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Edited by Mr Graeme Willy:
4/16/2013 11:02:28 PM
11
Post YOUR short story.
I recently noticed the volume of people that have short stories, many of them are posted on the flood. I thought that it would be a good idea to create a thread where anybody could post there own writings.
It can be about anything you want. I'll start things off naturally; this is a short horror piece (about 1,500) words inspired by H.P Lovecraft named 'The last night at Tarbragh'
Enjoy!
The last night at Tarbragh:
It was on the 3rd of February, 1927, that it occurred.
A wan and waning crescent moon was cutting a particularly low arc across the dark sky, strewn with the grey clusters of cloud that seemed to hang perpetually over the peaceful and pious community of Tarbragh; a small, remote village, far flung to the northernmost reaches of Scotland, a near uninhabited and well nigh forgotten part of the earth, Tarbragh was nestled in a hidden valley between two towering hills of verdant greenery. A small river with waters of a calm and ancient quality cut through the valley, its winding form skirting the western border of the small village.
Midnight was approaching as the moon hung about midway across the sky, its dimmed radiance caught by the ashen grey steeple of the small church upon the humble green mound which passed for a hill: the eastern boundary of the village.
Tarbragh slept as it drew near; the terrible happening that would be remembered ever after and selected, for its singular peculiarity, as a night upon which local folklore would go on to build a vast collection of indistinct and portentous tales.
As the clouds parted, emitting the full brilliance of the downcast moon, it happened.
A tremor shook the valley, emanating from the village; it roused all the habitants who hastily arrayed themselves in suitable clothing and rushed out into the streets in some pitiful and futile gesture, believing they could perhaps find the source of the quake.
They all gathered together, talking, whispering, all the while the ground still rumbling and shaking beneath their feet; they huddled in a close group and spoke in hushed fearful voices, debating the possible source of the queer happening. Earthquakes never struck this remote region.
Eventually, with no sign of the tremor stopping, they resolved to go to the flat-topped hill upon which stood there holy place of worship and piety. It seemed a short pilgrimage indeed, within minutes they had crossed the village, travelling always in the moon-cast shadow of the diminutive steeple which crowned the sight of their supposed salvation.
* * *
Even as the village folk rallied to the safety of their church, bearing with them guiding torches to pierce the gloom and stout dogs, who barked ferociously and rather disquietingly, the vicar, an aged and grey haired man struggled out of his bed, fearful of the wrath of his god, believing some sin had called down this sudden anger. The old man groped in the darkness for a light to guide his path through the small house at the back of the church, so that he may find clothes and so rush to the aid of his subjects. He found his garments and hurried to the creaking wooden door, along the chill stone corridor of his hall, past the kitchen and living room. Pushing through the unnatural chill of his familiar dwelling he seemed to flee the tremor that shook his home to the core, dislodging antediluvian books from their stagnant residency of dust tainted shelves and tipping precipitously perched antique vases that smashed upon the dark wooden floor without the Vicar seeming to notice. No doubt he explained his irrational haste through the desire to calm and reassure the dependable folk of Tarbragh, the truth was he was just as eager as them to be amongst other souls in this unnerving hour. He finally reached the door; swinging it open he was met with a horror lying beyond the efflorescent flowers of his garden and something that petrified and froze his aged bones, rooting him to the spot.
* * *
The citizens of Tarbragh crunched as one up the stony path leading to the church. Huddled and hushed they crested the hill, sighing with relief at the though of safety. The tremors still shook and convulsed the ground beneath them as they hurried over the summit of their climb.
They began to breathe again and warmth kindled in their hearts once more. Only to be met with a vision of pure, unnatural grotesqueness; a terrible sight of actual horror that took the legs from underneath some as they fell to the trimmed grass of the hill that swarmed about the church. The others stood and gaped at what they saw; the clouds high above parted allowing the haunting glow of the moon to accentuate what they all saw before them. The church stood pale grey as it always did, humble and stable. About it were gathered the usual trimmed blades of grass: the bare plain that was the plateau of the hill. But there was something else, something new that swarmed also about the church; writhing and twisting out of the ground were dull growths of silver, malleable branches that rose all around the church in cluster, a roughly circular formation forming as they grew further and further out of the ground with tumultuous fury and speed. The ground quavered as even the most devout fell to their knees and stared helplessly at the scene before them; their eyes were fixed upon the dull clusters of tentacles that were rising up and up from the ground. Thin at first did they appear but gradually they grew thicker and thicker till they were like the trunks of great towering trees rearing out of the ground, forced up by some unnatural phenomena. Indeed the thin growths that pushed aside the dirt and flailed wildly, whipping the turf and tearing chunks of it from the ground, appeared first like twigs and branches, but certainly not of this earth where such plant life is stirred only gently by the passing breeze. These hideous feelers clawed at the earth as they forced their way out of it. All the citizens could do was watch the macabre scene with morbid fascination as the dawn drew nearer.
