| RoYds Part 29 - Loss |
2007
Elizabeth cringed as Grispheran’s mind crept into her own and systematically demolished the barriers time had put in place. Mercilessly, he explored her conscience and suckled on the unforgiven experiences harboured there.
Betrayal
Judgement
Resentment
Jealousy
Loss
Desire
Death
A thousand or more grey ones and then onward with force toward the putrid acidic ones that gnawed on her soul and hunted her sanity in the dankest, darkest moments of black days and nights when there was nothing left to hide behind. He rampaged freely within the tightly locked cell where her deepest stained memories were held hostage.
Elizabeth writhed like a living moth pinned to a velvet mount as she revisited her tortured memories of guilt, despair, pain and humiliation. His mind continued to hold hers fast as they both drank from the font. Nothing was sacred to him. Finally, when he had stripped her to the core, he released his grip and she once again found herself standing in the gloomy corridor.
The hand holding her own squeezed gently in reassurance and, feeling her spirit rise, Elizabeth prepared to face the fallen angel beside her.
Isn’t evil supposed to be ugly
Laughter broke through her thoughts as Grispheran addressed her verbally this time. “You are your own torturer, not I.”
***
His knee-length malachite green coat stood out amongst all the death, horror and gore that had invaded the corridor. The delicate lace cuffs of his shirt danced macabrely before her as he ran his fingers nonchalantly through his long jet black hair. His beauty astonished her, but it was his eyes that captivated what was left of her sanity.
A small piece of Elizabeth’s mind remembered the open window and yet her legs held no flight. She lacked the strength to flee.
Grispheran dismissed her with an arrogant air and casually made his way over to join Tashriel and Gemma who were in deep conversation a little further down the corridor. From where Elizabeth was standing, it appeared as though Tashriel was admonishing a rather smug Gemma. Elizabeth noted that Gemma looked as fresh and full of sparkle as she had earlier in the day.
Bitch
Elizabeth could taste her intense dislike of Gemma; it washed over her lips and into her mouth, and it was so thick she gagged. It was not until she raised her hand to her mouth that she realised she was no longer holding the hand of the teenage girl and fought to remember when they had been parted. In her despair, she scoured the corridor hoping to find her presence there. The only sign of her existence was the pathetically crumpled body on the floor not far from the mutilated and liquefied remains of the first vampire.
She flinched and wondered why he was still in smithereens. Wasn’t he supposed to regenerate or something? There had been no stake or holy water and the sunlight had not harmed him in any way. Tashriel joined her. He smiled and attempted to move a little closer.
"He was no match for Grispheran!"
Elizabeth backed away, hugging herself in the process and attempting to contain the hysterics she could feel rising. Something brushed against her shoulder and the entire corridor seemed to sway before her.
“Some bloody angel!” Elizabeth flamed, feeling her rage boil as her fear seeped away; the pitiful shadow she had been five minutes earlier was singed in the wake of her fiery anger. The force of her words caused her blond hair to sway and her green eyes flashed. Unwittingly, she drew the attention of Gemma and Grispheran who turned their focus in her direction. Elizabeth wondered briefly what it would feel like to slap that cheesy grin off Gemma’s smug face.
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Labels: 2007, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
posted by Miladysa @ 00:01  |
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| RoYds Part 28 - Frantic |
2007
Elizabeth knew that Paul was scared –- extremely scared. In the panic that was beginning to overwhelm her, this thought was almost as terrifying as the footsteps now thud-thudding up from the stairwell. Elizabeth was rooted to the spot. The young girl continued to rock and whimper beside her while Paul frantically searched the passage and the ceiling, looking for an escape as well as keeping an eye out for any unwanted company. As she retrieved her Mag-Lite from her handbag, her instinct spoke again, informing her that her experience with Linus the other day was going to prove to be a piece of cake compared to what was about to happen here.
Screams erupted from the room Gemma had been pulled into, snatched by the flying creature. Hearing them was a sort of déjà vu, and Elizabeth had no doubt that these were the same screams that she and Gemma had heard a few minutes earlier.
“What the hell is it, Paul?”
She took hold of the young girl's arm and pulled her down the corridor away from the stairs and towards the gable wall and shuttered window at the end. They were like cornered rats.
Together, the three of them waited for the shadows on the half landing to appear in their full form at the top of the stairs. Elizabeth broke through the glass pane of the window with the hilt of her Mag-Lite and started to attack the wooden shutter, praying that it was rotten and would give way. Disoriented, she fought to determine if they were on the second or third floor of the building. Either way, the fall would probably finish the girl.
