“Lighting
arced across the sky, and a peal
of thunder rent the air.”
No,
Joel decided, that was far too clichéd a way to begin the story.
It was supposed to be a horror story, a plot that had been rolling around
in his head for quite some time, but try as he might, Joel couldn’t
get past the first few sentences.
Joel
stretched, closed his laptop, and then stepped away from his desk.
After pacing awhile in front of his window he donned a dark greatcoat,
then stepped outside into the chill of the October night. Surely,
he thought, a walk would help him clear his mind so that, his Muse willing,
he could concentrate on his writing. Turning the corner, Joel
huddled against the chill wind gusting down the dark country lane, fervently
hoping that tonight, his Muse would strike.
Trudging
up the lane, surrounded by the eerie silhouettes of the now-leafless
trees, Joel reviewed his story in his mind. It was always so clear
in his mind’s eye, but whenever he tried to put pen to paper, or in
this case pixels on a screen, his Muse failed him. Yet, the story
would not let go. It haunted him, lately to the point of obsession.
It
was a simple tale, of an ancient and nameless evil prowling the land,
stalking its hapless victims and feeding upon their fear. Cliché,
perhaps, but Joel believed in its merits, if the tale was told correctly.
It was, however, the telling itself that was the crux of his problem.
Joel
felt that the story needed, nay,
demanded the feel of a first-person narrative to capture the feeling
of foreboding laced with fear. However, it also demanded the aloof
perspective of the third-person narrative, and worse still parts of
it cried out for the intimate yet disparate voice of the second-person
perspective.
Earnestly,
as any young writer might, Joel had wrestled with this dilemma, often
crying out for his Muse to strike, but he could not find a solution
to this paradox. He needed the three voices, a choir if you will,
to give full shape to his vision. Joel, though, had consulted
the experts, who had without fail told him that the Author must pick
one voice and hold to it, that it was not, under the oft-vague rules
of writing, possible to use three voices in any one story.
Joel
had reluctantly acceded to their sage wisdom, resolving instead to tell
the tale as well as he could, in spite of the constraints that the rules
placed upon him.
A
distant mutter of thunder reminded Joel that he had walked far from
home, on a night that was far from placid. The night, indeed,
was windswept, dark, and eerie, lit only by the pale moon. So
fitting, he thought, for this night was All Hallows Eve. Surely,
he hoped, his Muse would strike on this, of all nights?
Stumbling
in the dark, Joel reached for a flashlight, then fumbled with the switch
before it flickered to life, its pale beam lighting his way. As
the lane came to its end, he proceeded up a familiar rutted path and
on into the dark woods beyond. Soon, he came to a rock which was
sheltered by the trees, and as had become his occasional custom, he
sat down upon it and then took out his notepad and pen. Perhaps
the traditional implements of the writer, so seldom used in this electronic
age, would suffice where modern technology had failed him?
The
wind moaned through the trees, dark shadows moving in the chill, damp
air, perfect, he thought, for a work of horror, perhaps enough to draw
his Muse?
Come
to me, Muse, I need you…
Joel
concentrated on his vision of the tale, and by the feeble light of the
moon, sometimes obscured by the ragged, scudding clouds and accompanied
only by the wind as it moaned in the branches of the trees, Joel set
forth to bring his vision to life.
“The
beast, ancient beyond the scope of man, evil incarnate, stalked the
land. Incorporeal, as yet, it kept to the darkest places:
A glimmer in the dark, a shimmer in the pale moonlight the only signs
of its ephemeral passing. Questing forth for a victim upon whom
to sate its appetite, the ancient entity, nameless yet, though known
in ancient times by many names, listened for the echo of a receptive
mind. Finding the telltale trace for which it sought, the creature
reached out to touch that mind, and by the subtlest of means planted
the seed from which it, itself would soon spring forth.”
Joel,
with a sad shake of his head, reviewed his words. They were good,
that much he knew, but they, as had so many prior attempts, failed to
capture the essence and feel of the tale that he had conceived.
