The Original Short Story (Where It All Began)

The following post,  is the original short story which I wrote as part of a creative writing task in High School, while the story has progressed to a stage quite far removed from this original story it is the foundations from which all other works over the past few years have grown.

This is the first piece of creative writing I have shared on here, however over the next few months my hope is to continue posting short stories I have been working on as well as personal reflective pieces from the blog itself. Thank you to all those who have followed so far, and I am grateful to all those who have gotten in touch so far.

The site will continue to develop over the coming weeks as I learn how to properly use WordPress, thank you for your support and your ongoing patience with an infrequent blogger.

Enjoy.

Night

Shafts of light pierced the abrupt darkness that enveloped the grounds of the Manor. Ambiguous shapes flitted through the moonbeams. Their emerald irises gleamed in the reflection of the silent sphere in the sky.

Alexander could only just make out the gate at the bottom of the garden. It blew open with a large crash that echoed unexpectedly in the silence of the empty grounds. The leaves did not crunch as he stepped into the garden, consumed by shadows, padding forth with caution like a skulking dog. Squinting in the cold, eerie light, the Manor dominated his peripheral view, dwarfing him as Goliath before David. There was no sound. Shadows flickered. The moon smiled. Taking light steps he ventured nearer and nearer, and stopped as he reached the dilapidated old building. Alexander could now see that slats, which from years of neglect were cracked and had several spars missing, covered all of the windows. The vines on the grey walls strangled the very life from the Manor. Light steps led towards the main entrance, and as he progressed he saw the aged oak door swing back and forth, the hinges torn at the top corner. Adjacent to this violent entrance, an eight-pointed star glistened against the drab, stone wall, surrounded by words which meant nothing to Alexander. Touching the peculiar design and others on the wall, when Alexander pushed forth the door, he was not aware that his hand was caressed with the velvety darkness of fresh blood.

Admitting Alexander over its threshold, the shadows of the Manor swallowed his very essence. Standing silently in the corner stood a grandfather clock; which even after years of disrepair still commanded its dignity with a majestic air. Moonlight penetrated the gaps in the shutters, and fell upon the pools of blood, which lay at the foot of the ancient maple staircase. Ascending the stairs, he watched, as they grew larger, twisting into beautiful scarlet rosettes. Like a shroud, fear draped over him. Each step was layered with years of dust and as he rose he blessed each silent step. No longer did the blood lie upon the floor, replaced instead by a smear in the dust which led to a solitary door at the end of the corridor. He approached the door and listened intently. There was no sound within this room.

Nerves shot through him, and each breath was short and sharp as his hand stretched out towards the brass handle. An almost inaudible creak reached his ears, he was sure it had come from the confines of this room. Pulling out his gun, he kicked the door open, but could see nothing. Emptiness and a permanent shadow filled every corner of this room. The dead air chilled him and the only light able to defile this absolutely darkened tomb fell upon an archaic ledger lying upon a solitary table. Gun lowered, he approached the table, and he cast his eye inquisitively over the cover. The gold lettering had come off the leather bound tome in most places, but looking closer at them, he could see that they were written in the same unknown language, which he had seen as he had entered this very building. Looking through it Alexander was fascinated to see that it was empty; all except for the middle pages, which had drawn on them a large eight pointed star.

The drawing seemed to glow in the unnatural moonlight as he turned to leave. The cold was relentless. Without warning he fell to the floor, the gun flying from his hand and ricocheting against an invisible wall. A large shapeless entity lay upon the floor; this was the cause of his crash to the ground. He stood and once more walked over to the window. Placing his hands upon the shutters he pulled with all his might. The old wood protested pitifully before finally succumbing to the harsh light, which lay readily behind it; as it fell to the floor the light flooded into the room like warriors hastening to the empty spaces in a battlefield.

Alexander turned and for the first time since he had crossed the very threshold gave an audible gasp. Lying face down upon the floor, a body was draped in an ornate emerald cloak. Inching forward he lowered himself towards the ground, level with this unknown body. He placed his fingers on the victim’s neck, trying to find a pulse. The skin abhorred him in its fetid frozen attitude. But something was not right; the body looked somehow different. Healthy. At peace. Alexander was dimly aware of the fluttering against the window and strange shadows danced upon the carved stone floor. And there they were: Two holes, round and true piercing the skin of this stranger, the life-force drained yet lending a strangely erotic and sensual fullness to the curve of the neck. Alexander was at once repulsed and intrigued.

The shutters rattled, though there was no wind. The moon shone and the puncture marks of the corpse penetrated ominously like the piercing eyes of the soul-less dead.

When the door silently closed behind him, Alexander knew he had finally found what he was looking for.

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2 thoughts on “The Original Short Story (Where It All Began)

  1. Pingback: Introduction – Phoenix Pantheon

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