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 – 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, lungs straining in a vice against my ribcage. 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 a sticky scent. A pungently sour wave pours over the walls and fills my nostrils – the metallic, rusty iron 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 stagger toward the open doorway. Clop step, clop step, until I reach the door. Staring into the empty hallway, I feel the pull from beyond. I strain to close the immense door, the wood scraping against the stone floor as it swings shut. I secure the heavy iron latch, self-imprisoned once again. I rest my forehead against the door, sweat soaking into the wood.  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.   

……………………………………………..

She lays motionless in a bed of dried leaves at the base of a sturdy willow that towers high into the night’s sky. She’d been there for hours, but time was measured in silent breaths. Her limbs numb, molded and stuck in dried blood that had soaked into the autumn foliage. 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 dared not move and break the silence that protected her until now, waiting warily for the first glint of daylight through the trees. He had chased her away in the night – chased her off before IT came. She didn’t understand. He screamed at her to go, to run and never look back. She didn’t want to leave him. He wailed at her protests, forcing her retreat. And still it came for her.   

She glances down at her arm, bloodied and flesh-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 clotted. 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 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 hung limp in her lap. Her eyes scanned the forest while she slowed her breathing. The unsettling stillness hung in the damp air. She needed to move. She would not survive out here for much longer. Methodically, she shifted a leg up underneath herself, poised to attempt to stand. She leaned forward, slowly exhaling while mustering the courage to rise. She paused – her mind asking, Have I waited long enough? Is IT still there? 

She pressed her good arm into the soil, and rose to her knees. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, she braced once again. With an exhaustive push, she stood. Her body swayed, and she leaned against the willow for support while she collected her breath. Where is the dawn? she thought. From the shadows came a reply. A wall of darkness swept toward her, enveloping the forest. The world folded around her as the nothing approached. She closed her eyes once more, yielding to the night. The leaves scattered around her, parting in a pathway and the wind crept forward and whispered in her ear, “Goodbye.”

Her eyes popped open as IT closed in. A blood curdling scream echoed though the highlands. And there was silence once again. 

……………………………………………..

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 damned 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. 

……………………………………………

The carriage wheels rattle-cracked over the frosted ground, bouncing through muddy ruts as the horses panted and pulled. Lanterns hanging from each side of the wagon bounced and swayed illuminating the pathway just enough. Two men rode atop on a weathered bench driving the empty wagon. The inspector, an aged brick of a man, commanded the horses. From beneath his overgrown handlebar moustache, he grit his teeth and snapped the reins with fury. Seated to his right, a constable 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. The young officer worked to feign courage, but the crackling in his voice betrayed him when he spoke.  

“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 reins with a bellowing “Woooo,” bringing the carriage to an abrupt halt as 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.

Again, the inspector ignored the inquiry. He climbed the granite steps to the doors - large oak panels, some seven-feet high, framed in black steel with gargoyle knockers. One door sat ajar, cracked open just a squeeze. The inspector knelt down, a small piece of fabric caught in a splinter of wood along the doorframe catching his eye. He pulled the tatter of silk and held it to the light.

She WAS here, he thought.

The inspector pocketed the fabric and grunted to stand back up. He took a moment, rallying courage as he pressed on the cold handle and forced the door open. The hinges groaned, rust crackling. The door squealed giving way, swinging wide - announcing their presence. 

…………………………………………..

A solitary tear streaks down my cheek as I 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 for her eventually. 

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 mind returns to Emily. I can see her angelic face, the freckles on her cheeks, the way she smiled in her sleep. And then I feel IT coming, and the memory turns to ash. My body shivers, almost convulsing. 

……………………………………………..

The constable noticed first. After entering the estate, the world fell silent. The front door remained open but the entry carried no echo, no noise. He reached forward and touched the inspector’s shoulder.

“Sir,” he said.

The inspector panned the foyer from floor to ceiling, staring into the vacant shadows expecting something to reveal itself at any moment. A layer of dust coated the marbled tile and the inspector shuffled his feet forward as cautiously continued to scan the surroundings. 

A coupled scream erupted from outside, breaking the silence. The men spun on their heels stumbling over one another as they bolted for the door. 

“My goodness!” the constable exclaimed. 

At the head of the carriage, the horses violently thrashed at their harnesses, desperate to break free from the constraints. They reared on their hind legs, letting out torturous screams.

The men hurried down the stairs in an attempt to calm the beasts, but only made a few steps before an abrupt halt. The lanterns on the carriage began to glow a fiery green hue, brighter and brighter. The luminescence pulsated as the horses continued their fit. The inspector stepped back shielding the constable. The horses shook, rattling the entire carriage as the light expanded, blinding the men. A gurgling squeal erupted from the animals, followed by a nauseating crackle. The lanterns went out, washing the driveway in darkness and an abrupt silence. 

The men stood still, their eyes trying to readjust to the night. The lanterns relit themselves dimly, unfolding a grisly scene. 

“Dear God,” the constable exclaimed.

The horses lay on the ground, motionless, tangled in their harnesses. The inspector guardedly approached the animals.

“Stay there Higgins. Do not come forward.”

The constable waited obediently at the base of the manor steps. The inspector knelt down in the dirt 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 shook from the trance and stepped away from the carriage. 

The wind rose from the south, letting out a shriek. It tunneled toward the men, before the inspector bolted for the entry, dragging the constable with him.

“Run!”

The men frantically retreated up the steps, the force creeping on their heels. They spilled in the entryway and quickly slammed the doors shut.

The constable spoke softly, “God help us.”

The inspector shook his head. “We’re on our own.”

They shuffled through the foyer and surveyed the first floor. A layer of dust covered every square inch, signs of abandonment long ago. Doors to the parlor and sitting room remained shut, and the inspector continued toward the winding staircase that ascended to the second floor. He motioned the constable forward and guardedly climbed, each step moaning under weight. 

……………………………………………..

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 bares a boar’s head, a large gash split across its right eye, festering in maggots that fall from the ghastly wound. Its slender skeletal body, more human than animal, stands shrouded beneath a sage green cloak. It levitates higher, drifting toward the corner of the room. Flesh peels from bone running down the spirit’s legs, dripping off of hooved feet that show from beneath the cloak. It lets out a curdling shriek and the constable convulses in fear. The inspector raises the shotgun, letting a blast ring out at the wraith. There is a moment of silence as a cloud of black powder settles from the shot. The wraith hovers, unmoved, unaffected. 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 falls back, tripping over his heels, crashing to the ground. His shotgun slides across the stone floor out of reach. The spirit glows in the darkness, growing brighter and brighter, the light blinding. A deafening hum ramps up as the wraith charges at my floating 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.