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Slightly disturbing story. Read it anyway. Comments/criticisms welcome.
He stood on a smooth rock under the waterfall, as the cool, crisp, clear water came tumbling down in swirls, soaking him to the skin, through his clothes. His long black hair was plastered to the sides of his face, his eyes were shut and he was twirling slowly round with his arms held aloft. The water cooled him, soaked him, enveloped him, but, more importantly, purified him. He stood like this for a few minutes, before he jumped down into the plunge pool and waded slowly over to the bank, where he stripped naked, abandoning his wet clothes and drying roughly with an old towel. Then, when he was sufficiently dried off, he donned a white hooded robe and lifted up an elaborately crafted dagger, about eight inches long with a wavy blade. It had designs which looked like Celtic swirls engraved on the blade, and had a gold pommel. The black haired man lifted up a crown of mistletoe and placed it on his head, then knelt down and began a low mumbling at the foot of an oak tree, making slow deliberate passes of his body with the dagger. Seeming satisfied, he heaved himself to his feet and walked off.
Robert knew what he had to do. He had known since the operation. Ever since he had nearly died after the car accident, part of him had crossed over to the other side, and that part had seen what was wrong with his family. They were not cleansed, they worshipped fake gods. The god they worshipped in the buildings was a fraud. The real gods were to be worshipped in stone circles, and in sacred oak groves.
He had tried bringing it up with his wife Monica but she had gazed at him oddly. He knew she thought him insane. So there was only one thing he could do.
He entered the house via the back door, hoping not to disturb Monica. Too late.
“Hey, honey. What’s this? Halloween already? Hey what the aghhhhhhhhh!!!”
It seemed to go in slow motion. Her face shuddered violently as the dagger slashed it open. Blood flecked everywhere, on the hall walls, on Robert’s pure white linen robe, on the floor. Monica span round like a horribly contorted ballerina engaged in a scarlet blood dance, letting the precious life blood spin everywhere as she hit the wall and slowly slumped down, leaving a long red line on the bright yellow wallpaper. The old Robert would have hated this, as that wallpaper was expensive and he had to drive forty miles to get it, but the new Robert didn’t care. He crouched down, and plunged the knife into his wife repeatedly, stopping only after he gave way to sheer exhaustion. Then, after he had recovered slightly, he made his way to his son’s room.
James was sleeping peacefully in his bed. He was only four years old, and had been the apple of his fathers eyes. Now, he was a rotten apple. Robert slid a pillow over his little lad and thrust the knife through it, clenching his teeth as he did so. He kept the dagger there until he saw the pillow becoming red as the blood soaked up it. It was nearly done. But not yet.
Fire was the best cleanser. Robert knew he had saved his family, but he had decided to light fire to the house and burn them, just to make sure. He watched the flames for a while as they reached up and licked the sky, with long rollicking tongues and a healthy orange flame coupled with thick white smoke, which rolled over the nearby fields like an early morning mist.
Satisfied, Robert started to walk up the road to his parents house, clothed in his blood spattered robe, dagger in hand.
He stood on a smooth rock under the waterfall, as the cool, crisp, clear water came tumbling down in swirls, soaking him to the skin, through his clothes. His long black hair was plastered to the sides of his face, his eyes were shut and he was twirling slowly round with his arms held aloft. The water cooled him, soaked him, enveloped him, but, more importantly, purified him. He stood like this for a few minutes, before he jumped down into the plunge pool and waded slowly over to the bank, where he stripped naked, abandoning his wet clothes and drying roughly with an old towel. Then, when he was sufficiently dried off, he donned a white hooded robe and lifted up an elaborately crafted dagger, about eight inches long with a wavy blade. It had designs which looked like Celtic swirls engraved on the blade, and had a gold pommel. The black haired man lifted up a crown of mistletoe and placed it on his head, then knelt down and began a low mumbling at the foot of an oak tree, making slow deliberate passes of his body with the dagger. Seeming satisfied, he heaved himself to his feet and walked off.
Robert knew what he had to do. He had known since the operation. Ever since he had nearly died after the car accident, part of him had crossed over to the other side, and that part had seen what was wrong with his family. They were not cleansed, they worshipped fake gods. The god they worshipped in the buildings was a fraud. The real gods were to be worshipped in stone circles, and in sacred oak groves.
He had tried bringing it up with his wife Monica but she had gazed at him oddly. He knew she thought him insane. So there was only one thing he could do.
He entered the house via the back door, hoping not to disturb Monica. Too late.
“Hey, honey. What’s this? Halloween already? Hey what the aghhhhhhhhh!!!”
