For today's collection I decided to move away from the poetry for one day to post a couple of short stories. Both of these were originally poems and I have included the poems at the start of each piece of work. Hope you enjoy my efforts.
Steve
Memoirs of a Serial Killer
The blood flow was numbed, the knife still embedded
my inner devil sniggered waiting for the gush.
The sharpened edge slipped free with only cursory retaliation,
and euphoria was upon me.
Each scalding drop an instant high,
a narcotic hit of epic proportions.
Yet sadness remains for I know she is not the one,
not the goddess I seek, not the one I began my quest for.
But I am patient, perfecting my art each day.
So many days have come and gone,
so many nights watching from the shadows.
When the sun sinks into its own pool of blood
I return to the beginning.
A wraith hidden in the night,
bathed in the blood of your doppelgangers, I
watch and wait till the time is right.
Waiting for the whispers to end and
the euphoric feelings I seek to become mine.
Silence lies upon me, the devil understands
the time is now; you are to become mine at last.
I have pictured this in countless dreams.
The raw feeling and scent of your fear, my elixir to life;
your salted tears my ambrosia.
I watch your pale silhouette transforming,
each layer falls until you bask in your naked glory.
Drifting through the shadows I begin the hunt,
on silent feet I reach my goal.
With a small smile I turn the handle
my smile spreading, my feverish eyes can’t hide their mirth.
Silly! Silly! Girl!
I must remember to thank you for the open invitation.
Silently the door eases closed behind me.
Feeling the serrated edge slip
free from her body, I wait. My eyes transfixed on hers, I watch for that moment
of clarity and understanding, the singular moment in time that she clings to
hope. Drawing my face back, I raise my blood drenched hand in front of her
eyes. Understanding is quick, hope is lost and she begins to accept her fate.
Nose to nose, eye to eye, she does not see or seem to care as my knife nicks
the skin at the side of her neck. Slowly the light in her eyes is fading; time
is short but still enough remains for a brief pain filled spark to widen her
eyes. Drawing my blade around the sensuous arc of her throat, I wait suspended
in time for the narcotic hit of the most potent man made drug, murder. Hot
blood spatters across my face as the final spark of her life ebbs and dies in
the red life-force running from her throat. Stepping back I allow her to find
her allotted space among the filth and decay of her trade.
Before turning my back I
spare a final look of disdain at the doppelganger before me. Short black bobbed
hair, long shapely legs, slim waist, basically a damn sexy figure of a woman.
It could be her, deep ruby lips below shallow green eyes; but it isn't her. The
brief charade finally losing its appeal, I grab the black hair and stuff it in
my pocket. Sniffing in disgust at the blond slumped on the filthy floor I turn
on my heel and walk into the night. Keeping to the shadows had become necessary
after the first kill. Finally negotiating lightless alleys and parking lots I
reach my car and begin my second ritual of the night. Taking a bag of sanitary
wipes, I begin erasing all signs and smells of the whore I had just dispatched
into death. Placing each stained wipe in a rapidly growing pile I check for any
missed spots in the rear-view mirror. Once clean I wriggle out of my blood
spattered clothing and grab my suit, shirt and tie from their dry cleaning
cover. Snapping my tie into place I begin searching my glove compartment for my
warrant card and photo identification. Placing them in my inside pocket I turn
the key and wait for the engine to splutter into life before beginning the
fifteen mile journey to the police substation in Whitehall and my first night
working under the bitch that had replaced me.
Until two days ago I had been
lead detective heading the taskforce investigating the recent prostitute
murders in and around Whitehall. Detective Inspector Alison Sheffield aka the
bitch was one of the Mets new high fliers and was firmly on the Deputy
Commissioners’ radar. Receiving the Commissioners’ complete backing allowed her
to pick and choose her cases and this invariably meant mine. The ‘Whitehall
Slashings’ would be the third case in as many months to have fallen from me to
her lap and I knew why. Our break up had not been quiet or pleasant and after
three years of marriage and one affair it was over. After passing the detective
exam she was immediately fast tracked by her lover and left everything we had
dead in her wake. By the time the divorce lawyers had finished divvying up our
assets, I was left with our second car, sizable debts and a drinking problem.
