Midnight Raven

This section is for my fragmented writing pieces or short stories that I think are my best writing scribbles.

4.  A Tall Tale of Dread 

The forest can be very calming and a joy to walk through during the daytime. People go on hikes, have picnics, and they even enjoy taking pictures of nature. Some forests have national parks where you can go camping, fishing, and even hunting if that is something you like. Some forests are either forbidden, creepy, or dark because of stories that were made up from long ago. One forest in particular called the Gloom Forest (when translated to English), located in Bulgaria, has such stories and warnings about it. This forest has large birch trees that are around fifty feet tall and its foliage is so thick, that it looked like the sunlight could not penetrate through them from a quick glance on the outside. It got its name from one wandering traveller years ago and he was lucky to have come back alive. He recounted his experience being one of the eerie and most terrifying places he’s ever visited. The forest sits inside a crater of mountains and has an opening with a path that looks like a human mouth. The trees on the outside of the opening had no leaves and the branches that were overhanging looked like sharp claws.

The traveller was curious as a cat and decided to check out the forest despite the chills he got along his spine. There was a light breeze that seemed to whisper into his ear. He walked along what looked like a crooked and broken dirt path and noticed that the forest was totally silent with very little light peering through the tops of the trees. It was a warm spring day around noon and the sun was bright and high up on the horizon outside the forest. As he walked, and upon further inspection, he noticed that the tops of the trees did let a little bit of light in. Eventually, as he kept going, it steadily got darker within the forest. The traveller had to take a flashlight out from his knapsack that he was carrying to help him see where he was going. He knew he should turn back, but curiosity, adrenaline, and the rush of adventure had over took his fear. With his flashlight he could see a few rocks, discolored dirt, and he didn’t see any plant life as he kept walking. The only vegetation he had seen growing was a green carpet that stretched for miles outside of the entrance. This forest seemed to be an enigma to him and he wanted to write down his experience and maybe even draw some of the scenery. He wanted to do this even if he had to do it by flashlight.

He was rummaging through his knapsack when he heard a loud cry of despair that sounded like a wailing woman. He stopped dead in his tracks and stood still listening and waiting to see if he would hear it again. When he heard nothing after a few minutes he decided, against his better judgement to keep going forward. He peered around shining the light from the flashlight to get a good look of his surroundings. He saw a few dead bushes and the rocks along the path kept getting larger, each one progressively starting to look like growing sharp teeth of white rock. He did not dare stray from the strange and peculiar path that the forest seemed to offer him. He stopped again and heard another noise. This time it sounded like something sharp and metal scraping against concrete. Then the wailing began again and this time it was louder. Finally, some sense started to rattle in his brain and he made the decision to turn around, but he could not move his feet. He was paralyzed with complete terror. He pondered quickly how he could escape this situation.

Breathing became difficult and he started to cough and wheeze. This couldn’t be a panic attack he surmised. Not now and not here when things were getting interesting. The traveller held fast to the flashlight even though it started to blink and fade a bit. The batteries must need changing. He cursed under his rasping breath and tried going for his knapsack again to get the back up batteries. He lowered his flashlight. While rummaging through his knapsack he heard the scraping metal again, and this time on the cold, hard, dead rocky ground. Whatever it was it was getting closer. This time the cry was a loud shrill shrieking coming closer towards him. He raised his fading flashlight and saw her. A ghostly tall figure of a woman, pale and lanky, with long sharp wolf like teeth, long bright red hair, and wearing tattered white robes that looked bloodied. He just about soiled himself as he gazed at her long tendrils of blades that appeared to be her fingers dragging on the ground. She was walking slowly towards him and howling in despair and pain.

He stood still and made the mistake of slowly looking up towards her eyes. Her eyes were hollowed out, dark, empty, and void of anything. She struggled to speak in a raspy breathless voice, “Eye….eye…”

“You what…?” The traveller spoke almost inaudibly.