Ripping
the page from his notebook, he released it to the gusting wind, sighing
as it disappeared into the dark groves beside him.
Perhaps,
he thought, a second-person voice? Setting pen to paper once more,
Joel began anew.
“What
was that, you ask, as the hairs on the back of your neck, unbidden and
for reasons unknown, begin to rise. The chill wind outside rattles
the shutters, though you are warm by your cozy fire. The reason
for your disquiet lies elsewhere, but have you a clue as to the what,
and the where? Shivers possess you, the subtle harbingers
of foreboding and fear. Something is amiss, though you know not
what.
Feeling the need to clear your mind, driven by the desire to dispel
your dark notions, you step beyond your abode and into the night.
Carefully, cautiously you advance into the night, the rustle of the
leaves renewing your qualms.
Onwards you walk, on this the darkest of nights, the fear growing stronger
as you cross from the light. Further, further you walk, the fear
growing stronger with each passing step.
Where,
you wonder, will this journey end? Surely, you think, it is all
in your mind. Only later, much later, will you realize that the
darkness of night will lead to your own bitter end.
The
darkness engulfs you, and you walk faster still. So fast, in fact,
that the first subtle echo of a footstep escapes you, as behind you
takes shape the fate that awaits you.
You
quicken your pace, the fear growing inside you, hearing now as you do
the rustle of something approaching behind you.”
The
sudden snap of a twig caused Joel to jump, but as he listened, he heard
nothing but the soft moan of the wind in the boughs, and the rustle
of the fallen leaves. Shaking his head, laughing at his own nervousness,
Joel read the page he had just created, gnashing his teeth as he ripped
it from its bindings and cast it upon the wind, to join the one before
it.
Angry
now, his frustration rising, Joel shouted out, “Damn, you, my Muse,
either come to me, inspire me, or let me forget this accursed tale!”
One
last and final time, Joel set pen to paper and tried to capture the
essence of his vision, fighting against the constraints imparted by
the rules imposed from without on his use of words and phrases.
“Second and third didn’t suffice, let’s take a stab at the first,”
he thought.
“Restlessly, I sit beside my fire one windy night, glancing out my window
to see the moonlight dancing through the gnarled and leafless trees
and play upon the cold, damp ground.
I
stretch, feeling the need for something to shake the cobwebs from my
mind, something to subdue the subtle tickle that plagues my thoughts.
It’s a sensation I cannot place and try as I might, I cannot evade the
vague feeling that something’s amiss. Donning my coat, I flip
up the collar as I step out into the dark night.
A
dank and heavy smell is carried upon the wind, the smell of fall, of
winter’s approach. Trudging through the night, my way lit by a
small handheld light, I feel the chill of the wind on my face as I hurry
my pace down the dark country lane, seeking peace for my mind, somewhere
in the dark night ahead.
The
tickle, that feeling of subtle dread, seems to grow stronger so I quicken
my pace.
A
distant rumble of thunder adds
an uneasy, uncalm feel to the air, the mood meshing perfectly with that
of my soul on this dark and eerie night. I fervently hope that
the wind will take away with it my troubled thoughts.
The
deserted country lane comes to an end, so I continue upon a rough trail
towards the dark woods beyond. This is a route that I know well,
though always before I have felt safe. Tonight I do not; I know
something is amiss, as the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise.
I hear a twig snap behind me so I break into a run, terror driving me.
I glance back, seeing in the shadows as I do a dark shape following
behind me. Suddenly, the”
The
sudden crackle of a breaking twig impelled Joel to leap to his feet,
his heart in his mouth as he whirled around to look for the source of
the noise behind him. Seeing nothing, Joel laughed, attributing
it to the wind. Joel looked down upon what he had written, and
knew that it would never suffice.
Regretfully,
he ripped it from the book, tossing it high over his head, allowing
the wind to catch it and take it away like its brethren.
Joel glanced around at the bare and eerie trees as the moon slipped
behind the scudding clouds of the approaching storm, leaving him in
near total darkness.
