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juleshaigler · 8 years

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Finished this scary short story on my other blog. Enjoy.

Finished writing my first horror short story. I hope you enjoy.

THE TWISTED FINGERS

The road wanders here, but in my empty beliefs I fear it will find no end. No notion of repentance. No resistance to descend. Neither a sound nor a flutter did mutter in the trees. I am tired of life. I am tired of me. My lamp light is bright. It is the beginning of the night. A time when men should sleep and feel comfortable in their beds. But I – am a monster, and I, unlike many, am dead.

My bony fingers clutched the reins as my horse did lightly trot, in dread that I may fall from him to sleep upon this wasted lot. “Oh,” said I, “my weary daydreams, where can a bed be this night? Not in such woods,” I did declare, “can one find respite.” So I looked on to my horse-mate and patted his matted mane. His clops a light hop with each and every step upon this curs’ed plain. I leaned forward and whispered in his uncanny ear. “Be afraid of sleep and resting, my lame and lacking dear. For claiming sleep brings weakness into a person’s bed. Even so the strongest man is weakest when he rests his weary head.” My horse and I traveled on from the land of ideas and reason. To a place unknown to us, a place that lacked a season.

Darkness nestled around my eyes; my arms yielding to my sides. The darkness’s calling so profound that I almost dropped my satchel on the ground. I suddenly burst awake! The hour was early but the night was late. How far had we wondered? I had no clue to ponder. No roads had we crossed or rivers had we glossed. Simply to state the obvious, we were lost.

The bent and burnt trees of some fire long ago hovered over us like twisted fingers digging up from far below. Melodious black skies broke between the branches. A single sliver of the moon and flickering stars shone like smiling glances. Besides my light, my road was dark, inside this encompassing road of trees under this opposing arc.

Then behold before me, a glow, a twinkle so faint. Seemed to halo and crinkle like gold around a saint. “What might that be?” I curiously stated. “A person, a place, an angel elated?”

Quickly I leapt from my horse, snatching my light. “Over here!” I cried my voice in delight. “I’m here, right here in this terrible night!”

No one answered me, so I tied my horse to a tree. And from there I scurried forth to the gleam, hoping desperately it was more than what it seemed.

To my resolve a house appeared. Its majesty extended as I grew near. “As real as I,” I cried! A renewed vigor filled my eyes. To the door I hastily shifted. My spirits once low had finally lifted.

Knock, knock, knock went my eager hand upon the door. Bock, bock, bock, it echoed strong on the inside floor. Bang, bang, bang, my hand greatly pounded. Step, step, step, approaching footsteps sounded.

The door opened just a crack, and two thin lips jutted a shout. “What business have you here? Get back! No solicitors, no peddlers. If any, get out.”

“Sir,” I pleaded, “or Madame.” The voice too muffled for me to tell. “I am a wanderer, an ex-panderer, and a knell. I am a man that has lost his way. If any at all mercy I beg you, could I possibly stay? I promise I will pay.”

The lips disappeared behind the door. First came one voice, then came more. “Let in a wanderer? I do jest!”

“Let in the payer! It’d be best.”

“But what if he finds what lies beneath?”

“A horror so twisted he will never sleep.”

A child laughed as a haunting reply. It a weak yet a terrible blistering cry. I unsure how to respond stood there tired. I yawned.

So formed the lips again at the door, only these were redder and fuller than before.

“Like no good Samaritan to refuse a being in need. Come in, dear shadow. Come in, indeed.”

The door opened quick and slowly shut. The floors were marble; the walls were walnut. The house was grand; its ceilings tall. I felt like a bug underneath it all. And where I heard three voices, I only saw two. Standing there were an old Mister and a Misses to name the few. Almost I spoke, but I stopped my choice. Had I imagined so this other voice? Though I swear I heard a child laugh, a wicked tune in the aftermath.

“Can we take your coat?” asked the Miss. “It appears so heavy upon your wrists.”

“Yes, you may,” I wearily spoke. Handing both my hat and my coat.