Elizabeth channelled all her anger and fear into a final assault on the wood which surprisingly surrendered. One half of the shutter swung outwards, making way for a stream of sunlight to flood down the corridor and announce the presence of the dark and threatening figure that had finally reached the head of the stairs. Elizabeth’s morale hit an all-time low when the figure failed to disintegrate in the beam of light reaching out from the window and the intimidating sound of the echoing footsteps continued to move towards them.
The young girl was completely hysterical now and she began to claw at her face with her fingernails creating a series of bloody half-moon welts across her cheeks and forehead. Elizabeth was drawn between a desire to slap the hysteria out of the girl and one to save her.
She leaned over the windowsill and surveyed the drop below. They were on the second floor. Scanning the lay of the land, she estimated that if the girl had the chance to take up a sitting position on the ledge, the drop would be about fourteen feet, with a good chance of a broken ankle rather than a broken neck.
Before Elizabeth could pull the girl up onto the windowsill, she felt a powerful presence immediately behind her and she went stiff. Suddenly, the young girl was pulled away from the wall beside Elizabeth with great force. Elizabeth heard taut skin pop as teeth punctured and ripped into flesh, and she began to tremble uncontrollably and with absolute horror as her own cheek and hair was washed with a fine spray of hot fresh blood.
***
Hail Mary full of grace
As Elizabeth resorted to prayer, the young girl who had just met her death turned her back on the light and held Elizabeth's hand tightly, her ghost remaining firmly by her side. Paul had already made his escape through the window.
This creature was not what Elizabeth would have expected from a vampire. She surmised that he must have been something quite ordinary before his death.
The figure before her disintegrated, one moment a grisly shape of a vampire, the next, millions of particles of decaying flesh and blood, holding their shape for a split second and then exploding onto Elizabeth in a red, horrifying shower. She found her voice and screamed hysterically.
Her screams caught in her throat when she saw Tashriel at the top of the stairwell accompanied by Grispheran. As the pair of them approached, they were joined by Gemma who emerged from the previously closed room totally unscathed.
PrevLabels: 2007, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 18:01 |
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| RoYds Part 27 - Deathly White |
2007
Elizabeth and Gemma rushed through the doorway at the back of the room and found themselves faced with a wide, grey stone staircase which they hastily began to climb. Each of the stairs was furnished with a crescent shaped indentation in the middle where they had been worn down by countless footsteps over nearly two centuries. The stairway was dark and dimly lit, the only light coming from a window on a small landing about halfway up.
Gemma led the way, almost skipping with excitement as she tried to work out the room from which the now-silent screams had originated. “Over here! This must be the one!” she cried out, stopping in front of an open heavy wooden door.
Elizabeth came to a halt after a couple of steps when she noticed the figure of a dark-haired young girl leaning against a wall at the far end of the corridor.
“Are you coming?” Gemma shouted loudly from inside the room.
Why the hell doesn’t that flaming woman come with a volume control
Elizabeth tried to focus more clearly on the figure of the girl walking unsteadily towards her. She gagged as a putrid odour reached her and quickly raised a gloved hand to cover her mouth and nose. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the leather scent of her glove and the warm tones of her own perfume to keep her stomach from churning. As her eyes ran over the open sores and what appeared to be small red puncture marks covering the arms and neck of the girl’s deathly white body, it dawned on her that this was one of the Living.
Without hesitation, Elizabeth removed her coat and rushed towards the girl, wrapping it around her shoulders, struggling again not to retch at the sickening odour in the air around her. The girl did not appear to even register Elizabeth’s presence. Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead, her pupils dilated.
Gemma appeared in the corridor behind Elizabeth. “What the hell’s that stink? Where did she come from?” She asked, keeping a healthy distance.
“I’ve no idea. She needs a doctor," Elizabeth replied calmly.
Paul appeared at the top of the staircase and ran towards them. “We need to get out of here now! Where did she come from?” He asked, his eyes darting between them for an answer.
“Elizabeth found her,” replied Gemma. “What’s the rush?”
Elizabeth felt the whispering before she heard it crawling through the building. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end and she shivered.
The teenage girl beside her began to weep pathetically. Paul reached out and pulled her towards him with a tress of her dirty black hair. “They’re awake and they’re coming!” he announced. The fear on the girl’s face communicated that his message had at least made its way through her trance-like state.
“Where’s Tashriel?” asked Elizabeth nervously.
“Gone for help!” came his quick response. “Hurry! We’ve got to go!”
Gemma appeared as confused as Elizabeth felt. They turned and were about to make their way back to the stairs when the whispering was joined by a rustling sound and it felt as though the whole building was crawling with some form of invisible insect. Something large, black and vaguely human suddenly swooped down from the ceiling above them and snatched a shrieking Gemma with it into the room she had previously been investigating. Her piercing screams echoed out into the corridor and throughout the building. The young girl began to rock on her feet.
