Gothic Work
This is a work produced for English, written through the voice of a great Gothic novelist like Henry James or Emily Bronte.
I found myself once again crippled by the act of doing nothing, pressing my face against the cold glass of my bedroom window, suffocated by the nothing that I found featured so prominently in my life.
God must have not been feeling sympathetic to my cause as what I saw from my window offered me no solace. The murky sky could not be tempted into anything that might arouse my mind instead It’s countenance remained somber, not allowing me the kiss of sunlight or the shock of lightning. The thick walls muffled all but the loudest of outside noises allowing me to be slowly deafened by the droning of silence that reverberated around my room. Isolation forced me into my thoughts and so for hours on end this is where I would stay, mulling over the entirety of my life in exceptional detail, on occasion drifting into moments of unknown mental soliloquy.
The door to my bedroom shuddered loudly, wrenching me back from my distant trance. With a frightened bewilderment I waited for the door to re animate itself and lurch again. It wasn’t long before the door began to tremble violently, my fingers wrapped themselves around the arms of the chair end clenched with the same power that possessed the door. I stayed here watching the door palpitate for what seemed like an eternity, I sat pressed deep back into the cushion of my chair as my knuckles turned white and sweat began form on my forehead, every muscle in my body ached in the effort of trying to some how bind myself with this piece of furniture.
Ever so slowly I loosened my grip on the chair, slithering myself from the imprints left by the attempt at merging the animate with the inanimate. I then crawled across the ground over towards the fireplace where there was an array of heavy steel utensils that I was now choosing to wield as a viscous weapon. The fires poker felt hard and cold in my hands but gave me a new found confidence. Moving myself from the fireplace to the door I payed careful attention to walk in time with the sounds made by the door and it’s shaking.
Now standing directly in front of the door, I could hear spasmodic segments of gurgled speech. However this speech in no way enticed me to open the door the language seemed to be english but the words were indistinguishable. And then abruptly all the noise ceased. After what was a long time of torturing silence that was just as frightening as when I could hear the door and fragmented language, I unlocked the door and slowly and tediously dragged it open.
At the foot of my door lay my chamber maid her clothes shredded and drenched in a a deep red blood. The blood had created a vast pool in the hallway, some had seeped into the carpet and the rest lapped up against the skirting board. I stumbled back into my bedroom, I tried to scream but terror took the sound before I could make it. I fought to keep my eyes from moving towards the door and resolved to smothering my face into my bed, the sheets consuming a mixture of sweat tears and saliva. With the door open open a draft made it’s way into my bedroom chilling the room, the wind wrapped around my body freezing my blood and numbing my skin, it was as if someone had run a sheet of ice over my entire body. My bedside candle was extinguished and now darkness enveloped the room. I couldn’t bear this anymore and flew from the room out the door stumbling over my chamber maids body slipping on the bloodied mess to find myself bathed in the same red blood as my servant. Her head was turned towards me, I will never be able to forget what I saw, forever etched into my memory. Every muscle was winced her jaw dislocated jutting out rigidly from the rest of her face. Her eyes seemed to tell a story that no one should ever hear. Absolute terror was just now epitomized. And her body looked as though it had spent centuries convulsing every limb bent at an angle that defied the human body.
I pushed myself from the scene and raced down the hallway and then stumbled down the stairs to be greeted with the cold darkness. All the downstairs windows and doors were opened and wind ravaged the living room, dining room and library. All throughout the air sheets of paper were flung around as if possessed by a poltergeist. They sliced my cheeks and drew blood as they were hurled across the room by natures wind. With only the light of the moon to guide me I felt my way to a cabinet were lanterns were kept.
After much fumbling a feeble light revealed to some extent the state of my now broken home, the air fluttering with papers, obstructing my ability to see. Through this aerial tumult I caught a glimpse of a figure streak across my field of vision. With my poker from upstairs I made my way blindly in the general direction I had seen the attacker. Knocking over tables and chairs I waded through this sea of paper across the room and then suddenly fresh air hit me, I was outside but still searching for the attacker, every sense seemed to be working at a thousand times it’s normal, my breathing was rapid and how my body coiled tight straining to break free.
From nowhere a hand latched around my wrist and pulled me back inside, instinctually I swung wildly, the poker arched at my attacker. Hitting, hitting, the sound of metal cracking bone and flesh. I felt the hand go limp and slide coldly from my wrist.
So many more sinuey hands began to grab at my flesh, within seconds I was being wrestled to the ground by a group of dark assailants. My poker was ripped from my fingertips and icy cold water was poured over my head in icy baptism. Suddenly my new predators hands loosened from me. I heard their voices discussing their shock at the death of the first attacker, a small victory it seemed for me.
I got up and opened my eyes as if for the first time and looked about the room for my attackers, surprised to see, no documents fluttering like trapped birds and to find all the windows were closed. There was some furniture upturned but generally it looked as though little more than a small scuffle had taken place. It was quite neat and tidy, really.
The darkness had been vanquished by a roaring fire and there was my staff huddled over someone who I could not make out. I stood and with my most commanding voice and tried to order them to search the grounds. To find my attacker. They just ignored me. Flustered with rage I prodded with my cane separating the clump of bodies to see who they were so bewitched by, and there across the room was my chamber maid lying dead now for a second time. My mind struggled to contemplate what had happened I looked for explanation. For a reason. But found none.
I look with questioning gaze pleading into the dewy eyes of my faithful manservant…all he could say was “It was you ma’m” screaming “It was you, But how? You, a cripple!
A smile appeared on my face and I smirked “Well at least I’m not bored”.
The things our mind does to amuse itself, I thought.
MissAlexis
“I loosened my grip on the chair, slithering myself from the imprints left by the attempt at merging the animate with the inanimate.”
This is my favorite, so beautiful, so…different.
izzybeth
POE LIKE TOO!!!