Sunday, October 31, 2010
THE LAST FEARFUL TALES: THIS ONE BY 19-YEAR-OLD JIMMY PIERRY
Dear Readers: This is the last of the Halloween tales students have written for me. Jimmy Pierry has some natural writing talent! He's working on a series of pieces to discover what genre suits him best. Happy Halloween to all of you!
By Jimmy Pierry
Screams ring out, ripping through the morning mists of the concealed village. Terror grasps hold of the morning dew as it drifts from person to person. Small and remote, all in this land feel the same angst and panic as the next as the rising sun reveals an image damaging to any psyche, a twisted young body, mauled by the beast. Again it struck in a raging swiftness, a speed unknown to man and their hearts began dying just as quickly.
“Third child in a month’s time, this beast must be dealt with soon or they will all perish,” these thoughts crunch in the lead hunter’s mind as numbers do a mathematician. Surveying the body of the poor young soul, the hunter takes in what little is left, imagining in his mind the type of creature, type of sadistic animal that would harm such a harmless being. This kill is clean, too clean for that of a large mammal yet much too devastating for that of a small carnivore. More and more questions fill his mind, unfazed by the destruction lying, so red, before him. Torn flesh lie quietly, a silent gesture emphasizing two stone cold eyes staring back up at the experienced man’s own. A feeling of resentment puffed in his chest, leaving in a heavy sigh as his wits are simply not enough to uncover the mystery behind the murderous culprit.
Frigid waters pour from the sky, drenching the already frosted ground with tears from the heavens as it is much too cold for rain. This phenomenon can only be explained with the occurrence of another. Digging his hands into the soggy, fresh smelling earth as he always does, the hunter prepares himself for what he already knows will be the hunt of his life. Lifting the clumps of dirt and mossy grass to his nose, pools of water flood into the holes of displaced dirt, filling the caverns created by the monstrous hands. Standing up, his large toned frame now looms over the dismantled body and the purposefully left face, mocking the abilities of the hunter, daring him to find the one responsible. “Honor,” thunder cracks at the sound of his voice, rarely a word ever creeps out of the large, silent man. All heads around the makeshift crime scene turn and all eyes glare in amazement at the power of their inspirational figure, standing, promising vengeance. Electricity begins to dance now, tantalizing each villager’s mind with what seems to be the hunter’s aura, stronger than any has felt before. Dusk now broke, giving way to a night that would forever be remembered as the darkest night ever to have scoured the earth.
That night, the night so dark that light itself fled, poured its devious black light onto the man, surrounding his body with the menacing colors of the depths. Reaching out his loose and strangely calm hand, it disappears within inches from his eyes, eaten swiftly by the sharp teeth of the night. Plodding on, his feet move gingerly along the estranged path, deeper and deeper into the snow covered woods. Soon, as time passed with each birch, the man’s eyes gain vision, growing accustomed to the vivid darkness. Far behind him, the village crouches, hiding its life behind a white capped hill, whispering to him in the wind, “You belong, not here, but with your heart, out there.”
Blowing flush in his face, the winter winds kiss his cheeks red, making its mark on his heart. Abruptly, his mind focuses, and his body ceases to obey, frozen as the tree limbs resting sweetly in their icy graves. Before him, massive and swift in its movements, a shadow, darker than even this night, swings around, glaring two pure blue orbs in the man’s direction, seemingly illuminating against the darkened surroundings. A snap and a snarl accompany the devious eyes, compounding an image into the man’s now acute brain. “Lupus…” the word float away in the breeze, carried away with the feelings of fear and angst, and replaced with infatuation. The creature paces back and forth, marking its territory with a gaze so fierce time seemingly stands still.
Slowly, the man’s grip loosens from his spear, blood flow returning his white knuckles to red. His gaze never once leaves those eyes, those tantalizing, glowing planets of blue, the Earth herself, and never will they until they disappear. Beauty, obscurity, mystery; the three things he desires most. Falling to his knees, numbness takes hold, euphoria dancing through his soul. Driving his hands through the snow packed ground, spiteful twinges, which are a norm for this cold, are nonexistent, hidden by the warmth rolling down his rose-red cheeks. All around him is nature, telling him what is already clear, telling him his path ends here, in the hands of the unknown. Calmly, the beast approaches the man, its warm breath pushing aside his short, dark brown hair resting on his forehead. Still eye to eye, his frigid, soaked hands erect from the grave, patting the now patient beast as it, too, knows what is to be done. Trapped in a timeless vortex, the woods stand still and sound is absent in anticipation for what now shall unfold.
Rivers begin to flow heavy, steaming around the man’s body in awkward, heated paths. As vivid as the blue eyes which now stare directly into the man’s heart, a blanket of red sprawls from underneath the massive paws of the massive beast, darkness and mystery encapsulated into life. Finishing what is left, the shadow drifts back into the deep woods, carrying with it the light of humanity, and two, shimmering blue eyes.