“What the fuck was that?” shouted a ruffled Elizabeth.
“Something we weren't expecting,” replied an equally ruffled Paul.
PrevLabels: 2007, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 23:15 |
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| RoYds Part 26 - Spooked! |
2007
Moorlands Hospital, a former local authority care home and prior to that, an infectious diseases hospital, was set back from the main road and accessible via a smaller private road of its own. To either side of the main entrance were two long, timbered sun lounges which, judging by their corridor style appearance, were additions to the older structure of the building sometime in the 1970s. Most of the windows were boarded up.
The main building was built of grey stone. Above the third storey and just under the apex of the stone-slated roof was a date stone which read, “Moorlands Workhouse 1868”. The exterior of the building was bleak and foreboding, having long fallen into disrepair and been neglected for a number of years –- a decade, possibly two.
Elizabeth lagged quietly behind the others, reluctant to enter the building and unusually wary of the snippets of past events captured by the structure. Gemma Bolton was gaily chatting away with Tashriel and Paul, her long auburn hair bouncing along as she walked and trilled away. There was no doubt about it –- Gemma was already starting to irritate Elizabeth.
Paul pushed aside the main door which was already ajar and stood to one side, his right arm directing the others inside, “I’m going to have a scout around the grounds. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Elizabeth noticed a brief pout from the gregarious Gemma and smirked. Tashriel was the only member of the party who noticed her spite and he briefly raised an elegant eyebrow in silent rebuke. Elizabeth pulled a childish face at him and entered the buildings.
The main hallway led to a long corridor with a number of doors leading off. The first two doors were on either side of the main entrance hall. Elizabeth suspected that the door to her left led to what had once been the women’s wing of the care home, and the door to her right, to the men’s wing.
Gemma had sped off down the corridor, a blur of indigo jeans and short black woollen jacket. Her excitement seeming to grow with every step she took. Tashriel briefly passed Elizabeth and then waited half way down the corridor for her to catch up.
Elizabeth was happy to note that he could drag his attention away from Gemma, but she was feeling peevish also. She both wanted his company and wanted to be alone. “I’m OK,” she feebly assured Tashriel. “You carry on with Gemma. I’ll either stay here or follow you in a minute or two. Don’t worry, I’ll have no problems finding you both –- I'll just follow the noise!”
Tashriel nodded and continued down the corridor in pursuit of Gemma. Elizabeth was now even more annoyed because he had chosen to do as she had suggested rather than stay with her. She realised how illogical she was being.
Elizabeth tried to get a grip on her current mood. It was almost as if her mood was reflecting the building's.
Layer upon layer of images and voices rushed through her mind and calmly she attempted to filter and arrange them into a less frantic viewing order, working backwards through time. Eventually satisfied that she had some control of the information that was assaulting her senses, Elizabeth entered the women's wing of the old hospital.
She was in a large, pleasantly decorated sun room and through-lounge sometime in the late 1960s. Rays of sunlight were streaming through a wall of windows to her left and a radio was booming out the hit song Young Girl somewhere towards the back of the room.
Five or six female nursing auxiliaries were dispersed throughout the two rooms. One auxiliary was perched on the wooden arm of a blue PVC armchair chatting merrily to the elderly lady seated in it. Another was handing out cold drinks in white plastic cups. Elizabeth sighed with relief; the overwhelming feeling was one of contentment.
Walking slowly, she wended her way past at least thirty of the identical blue armchairs, each one occupied by an elderly lady. To her right, one of the residents started clapping her hands and shouting excitedly.
“There! Look! One of 'ems 'ere now. Look! Can’t you see 'er?”
“Calm down, Cora,” soothed a much younger woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. “There’s no one there!”
“Oh, is that so? I can see ’er, alrite! I’m not soft in t'head!”
Elizabeth crouched down before Cora and, looking directly into her eyes, saw her recognition. Speaking softly and interspersing a friendly smile every few words, she said, “Hello, Cora. I’m Elizabeth. I mean no harm. I’m visiting, that’s all. Just trying to find my way around the place.”
“’Er name’s Liz!” shouted Cora cheerily.
The young nursing auxiliary passed her a tiny pill from a bottle she had taken out of the front pocket on her uniform. Another of the auxiliaries rushed over and offered Cora one of the plastic cups. Elizabeth patted Cora's hand and then made her way over to the doorway at the rear of the room.
After a few steps she felt a tap on her left shoulder. Elizabeth turned her head to discover an ecstatic Gemma grinning at her.
