Halloween Week Story 5

Author’s Note: This was actually my submission for this years “Last Line” issue but it didn’t get in so I’m posting it here instead.

Snake Eyes

The whole room fell silent, eyes shooting towards Elizabeth. Burning questions glazed over their pupils but fear paralyzed their bodies.

The words kept tumbling from her painted black lips, stumbling over one another like raindrops melting together into a thin stream. Nonsensical syllables echoing around the room, merging with those of a voice that sounded almost identical to her own.

In the doorway stood a woman in a short black dress with flowing lace sleeves. The straps of her sandals snaked up her legs, matched in length by her curly auburn hair. Large blue eyes shone from a pale freckled face, separated by a thin nose. Her voice escaped low and harsh, incongruent to her soft pink lips and gentle features.

She took a step forward, eyes transfixed on her nearly identical twin. The people around her shifted uncomfortably, shrinking towards the wall as though she carried the plague on her slender shoulders.

Elizabeth raised her voice, surging through the crowd that parted like the Red Sea. She commanded the room in a way nobody else could, immediately drawing the attention back to her. Several people dropped their drinks as they saw the transformation inching across her skin.

Scales grew to replaced the short white hairs covering her limbs. Black as night they covered her entire body as her eyes rolled back into her head, leaving pure white orbs in place of her cyan irises. Instead of words her tongue now spewed hissing noises, low and soft and threatening. A dark aura followed her as she approached the door, seeping into the flowered wallpaper and wine-stained oak floors.

Both froze as the clanging of church bells outside invaded the room, crawling in from the doors and windows. The room fell deathly quiet.

Then the lights went out.

Nobody dared to move. Not a soul spoke. Eyes roamed in the dark, searching for the slightest movement where the two had stood.

Elizabeth and her twin stood outlined by the dim moonlight seeping in from the windows. Seconds ticked by as neither moved, still as statues.

Then, as though propelled by an invisible force, Elizabeth lurched forward, arms outstretched towards the other figure. The two moved too fast for eyes to follow, squirming on the ground. Elizabeth appeared to remain on top, legs locked tightly around the small waist of her counterpart. Her arms moved in sharp, blurry jabs, the silver watch around her wrist reflecting the pallor of the moonlight.

A scream broke the silence for only a second before almost instantly melting into a low gurgle then dying completely.

Only then did the lights return, revealing a pale Elizabeth with snow white skin and blue eyes straddling the lifeless body of an enormous black snake with dull copper scales atop its head.

Elizabeth stood, inky blue blood dripping from her hands. She looked around at the frightened, judgemental eyes of the people she had once considered friends and knew with a gut-wrenching certainty she would never fit in with them again.  

It was hard to accept that from now on everyone would look at her differently.

From Heads Unworthy (ONE SHOT)

A/N: I didn’t make an informational post for this one because it’s a one shot. It’s loosely inspired by the song “From Heads Unworthy” by Rise Against (one of my absolute favorite songs by this amazing band). It has a very secret meaning behind it even though it’s a fantasy setting and more or less a fantasy story. See if you can guess what it is and let me know in the comments below! Thanks for reading; see you next week! 😉

They stand in a perfect line before the massive grey structure– shoulder to shoulder with their weapons clutched tightly in their small hands. They glare at the castle with all the contempt they can muster in their identical violet eyes.

Their leader stands in the middle, just a hair taller yet thrice as jaded. He was the first.

The girl on his right with the invisible arms and the missing mouth is the last– they’re going to make sure of that.

The leader takes a step forward, leaving his physical body behind. It crumples to the ground in his absence.

He walks up to the gate, hesitating for a moment before continuing through it.

A lever sits across from him, raised and latched into place. The lever is connected to a mechanism of gears and chains creating pulleys that control the gate keeping them out.

Concentrating every ounce of energy from his ephemeral body into his hand, he reaches for the lever. He hovers only a millimeter above the iron handle, slowly moving downward and bringing the lever with him.

The steel gate rises slowly. He walks back to his group and straight into his physical body. It perks up between the two girls holding him and slowly returns to a standing position.

One by one the group follows him silently into the castle courtyard. Their footsteps on the grey concrete echo against the walls, bouncing to their deaf ears.