“I want…”

“Yes…?” Quietly he whispered as he was able to slowly start moving back away from the ghostly woman.

“Your eyes!” She lamented woefully in a booming voice. She raised her right arm of her long sharp bladed fingers ready to slash at him.

That’s when the traveller shrieked in terror and dropped his flashlight and he turned around and began running.

No one knows how he escaped. The wandering traveller doesn’t even know himself. All he remembers is that he escaped. As for the creature, she does not like the light, or so he says. That’s the only explanation he could muster after his brush with death. There is some speculation of how he made it back to the entrance without the flashlight is that he did not go very deep in the forest to begin with. Others say he had escaped the darkness and horrors of his inner demons of his own mind, and now he was just making up stories to feed his own pompous ego of being a brave explorer. He has told this story in many diners and pubs in exchange for some cheeseburgers, good company, and to anyone that would lend an ear. He wound up telling the story for years and some people had listened out of respect and kindness, but others thought he was over exaggerating and blowing hot air. Some think now he’s just an old fool who wants free cheeseburgers in exchange for attention and adoration while telling his story. There has been a few other tales from other travellers that swore they had visited the same forest, but they never entered inside in fear of the wailing lady with red hair. The traveller still to this day sleeps with an old trusty blade in hand, one eye open, and with the lights on in fear that she will find him someday. He often swears that most nights he can still hear the wails and shrieks of that same woman from the forest. He also swears that she oddly resembles his late wife.

3. Utter boredom, but hey at least there are books…

Silence. That’s all I hear when I woke up from my dream. I miss the freedom of being able to stalk my prey whenever I wanted to. I also miss the smell of fear that hangs and lingers in the air even after the victim has long since expired. I can hear and feel my stomach growling and I mutter to myself of how long it’s been since I’ve eaten anything. I don’t need food to survive because I’m already dead. The only thing mortal food does for me is power an organic battery inside. You could say I am on low power mode or safety mode for now.

This mansion has twists, turns, and so many secrets. I’ve killed all the inhabitants because they started to bore me. I almost regret doing that, but not really because “they” still lurk in the shadows. The creatures these humans have created aren’t much for conversation anyway. Thankfully there is a large library that I can bide my time with until I can figure out how to get out of here. I’m trapped here because a vampire with a soul thought it would be better to seal me away until he can figure out how to get rid of me. Sorry to disappoint, but my kind is not easily disposed of because we are not your run of the mill otherworldly beings. Exorcisms do not work, stakes do not work, fire does not work, silver bullets do not work, and we heal quickly. Okay, maybe not super quick healers, but we do heal fast and it also depends on the damage.

It’s been a few years I think? Honestly, I have no sense of time or direction because five minutes to me or my kind can seem like two weeks watching the same boring horror film over and over and over again. I could argue with someone and fifteen minutes later act like it’s been old news for months. My stomach is gnawing at me again and I could literally kill for a stack of pancakes and a plateful of bacon right about now. Maybe there’s some food left in the kitchen downstairs? I need to start writing this crap down. Even if there is still food down there I have to be mindful of expiration dates. It won’t kill me to eat something expired, but you don’t want to be around me when the gates of hell open. Don’t ask…just…don’t…

Yeah, I don’t care and I think I’m going to check the kitchen again anyway. Before I go I have to finish reading Edgar Rice Burroughs…

2. Fragmented Dream

“Ice cream you scream we all scream for ice cream.” That is the sound you hear by little children in the streets while they chased down an ice cream truck playing its happy tune.

The ice cream truck slows down and stops for the little children. The ice cream man puts it in park, goes into the back of the truck, and he rolls up the truck window. The children line up to get their fudge bars, drumsticks, ice cream sandwiches, and rocket popsicles. Each child either holds a few dollars, spare change, or some quarters from their piggy banks waiting for a taste of a frosty treat of summer.
The summer heat was so bad you could fry an egg on the sidewalk and probably a side of bacon too. But, humans do exaggerate stories from time to time…even little children. You could see the little children licking their lips as the money was exchanged for a cold, creamy, sugary treat. Personally, I hated ice cream ever since it was invented, but that’s another story for a different time.