“Spooked yer!” declared Gemma, triumph sparkling in her blue eyes.
Elizabeth swore under her breath and was just about to ask little Miss G what the hell she was playing at when they both heard piercing screams coming from somewhere above.
PrevLabels: Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 22:42 |
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| RoYds Part 25 - Problems |
2007
Elizabeth looked across her desk at Paul Sharney; the young man sitting opposite her, and cast her mind back to the last evening they had spent together. A wave of nostalgia washed over her and carried her back through time. In an instant, she was sitting on a stool watching him play bass guitar and singing along with the other members of the band. His long brown hair curtained his face and gently danced upon the shoulders of his white cheesecloth shirt. He looked across the room towards her and smiled. They both knew it was over between them. The only problem would be in finding the right words.
“Ready?”
She had failed to notice that the music had ceased. “Yeah. Sorry to drag you away like this. If you want I can make my own way to the bus station. I don’t mind.”
She watched his nimble fingers as they fastened the toggles of his brown duffle coat and then assisted her with her colourfully embroidered Afghan; both garments haunted by the faded scent of Patula oil.
“Did your dad agree to you coming to Glastonbury with us yet?”
She hadn't bothered to raise the subject at home, knowing instinctively what the answer would be. “Not yet, but I’m working on it. Hey! You sounded great tonight. It’s really coming together.” She smiled and looped her arm through his as they walked in unison down the dimly lit road towards the bus station. Part of her loved him –- part of her always would.
“You’ve changed. I knew you would be different when you came back and you are. Your dad got what he wanted. He only let you go to Europe for three weeks because he knew it would split us up.”
Guilt engulfed her as she sensed his pain and yet she felt only a little sadness of her own. She gazed up at him through her long blonde hair, “My dad’s not like that.” It was a lie and both of them knew it. “I guess we are just growing up and growing in different directions...” She didn't know what else to say.
“I'll always be there for you, Elizabeth. No matter what happens in the future. If you ever need a friend I'll be there for you.”
His sensitivity had been one of the reasons she had fallen for him in the first place and it had also played a part in driving her away.
Their last kisses were more passionate than any they had previously shared; the sense of loss fuelling the tiniest sparks of passion that still existed between them. It was a new discovery for Elizabeth, the first time she realised that passion was as much a part of her nature as anything else.
“I know I’m not what you need...”
She felt him tremble as he dared to speak her mind for her and understood the words were not easy. Nestling her face in the warmth of his woollen scarf, she held him tight before breaking away and leaving traces of glitter and blue mascara in her place.
The following Friday, she stayed away while the band played their first breakthrough gig. Years later, one of their mutual friends had informed her over several glasses of warm rosé wine that he had dedicated their performance to her. That had been the last time she had cause to remember their final night together until the moment they met again at RoYds.
Elizabeth brought herself back to the present and studied his profile while he read through the file he was holding. The part of her that loved him wished he was still alive.
“Find what you were looking for?”
“Yes. Did you?”
Elizabeth was not too sure how to take his answer. Was he trying to be funny? “I meant in the file...” she replied hesitantly. There was definitely an edge to both his voice and his attitude; something she could not remember being there in the past. Perhaps it was something that he had grown into.
He ignored her question and slapped the file closed with an audible smack before returning it to its place within the drawer of one of the filing cabinets.
“Do you remember the old hospital? The one on the road between Whituth and Badale?” he asked, blatantly changing the subject.
“Moorlands? Yeah. Never knew it was a hospital though. I always thought it was an old people’s home. It’s been empty for years. Why?”
He definitely was a lot more confident than she ever would have imagined he could be. In place of his shoulder length brown hair was a respectable yet slightly edgy haircut, and his whole persona was rather reminiscent of Johnny Depp.
“Thanks. I have always admired Johnny –- he hasn’t sold out.”
“So, what about this hospital?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Several teenage members of the Living have claimed to have witnessed some weird events up at Moorlands. So far, their rantings have been dismissed and put down to drugs they've been using. I’m not too sure, though... Thought it might be worthwhile if we took a look around. Fancy taking a trip up there?”
“Why not? When did you have in mind?” Elizabeth found herself quite excited at the prospect. It might be good for them to spend some time together away from RoYds.
“Ten minutes? That OK with you? I’m just waiting for the others to arrive.”
“The others?” Elizabeth asked intrigued.
“Tashriel and Gemma Bolton are coming with us.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes upwards.
“Great girl, Gemma! What’s your problem?”
“Did someone call my name?” asked a beautiful young redhead waltzing into the room.