The only thing that had appeared to be mine was my career as a police detective
and it now appeared that even that was up for grabs.
Pulling my car into one of
the furthest parking bays from the entrance, I began the walk toward the
entrance just as the heavens opened. Turning the collar of my jacket up I
quicken my pace and head into the building. Out of the corner of my eyes I see
her car parked under the only light still working in the parking lot; electric
blue Tigra, once my pride and joy now hers like everything else. The fact that
the bitch is already here is a surprise; on all the other cases she had stolen
from me everyone had began with the grandiose entrance of Alison flanked by her
two clones. Alison Sheffield, Jessica Carlisle and Kat Taylorford, all three
black haired and looking enough like each other to passed off as sisters but
all power hungry grade A bitches. Sauntering toward a seat near the back of the
conference room that had been turned over for the taskforce, I quickly grab a
coffee and wait for the usual image conscious dance of lies with my ex-wife.
Sickly sweet smile, sensuous walk, I already knew she was not beyond using all
the tools in her sexual arsenal to get what she wanted. However, the lies
always showed in the hardness of her eyes. The emerald shards of pale green
would probably betray her if a man knew where to look.
“You’re looking well Tom,” Alison said. However, her eyes told a very
different story sparklingly alive in their deceit. I was under no illusions by
this loose comment, for some strange reasons I have yet to figure out suits
just always hang like a sack. Taking Alison’s barbed comment as a compliment,
it is clear that the mini Atlas physique I have groomed for the last six months
appears to be well and truly hidden. Coupled with the loose hanging suit, my
unshaven face could only add to the generally unkempt look that I often wore.
Toe to toe, we made a very odd couple as I was always in contrast with the
finely tuned Amazonian now standing before me. Standing at a curvaceous six
feet two inches when naked, Alison had long shapely legs and her black skirt
stopped just above the knee showing off her finely moulded calves. Moving
smoothly up toward her waist Alison’s skirt clung to her hips like a second
skin. Tucked tightly into the waistband of her skirt, Alison’s virginal white
blouse tapered from waist to breast, accentuating the material stretched across
her ample breasts and was completed by her customary three buttons undone to
reveal a hint of bra or breast. There is little doubt in anyone’s mind that
Alison cuts a fine figure of the female sexuality but her choice of clothing
leaves just enough to the imagination enabling her to coax anything out of anyone. Before reaching her face my roving
gaze centres on her breasts and thrills at the widening red stain engulfing
each breast.
“TOM! Where are we with the case,” Alison almost screaming my name
forces me to snap my head back into reality and look upward toward her fine
elfin face. Offering a sheepish smile I begin the report that had been passed
up the line from the uniforms that had been first on scene. What the hell did
she expect from me, I had only been in charge less than twenty four hours, so I
basically knew the same small nugget of answers that had been gleamed from each
crime scene. No DNA, no sexual assault, just four prostitutes found in
abandoned warehouses stabbed, and throat slashed. Footprints found at the scene
offer no distinguishing features to assist in the search for the killer. I
barely suppress a smile at Alison’s body tightening with the distinct lack of
evidence. Deciding to add further pain to her rapidly degenerating day, I stand
and whisper in her ear. “Maybe you should of waited another forty eight hours
before stepping on MY toes,”. Smirking I
feel Alison’s body tightening beside me; turning on her heel she breaks the
contact between us and heads back to her waiting clones. Finishing my coffee I
head to the front of the conference room ready to steer most ideas down blind
alleys and further away from the truth. Jack Saunders a three month, we behind
the ears Detective Sergeant had the notion that the murders were linked in some
way but nobody paid much attention to his musings. Saunders was partially right
there was a link between the victims but it was not one that could be checked
in death. It was none of the usual markers employed by serial killers. When I
killed I had often seen the same hooker a few times but I was not continually
drawn to her because she was good in the sack, a blonde or brunette or had a
great figure. It was all to do with her gait; that perfect combination between
walking and sexuality, these girls would don the wig and die; stabbed and
throat slashed.