Each member of that small community stood, stunned and silent, just staring in fearful awe with an unshakeable sense of dread growing in each of their hearts, seizing hold of them with an icy grip. All as the nameless terror flung its great, hideous appendages toward the sky, climbing ever upward, split at the ends like the wretched branches of some nightmarish tree; shaking incessantly, clawing and raking the air with unhallowed fingers, it quickened the wind to great noisome gusts that swept over the petrified audience.
How long they had been stood none could say as they stared up at those towering monoliths of dull silver; tentacles that wavered slightly, their thinner and uppermost reaches stretching high above the holy cross which crowned the steeple of the church. They were all consuming and as they grew in size and might so did the villager’s fear and horror, the convulsions of the earth matched this as the ground began to tremble like never before and the foundations of the church, the ancient building of grey stone, failed and the walls came crashing down around the writhing tentacles that were reaching towards the heavens as dawn began to break over the land.
Finally the citizens regained their wits; they had stood frozen for hours stirred neither by the visceral growling and barking of their dogs which gradually faded to frightened whimpers as the unknown tentacles grew larger. They all fled in an instant as the sun cast its first rays into the valley, the tentacles making slower progress but still lurching ever upward.
None of those people ever returned to that quiet village that had once been Tarbragh; they had fled madly south through the streets of their old village, now strewn with the bricks and mortar of their former homes.
Seldom do people visit the ruins of Tarbragh now, though they speak of it often in dark whispers and rumours or tales. Those who do come are profoundly struck by the disaster. The silent village of tumbled stones possesses a distinct quality of the unnatural; the tumbled bricks are now moss grown and tall slender grasses have leapt up where once only mud paths lay. Yet as they near the church, climb the stony path and step onto the hill they are met with the sight of the decimated church, its steeple of ashen grey still stands tall upon the front façade of the building while all the others have crashed around it. They gaze in a shocked wonder as they survey their beautiful surroundings; their eyes lead upwards to the towering menaces yet they find only branches, grey, gnarled and never bearing leaves; birds whistle from these singing to the departure of the visitors who feel cheated having seen no ‘tentacles’ or nameless horrors, only the twisting trunks and many boughs that sometimes, under the radiance of a crescent moon, quiver and stir and sway in response to no winds or earthly source.
-
[quote]Survival: The Zombie Apocalype Through The Eyes of A Child. What can I tell you about the zombie apocalypse? Well for starters, it was very swift. From the moment the infection hit, the population of mankind itself was dropping like flies. Entire cities, towns, and villages fell victim to the plague, and before we knew it, half the world had been consumed. The remaining survivors who hadn't yet been infected had all rushed to nearby military safe-zones, quarantined areas Within a few hours a couple of hundred people were infected. Within a day over half the world had fallen. Certain families, such as my own, did not remain in any of these 'safe-zones' for long, as due to my brother's health problems, we were deemed 'unsuitable' and a health hazard to the safety of others. We drifted from location to location, never dwindling in the same place for more than a week. My father, who had been a inthe military for a good 25 years, drove me and my brother across the globe, constantly seeking refuge. One could almost say that we travelled as a happy family, but without our Mother, we would never be a family. Our mother was among the first to fall victim to the crisis, though it wasn't the infection itself that killed her. She had been at the bank one day, at the town centre. While we were sitting in the car waiting, we heard screams and shrieks of pain . Me, my brother, and my dad watched helplessly as dear mother got bit in the neck by an 'angry yob', then slowly staggered to the car. The mysterious youth who'd attacked her seemed feral; his eyes were soulless sockets, and his teeth were stained with blood. Mother clambered into the car and we sped off, not daring to look back at her assailant. When we got back home, Mum seemed almost breathless, and had turned deathly pale. We'd just assumed that she was ill, and would be cured by some medicine, so we procceeded to get out of the car. Suddenly Mother started wretching, and appeared to be shaking. Dad went over to see what was wrong, and noticed that she'd turned even more pale. Her breathing was slower than usual, and she was very cold. We led her into the house and sat down, and turned on the TV. The news came on, and something was diffirent. There were no other stories or newsfeeds in the background, everything seemed to be focused on one subject. Curious about what was going on, we switched to diffirent news channels, but they were all the same. Apparently some sort of virus had escaped from an unknown source, and had been spreading and infecting people. The news anchor appeared on the screen, and had a sombre look upon his face that suggested that he was about to deliver some very, very bad news. 'And more reports regarding the outbreak have been coming in, from more than 760 cases across the globe. Symptoms of the virus are varying, but the most common effects are sunken, soulless eyes, pale skin, and a really cold temperature.' We turned to face our mother, who's eyes had suddenly turned black. Her skin was now extremely pale, and her skin was icy to touch. 