PrevLabels: 2007, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 23:10 |
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| RoYds Part 24 - Creature of the Night |
Winter 1690
Lady Mabel Theawicke paced the room like a cat possessed and fought to regain some control over her senses; all emotion apart from rage appeared to have abandoned her. Her killer leaned nonchalantly against one of the heavily ornate posts of the bed, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk fixed upon his handsome face.
“You cheated me! You promised to make me one of you!” she screamed at him.
“I promised nothing of the sort –- you cheated yourself!” His words were calm and confidently delivered.
“You said you would do it! You said you would take the child and the others as payment! You agreed to the bargain and now you renege! I will have what is mine by right and you shall give it to me!”
“My dear Mabel, let us look at the facts. I asked nothing of you and only agreed to accept what you freely offered.”
“There! You condemn yourself with your own words!” she accused, continuing to pace as she spoke.
“Let us look, then, at the bargain that was struck.”
“You said you would make me a creature of the night!”
“I told you I could not do that. I am as I was created –- as were you. How could I possibly change you from one to the other? I am not responsible for your mistaking me for something I am not!”
“But I wanted to live... I wanted to carry on! You said it was possible,” she implored.
“And it is, and you are! You are still here speaking with me despite your body lying there.” He pointed towards the floor at the foot of the bed.
They both looked down towards her ashen corpse lying crumpled and withered upon the wide oak floorboards. Her dark brown hair fanned out around her face and her fathomless blue eyes stared upwards as though appealing to heaven.
He sat down at a small oak table and stared nonchalantly at the white and silver lace of his cuff. The tightly woven floral pattern of the lace danced lazily across the grain of the table and flickered in the firelight.
Embracing the lace was the smooth powder blue linen of his jacket's slashed sleeves and a trail of silver buttons kissed the table where his arm rested.
“I wanted to carry on living! I wanted to cheat death!” she tightened her hands into little fists and punched the air beneath them, biting her bottom lip at the same time.
“Then don’t go into the light. Carry on as you are now,” he replied flippantly.
The coldness of his words and his apparent amusement at her situation continued to fuel her rage.
“I love you!” she declared, hoping to harvest some degree of affection from him.
He rose to his feet suddenly, sending a heavily carved wooden chair backwards across the room and made his way towards her with measured steps, his polished black boots hammering their way across the floor, mimicking the beat her absent heart would once have made.
Taking a strand of her hair in his hand he commenced to caress it gently between his thumb and forefinger, studying her intently as he did so. Suddenly, he pulled her forcibly towards him and pushed his snarling face against her own. Mabel felt an emotion other than rage.
“We both know you lie –- when have you ever loved anyone more than yourself?” He spat the words at her before releasing her hair as though the touch of it disgusted him. He walked towards the door and as he approached it, it opened wide and crashed against the wall, plaster dust bursting out from around its edges.
“I don’t understand,” she whimpered, voice filled with despair.
His presence instantly moved from near the door and formed behind her. Slowly, painstakingly, he walked around to face her. “What don’t you understand, Mabel? You got exactly what you wanted –- as did I. You would have died tonight either way. I just had no idea how hard you were prepared to fall.”
PrevLabels: 2007, Lady Mabel, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 22:43 |
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| RoYds Part 23 - Remembrance Special |
Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
1 July 1916 - The Somme - 07:15
The crescendo was building all around them. The artillery barrage, which although constant of late, had increased dramatically in the last few hours.
Stanley Thomas Birch tipped back his head and stared into the heavens straight above him. A light mist broke to reveal a clear blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful summer’s day. He permitted his mind to float home and pictured his wife cradling their son. He longed to return.
If only he could greet the next morning with his family and a dawn chorus of birds rather than flying pigs*. He longed to take a deep breath of fresh air, have a proper bath and wear clean clothes. He wished he had his life to live over; he would have done things differently. They had to win this war!
Amidst the jostling of bodies around him there was an urgent pulling on his shoulder and his attempt at peace was broken. It was Archie looking wild and frantic. The tension was even getting to the best of them. Stanley knew he did not have a hope in hell of being heard above the constant bombardment, but nevertheless he lowered his head and shouted as loud as he could, “We all feel the same way, Archie. Have no fear, we shall face this together!”
He glanced at his watch, 07:25. Only five minutes left. He nodded to the whistle hanging by a lanyard around Archie’s neck and reached down for his own.
Glancing to both sides he dived into a sea of smiling faces. If you had to be in a place like this, on a day like today, there was no better company than friend and neighbour. Placing the whistle in his mouth he faced the harsh reality that this would be the last morning for some of them.
Forcing himself to smile broadly he turned towards Archie and smacked him playfully on the back.