A hundred eyes look up at the tallest tower, scanning the single window for movement. A light flickers from the darkness within, seemingly sporadic yet they know what it means. All of them had seen that light.

He is making another one.

They don’t have much time left.

The oldest runs ahead toward the tall door that leads to the tower. The others scatter, clinging to the walls to avoid being seen by him should he move to the window.

One of them, a girl who had been made only a few months ago, walks up to the leader, standing tall beside him. She waits for the boy to acknowledge her before using her six arms and four legs to scale the tower at a speed not unlike a spider.

She stops beside the window, white hair swaying in the slight breeze.

With one of her six arms, she detaches her right eye. The wind whistles in her hollow head, entering through her eye socket and exiting by her ears. She places it at the corner of the window, wedging the small orb into place with little regards for sanitation.

Down below, the other children close their own eyes, using hers to see into the room.

His back is hunched as he stands before a large table. Smoke fills the area above his head but he hardly seems to notice as he reaches for a large sawlike tool. It disappears the moment his hand makes contact with it, probably reappearing somewhere they couldn’t see.

Before him, mostly concealed by his ample frame, is a small, thin body only half formed and white as frost.

He is making another one.

All 23 of them open their eyes simultaneously. The spider girl removes her eye and places it back in her head, dropping to the ground without making a single sound.

With the tallest boy in the lead, the children storm the door to the tower. The sky above them watches their movements, preparing to mourn the loss of their existence as the last one, the second youngest boy, disappears through the door. The grey clouds release their tears as they come to the realization that the children will never be seen again.

The steps beneath their feet are made of the same monochromatic concrete as the courtyard. One child, somewhere between a boy and a girl with a half formed face, flies above the rest, floating weightlessly in the air because they can’t walk like the rest.

Wind whistles through the cracks in the stone walls. It blows past their skinny legs and winds itself around their toes. They cannot feel the coldness of the heartless gale.

They cannot feel anything.

Step after step they climb, each set of footsteps in perfect unison. The same expression lies etched on each of their pale faces: fear, desperation; hopelessness becoming the most prominent of all for each knew their fate.

A door appears at the top of the stairs. The cold white light reflects off the deep red surface, casting crimson shadows across the faces of the leader and the spider girl.

They know that color far too well but it did not bring them comfort this time and never would again. Their crimson sanctuary had been snatched away from them far too soon, each of them sent into a world in which they could not survive.

Their leader pushes open the door, leading the children into his room.

He stands at the same table they had seen him at. On the grey steel surface lies another one of them: the latest one. Her eyes will never open because they had not been given enough time to form.

He knows that, which is why he weeps for them. He cries the tears she never will. He feels the pain she never will. He breathes the air the girl never will.

One by one the children line up before him, marching in the same unison as they had up the stairs. They have to stop him before he makes more of them. That is their mission.

Purple eyes fixate on him.

He looks up.

The wall stares back at him. His reflection bounces off the window and comes back to him. He looks distraught as usual. The same sunken, bloodshot eyes with the deep bags drawn below them. The perpetual frown sewn through his pale pink lips.

The new girl descends from the table and joins the purple-eyed children, instantly welcomed into their ranks. They had not wanted her but she has no other place to go.

They understand that.

His tears continue to fall upon the cold, lifeless corpse as he laments over what he had done.

Another life ended before it could begin.

With one final sob he looks up at the children of his profession.

The children he could not see and never would again.

The children that were not there.

And never would be.

Ash

On sunny winter mornings like this, the snowy hills seem to shimmer in the pure white light. The small flakes dance over each other, letting the wind form soft waves in the once smooth ground.

I take a long, slow sip of coffee, letting the bitter liquid trickle down my throat and warm my shivering body.

The grandfather clock chimes loudly in the hallway, announcing the start of a new hour. It’s haunting call combined with the caffeine pushes sleep from my mind.

My eyes trace the faded horizon, searching the world she deserted. The white-capped mountains provide no solace for my aching loneliness.

It’s been three months yet I still listen for her voice on the other end of the phone. My ears search for her soft breathing mingling with mine in the quiet nights. My eyes long for her smile, soft and sweet, wordlessly communicating every secret in the word to me alone.