“You should have dinner with us if you wish. My wife has prepared her tastiest dish.” The Mister led me to a seat. A couch with claws instead of feet. “The meal, dear sir, is sure to appetize. Enjoy your time here and relax your eyes. We will call you when dinner is prepared, until then be merry and don’t be scared.”

“Scared of what?” I did interject. “What should I be wary of? What should I suspect?”

The Miss looked worried. I could see it in her eyes. Away she scurried like an animal in surprise. The Mister’s smile grew calmly on his face. “I am afraid I misspoke. I must have spaced. Nothing to be afraid of here. Nothing at all. Nothing to fear.”

The Mister soon left, and I was alone. Music began to play in gratifying tones. My chin dropped somberly to my chest and at last I had a chance to properly rest.

Though resting was short I must confess for under my seat I felt a rise. As though something began to press down my back and up my thighs. “What in devil’s name,” I jumped to my feet ready to check what touched me beneath. I placed my hand and again I sensed. The cushion move and the fabric tense. “What demon, what devil, what harrowing device, could possibly make me feel that feeling twice?” And before I had the chance to see, in came the Misses all full of glee.

“Oh dear, sir, dinner is served. Come swiftly now before cold is observed. Ready your tastes; ready your palettes. Today we are eating poached eggs and scallops. ”

I turned away from the couch for now, still wondering to myself what and how?

Entered the dinning room, the misses and me. For such a large table only three chairs did I see. Across the candlelit room a grand window reflected. I frightened myself for instead of my face only a shadow projected. I raised my hand and so did my reflection. I brought it down and the shadow did also without objection.

The Mister noticed my sudden distress. “Pay no heed to that window, sir, it is unblessed. For the things we imagine are not always the truth, at one time this window reflected my youth.” I looked to the window and sure enough I did spy, a younger version of the Mister less clammy and dry.

“What madness is this place?” I did beseech. “A shadow reflects but my skin is peach. I am a man of flesh and bone! Can you not see it or am I alone?”

“Tea, dear sir, will calm your nerves,” said the Misses. “When food is in you I assure you the delusion dismisses.” The two sat me down and placed a bowl of food for me to eat. “We have not had guests in so long. This is a treat.”

I did not touch the food. How could I after what I have seen? Nothing was as it should have already been. “Is what I imagine truly a delusion, or is what I do not see the grandest illusion? Is my perception extremely off or is it some intolerable form of scoff.”

The Misses glanced up and shifted her weight. “Oh guest, you have yet to touch your plate. The scallop soup and the eggs are delicious. Eat your fill. It is quite nutritious.”

As I reached over to slice my eggs, I felt something brush against my legs. Then I heard it again but this time less discrete. For there was no denying a child giggling under my seat. I rose the tablecloth as quick as can be, and to my surprise I saw— nothing! No child, no movement, just two pairs of feet. The Mister and Miss’s legs rested still under the sheet.

“Is all alright?” asked the Mister in a fright. “You seem quite startled. You look quite white.”

I stood from the table and with great anticipation, I asked, “Does a child live in this habitation?”

For a moment there was silence; no one said a word. Until at last the Miss looked up and conferred. “We had a child once. He was sick with short breath. We tried endlessly to hide him from pain and Death. But Death is cunning to cunning in fact. We let Death slip by one day and he took our babe, Jack. Not even a ghost haunts this lonely chateau, but what worries me, sir, is how would you know?”

“It is nothing,” I said sitting down right quick. “Just my imagination playing a foul and dirty trick.”

After a minute of intense silence, I declined my meal, apologizing mannerly hoping to appeal. “Sir and Madame,” I said, my breathing static, “I apologize, I apologize for being so melodramatic. It appears my hunger has left me for the night, trust me it is not your cooking simply my appetite. My jaw has been hurting since before the sun set. I must have rested on it wrongly when last I slept.”

“No need to be sorry; we quite realize. Hunger knows best, please don’t apologize.” The Mister smiled a patchy grin as a bit of the soup dripped off his chin. “We will prepare a bed and make ready your room. Sleep until the morning or better yet until noon.”