Watching Alison’s gait, as
she quickly moves from desk to desk seeking any answers and setting tasks to
find those answers, I glimpse clone number one Jessica Carlisle staring
intently as she begins walking
toward me. Glancing downward at her feet
I let my eyes slowly wander up her shapely calves in admiration, eyes rising I
take in her leather encased hips before rising beyond her slim waist toward her
white encased breasts. Lingering briefly on her breasts my gaze continues its
journey finally taking in her blood red lips and pale grey eyes. Daring a smile
Carlisle stares directly into my own eyes before nervously looking away.
Striding past me, I turn, watching her exquisite gait slide away from me as she
heads for the door. In what was rapidly become a poor, poor day for Alison was
about to get a hell of a lot worse for
the Police forces rising star, victim number five would soon make an appearance
and this one would be a lot closer to home for the bitch. Following Carlisle
from the room into an adjoining office I enter to find Carlisle bent over
looking into the bottom draw of a filing cabinet. Skirt hitched up revealing
just a subtle hint of suspender; she again offers the same hesitant smile.
Perching on the corner of a nearby desk I watch her closely, admiring each of
her curves in turn. Offering a smile of my own, Carlisle straightens and begins
smoothing her skirt back down her legs. “Would you like to get a drink
.....sometime?” Carlisle whispers, as she begins crossing the distance between
us. I didn't fail to catch the lingering open invitation as she purred her
question; standing between my open legs, Carlisle stares into my eyes, gone is
the hesitant girl from earlier, now I face a predator. Always a man ready for a
challenge, I readily agree and watch with bated breath at her finely manicured
nails quickly scribbling down her address and phone number. Watching her almost
flee the office, I pause in thought at the chance presented to me, finally
shrugging my shoulders I head back to the conference room. For the next five hours
we danced around ideas, discarding each one in turn until finally all strung
out we called it a night. Walking last from the station I was surprised to see
Carlisle waiting for me. Grabbing me in the shadows her lips hungrily searched
for mine, her right hand groped restlessly around my groin, caressing me and
feeling me harden under her touch. My hands reach for her breasts but she is
already stepping away, the fingers of her left hand lingering upon my face.
Pulling her jacket closed, covering her heaving chest she asks me to come over
in a couple of hours. Watching her turn away, my eyes drift to her exquisite
gait till she reaches her car and drives off. My head full of the night ahead I
barely glimpse the Tigra hanging a left on the other side of the traffic
lights. Part of me wanted to follow Alison to see where she would be spending
the night but the other half of me decided to go for a few drinks at The Angel
pub as a celebration of my infiltration into the unholy trio of bitches.
Entering the pub I was
surprised to see Saunders sitting in a corner nursing a pint. Pulling up a seat
beside him we exchange pleasantries while we wait for the next round to be
brought by the barmaid. Sparking a cigarette to life I wait for the usual
barrage of problems on the Saunders family home front. True to form, Saunders
began with the usual belief that Charlotte, his wife, was having an affair due
to the job. After five minutes of Saunders’ hell I slowly began to tune him
out, offering only a cursory nod of affirmation or the occasional yes or no,
instead I allowed my mind to wander to Carlisle. The urge to feel her blood
stain my hands; to see the final spark of life fading from her eyes was
becoming unbearable by the minute. Swiftly finishing my drink I shrug into my
jacket, offering Saunders the usual reassurances that everything will work out,
I head to my car. I sit for a moment, re-running last night’s kill, looking for
any improvements that I could make when I went to meet Carlisle. Rough sex or
even rape were certainly possibilities, a ski mask or something similar would
also add that hint of tension, not that any of them mattered because come the
morning, Jessica Carlisle would be victim number five of ‘The Whitehall
Slasher’.
