Dealbreaker
Grace was nineteen when life changed. Too young; too little known, the knowing
discovered too late. Her first sighting
was amidst swirling wind and water, as she sank deeper into the lake from which
she did not think to return. Eyes blurry,
mouth swamped with weed, she could be forgiven for thinking herself mistaken in
seeing the bird-like figure with the sizeable wingspan and red reflector eyes. She thought they revealed her fast
approaching ruin but came to beside the water, clothes melded to her body,
damp, not dripping. Time had passed,
though she could not say how much. That
was the first time.
The second time, Grace saw white wings in her sleep; woke
covered in down she had not felt settle.
Her mind was filled with the image; the recollection of how it felt to
face the knife’s point; the blade entering her body. Her skin was without blemish. As expected.
The figure facing the assailant had not been her; she knew that, without
knowing where the knowing came from. She
sought out the location imprinted in her memory; finding herself drawn to it,
again and again. It needed to be
nightfall – the stabbing would happen at dusk.
Grace must be there, though she had no idea how she could help. The events had played out with her as
observer, silent witness. She did not
know if she could turn the tide.
Grace haunted the hotspot, waiting for events to unfold at
an indeterminate time. Drank cups of
lukewarm coffee in the café around the corner from the alleyway she could not escape,
whether waking or in slumber. The
continuous layers of chitin coating her covers each morning told her so; a
daily unneeded reminder, given her fear full dreams; the pierce of her skin.
Night after night she fulfilled her watch; shadows beneath
her eyes showing rest disturbed by burden, the groove between her brows now
permanently etched into place, until the night to change those coming after. Camped on the corner, feigning homelessness
beneath blankets, as the sky grew dark and the temperature dropped, Grace saw
her vision slot into place. The slender
teenager taking a short cut, face hidden beneath swathes of long hair, followed
by the mugger to become much more. She
opened her mouth, perhaps to shout to disturb him – them – to call to the girl
to run. The creature, the cryptid, the
ten-foot wingspan, was there in the streetlights; called into action, without
word or a whisper. Grace turned as he –
it – descended, hiding her eyes from what happened next. When she turned, it was over. No sign they had been there. That was the second time.
The third time, Grace saw scales and dust, pale in
colour. Now, she knew what knowing
without knowing could not tell her, without experiencing it first-hand. She would endure; would survive. Her saving had its price to pay for – a deal
of undying duration. Until eventually
she saw black wings and her service had passed.
(500 words)
Comment
This was written for the fifth Horror Bite Challenge - for which the word limit was extended to 500 words, giving a bit of scope to expand on ideas produced by the photo prompt. This is a Mothman demonesque mash up, possibly creating a form of urban legend in the process..
I love where you took this. Urban legend in the making - I like that idea.
ReplyDeleteThanks! I'd like to expand this one at some point, actually! Think there's a slightly longer version lurking somewhere in this...
ReplyDeleteI'd love to read an expanded one & remember if it stays below 1300 you can submit to J.A.Mes Press for their Halloween Anthology :)
ReplyDeleteI'll aim to take a look at this on that basis :-)
DeletePowerful, vivid descriptions. I wouldn't mind reading more! :-)
ReplyDeleteThanks very much! I'm aiming to expand this, time allowing, so there may be a lengthier version on the blog at some point in due course...
DeleteYeah, nice descriptions in there. And you should certainly expand on it. :-D
ReplyDeleteThanks! Definitely aiming to do so - everyone seems to agree there's a longer version in this one!
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