It seemed to go in slow motion. Her face shuddered violently as the dagger slashed it open. Blood flecked everywhere, on the hall walls, on Robert’s pure white linen robe, on the floor. Monica span round like a horribly contorted ballerina engaged in a scarlet blood dance, letting the precious life blood spin everywhere as she hit the wall and slowly slumped down, leaving a long red line on the bright yellow wallpaper. The old Robert would have hated this, as that wallpaper was expensive and he had to drive forty miles to get it, but the new Robert didn’t care. He crouched down, and plunged the knife into his wife repeatedly, stopping only after he gave way to sheer exhaustion. Then, after he had recovered slightly, he made his way to his son’s room.
James was sleeping peacefully in his bed. He was only four years old, and had been the apple of his fathers eyes. Now, he was a rotten apple. Robert slid a pillow over his little lad and thrust the knife through it, clenching his teeth as he did so. He kept the dagger there until he saw the pillow becoming red as the blood soaked up it. It was nearly done. But not yet.
Fire was the best cleanser. Robert knew he had saved his family, but he had decided to light fire to the house and burn them, just to make sure. He watched the flames for a while as they reached up and licked the sky, with long rollicking tongues and a healthy orange flame coupled with thick white smoke, which rolled over the nearby fields like an early morning mist.
Satisfied, Robert started to walk up the road to his parents house, clothed in his blood spattered robe, dagger in hand.
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Slightly disturbing story. Read it anyway. Comments/criticisms welcome.
He stood on a smooth rock under the waterfall, as the cool, crisp, clear water came tumbling down in swirls, soaking him to the skin, through his clothes. His long black hair was plastered to the sides of his face, his eyes were shut and he was twirling slowly round with his arms held aloft. The water cooled him, soaked him, enveloped him, but, more importantly, purified him. He stood like this for a few minutes, before he jumped down into the plunge pool and waded slowly over to the bank, where he stripped naked, abandoning his wet clothes and drying roughly with an old towel. Then, when he was sufficiently dried off, he donned a white hooded robe and lifted up an elaborately crafted dagger, about eight inches long with a wavy blade. It had designs which looked like Celtic swirls engraved on the blade, and had a gold pommel. The black haired man lifted up a crown of mistletoe and placed it on his head, then knelt down and began a low mumbling at the foot of an oak tree, making slow deliberate passes of his body with the dagger. Seeming satisfied, he heaved himself to his feet and walked off.
Robert knew what he had to do. He had known since the operation. Ever since he had nearly died after the car accident, part of him had crossed over to the other side, and that part had seen what was wrong with his family. They were not cleansed, they worshipped fake gods. The god they worshipped in the buildings was a fraud. The real gods were to be worshipped in stone circles, and in sacred oak groves.
He had tried bringing it up with his wife Monica but she had gazed at him oddly. He knew she thought him insane. So there was only one thing he could do.
He entered the house via the back door, hoping not to disturb Monica. Too late.
“Hey, honey. What’s this? Halloween already? Hey what the aghhhhhhhhh!!!”
It seemed to go in slow motion. Her face shuddered violently as the dagger slashed it open. Blood flecked everywhere, on the hall walls, on Robert’s pure white linen robe, on the floor. Monica span round like a horribly contorted ballerina engaged in a scarlet blood dance, letting the precious life blood spin everywhere as she hit the wall and slowly slumped down, leaving a long red line on the bright yellow wallpaper. The old Robert would have hated this, as that wallpaper was expensive and he had to drive forty miles to get it, but the new Robert didn’t care. He crouched down, and plunged the knife into his wife repeatedly, stopping only after he gave way to sheer exhaustion. Then, after he had recovered slightly, he made his way to his son’s room.
James was sleeping peacefully in his bed. He was only four years old, and had been the apple of his fathers eyes. Now, he was a rotten apple. Robert slid a pillow over his little lad and thrust the knife through it, clenching his teeth as he did so. He kept the dagger there until he saw the pillow becoming red as the blood soaked up it. It was nearly done. But not yet.
Fire was the best cleanser. Robert knew he had saved his family, but he had decided to light fire to the house and burn them, just to make sure. He watched the flames for a while as they reached up and licked the sky, with long rollicking tongues and a healthy orange flame coupled with thick white smoke, which rolled over the nearby fields like an early morning mist.
Satisfied, Robert started to walk up the road to his parents house, clothed in his blood spattered robe, dagger in hand.
He stood on a smooth rock under the waterfall, as the cool, crisp, clear water came tumbling down in swirls, soaking him to the skin, through his clothes. His long black hair was plastered to the sides of his face, his eyes were shut and he was twirling slowly round with his arms held aloft. The water cooled him, soaked him, enveloped him, but, more importantly, purified him. He stood like this for a few minutes, before he jumped down into the plunge pool and waded slowly over to the bank, where he stripped naked, abandoning his wet clothes and drying roughly with an old towel. Then, when he was sufficiently dried off, he donned a white hooded robe and lifted up an elaborately crafted dagger, about eight inches long with a wavy blade. It had designs which looked like Celtic swirls engraved on the blade, and had a gold pommel. The black haired man lifted up a crown of mistletoe and placed it on his head, then knelt down and began a low mumbling at the foot of an oak tree, making slow deliberate passes of his body with the dagger. Seeming satisfied, he heaved himself to his feet and walked off.
