Creative Corner

@Egwu

I sighed, forgetting for just a moment my incorporeal-ness, and leaned forward. If I had still been alive, the cabinets would have held me up, supported me in my weariness. But... I was no longer alive--a fact that haunted me every day. And so I just fell, going right through the cabinets, the wall, the floor, until I halted and floated back up to my original position.

It was rough, being a ghost. I could see the mortal world, but actually interacting with it drained me. Still, I did it. I knocked things over, blew papers around like wind, changed the temperature of the room. But, time and time again, my efforts never fully succeeded. He lived in an older house, and thus the temperature controls were bound to be a bit wonky. He had a cat and a dog, and any odd noise or tipped-over plant was blamed on them. He was a scatterbrain, and often left windows wide open.

Despite my continual failures, though, I was determined to keep going. I had to, for my own sanity. I had to keep hoping in something. I was too scared not to do so. Even if I was dead, I still needed a purpose.

And this was it: to remind him of me. To let him know I was still around, in some manner, and.... And what? Of course, I wanted him to be happy, to keep on living even when I didn't (couldn't). He needed to be happy. But I had only been a ghost for a month or so when he ran straight to her, cuddling up in her arms. Looking back, I know she had thirsted after him for a while. He wasn't the most popular, or the handsomest, but he was kind, and fair, and sweet....

I wanted him to be happy, but I also wanted him to remember me. I wanted to know I had made an impact in his life. I wanted to know that, even after my death, he still thought of me constantly. And so I did my best to remind him. Each morning I would make sure my photo was placed where he couldn't miss it. Each day I would try to get him to realize that a ghost was haunting him, and hopefully he'd realize that ghost was me.

But each morning he'd look at my photo, pause, and then look away. I didn't know what it meant. Maybe I didn't want to know. And lately he'd taken to stringing rope around the lower plant shelves, probably to act as a barrier, but one day the plants would be knocked off from such a height that even he, my silly scatterbrained boyfriend, would admit that there was no way the pets could have possibly done it.

One day.

One day I'd get through to him.

@egwu

It was a stupid thing to be afraid off. It may have been after Kylee’s shift, the sun just starting to set, but the wind made her shiver and pull her jacket closer. The shadows hadn’t even started to lengthen, and the leaves on the trees had only just started to change color. Ropes from the nearby docks creaked in the wind, drowning out any rustling of the winds.

If she listened closely, Kylee could hear the muted chatter of the other workers finishing up for the day. One of the warehouse’s lights flickered off. She waved at one of her leaving coworkers, before stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, hoping that she wouldn’t be the last to leave again. Taking the bus put her at a disadvantage but she hated to make anyone go out of their way to drop her off.

Yet she thought she might rethink that decision. The woman standing next to Kylee set her nerves on edge. The fact that Kylee didn’t recognize her despite having always taken the bus at this time didn’t help.

She something in her screamed to run, to put as much distance between her and the little old lady as she could. Kylee ducked her head, trying to shoved the ridiculous fear away. There was nothing to be scared of, and if she left the bus stop now she’d have to walk all ten miles back home.

She took a deep breath, smoothing down her skirt and wondering if she’d be able to make it home in time to make an actual dinner of if she’d be stuck with leftovers for the fourth time this week.

Her eyes flickered over to the woman again and Kylee’s thoughts paused. There had been a moment, which was insane, that Kylee could have sworn that her eyes had been red. She took a shuddering breath, trying to convince herself that the sudden tremors in her hands were from the cold.

She swallowed, glancing around for anyone else, or heck, even the bus would be nice at the moment. All she was met with were street lights flickering on, and the rest of the warehouse lights turning off. Kylee glanced at the woman again, flinching as she noticed that the woman was staring at her now, head tilted at an angle that had to be uncomfortable.

Cracked lips moved and Kylee’s head whipped away. She didn’t want to interact with this woman if she could help it. She just wanted to get home.

She shuffled in place, and wasn’t able to help looking at the woman again. She jolted back, tripping over her feet. The woman stood even closer to her, fully facing her now and mouth still moving silently in whatever she was saying.

Kylee laughed uncomfortably. “Nice to meet you too! But if it’s not too much trouble could you uh, backup a little bit? I like my bubble you know?”

The woman tilted her head, and Kylee knew for sure that time that her eyes flickered into an unnatural red.

Forget that.

She laughed again, “You know what I’m just- going to walk home. Have a good ride!”

She whirled on her heel and started down the darkening street. It would be a long walk to where she lived but honestly, Kylee would rather have sore legs than find out just what the strange woman wanted.

She hunched into her jacket, but couldn’t resist throwing one last look over her shoulder. She choked. The woman stood right behind her, looking exactly as she had before, mouth still moving. Only her voice could be heard now, a quiet whisper easily whipped away in the wind.

“Thirsty…”

Kylee bit back a shriek, whirling so that she could watch the woman as she backed down the road. For every step forward she took, the woman shuffled forward. Over and over again always saying the same thing, as her eyes turned a deeper and deeper red.

“Thirsty…”

“Thirsty…”

“I don’t know what you want!” Kylee shrieked, halting as she almost tripped over the curb of the street. “Please, I don’t have anything to drink.”

“Thirsty…” The woman took another step closer and Kylee bit back a sob. She teetered on the edge of the street, torn between taking the step back and risking getting hit by a car or staying where she was and risk whatever it was that the woman wanted.

“Please,” Kylee whispered. She took a deep breath as the woman refused to stop, eyes glowing in the setting sun. “Stay back!”