My heart continues to beat despite the silence of hers. Its rhythmic thumps echo through the house, bouncing off the walls in search of the other drummer.

The chair across from me sits cold and empty, shivering without her warmth. Her grey sweater remains draped across that chair where she had left it, collecting dust. Her place mat is empty, no longer requiring dishes or silverware. There’s nobody left to sit there anymore.

The ticking of the grandfather clock grows louder and louder, beating its way into my eardrums. It rattles in my head, suffocating my thoughts. Tick tock tick tock tick tock; an endless pattern.

Back and forth back and forth she would rock when she was anxious. She’d stand across from me, rocking back and forth on her heels after asking a question; waiting for my answer.

The air thickens. Dust. Pollution. The stench of black coffee. The mixture coats my lungs, closing in.

I stand, letting my chair fall away behind me. The sound it might’ve made as it hit the ground is drowned by the ticking of the grandfather clock.

Tick tock tick tock.

I walk to the door.

Tick tock tick tock.

Grab my coat.

Tick tock tick tock.

Shoes.

Tick tock tick tock.

The screech of rusty door hinges.

Tick tock tick tock.

The loud bang of the door slamming shut.

Silence.

Cold, bright silence.

The cement porch beneath my feet. The sun above my head. The frigid wind nipping at my coat. Snowflakes crashing into my pants. Thin pinpricks of ice stabbing my hands.

My mind is silent. I cannot conjure a single thought to keep me company. Only her face, appearing before my eyes in the blizzard. Her small smile dancing in the wind. Her emerald eyes gazing into mine.

She steps down from the porch steps, wearing the short dress with the sunflower pattern across the bodice and the blue, ruffled bottom.

I follow.

She prances through the snow, carefree and happy. Her feet float over the mounds of flakes, never even grazing the surface.

Mine sink straight through.

She heads toward the shed.

I follow, reaching out to touch her, to confirm the reality of her appearance.

She remains one step ahead, disappearing through the flimsy, uninsulated oak door. My eyes long for her to return.

My fingers make contact with the rough, sanded surface and I stumble into the small room. My eyes search the dim space, longing for even just a glimpse of her silver hair.

The empty worktables stare back at me, littered with tools and unfinished projects. The birdhouse we had begun sits in front of me, an incomplete box with no lid.

I reach out to touch it, placing my hand where hers had once been and waiting for the tears to come.

They never do. My eyes remain dry and tired, burning in their sockets with the fire my sorrow created.

I begin to turn away when I hear a small, almost inaudible meow. It’s a broken croaking mew, coming from inside the box.

My feet move on their own, taking me closer to the sound.

I peer into the box, my old eyes squinting in the dim light.

A pair of eyes, green as summer grass, gaze back at me. The left one is almost closed yet fixed upon me.

The grey bundle of fur croaks again, shivering against the confines of the flimsy maple box.

My hands reach into the small container, picking up the precious bundle. They bring it close to my chest, transferring heat into the cold little body.

My feet turn around and exit the shed, leaving the doors wide open. They run through the snow, nearly stumbling as they sprint up the cement steps and crash through the door. They take me and the bundle to the couch where I collapse, out of breath.

Sitting up, I pull my hands away from myself and peek into them. The small critter is hardly larger than my palms. It nestles its head into my fingers as a soft purr escapes its throat.

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I let it out in one long, slow sigh.

The cat looks up at me now through one eye. Its small grey ears twitch as it turns away to give its knotted fur a few licks. It faces me again and releases a small croak before leaping off my lap, landing gracefully on the carpeted floor.

Its bushy tail flicks, telling me to follow it.

I get up.

The cat walks to my chair.

I follow.

It sits.

I stop.

It croaks, blinking its good eye, then paces around the chair before looking at me again.

I sit down.

The cat rubs its head against my legs, releasing a loud purr, before walking away. It soundlessly leaps onto the rickety chair across from me.

Her emerald eyes gaze at me steadily, a small smile plays on the corners of her lips as she rocks back and forth, purring softly.

For the first time in three months, I smile back, tears rolling down my face, and reply:

“Welcome home, Ash.”

 

A/N: A dedication to a dear friend. See you all next week!