“This is the moment we have been waiting for! It’ll be just like a walk in the dell,” he yelled, and taking a deep breath they blew their whistles together.
*slang for mortar bomb
***
Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou, who changest not, abide with me
The rat was larger than a cat. The rats back home would never grow to be even a quarter of the size of the one he was looking at; they were not as well fed. It was the worst type of rat too, a brown one.
It stood still, staring back at him and they both knew he was going to kill it. He was going to butt stroke its rancid, stinking body with a Lee Enfield rifle a thousand times and smash it to a bloody pulp. He was going to smash it, smash it and smash it some more while all the time it squealed in agony. He fucking hated rats!
He hated frogs too, the way they croaked all bloody day and night from the shell holes, it drove him crazy. He hated all rats with a vengeance and the frogs, slugs and horned beetles that slimed their way over the entire trench, into his food and over him! Christ, he hated them all! He was filled with murderous hate and fear.
He preferred the hate to the fear. The fear gnawed and chewed away at him like the rats gorging themselves on the corpses of his comrades. Like the rats gorging themselves on Stanley...
He fucking hated rats!
This big bastard was going to get it and then some! He wasn’t going to give it the opportunity to feast on him next, or crawl over his face if he ever got the chance of sleep. He clenched the rifle tight, frozen in time like all the other bodies lying in the shallow graves around him. It was hell on earth but it was better than what was waiting for him on the other side of the parapet. Anything was better than becoming another feast for the vermin. He fucking hated rats!
In seconds it would all be over. The rat would just be another indistinguishable stench amidst the nauseating stink of rotting flesh, shite, cordite and stale sweat. Not that it would make any difference to the rat population though, Mr and Mrs bleeding rat could produce 900 of the bastards in a year alone. Maybe he wouldn’t have a year to see them, maybe he would be dead himself in a few minutes. He was a dead man walking and he knew it. They all were, even the fucking fat, about-to-be-dead, cocksure bastard of a rat!
Wouldn't you rather walk out of here alive
Fuck! The rat was talking to him! Well it wouldn’t get the chance to say another fucking word! With a frenzied scream, he ran forward, lurching at it with his rifle. The demonic laughter continued.
“Die, you fucking bastard! Die!” he screamed.
I’m going to eat you from the inside out
He shot the rat. After the first shot, there was virtually nothing left of it apart from a pool of blood, clumps of fur and mush. The macabre laughing continued. It was coming from the vermin all around him: other rats, frogs, slugs, beetles and even the corpses of his colleagues. It was coming from inside himself, from the blood-soaked head of the rat chewing its way out from behind his eyes.
“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” he screamed hysterically.
"It will be alright, Archie. I am here beside you," answered Stanley.
PrevLabels: 1916, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 16:35 |
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| RoYds Part 22 - Gloved Hand |
December 1945
The view of the moors from the window was amazing! How nature had managed to squeeze so much breathtaking beauty into one place was unfathomable. Anne breathed in the scene as she snuggled into the window seat and tucked her legs beneath her.
Normally, she would have been taken by the various green depths of the trees and rushed away on the twinkling of the brook as it skipped over the pebbles and reed bed below. On this occasion, it was the ochre burn of the setting sun on the sky-scraping heather hills above that captured her attention.
She cast her gaze for a moment towards the figure lying face downwards on the white cotton sheets of the rumpled bed. A fit of nervous giggles almost possessed her as the broad masculine form shifted and then slumbered on like a furless bear rug.
“What are you thinking?” It was more of an accusation than a question.
Anne focused her mind on composing her answer and smiled with a confidence she did not own. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to be here with you and have you safely back home.”
He reached over and lit himself a cigarette, pinching it to his mouth with his cupped hand as if the world was about to take it from him.
An explosive silence prowled the outskirts of the room and Anne watched as his mind struggled to digest her answer. She prayed inwardly that the old Billy would win. The prayers went unanswered.
“How many men have you been with while I was banged up in that hell hole?”
The menacing calmness with which he asked the question ignited a welcome beacon to the sinister shadows lurking in the dark corners of the bedroom. She considered rising and walking towards him and then decided to remain where she was. The world outside the window was within her reach as long as she held on tightly enough.
“I haven’t been with anyone else, Billy. You know that, don’t you? There’s only ever been you for me and that’s how it always will be.”
She leaned over and patted the paisley patterned cushion beside her. “Please come over here and join me.” All her energies were concentrated in making her request a warm invitation rather than the demand she knew he might perceive it to be.
Eventually, he broke and snuffed both the cigarette and silence out. “Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed that view. I remember me Ma telling me once that you could get lost in time on the moors. When she were a lass, a young ‘un went missing and turned up twenty years later without ageing a day!”