Putting the car in gear, I begin the drive to Carlisle’s house almost
salivating with the memory of her hungry embrace earlier. Parking opposite her
house, I switch off the engine and remain sitting in darkness watching her
house. My eyes are drawn to the net covered bedroom window; this was to be the
kill zone. My heartbeat raises a beat or two when her light flickers on and her
silhouette begins disrobing in front of the window. Frozen still and holding my
breath I watch as her blouse comes off and is discarded on the floor before her
breasts are released from the confines of her bra. As she begins undoing the
buttons on her skirt, I climb from my car and softly shut the door. Heading
swiftly and quietly to her door, I pull down the handle and am greeted by a
soft snick as the latch disengages. Silly, silly girl, I make a mental note to
remember to thank her for the invitation. With the same soft snick I close the
door and then engage the lock before heading upstairs toward the small sliver
of light showing from under her door.
Staying to the side of each
step I slowly make my way upstairs, drawing my knife from the scabbard under my
jacket as I reach her door. Turning the knob I begin inching the door open
before rushing headlong in hope of catching her of guard. Skidding to a halt
and feeling the blood drain from my face I look into the yawning muzzle of a
gun. At first all I see is the gun and it takes a few seconds for anything else
to register. The gun by its markings was a Police issue Glock but more to the
point, was the fact that Alison was holding it. Glimpsing the half naked
Carlisle behind the ex wife, two swiftly adds up to four. Eyes drawn back to
Alison, I tense at her finger tightening on the trigger, surging forward knife
held out before me I began my final act. Gun tracing my movements it belches
flame once, the bullet rips a sizable chunk of flesh from the top of my thigh.
Leg snapped backward with the force, I begin a face first descent toward the
floor like a broken marionette. Twisting, I manage to take the impact of the
floor on my shoulders but the knife bounces from my grip before my head smashes
onto the unforgiving stained wood. My
eyesight swimming from the impact, I still glance backward in time to see
Alison striding forward, cuffs in hand and gun still trained on me. Feeling the
onrush of darkness that rides along with unconsciousness I strain for one final
glance of Alison’s gait. Snapping back to reality with the alcohol being
liberally poured over my wound I grimace at Carlisle’s rough tying of a tourniquet.
Feeling the cuffs snap shut on wrist, around radiator and back onto wrist, I
long for the previous darkness to engulf me. Head snapping sideways from the
ring weighted punch Alison delivers, I spit a globule of blood on the floor,
struggling to a sitting position, I brace my back for another onslaught.
Gripping the gun by its muzzle, Alison clips the side of my head and once again
the darkness is rushing upon me under full sails. Seemingly from a distance I
hear Alison’s voice, “You should never have used the wig Tom, after talking to
all the hookers you used, you became known as, ‘The Wig Man’. Once it was described to me, you became the
prime suspect; I even found your little mile marker game with the wipes.”
Lifting my head I look at my ex complete with the same smug look of victory I
had seen before. Turning toward her clone she drops her lips upon the nipple of
Carlisle’s naked breast whilst shrugging out of the blouse that her lover had
ripped open. Striding over to me again, I look upon her beautifully bra encased
breasts coming closer, with a final kiss and sucking upon my split lip she
returns to her lover. Weakly lifting a hand in defiance, I feel the darkness
engulf me amid the cries of passion from the bitch.
SHADOWRAITH
I watch.
I wait.
Many years have passed since I saw you,
a shadow among shadows,
alive against the cobalt blue of early evening.
The heavily garmented trees soak up the day,
heading for slumber you wait to feed on their life force,
transforming them into your minions,
your sentinels in the darkness.
My bedroom looks upon your battleground.
I watch.
I wait.
The church lies shrouded, darkness in a realm of hope
But I feel you there hidden from sight,
waiting to reveal your power.
So I watch and I wait.
In the midnight blue of the witching hour,
we continue to play our game.
Light encroaches on night,
on Pegasus wings dawn approaches.
My eyes begin to flicker,
the exhaustion of my vigil calling me to slumber.
Soon I will return to see you again,
always watching, always waiting,
a guardian of the light,
hunting for the wraith who mocks my fear.
I climb tiredly
onto my bike, 6 p.m. Friday night. Twelve hours of boring monotonous drudgery
(loosely called work) finally behind me. Weariness in every pore I began the
trek for home. Pedals slowly turning, my feet churn through each exhausted
cycle, drawing me ever closer. The relief I feel on reaching the half mile
steep hill leading down toward my home, hurts almost as much as the ride itself
to reach it.