'The infected will gradually begin to act more feral, lashing out at anyone nearby. It is advised that you get as far away from them as possible.' No sooner had the man on the Tv finished reading the report, when my mother suddenly swung her fist at my dad, making odd gurgling noises. Dad, who was a well-built muscular man, was, with great difficulty, able to restrain her and She did indeed calm down, and until we were able to figure out what was wrong with her. We were unsure for a while, but after watching the news and learning that a mysterious virus had spread, turning people into mindless, feral lunatics, we understood. He told me and my brother to go upstairs, while he went out into the shed. We did so, and huddled up in a corner, waiting to see what would happen next. There was silence. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot broke the silence. The noise of an object hitting the floor was faintly heard from downstairs, followed by the sobs of a fully-grown man. When we called downstairs to ask what had happened, he shouted back to us to stay upstairs until he came up, and the sound of something being dragged across the floor could be heard. Dad then told us that we could come downstairs, to which we obliged. There were dark red stains trailing across the floor, as if something bloody had been dragged, leading to the garden. There was a dark, red pile of goo on the floor, also splattered all over the walls, but we didn't dare ask what it was. Dad then came in from the garden, spade in one hand, and gun in the other. He told us that Mother had passed away, and that she wouldn't want us to be really sad, and try and move on. Now that would have made most kids break down crying on the spot, but the shock of the whole situation just took over our minds. We didn't know what to think, what to say, or what to do. We didn't speak to eachother all day. A few days later, we hit the road. Dad didn't tell us where we were going, only that we had to get as far away as possible. We packed everything we needed; Food, clothes, quilts, blankets etc, and a few minor items such as books, pencils and such. All that was 5 months ago. Now, the situation's still the same. Our Mother's still dead, and we're still roaming the globe. We rarely watch TV, but in the diffirent places that we'd stayed in, there were TVs and radios, so we caught brief glimpses of news. From what we could gather, the virus had spread even further, and over 75% of the world had been consumed by the infection. The government of every country had been overrun, and eccentric and mad people had taken the reins, most of whom had instilled their own, often questionable policies. The old system of government was long gone, replaced with systems of fear and terror. We had been driving down a long, lonesome road at night when I first came face to face with a zombie. In the distance, shining in the moonlight, was a lone, twitching figure. We couldn't quite tell what it was, though we could just make out a human shape. Suddenly the engine died. Dad tried helplessly to get the car to start moving again, but it wouldn't budge. The lone figure on the road seemed to have noticed the opportunity, and began approaching the car. Dad, still trying to get the engine to start, reached one hand into the passenger seat, and drew out a long, jet-black shotgun. The twitching figure had come into full-view now, and we could see that it was male, with half it's face missing, blood dripping down it's chest from what remained of it's mouth. The very sight of it was enough to make my brother throw up in his seat. The stench, mixed with the foul odour of the zombie was stomach-churning. Dad aimed his shotgun through the window when the zombie was within shooting range, and fired. The 1st shot impacted directly on the zombie's chest, and it keeled over slightly, but still continued towards us. The 2nd shot he fired finished the zombie off. He scored a direct headshot, splattering the road and car with brain remains. Dad had to throw up outside after that, and the sight of a fully-grown man shaking and vomiting like that was truly horrific. We loved our dad, and he loved us. He was the only protection we had in this mad, mad world. If he were to be lost, I have no idea what we'd do.. That night we slept in the car, hidden in a small abandoned shelter just south of the big city. We slept until the early hours of the morning, until Dad started up the car again and began to drive. He told us about an abandoned factory just a few miles down the road that would serve as a perfect shelter for the next day. The journey to the location was long and somewhat tedious, but we didn't dare complain. Along the road we saw a dilapidated church, that seemed to be bleeding. It's hard to explain, but that's the only way I could describe it. As horrific a sight as it was, my eyes were drawn to a similar disturbing event occurring in the graveyard next to it. The ground seemed to be shaking, and mounds of earth were raising. A huge bolt of thunder streaked across the sky and it began to rain heavily. Suddenly about a hundred decomposing hands shot out of the ground in front of the graves. We didn't get to see what else was happening, as Dad imediately drove away at full speed. After we had hit a safe distance, Dad said that he could see our destination down the road. The rain was still pouring, and everything was a dark greyish blur. At last we reached the abandoned factory, and got out of the car. We immediately got heavily soaked by rain, and quickly ran inside. It was dark, albeit for some light shining through holes in the wall, and some slight gashes in the roof. Dad shut the door behind him, and lit a match. The entire room was illuminated with an orange glow, and we were able to get a good look around the place. The factory was littered with rubbish, dirt, and quite a lot of dead animals. There was quite a musky smell about the place, as if it hadn't been used in quite some time, and the dust was so thick that it was actually visible in the air. Dad seemed content with the place, as he had a slight smile on his face, but that smile was quickly replaced with his usual, serious face again. He wandered off, probably checking all the windows and entrances, while me and my brother just wandered round, exploring the place. We'd found a large, spacious room that looked as if it had been a meeting room of sorts, as there were filing cabinets and tables strewn around the place. [/quote]
