that IT doesn’t control me. But false reassurances ring hollow in my soul. I know what I have become. I know how this will end.   

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She lays motionless in a bed of dried leaves at the base of a sturdy oak that towers high into the night’s sky. She’d been there for hours, but time was measured in silent breaths. Had she escaped or simply been left alone? She didn’t know. She dared not move and break the silence that protected until now, waiting cautiously for the first glint of daylight through the trees. She glances down at her arm, bloodied and torn. She’d wrapped her scarf around it as best she could in the moment, and the silk edges sealed in the makeshift bandage when the bleeding had finally ceased. She no longer felt any pain or throbbing. She no longer felt her arm at all. She tried to raise it, but her body produced no such response. Quietly shifting to her shifting to her side, she propped herself on an elbow and pulled her knees up slowly. 

The leaves crunched into the soft dirt and she paused. Nothing. No birds chirping. No insects buzzing. Just silence echoing through the branches. She scooted up against the tree sitting upright, while her dead arm hang limp in her lap. Her eyes scanned the forest while she slowed her breathing. The unsettling stillness hung in the damp air. A bead of icy sweat ran down her porcelain cheek. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin underneath the silky fabric of her ivory dress and knit shawl. 

She closed her eyes once more, thoroughly exhausted as a breeze scattered the leaves along the ground. The wind whispers, “Goodbye.”

Her eyes popped open as IT closed in. A blood curdling scream echoed though the highlands. 

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My soul is empty, lost long ago to a series of unfortunate decisions. I didn’t hear her desperate call, but I could sense it. I know she will be taken, another sacrifice, another victim to add to the collection. I am dammed without repentance. And who would be there to forgive a sinner, for my transgressions are a true abomination for which there is no penance? 

I gimp over to the table and pour wine into the stained chalice. I taste nothing, but the libations dull my senses and any distraction from reality is welcomed. I down the glass and pour another. Down that one, and pour one more reaching the bottom of the bottle. I crutch back to the bed, flopping down and spilling the last drops of wine on the sheets. I can feel IT coming. IT will come back, re-inhabit and leave me drained as it does. I feel the air shift, a whoosh of dark matter galloping forward, and I lay my head back and welcome death. My lip curls with a smile. 

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The carriage wheels rattle-cracked over the frosted ground, bouncing through muddy ruts as the driven horses panted and pulled. The Inspector grit his teeth and snapped the reigns with fury. The Constable seated next to him clutched his cap with one hand and held fast to the wooded bench with the other, hoping not to be thrown from the bounding wagon. 

“Why must we travel so early, sir?” the Constable asked.

The Inspector ignored the inquest, his focus fixed on navigating the pathway forward. Indeed, approaching in the dark was a risky proposition, but the Inspector wished to make haste. The road wound up a stony grass hill, a solitary gothic home looming from its plateau. The horses chuffed, pushing onwards. They passed under a wrought iron gate entering the threshold of Sheffield Estates. As the carriage neared the manor, the rocky driveway widened into a large cul-de-sac and the Inspector steered the draft horses around to the entry steps. He yarded on the reigns with a bellowing “Woooo,” bringing the carriage to an abrupt halt, and the horses bucked and relented. 

The Constable hopped down first, circling around to the front of the carriage. He pulled a revolver from his holster and waited for instructions. The Inspector paused, surveying the land and gazing across the exterior of the manor as if waiting for some grand reveal. He steadied the horses and climbed down, boots thudding as his large frame touched down onto the dirt. He pulled a shotgun from a side holster on the carriage and cocked the gun at the ready. 

“Be sharp,” he instructed without looking back to the constable.

“What lives here?” the Constable replied.

“Evil. Pure evil.”

The Inspector climbed the granite steps to the doors - large oak panels, some seven-feet high, framed in black steel with gargoyle knockers. He paused, rallying courage as he pressed on the cold handle and pushed the door open. The door whined and scraped against the entry floor announcing their arrival. 

……………...........................................

A solitary tear streaks down my cheek as a lay in bed. My breathing is shallow, the weight of the inevitable sitting on my chest. I can feel her life draining from afar, her pulse slowing as she slips away. I loved her so. Damn me for letting her get close. I wanted to warn her, wanted to keep her from IT. My selfish heart wanted to believe there was a chance that we could be together. But I knew IT would come eventually for we are entwined as one, and there is no escape in this life. 