Pedals turning
faster and faster, feet struggling to hold the pace, a wild grin creases my
face. Memories flash, a young boy racing down this hill, wild war like cries
splitting the night. Holding a crazy smile I thunder toward the village, my own
reckless abandon spurring me homeward. Two sharp rights at breakneck speed;
knees grazing tarmac I am catapulted into my street carrying enough momentum to
reach home.
Not seeing my
parents for a few days have made me realise I am working too much. Sixty or
seventy hour weeks are not really good for the mind or the body. I had immersed
myself in work as a layman’s answer to pain management. The bitch I had married
had slunk back to her ex boyfriend, leaving me to pack for home. Work
seemed a sensible answer but in truth is a coward’s answer to loneliness. My
parent’s smiles dispel some of my weariness and ease my bitter hatred of life.
Wolfing down my food, I quietly mutter pleasantries to mam
and dad and head for the shower. Thank heavens for power showers. Needle like
jets of water acupuncture ease my tired, aching muscles, refreshing me. A night
in the local pub with my friends the final piece of the jigsaw.
Thoughts of the pub and my friends bring with it the images
of Dani, the new barmaid at my local. Fueled by thoughts of her I smile to
myself. Maybe I am finally on the mend and at last I can find the courage to
ask Dani out without the fear of rejection tearing me apart. After air drying
on my bed releases the final aches form my body, I begin slipping into my
clothes. Picking up my shirt reveals a new book, “The Magic Cottage” by James
Herbert. Making a mental note to thank mam for the book I skip back to my bed.
All thoughts of going out forgotten, at least for a little while.
My mam’s voice cuts through my reverie,
“Steven, Rossy’s on the phone”.
“Ok mam I’m coming”, I reply.
A quick glance at my watch shows 8:30. Ninety minutes lost
in the pages of a good book. A rueful smile on my face I leap the stairs two at
a time. I immediately hear the laughter at the other end of the line before my
mate Rossy speaks.
“Yo! Pretty boy less of the beautifying and get your arse
round here. Poor Danielle is pining for her little boy lost.”
The sound of a slap brings a smirk to my reddening face.
“Give me five minutes and get the bottles in, it must be
your turn by now,” I reply.
Slamming the
phone down before my mates get the chance to answer, I quickly retrace my
steps. In moments I am dressed, coat on and heading out the door, while
shouting a final goodbye to my parents.
The iciness of
the night forces my hands further into my pockets and my neck deeper inside my
collar. It feels like all the heat has been sucked from the night. Even this
coldest of nights cannot dampen my good mood or the merry skip in my stride.
Turning the corner at the end of my street brings the gaily lit pub into sight.
Pace quickening I can almost taste the ice cold lager I know will be waiting
for me. Cutting across the verge instead of following the path; in my haste I
skirt close to the Old Saxon church surrounded by its own graveyard. The centerpiece of the village, quaint in daylight becomes an eerie, ghostly,
monolith as darkness falls. For the first time in all my years living here, I
finally saw how scary this church became when shrouded in darkness. No
searchlights that have become common to other churches appeased the midnight
hue of night in this little village. Laughing at my own scary thoughts I
snuggle deeper into my coat, wishing I had worn my hat and gloves. The
temperature plummets yet again. Fervent movement snaps my head back toward the
pub, which is briefly obscured in the white plumes of breath escaping my lips.
Studying the pub I search for whatever had caught my attention. Seeking an
answer my eyes are drawn to the outside lights which seem a little dimmer as if
bathed in a coating of oil. Seeing no answer was forthcoming I set off again
for the pub.
Upon my first
step, the lights outside the pub dim again, closely followed by the entire
village. What the hell? I wonder. I struggle for answers, accepting and
discarding each one in turn, till only one remains. Power cut imminent.
Curiosity growing by the second , I quickly search each part of the
village, waiting to see the lights finally flicker and die,followed by the
first peals of laughter from the pub.Taking a step forward, my head swinging to
and fro I search the village for an answer.