Joel
reached for his flashlight, but before he could find it he heard, again,
a noise in the dark, this time a footfall amongst the dry leaves.
Joel trembled as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
A rustle of leaves, closer still, removed any doubt from his mind.
Joel, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow, turned to make haste, and
head back the way he had come.
Stumbling,
falling, driven by fear, Joel fumbled for his flashlight, only to drop
it as he stumbled again. Desperately, he dropped to his knees
to search for it, only to hear, close behind him, the rasping, ragged
sound of breathing.
In
panic, now, Joel leapt to his feet, his writing implements forgotten
behind him, dashing madly down the path, losing it in the darkness.
Running quickly, driven by his fear, Joel collided with branch after
branch, finally tripping and falling onto the rough, cold ground.
He
froze, listening, the wind all he could hear, as a glimmer of hope began
to return. The sudden crack of a large branch near beside him
brought back his terror, full force, so he struggled to his feet to
flee again, running hard, not caring where, just away.
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, lighting his way.
Crashing
through the moonlit forest, his heart pounding, every shadow suspect,
Joel could clearly hear the noise of something large pursuing him.
He knew it was there, he felt it.
The
sounds of his terror-filled flight echoed through the dark woods, though
Joel’s footfalls were no longer alone: They had been joined by the louder
noises of the heavier thing that was steadily gaining upon him.
In panic, he ran faster still, not caring about the many scrapes and
bruises he was suffering from his headlong flight. Joel never
saw the gnarled root that hooked his ankle, sending him sprawling, his
head striking a tree.
Slowly,
he awoke, aware, first, of the many cuts and scrapes he suffered and
of the searing pain in his now-broken ankle. Laying in the dark,
on his back, he remembered his pursuit. His fear returning, he
glanced around the moonlit forest, quiet now except for the wind.
The only thing he noticed amiss was the two glowing red coals looking
back at him from a dozen feet away.
Joel
cried out in terror, trying and failing to get up from the ground.
The cold sweat on his brow began again as the panic, the terror, consumed
him in full. He glanced back at the glowing orbs, as the creature
moved closer, out of the shadows and into the moonlight.
The
creature, the beast, was a thing to behold. It shimmered, it changed,
its form not fully set, though its intent and design was now beyond
doubt. Long dark limbs, sleek black fur, a predator’s face set
by two glowing red eyes.
Closer
it came, the moonlight glinting off its claws. Joel felt, inside
his own head, an inhuman chuckle, a snicker, and a sensation of malevolent
intent.
Joel
could not move, for the beast was upon him, his vision now filled by
the sinister fangs, as a clawed foot pinned him roughly to the ground.
His terror was far too great to notice the scent of brimstone that now
filled the air.
Again,
the sinister laugh echoed inside his mind, causing Joel to gasp at the
specter before him, “What are you? What do you want with me?”
Glinting
like steel, almost too quick to be seen, razor sharp claws descended.
One swift blow of incredible power rent Joel’s chest asunder, exposing
his still-beating heart.
Shock,
terror, pain and disbelief wracked Joel, as he watched the fearsome
head of the beast sniff, lower, and then begin to feed. As the
great fangs pierced his heart, ripping, tearing, Joel felt it beat its
last, the coppery taste of his own blood filling his mouth.
Joel
drew his final, ragged breath, hearing at last in his mind, as the eternal
darkness reached out to engulf him, the answer to his final question.
“What
am I, you ask? How odd, that my creator should ask such a thing.
You have called me a thousand times, beseeching me to come, empowering
me to enter this realm, endowing me my present form. For I am
that tickle in your mind, that echo you have felt. Yes, it is
I, your Muse…”
Finis~
Many
thanks to EMoe for editing and for his support, encouragement, beta
reading, and suggestions. Any remaining errors are mine alone.
Many
thanks also to Kitty for advice and support.
Please
give me feedback. I thrive on feedback, and I want to know what you
liked, and what you hated. Comments and criticisms are very welcome,
either via
or in my forum .
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