Untitled - Under A Killing Moon

***A Short-Story I wrote for my English AS coursework. It was said to be 1500 words in length and of the genre Gothic. I struggled fitting 1500 in so most had to be cut from it. Any constructive criticism would be appreciated as I know it needs a lot of work. ***



Cold, misty air hangs over the graveyard tonight; the eve of her death. Never once has the moon been so full and so big that you could almost touch it. The grass is damp with beads of water as I lay closely next to her. My fingers numb from the frost I carve over her name ’Elena Gale’.

‘Oh, how I miss her.’ I sighed. ‘Never once have I met a beauty with eyes as black as midnight and hair a beautiful, burgundy brown, yet unknown to others, a black heart lays in her dying body.’

I gently brush over the marble gravestone and begin my climb back to Montee du Ruisseau. I pick up my coat and give a small smile to Elena as I leave.

Thud

Startled by the noise I freeze in my footsteps. My eyes slowly move from side to side trying to search for the creature that could of possibly have made that heavy, heart wrenching noise.

Thud

I hear it again, but this time it’s closer. A chill tingles down my nervous spine as my mind wonders for a logical explanation. I’ve always been a rational thinker, but since I met Her I’ve changed. Not once I have visited her without my companion, Angus, but tonight I decided to go alone, and as my heart pounds louder and louder I start to regret my decision.

‘What brings you her?’ a voice from behind me belts out. ‘Who gave you permission to visit my wife’s grave this special evening?’ By the sound of his voice I can tell he is not a very big man, and as I turn I notice his pale complexion and bony structure waving a crooked walking stick in the air.

The man must be about 80, and by the way he talks and stands defending his territory over my dead wife’s grave I start to think he might be on the bridge of insanity.

‘I beg your pardon, Sir.’ I start. Maybe apologising will push the old fool away. ‘I don’t want any trouble. I will be on my way.’ I tip my hat and begin my long walk back home.

‘Why?’ this time waving the stick in motion with his unsteady pace until he rests it on my chest.

I look at him straight in the eyes, he didn’t blink once. I thought telling him that was actually my dead wife’s grave he might grow a little confused. But he wanted answers.

‘I’m sorry, Sir. But the grave you stand by is that of my late wife Elena Gale.’ The old man’s stare still stuck frozen on my face so I feel obliged to continue. ‘I’ve come to visit her every night for the last year now.’

‘You lie.’ He removed his stick. ‘You tell no truth, as she was mine.’ He turns around and stubbles back towards her grave. ‘20 years ago today I buried her. ‘Twas a terrible day.’

‘How did she die?’ I reply to his unethical story. I decide to comfort the man instead of calling the police. No man should be walking around alone this late at night, especially in a graveyard. I take up a pitch of grass on the uneven floor and place my coat on the ground.

‘Oh, I cannot say.’ he replied shaking his head. ’For you wouldn’t believe me. No-one believed me.’ He turns around and shouts into the night, ’No-one believed me! They all thought I was going insane. Said I needed to seek help for my visions. But they were no visions.’ By this time his gaze had moved from the sky to my eyes, leaning into me as he said the words.

I gulped, ’What visions are these?’ I say. Again I regret not bringing my dog, the thought of staying alone with this man frightens me.

‘All kinds of visions!’ He removes himself from my face and starts on a rampage, hobbling and waving his hands as he goes. ’Frogs, and “special” stew. Tiny people, and talking chickens.’ The he said the 4 words I had been dreading for him to say ‘She was a Witch!’

I found out a year ago. A number of things had happened since then but I thought it was just in her culture. She was French, you see. I’ve heard of frog’s legs, but never cat’s tails and Kangaroo’s ears until I saw them stashed away in tin cans along the manor basement each with its own individual label. I never asked what they were used for.

One Autumn night the mist grew heavy around our manor home, the moon shone bright and the wild dogs howled. She had been gone for hours but that was nothing out of the ordinary. I took a glimpse into the towering metal fridge, it was bare, I assumed she’d of gone to the market. One half eaten can of beans lay dripping on the top self. As hungry as I was the mould growing on the side didn’t seem to bother me as much. I snatched it and took it to the stove. Then crash the can of bean tumbled onto the tiled floor and rolled away down the basement stairs. I hurried after it hoping I would catch it before it hit ground. Panting, I tripped over the last few steps and went tumbling to the other side of the basement. I had never been over this part before, Elena had always forbid it. Said it was for the best that I stay out of the way. I picked myself up and turned back toward to stairs but before I could do so I was face to face with a disintegrated corpse.

Its eyes were bulging out of its sockets due to lack of food and nourishment, its knuckles china white gripping onto the metal bars of its human sized cage. Ligaments and skin hand been pulled off as if the human was nothing but a used doll. But it’s frozen like stance still stayed standing. Bang! The front door opened. It was Her.

‘Charles, where are you?’ Her thick French accent called from the kitchen. I couldn’t answer. This catastrophe was obviously her doing. I was shocked, yet heart broken at the same time. How could someone so precious to me do something is nauseating to someone else?

‘Charles? Are you down there?’ she called into the basement. My head turned quickly towards the old wooden stairs, but I couldn’t risk my life going up them. What if she knows that I’ve seen what she’s done? What if she’ll do that to me?

Just at that moment pots and pans crashed to the floor in the kitchen. I ran and hid underneath the stairs terrified that she might find me. A heavy low scream came from the door and with it a huge gust of wind. Like a tornado had hit it the door flung off its hinges onto the ground next to me. Heavy thunder like steps made its way down the stairs. My hands trembled with fear, my heart raced with apprehension. A shadow grew bigger and bigger on the wall in front of me. I could just make out her silhouette. But this couldn’t be her, horns appeared, hair as crazy as her temper, her height twice… no… three times the size. What’s happening?

I turned to look at the end of the stairs where the corpse hid. A green, knobbly hand reached out and swung open the cage door. One long nail slid across the cheek of the poor soul, drawing blood as it went. Then viciously her hand grabbed at a piece of flesh on its arm, yanked it out and swallowed it in one. Blood trickled down her chin as she festered on the carcass.

From fairy tales and folk stories I had learnt that the only way to terminate such a creature was to target its heart. Without thinking I sprinted across the room and snatched the sword my grandfather had once fought with and charged at her with extreme force. Her monstrous like body squelched as the sword pierced her skin and through her black heart. Black gooey substance came from within her and splattered all over the wooden floor. Her bulging body turned back into her fragile state, her hair no longer crazy but silky and smooth, and as she collapses in my arms I realize what I have done. I have killed the only person I have ever loved.

‘Did you not ask her anything about being a witch? What it’s like? What happens?’ he asked puzzled. He edged forward towards me. ‘After twenty years their bodies raise from their graves in search for another victim. Once they obtained that love they can live again through that person.’ I couldn’t believe what he was saying. ‘Every 20 years the love disappears and she returns.’ he looked down at the grave as black blood bleeds from it. ‘and it begins.’