When looking toward the outskirts of the village, it
appears although these lights are dim; they are still brighter than the ones
around the pub. This being said it still appears that the entire village
appears coated in a murky film; making sharp edges ill-defined and almost smoky
in appearance. Shadows seem to writhe within the coating that is obscuring the
lights throughout the village. Moving from translucent to opaque the nearer my
sight travels to the center where the old church is supposed to be. Now an
almost solid mass of darkness lies over it, obscuring the quaint reminder of
Christianity from my sight. Taking a step in retreat; I sense rather than see
the ridge forming over the church. More shadows pulse toward the ridge and then
they appear.
Eyes!
Twin orbs of fathomless ebony staring down toward me.
Recoiling in horror, my mind locks my body whilst struggling to process what
lies before me. This murky shadow engulfs the whole village, from riverbank to
the one road leading in and out of the village. Still held rigid in my own
fear, my eyes are drawn into its eyes. Drawing me forward, hypnotising me, and
pulling me toward its center Feeling the icy intrusion in its gaze, my mind
recoils back to reality, screaming for me to get the hell out of there. My eyes
swivel back to the pub, looking at its dimly flickering lights, I take my first
step toward sanctuary.
Only thirty
yards separate me from salvation. Breaking into a sprint, I head for the one
place I know I will find people. Glancing sideways, the houses on the outskirts
of the village snap back into normality as this thing, this wraith begins its
metamorphism into a new form. Watching in horror, my mind screams a pitiful
wail.
Fingers!
My bruised mind has no answers but urges me to slap my feet
quicker on the tarmac leading to salvation. More shadows pulse to the smoky
fingers of the wraith enabling another metamorphism.
Oh my God is the only answer my tortured mind can muster
when the talons begin to take shape.
For fuck sake, what the hell is going on? My mind asks the
question but can find no answer. Looking behind me, my eyes are greeted by the
same apparition. Talons already on the move, seeking me out, but these ones are
a hell of a lot closer. Heart slamming in my chest, from my efforts, or my fear
I don’t know, but, the outcome is the same. Knees rising, feet slamming, I
re-double my efforts to reach the pub. Racing up the two flights of steps to
the pub I rip open the door. Back braced I wait for the talons that would
surely rip into my body. Flinging myself inside I breathe a sigh of relief when
the door clatters shut behind me. Staring through the glass panels at my feet I
wait for the talons to seep through the glass; knowing in my heart I may have
just cost the lives of everyone in the bar. Pulling my knees up till they lie
under my chin, I watch and wait. A small wispy tendril breaches the gap and I
can only stare in disbelief at the speed of its retreat.
Pulling myself off the floor, I squint in the bright lights
hanging over my head. Looking around I notice all eyes are on me. Grasping the
offered bottle from Rossy, I swiftly drain two thirds of it in one swallow.
Taking a cigarette from my pocket I quickly light it in a vain attempt to hide
my ravaged nerves and shaking hands. Inhaling deeply, I remove my cigarette and
quickly finish my lager. Waiting for my next bottle I offer my friends a
nervous laugh as explanation for my rather strange entrance.
“Damn bloody laces.”
This is the only other explanation I offer and laughter
erupts around me. Slowly night-time in the pub returns to normal and my bruised
mind finally resembles something of its former self. Staring from window to
window I notice that the wraith has again settled above the church. Its talons
shaping and re-shaping like fingers clenching and unclenching into a fist. Center shifting again, its eyes appear to stare deep into mine. Shadows pulsing
quicker, a tear appears just below the eyes as my friend offers me a cold
smile. I take a step back under the weight of shivers walking my spine. Turning
on my heel I offer my back in a vain hope of forgetting what waits outside for
me.
My friends
attempt to draw me out but to no avail. Silent, tongue tied and dejected I
slump at the bar, wondering if the village was going to survive this night.