The year is 1972, in the Midwest somewhere I believe. I sometimes lose track of where I am or where I’ve been. I hate the heat as well and I would rather be in Alaska, Russia, or the arctic somewhere if I had my way. I could survive the weather there, but nourishment might become more unobtainable if I go somewhere where humans can’t thrive.
I can feel my stomach growl softly and pangs of hunger threatened to tear right through my belly. I had to find something to shut it up. Anything will do. I looked around the street and there is nothing but nice houses and white picket fences. If you ask me everything was too damn perfect…an OCD person’s heavenly dream I suppose. I must be in a suburban area where all the women are perfect little house wives named Debbie. They bake, cook, do the laundry, and raise the children. They never ask for anything more and think their little life is perfect while living the American dream. Meanwhile the husband ain’t so perfect and is having affair with the neighbor’s wife…or some crap like that. Am I ranting and babbling again? I do that sometimes. Get used to it. My point being is that nothing is ever as it seems and if it seems too perfect you should try on a pair of different glasses. You know instead of the rosy colored ones.

I looked towards the children and slowly wet my lower lip with my tongue. My body slowly moved in calculated strides towards what I now deemed as my prey, or what you would call…breakfast.

1. Cafe

One morning I decided to sit in a small café down the street from my job. I had just graduated from high school and got my first job as a hostess at a fancy Italian restaurant. My birthday is next month and I will be turning nineteen. I met a guy at work. He asked me out. He is our delivery boy. I never really talked to him before, but I decided to give it a shot and got out with him.

I am not the type of girl that was popular in high school. I am just a plain and simple shy girl. No, I am not a geek, a goth, or a jock. I am just me and I hate labels and stereotypes. The boy that finally got the nerve to ask me out is a junior in college. I cannot wait to start college in the fall. I got one of those artsy scholarships to a fancy art school that is hard to get into.

The guy I am seeing is tall, medium built, smart, confident, and he is funny. I do not know why I did not talk to him before. He asked me out to this little café a week ago. Do not worry, it was a good date and he was a perfect gentleman. Did I tell you that I love small café’s? I love to sit in them, order coffee or tea and write. I love to write poems and stories, it is like a sanctuary to unwind and be alone. You could be yourself and know it is a safe and peaceful place.

He loves to read. I love to read too. We are a couple of bookworms that fell in love at the first cup of tea. He goes to UCLA and he studies medicine. He loves kids, but he’s allergic to dogs. That’s okay because I am a cat person. He likes Voltaire and Chaucer while I prefer Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost. He likes old rock music while I like Chopin. He is a big Beatles and Elvis fan. During the whole date last week it seemed everything just clicked and I was on cloud nine. I think he is perfect and he might be “the one”.

I was supposed to see him again today. I was supposed to see him in the café again. I looked out the window and notice a big accident on the street. A big SUV ran a red light and hit a small yellow Volkswagen. You know, the kind you slug a person in the shoulder if you see it pass by. There are a lot of cops on the scene. I wonder what’s going on. People are starting to gather. The ambulance is here. There is a lot of commotion. It’s all happening so fast. A woman arrives at the scene. She looks familiar for some reason. Oh…that is my mother. She must have been on her way to her book club. Why is she crying?

The cops are taking a man out of the SUV. They put cuffs on him and they have to hold him up. He staggers as he walks. It cannot be, but it is the guy I have fallen in love with. I looked at the Volkswagen and realized that it is my car. I am the one laying out on the pavement covered in blood and glass. What is this feeling? He seems not to have a scratch on him. The medical examiner zips me up in a big black duffel bag. All I can feel is over whelming sadness and rage.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s