The shadows receding again, Billy arrived on the seat beside her. Anne wrapped her arms around him and kissed him joyfully on the lips.
“I love you, Billy!” she cheerfully announced to the room.
“Aye... I love you an’ all that.”
Anne held him close as she stared over the expanse of his shoulders and into what little future they had left.
***
So much had changed over the past few months that Anne had no idea where or how to start. Christmas had never looked bleaker. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to turn and she knew that they could not stay here forever. It had been kind of her aunt and uncle to take them in but they needed to find a place of their own.
Tears pricked her eyes and to avoid them she turned her attention back to the young priest sipping his tea opposite. She stifled a giggle. The situation was so bloody desperate it was almost laughable. She wanted to scream out, "Oh yes Father – you can help all right! You can start by telling all those sanctimonious swine who call themselves good Catholics to stop blanking us and judging our children! You can tell them to help in finding us somewhere to live rather than refusing to rent us a house! You can tell them to go to hell!”
Instead, aware of the fact that Father Bailey was a good, kind man and a true Christian who did not deserve her bile, she swallowed the words and her bitterness with a mouthful of tea. He was no more responsible for the actions of a few of his parishioners than she was for those of her husband and father.
“So, Anne, the Church and myself are here for you whenever you need us. I will keep my eyes and ears open and let you know if I hear of anyone who has a few rooms spare. I am sure we will be able to sort something out. Now, work for Billy could be a problem but I am sure something will turn up.”
“If not, I should be able to find work,” she managed to say with a smile.
A short while later, a continuous blanket of snow was falling as Anne showed Father Bailey out of the small terraced house and watched him walk away down Market Street. The oldest three of her children were huddled together on a patch of spare ground some distance away from a much larger group of rough looking and sparsely clad children who were building a snowman. Anne assumed that as usual they had not been invited to join in.
Gathering together a handful of snow that had fallen on the window ledge she moulded it into a snowball and threw it in the direction of her children and shouted, “Give me five minutes to get ready and I’ll join you for a snowball fight!” Her heart soared as she listened to their delighted screams; it felt good to learn she still had a heart, no matter how broken and bruised she felt.
“Mrs Lawrence?”
Anne turned to face a lady she assumed to be in her thirties and who was dressed head to toe in grey. She wondered how on earth she had failed to notice her when Father Bailey left.
“Yes?”
The lady extended a gloved hand. “Mabel. I am an associate of Mr Birch, the gentleman who represented your husband at his trial.”
“Oh! Yes...” Anne wiped her damp hand on the fabric of her tweed skirt and reached for the one that had been offered to her.
“Do you mind if I come in for a minute? I won’t keep you long. Only, Mr Birch asked me to call and advise that there is a situation vacant within our organisation which may suit Mr Lawrence. It offers the benefit of living accommodation and he...”
Anne interrupted, “A position with rooms?”
“Yes,” Mabel smiled encouragingly. “Mr Birch wondered if Mr Lawrence might be interested?”
“What kind of a situation?” Anne asked suspiciously.
“General office duties. A few telephone calls, greeting and meeting people – that sort of thing.”
Anne’s heart grew heavier. "I’m afraid Billy has no training in that area. Why would Mr Birch think that he did?”
“Well,” replied Mabel. “There is no training, really, that would ready him for a position with RoYds – none other than life experience that is...”
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Soundtrack: James Morrison - You Make It RealLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 21 - Living Dangerously |
2007
The Myna Bird Café was a small, overcrowded café on the inside market that served excellent, wholesome food at prices most locals could afford. A talking Myna bird sat in a large cage placed in one of the corners and contributed in his unique way to the eccentric and somewhat avant-garde atmosphere.
The café had always been a special place for Elizabeth to visit. The tea always tasted delicious and the buttered, toasted teacake filled and satisfied an empty place within her that sometimes only food could reach.
“May I sit down?”
Before the words had been spoken she had known that they were coming. Without looking up, she stirred the tea and wiped her fingers upon a paper napkin.
“Keep bleeding, keep keep bleeding love...” sang the happy Myna bird, hopping along to the song playing on the radio.
“Of course.” She had already planned what she would say when this moment came.
RoYds veteran and one of Whituth’s longest residents, Lady Mabel Theawicke, pulled the chair to one side. Elizabeth asked the approaching waitress for another tea cup and giving into temptation ordered a second toasted teacake.
“I’m living dangerously today,” she remarked sarcastically to the grey lady who was now sitting facing her.
Lady Mabel chuckled. “Why? What's so different about today?”