Robert knew what he had to do. He had known since the operation. Ever since he had nearly died after the car accident, part of him had crossed over to the other side, and that part had seen what was wrong with his family. They were not cleansed, they worshipped fake gods. The god they worshipped in the buildings was a fraud. The real gods were to be worshipped in stone circles, and in sacred oak groves.
He had tried bringing it up with his wife Monica but she had gazed at him oddly. He knew she thought him insane. So there was only one thing he could do.
He entered the house via the back door, hoping not to disturb Monica. Too late.
“Hey, honey. What’s this? Halloween already? Hey what the aghhhhhhhhh!!!”
It seemed to go in slow motion. Her face shuddered violently as the dagger slashed it open. Blood flecked everywhere, on the hall walls, on Robert’s pure white linen robe, on the floor. Monica span round like a horribly contorted ballerina engaged in a scarlet blood dance, letting the precious life blood spin everywhere as she hit the wall and slowly slumped down, leaving a long red line on the bright yellow wallpaper. The old Robert would have hated this, as that wallpaper was expensive and he had to drive forty miles to get it, but the new Robert didn’t care. He crouched down, and plunged the knife into his wife repeatedly, stopping only after he gave way to sheer exhaustion. Then, after he had recovered slightly, he made his way to his son’s room.
James was sleeping peacefully in his bed. He was only four years old, and had been the apple of his fathers eyes. Now, he was a rotten apple. Robert slid a pillow over his little lad and thrust the knife through it, clenching his teeth as he did so. He kept the dagger there until he saw the pillow becoming red as the blood soaked up it. It was nearly done. But not yet.
Fire was the best cleanser. Robert knew he had saved his family, but he had decided to light fire to the house and burn them, just to make sure. He watched the flames for a while as they reached up and licked the sky, with long rollicking tongues and a healthy orange flame coupled with thick white smoke, which rolled over the nearby fields like an early morning mist.
Satisfied, Robert started to walk up the road to his parents house, clothed in his blood spattered robe, dagger in hand.
And you came up with this how?
I probed the dark unused corners of my mind, and shined a torch in places so dark they wern't even black.
Overall there is good description and it sets the scene well. There is obviously a strong horror twist, but it is good at being what it is.
It is worth reading for anyone who hasn't yet. It makes sense but would have faired a little better in its context as then it would be fully described with some good atmosphere.
If this is part of some horror book you want to publish, and the rest is this good, then go ahead. It could no with some dark weather and scenery to make it a bit more spooky
For example:
The rain lashed down onto the stones and the wind howled and shook the trees like an enraged ogre who had lost its prey in long grass. Lightning cracked like the whip of a chariots' helmsman, riding the night sky. The sky was so dark that pumars could have been standing right next to him, where they?
Roberts deluded mind always seemed to play tricks on him. He stared out into the night sky, to where his house must be, Robert let the water.....
And it is your story from there. It is very good at grabbing the readers attention and is actually an intersting topic.
Try posting it in the Movies, Music, Tv and books for even more feedback, I am no expert, but that was excellent.Top marks.
Be proud, man.
10/10
:)
Handy Man
It is worth reading for anyone who hasn't yet. It makes sense but would have faired a little better in its context as then it would be fully described with some good atmosphere.
If this is part of some horror book you want to publish, and the rest is this good, then go ahead. It could no with some dark weather and scenery to make it a bit more spooky
For example:
The rain lashed down onto the stones and the wind howled and shook the trees like an enraged ogre who had lost its prey in long grass. Lightning cracked like the whip of a chariots' helmsman, riding the night sky. The sky was so dark that pumars could have been standing right next to him, where they?
Roberts deluded mind always seemed to play tricks on him. He stared out into the night sky, to where his house must be, Robert let the water.....
And it is your story from there. It is very good at grabbing the readers attention and is actually an intersting topic.
Try posting it in the Movies, Music, Tv and books for even more feedback, I am no expert, but that was excellent.Top marks.
Be proud, man.
10/10
:)
Handy Man
My thanks.
Cheers, dude. I aim to please.
:)
:)
I thought it was quite good but wouldn't give it 10/10 (sorry :S ). I think you could have developed it a bit more and I really hate it when people don't develop things. Good but next time really go into it. You know how to keep the reader interested now you just need to keep them interested for longer.
P.s. liked the pun :D
P.s. liked the pun :D
I also thought that it needed work, but only to set the scene and make it more sinister, and maybe put it in context to another part
More like that though and you could end up publishing your very own book...
You never know
More like that though and you could end up publishing your very own book...
You never know
Yes I liked the story as well, was slightly disturbing though.
What pun?
What pun?
The walking up to his parents house bit.
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