I stood in silence between the dinning room doors, watching down the hall as the homeowners did chores. They rushed and they carried wads of heavy sheets; they swept the floors and cleaned the dressers making my room nice and neat. The dust that wafted from out the door, shown a room unused since days of yore. Like some crypt freshly opened longing for fresh air, the room seemed to inhale and exhale a stale sense of beware. I admit I was confused by the couple’s swiftness and their excited composure. They exited the room and stood proud of their once blighted exposure.

“It’s not much,” said the Misses beating dust off her dress. “Sorry for the quick clean up, that room was a mess. We hadn’t used it since our young son went away. But with no other available room, I hope it is okay.”

I walked to the opening and stared inside. My breathing grew heavy; my eyes grew wide. I swear this room for a child it was made, had now been traded for my own parade. Old toys collected dust, a rocking horse collected rust. Into the room I was thrust, a playmate of disgust. I tried to remain calm and hide my distaste as the room I walked and the floor I paced.

“Everything alright,” asked the Mister looking up at my pale eyes.

“It is good for tonight,” I said trying not to sound so contrived.

“Then we bid you good keep. No more will you reap. The worry is over. The demons are asleep.”

The Mister and the Misses left slowly out of the door, leaving me behind to this room of dark decor. I watched their shadows bounce down the dank and dreary hall. Slowly the light faded from the weary walnut walls. At last it was quiet. No sound. No wails. As though some black force had shifted the veils. And left me to rest in silence and in peace. A fine feeling remained of pain then release.

I glided over to the bed and felt it lumpy beneath my thumbs as though someone had pushed the fluff inside to one side for humor and for fun. While it may not be the best, the offer was still great. I could not wait to fall asleep in this hour of late.

I crawled on top the bed and pushed away my dread and slowly succumbed to dreams as they danced inside my head. I saw metal birds dropping seeds on church spires. Loud explosions sending smoke like soot from grizzly fires. People on stretchers their hands clinching onto life; a host of crying bodies their eyes flinching at the strife.

Startled awake but still asleep, I thought I heard an abrupt almost minuscule peep. What sounded like a child cry out from the gloom… barely audible, barely a shout from somewhere in the room. I darted my eyes about, adjusting to the dark. “Could it be,” I wondered, “just a little lark?”

Then again I heard it, so faint and so coy, like a child was playing, playing with their toys. But I could see none, and none did exist. So I lay back down trying hard to resist. Then like before when I was seated hence, I felt once more the cushion beneath me move and the fabric tense. A hand pressed up and caressed my spine. There was something in the mattress, something inside the twine.

My heart thumped heavily in my chest. Something was keeping me from my rest. And this something whatever it might be, had twisted fingers. I counted at least three. I looked past my shoulder and sure enough, hands rose up, up from the fluff. Twisting and squirming to get it away, I suddenly felt it descend and the bed ceased to sway. Hoping it was all just a dream, a harmless spree, my nightmare was manifesting not far beneath me. Stretching over to glance past the safety of the bed, I watched a dreadful figure creep out; its arms widespread. Then before I could speak or even utter a score, it flung open the door and like my sanity was no more.

I jumped out of bed and grabbed the rod by the fire. I was ready to kill this demon of my waking ire. Long had it kept me up, no rest for my head. I knew now I would only find peace if it were dead. In a rage I flung madly, swinging my weapon in the air. I would kill this creature gladly. I would cease this nightmare.

A light came on from the room down the hall. Out waddled the Mister and the Misses robes and all. They told me to halt. They pleaded me to stop. And with all that I had on their heads did I drop. With each fall of my weapon on their skulls, I felt my purpose come to call. I knew why I had come and what I had to do. My disguise fell away. My body now true stood in the hall so pale and so tall. My bony fingers twisted blood down the walnut walls.

I glanced forward in the air, and through the door by the stairs crouched a child crying helplessly under the chairs. His deformed hands pushing up into the seats, trying to hide, trying to be discrete. He looked at me and I whispered, “Jack. Come with me. Time we lack. Time well spent. Long have I waited for you. Long have you eluded me. Long are you overdue.”

And from his tiny lips he muttered before I took his breath. “Death,” he whispered. “You are my Death.”

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