The waitress arrived with the extra cup and Elizabeth poured tea for Lady Mabel before speaking, “I hadn’t realised...” she said hesitantly, having been thrown slightly by her discovery.
“Realised what?” asked Lady Mabel.
“That you can’t read me the way I can you.”
Lady Mabel was slightly annoyed with the young woman’s superior attitude. “At times, you are more like your grandfather, Billy Lawrence, than you realise! I may be unable to read you but I like to think that I understand you a little more than perhaps you give me credit for.”
The toasted teacake arrived and Elizabeth cut it into quarters. “If you don’t mind, I would like to eat this while it's still warm. Is there something you wanted to say?” Elizabeth bit into the delicious buttery bread.
“Should I waste my breath -– if I had any?” Lady Mabel asked sharply.
Elizabeth put the teacake down and took a sip of tea. “All right, I will make it easy for both of us, shall I? I’m staying. Today, tomorrow and possibly for -– ever.”
“Ever is such a long time, you may not always feel so adamant. Time has a way of making you see things differently,” Lady Mabel stated matter-of-factly.
“You cut me open...” sang the Myna bird, climbing the bars of his cage.
Lady Mabel stood up and, lowering her face to meet Elizabeth's, she whispered icily, “Even death is no escape for some of us.”
Elizabeth shivered and the Myna bird screeched wildly as it frantically threw itself against the bars of the cage.
***
Elizabeth looked out of the side window of the café and studied the dark clouds forming in the sky above. Perhaps she had just enough time to make it to RoYds before the rain came? She decided to risk it. Grabbing her black leather handbag she ran over to the corner and retrieved her precious red coat from the coat stand. Hurriedly, fastening the belt of the coat, she furtively glanced over to take yet another look at the weather and caught her reflection in the window glass. The deep cherry colour of the wool really suited her.
Just as Elizabeth crossed Cotton Row and turned the corner into Market Street, the rain began coming down in buckets. She ran past the overcrowded doorway of the Whituth Co-op and scooted into the nearest available doorway on the opposite side of the road a few shops down. Damn! The last thing she wanted was to get wet! One of the lapels had already begun to curl upwards and she smoothed it down in exasperation.
“Hey, lady!”
Elizabeth watched as a young American serviceman darted across the road to join her.
“Excuse me, Ma’am. You wouldn’t happen to know what movie is playing at the Regal tonight, would you?”
She shook her head. “No idea, sorry.”
“Don’t you like movies?”
“Yes, sometimes.” She couldn’t help smiling. The young officer had movie star looks and a pleasant way about him.
“But you don’t get to go out much, right? How about going with me to watch one right this minute?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” She concentrated on flatting the rebellious lapel. The young man removed his hat and bent down towards her. She caught the scent of cologne as he grinned cheekily up at her.
“OK. Dancing! How about dancing? You like dancing, right?”
He wasn’t much younger than her. In fact, he could have been about the same age or even older. His jet black hair and copper-hued skin gave him an exotic look. She smiled back at him sheepishly.
“Look -– I'm very flattered, but I’m not going to the movies or dancing with you or anyone else. Not tonight or any other night for that matter.”
He looked hurt at her answer and standing straight hung his head slightly to one side adopting an exaggeratedly sad expression.
“Aww... There’s no need to be like that lady... I was only looking for a bit of company before I fly out tomorrow, that’s all.”
Elizabeth laughed, rolled her eyes playfully and said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be short. Look, why don’t you call in at the Halfway House, the pub across the road? I’m sure you will find some company there.”
The officer shook his head and then stared at her with solemn black eyes. “Lady, I thought you would understand... I kinda got the feeling that you... Oh, never mind. I must have been mistaken! Sorry I troubled you, Ma’am.”
He made to step out of the doorway and Elizabeth spontaneously reached out and touched his arm. “Just one moment please. What do you think you misunderstood? What did you mean when you said that?"
He looked sideways at her before re-entering the shelter of the doorway and half-smiled.
“You’re going to laugh at me, lady... But... I know I’m going to die tomorrow. I woke up this morning and death let me know he was going to pay me a visit. I've always known things before they happen... It's something that’s been with me all my life.”
Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes as she closed them for a split second and saw a vision of him trapped inside a burning aircraft. Opening them again, she nodded and smiled softly at him.
“And you thought I would understand?”
“Yeah, lady. You know he’s coming for me too, don’t you? I saw it in your eyes...”
“What’s your name?” Elizabeth enquired gently.
“Sivanesan. Most of my friends call me Siva. You can call me Siva if you like,” he grinned broadly.
“Well, Siva, all that happened a long time ago now...”
PrevLabels: 2007, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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