After a few strangers had left and made it to their cars intact, one fact was
sure; the wraith was waiting for only one person tonight. Maybe I should have
said something, but who would have believed me. It appeared that no one else
could see it anyway. As the night ticks by, the early leavers run the gauntlet
and make it home unscathed. Minutes become hours and last orders ring out. My
friends finish their drinks and shrugging into coats make ready for their short
journeys home. Each of my friends live within sight of the pub and watching
them leave, I long to open up and tell them what had happened and thus keeping
them safe. Fear of ridicule, that old thorn in my side strangles my power of
speech and I leave them to the night.
My eyes follow
the journey of each and every one of them, my silent prayers a poor excuse for
my silence. As each of them enters their own private sanctuary of home I feel
my relief choking me. One by one the pub empties and alone I stand; a
silhouetted prey for the waiting horror outside. Looking at the church our eyes
lock, hunter and prey playing a game for my survival. Turning my back again, I
slowly drain my final bottle. Shrugging into my coat I spark up a last
cigarette and step outside, ready at last to meet my fate. I speak no goodbyes
as the door shuts behind me, because like a whippet I am off running into the
night.
In the space of
two yards my escape ends, when a smoky talon slams into my stomach. If only I
had taken a final look, took the time to look once more through the windows and
search the night for my nemesis. Then I would have known it had moved. Draped
across the small copse of trees opposite the pub it had laid in wait, probably
watching my every move. Hindsight, a bloody curse for a sack of meat hung on a
transparent talon, waiting for the horror of death to begin. None of it mattered
now; the talon was sinking deeper and was already on the move seeking my heart.
Coming out of the night, a second talon sinks into my head freezing my
thoughts. Impaled upon the talons I feel myself lifted and dragged forward
toward the center of the wraith. All thoughts of escape are lost in the pain
ripping through my body and echoed in my frozen silent screams. Forcing more of
itself into my body, I begin crying at this final violation; wincing when the
tears freeze upon my cheeks. Feeling its movement from stomach to breast I wait
for death.
In its urgent probing of my body I feel the pressure on my
head relent a fraction. A final thought escapes from me; my children. Whispered
words of sorry send the images of their faces racing through my brain, pushing
the pressure burning in my skull back just a little. With a little room to
think I take my chance to say goodbye to my children and send a silent message
across the night filled with love and apologies. Finally at peace, I am ready
to face my own death, filled with the knowledge that my love for them will be a
fitting epitaph.
Howling in agony
the wraith hurls me to the ground; recoiling from me almost in disgust. Picking
myself up from our frozen battlefield, I begin my escape again. Slamming down
the steps I somehow keep my balance and hit the grass verge in a full on
sprint. Lengthening my stride, I set off on a final run hoping to save my life.
Maybe just maybe I can make this and for the first time since leaving my home I
dare to feel hope. I was free, something had hurt it and I now knew that it wasn't the light, but heat that had caused the wraith’s disgust in me. My love
for my children, the heat of human kindness, love for a fellow person, all
these had prevented the wraith from following me into the pub and from killing
me as I left.
I had only one chance left, a small glimmer of hope to end
this night alive and I was ready to put it into play. A few yards from home I
stop, my chest heaving, head hung low and waiting. The first talon smokes
through my arm. Frozen pain erupts nauseating me at this fresh assault. Arm
hanging useless I still wait. A second talon ghosts through the top of my thigh
freezing me to the spot. Bringing its head level with mine the wraith begins
again violating my body with more of its noxious self.
“Come on you bastard,” I scream.
The wraith is
all too willing. Forcing more of itself inside me, it begins filling my every
cell and overloading me till I believe I may explode. Now it’s my turn. Opening
my mind I parade the images of my children; a slideshow of love, warmth and
understanding. The unconditional love of a father, raw and honest, one of the
most powerful emotions I could hold. As one slideshow finishes another starts,
friendship, first loves, laughs and smiles, I parade them all. Recoiling again
in its own agony, the wraith retreats into itself, gradually diminishing in
size until only its eyes remain in the trees of the graveyard. Turning my back
I walk the few yards to my door and slip quietly into my home. Pain is a
powerful negative emotion and tonight I guess I saw just how powerful. Taking
my phone from my pocket, I slowly key in a number and allow a sigh to escape
me. Listening to her voice on the other end of the line, I dare to wear a
smile.
