Post by Rose on Nov 7, 2010 2:18:05 GMT -5
Rose woke screaming, which was nothing new.
Where she woke up was.
She had expected to find her sodden bedclothes, but when she reached for the blankets she found her fingers curled into loamy, freshly-turned soil.
Rose scrambled out of the shallow grave, tripping over a headstone in her haste.
"The hell? Noo.." she sat down hard, realizing where she was. It was a quite familiar place in fact, a churchyard strewn with the graves of everyone she had killed. She knew the names ("Wintergreen") carved into the headstones, without looking. After all, she saw them when she slept more often than not.
She hugged herself for a moment, frozen in fear. Far too soon it began, the ground over the graves dancing in place as it always did, then the hands began to sprout from the soil like a macabre garden. Heads and torsos in various stages of decay followed but before they could escape fully, Rose fled.
As she passed the ruined church, Rose knew she would be safe until she awoke, there was a ladder going up the side of the steeple. She took no time in going up the cold metal rungs as fast as she could, flinging herself on the roof once she reached the top. Rose curled into a tight ball, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to wake.
She lay there, shivering in the cold for long moments until she became aware of a presence there, waiting.
"Oh, God... please. Please make her go away. Please." she pleaded to the night, knowing it wouldn't do any good.
Rose dragged herself to her feet and took a deep breath before opening her eyes. Of course, there framed in the full moon was a dark figure, a shadow sillouette of a small woman all in black. Glowing red embers were where her eyes should be and sharp horns pointed up from the figure's head. Its hands creaked as it flexed them, the sound of leather.
"Why won't you leave me alone? Why won't you die? Please, just go away. Just this once?" she begged the figure, but Rose knew it wouldn't listen. It was always there, she was always there ready to pounce in a moment of weakness.
The shadow flipped its cloak about it like a pair of great wings and advanced. The dance was about to begin.
Where she woke up was.
She had expected to find her sodden bedclothes, but when she reached for the blankets she found her fingers curled into loamy, freshly-turned soil.
Rose scrambled out of the shallow grave, tripping over a headstone in her haste.
"The hell? Noo.." she sat down hard, realizing where she was. It was a quite familiar place in fact, a churchyard strewn with the graves of everyone she had killed. She knew the names ("Wintergreen") carved into the headstones, without looking. After all, she saw them when she slept more often than not.
She hugged herself for a moment, frozen in fear. Far too soon it began, the ground over the graves dancing in place as it always did, then the hands began to sprout from the soil like a macabre garden. Heads and torsos in various stages of decay followed but before they could escape fully, Rose fled.
As she passed the ruined church, Rose knew she would be safe until she awoke, there was a ladder going up the side of the steeple. She took no time in going up the cold metal rungs as fast as she could, flinging herself on the roof once she reached the top. Rose curled into a tight ball, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to wake.
She lay there, shivering in the cold for long moments until she became aware of a presence there, waiting.
"Oh, God... please. Please make her go away. Please." she pleaded to the night, knowing it wouldn't do any good.
Rose dragged herself to her feet and took a deep breath before opening her eyes. Of course, there framed in the full moon was a dark figure, a shadow sillouette of a small woman all in black. Glowing red embers were where her eyes should be and sharp horns pointed up from the figure's head. Its hands creaked as it flexed them, the sound of leather.
"Why won't you leave me alone? Why won't you die? Please, just go away. Just this once?" she begged the figure, but Rose knew it wouldn't listen. It was always there, she was always there ready to pounce in a moment of weakness.
The shadow flipped its cloak about it like a pair of great wings and advanced. The dance was about to begin.
