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Short Story

Farted by PepperClock, December 08, 2008, 11:47:27 AM

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We were supposed to write like a 500 word short story for english using gothic elements, i went a little overboard and this one is about 1,100. No big deal! What do you folks think? Also i have not revised or reread this yet.

It was late, and what was left from the sun’s warmth had since retreated. On a normal night, the sun’s withdrawal would move hand in hand with my own slumber, as if by clockwork. Tonight was not (by any means) normal.
For reasons unexplainable by even myself, I lay awake in my bedroom, staring at the patterned tiles that caress my ceiling with lavish. There are many a ceiling crafted this way in this old house; intricate designs and stunning colors that would impress even a Duchess or a Duke. Neither was anywhere to be found; an unfamiliar face was quite a rare occasion to behold in such a place like this, so set back and secluded.
You can understand, now, that when, at this time of the hour, I received a banging upon my front door, and I approached with a sort of caution that would be unknown in a more suburban area. As I made my way down the stairs, I peered outside a north facing window in hopes that I could disambiguate my guest without having to confront them directly. It was hopeless- a frost had rolled in this afternoon, and my windows were covered ice. The only thing I could make out was a blurry reflection of my own face, sleep deprived and startled.
I finally reached my front door, and for whatever reason, the knocking subsided. “That’s queer,” I thought. “It’s as if he could hear my feet under the rapping of the door.” I shook of the notion, I realized I was allowing my mind to wander; nothing truly unusual had occurred (besides the presence of a man in itself).
“W- Who is there?” I questioned, half out of breath, and half uneasy about greeting such a late night guest.
“Marshall! Thank god you’re here!” the voice bellowed, and even behind the thick door I could hear it perfectly. “It’s your brother, Pete! Let me in, I’ve something urgent to discuss!”
Without responding, I opened the door to my brother. After he had stepped inside I took a moment to greet him. “Pete. It’s great to see you, is everything alright?” I glanced up at him, and his blank expression answered my question in a way tens of thousands of words could not. He stared at me as if he had seen a ghost, or even as if he had been possessed by one himself.
“It’s… its o-our father Marshall. He’s gone mad! He’s, he’s… he’s” Pete stopped and breathed in deeply, catching his breath and trying to retain composure. It was in vein. “He’s… he’s killed our mother, Marshall! Our mother!”
My heart began pounding, words were coming out of my mouth in chunks, and I knew that the sheer unintelligibility of my speech would be explanation enough of my feeling of exasperation. “Mmm Mm mm..” I could not say her name. I could no longer vocalize my emotion and instead allowed the tears in my eyes to run down my face.
“Marshall! My brother! You must retain composure! We can’t stand a moment longer like this! Our fath- Brian is not finished destroying our lineage. I escaped before our mother was murdered, Marshall! He had full intent to kill me too had I not escaped out the kitchen window! I heard the shot ring out as I cut through the woods. He killed her, Marshall! He killed her!” He began breathing again, and so did I.
My instincts came over my emotions, and before I allowed my weak knees to buckle and my shallow body to fall to the floor, I seized balance and made my way back to my bedroom. There I knew I would find my pistol, a weapon kept only for occasions like this, regardless of what one might assume otherwise.
None of that mattered. I loaded 6 rounds into the chamber, and I cocked back the hammer. My body had decided that if anyone were to die, it was going to be that bastard. “Lock everything your eye can see, Pete. If he’s after us he’s sure to be on your trail.”
We latched latches, buckled buckles, locked locks, and secured every entrance in every way we could possibly think of. We climbed to the second floor, sure it would be safer to find refuge there. We found ourselves burrowed inside the walk in closet, huddled together in almost pure darkness. We then did the only thing that we could do- wait.
Our waiting was quickly interrupted though, by a faint knocking that could be heard on the front door below us. The faint knocking turned into a violent slamming, and then a crashing. We could hear footsteps, slow and concentrated, colliding against the creaky wood floor they stood upon. I regretted not barricading the doors more properly, but I knew that I would be forced into confrontation before the sun rose again either way.
Step, by step, we listened to the intruder climb the stairs and unwittingly approach us. When the last step was taken, a dim light slid under the door of the closet, waving in a manner that I could only assumer would be from a candle light.
The invader rustled about the upstairs bedrooms, the piercing sound of unoiled hinges gave notice of where they were. I was ready now. I held the gun straight out at the door, and my finger trembled on the trigger. The echo of the steps was no longer an echo but a tangible sound, and the light was now directly behind the door. I could make out my brother’s face, which I could only imagine reflected my own. I didn’t have time to draw the connection at that time, because the handle turned, and door began to open.
Light cascaded in, and a vague silhouette was my indication to strike. I feared, I knew, that if I was spotted it would be certain death for me and my brother. I fired my pistol once, and then again, striking the figure and pushing it back. As it fell to the ground, the candle blew out, as did my vision of the pursuer.
I grew pale. The sound it made was not of a man. I knew now that the target I hit was not my father. I rushed over to the curtains of the closest window and let what was now the dawns dim light shine in. I looked upon the monster only to find two things:
My mother’s face,
                and a bullet fired into the back of my head.