The wind pours through the window, cackling with laughter. I shudder in its chill, clawing at a blanket. I want no more of this. Her cries from the forest have ceased, and I can feel she is gone. My love, my dearest Emily, gone forever. What have I done?

The morning light fails to break over the horizon, the darkness unwilling to release its grip on the coming day. Even the moon stands tall, peeking over the forested valley, framed low in the stone window. I hear the men in the foyer below, but make no attempt to move. They can do me no harm that I wouldn’t wish upon myself already. Their horses neigh from outside, sensing something sinister that they instinctually understand. 

I curl up and roll over, facing away from my chamber door. My body shivers, almost convulsing as I wait for the arrival.

………………...........................................

The Constable noticed first. After entering the estate, the world fell silent. The front doors remained open but the entry carried no echo, no noise whatsoever. He reached forward and touched the Inspectors shoulder.

“Sir. It is eerily quiet,” he said.

The Inspector panned the front room from floor to ceiling without response. A coupled scream erupted from outside, a tortured cry of agony that lasted but a moment. The men spun their heels stumbling over one another as they bolted for the door. 

“Dear God,” the Constable exclaimed.

The carriage horses lay on the ground, motionless, tangled in their harnesses. The Inspector pushed past the Constable, cautiously working down the steps approaching the animals. At the third step he stopped in his tracks.

“Stay there Higgins. Do not come forward.”

The Constable waited obediently in the doorway. The Inspector stepped close to the first horse and let out an audible gasp. Both horses lay dead, their necks snapped, contorted in a most vile manner. The Inspector struggled to look away at the horror, his mind unwilling to accept what his eyes were showing. 

He snapped from the trance and stepped away from the carriage. The Inspector climbed the entry steps and spoke softly to the Constable.

“From this point forward, we are on our own.”

“God help us,” the Constable replied.

“No. I assure you, God is not here.”

They moved through the foyer and surveyed the first floor. A layer of dust covered every square inch, signs of abandonment long ago. The men continued forward, senses heightened. A small gust of wind blew and the patio door swung open, banging against the wall. Higgins jumped.

“Dammit.” He put his hand over his heart, slowly catching his breath. 

“Look,” the Inspector pointed.

A set of parallel drag marks spanned from the patio’s exit back across the floor leading to and up the grand staircase. The Inspector crept toward the stairs and spied up the curving steps. He motioned the Constable forward and guardedly climbed the staircase, each step moaning under weight.

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I hear footsteps climbing the rickety steps and know there is nothing I can do to prevent what’s coming. Charcoal clouds roll across the sky and the room dims in shadow. I tremble in a fetal position, a drumming beat pulsing in my head. 

“No more!” I scream, throwing the blanket from my body, tears streaming down my face.

The Inspector hammers on the door from outside.

“Open up in the name of the law!”

“Do not enter,” I warn him.

The men wail on the door, banging at the stubborn latch until the hardware splinters free. The door bursts open and they rush into the room, guns forward. I make no movement, laying there as they circle around to either side of the bed. 

The Inspector steadies his shotgun at me. 

“Rise sir. You are coming with us.”

My fists are balled tight, knuckles white, covering my face.

“You need to leave this unholy place,” I reply quietly. “In the name of God, leave now and do not return.”

“I’m afraid we cannot do that,” the Inspector says.

“So be it.”

The wind howls coming from all sides, filling the still air with a fog of death. The men look around for explanation as the room darkens further. A floating red glow from the valley outside rides the wind toward the bedroom window. Slipping through in a shadowy mist, a wraith appears, floating in the bedroom chamber. The apparition lets out a curdling shriek and the Constable convulses in fear. The Inspector lets a shot ring out at the shadow, and the wraith dodges the blast, floating upward to the corner of the room. It raises a bony finger pointing toward me, and my body rises from the bed, levitating off the mattress in a crucified pose. 

The Inspector reflexively steps back, tripping over his heels and falling hard to the floor, shotgun slipping from his grip across the stone floor. The spirit glows in the darkness, growing brighter and brighter, the light blinding. The room ramps up in a deafening hum as the wraith charges at the hovering body, slamming into me, inhabiting my figure, taking control. 

“I am sorry,” I say, just before the light goes out and my eyes roll over black.