Kylee threw her hand out, trying to shove the woman back. Her hands sunk into the woman’s chest and Kylee screamed. The woman didn’t flinch; her mouth still moving in the same word endlessly as she crumpled to dust around Kylee’s hands. Kylee stared at the streaks on her palms as goosebumps rose on her arms.

Flecks of dust drifted on the wind.

She was never going to take the bus again.

@Mypilot
That was such an adorable story. I love the relationship between Jethro and Alec – that bond that doesn’t need words to explain the depth of it. Such a happy ending. I’m very glad for the two of them, and I definitely smiled when Jethro went upside down to look at his friend!

@Chrisondra
Honestly? I am extremely confused. The story jumped around a lot and the descriptions were so choppy that I’m not entirely sure what happened here at all. Something to do with an angel who killed a couple of people? Did the guy fall in love with Anna instead of her? -shrug- Not one of your best works.

@humanityxpeople
I didn’t expect the serial killer twist to it. That was a nice surprise. The writing overall is a bit choppy, but still passable – a bit repetitive and missing a word here and there. Um. That ending. Wow. Okay then. That was – uh, something. That was definitely something. Yes. Interesting. moving on…

@Skyeset
This is really well written. Very melancholy. I love it – the way you’ve described your ghost haunting their ex. They want him to be happy, but at the same time, they don’t want to be forgotten. It’s very relatable, and the way you’ve done it really draws the reader in.

@Socialbookworm
Quite a few errors in this. Shame on you for being impatient to get back to the coli – because I totally can’t sympathise there – but the errors were the first thing I noticed, so they’re worth mentioning. Tut tut.

I… have shivers. It’s night time here, you know? I can’t believe you’re making me read something so creepy. Thanks a lot. Your description of the woman is extremely well done, however. I don’t often get affected by reading horror – only watching it. This is affecting me.

Yeah… Yeah, that ending. I’m really glad I don’t ever take the bus. Maybe this is why.

Winner: Soc
Runner up: Skyeset

Good job, friends.

Typos are sorta my thing at this point :'D I really need to get someone to read my entry over before posting it. But thank! It was a fun one to write!

Prompt: A sacrifice!

Words:
Memory, time, posses, enter, end, help, melancholy, fingernails, trust, long

Deadline: Aug 18th, 23:59 FR time

Self-editing Ping list is here!

@SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Annalynn @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @Kiradog234 @Skyeset @AloneTogether @frostt @misericordieuse @favvn @Restless @Auraelia @Reiyn @After @Moonwater @Mochaccino @SariStar @Dragonartist24

@SocialBookWorm

The sky was a melancholy shade of grey, bleeding slowly into the indistinct haze of the far horizon. Edith stood, hands clasped before her as she stared out the window. The wind tousled the thin leaves and branches of the willow tree the graced the western shore of the fish pond. No birds sang; no frogs croaked. Everything knew that today was it, either the beginning of the world or the end.

A gust whipped through the air, rattling the window panes and shaking Edith out of her stupor. Sunlight cut cruel lines across the floor to where she sat in her rocking chair, hands still clasped in her lap. Behind her, a maid worked tirelessly at her hair, pulling stray strands up and taming them with pin after pin. Edith didn’t dare laugh at the silly attentions of her handmaiden. As though she really needed to look lovely for this day of all days.

“Isn’t this supposed to be a joyous occasion? You look like you are going to your own funeral.”

Edith’s shoulders tensed, and she straightened, earning a soft hiss of irritation from the maid before the girl returned to her work. Her father, Edward as she knew him, entered the room, swinging his cane gently in his hand. He eyed the young lady in the rocking chair with quiet scrutiny, tapping trimmed fingernails against the dragon head the decorated the top of his cane. Edith dared a glance at the creature. In return, it winked one menacing red-jeweled eye at her.

“Is that not what I am doing, Edward?” Edith asked as she forced her eyes back to her father’s face. His umber eyes continued to scan her, taking in the white dress that synched at her waist. It suited her nicely, tailored to bring out the few curves she possessed and hide the flawed frail thing she really was.

“No, Edith,” Edward finally replied, rapping the tip of his cane against the wooden floor in finality. “You are going to your wedding. I will not have you appear so sullen. You will have a new master to please, and you should be honored that you will be wed to the greatest master of all.”

“Through death,” Edith spat. She heard the thin gasp of the maid behind her, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Let the young girl be horrified. It was better they all heard it. Edith would scream it from the tower if she were able. Maybe she would scream it as they watched her die.

“Such is the way of things when you marry a god, Edith,” Edward replied smoothly. “You were born for this very purpose. Dozens of women would be give everything they have to be in your shoes this day.”

Edith didn’t respond, just looked back to the window. She knew it was hogwash. She had seen the pity in the eyes of the other women in the town. The pity and the relief. No one wanted to die to sate the rotten god’s desires. Yet here she was, with little choice. There was no help for her now. If she did not walk out willingly, her father would have her dragged out in chains. She would rather go with her chin held high and her shoulders square.

Behind her, the maid placed a small bundle of red flowers into her hair, the final touch to her ensemble.

“Excellent timing,” Edward said with a nod to the maid. He then smiled to his daughter. “You look lovely, my dear.”

“Please, don’t bother,” Edith replied as she rose to her feet. Her white shoes pinched her toes, and her dress made it difficult to breathe, but she forced air into her lungs and took her father’s offered arm. As she walked out of her bedroom, she didn't glance back. She would not need the memories that lingered there.

The courtyard was littered with a posse of devotees. They lowered their heads to her as she passed between them. At the end of the aisle, a priest stood behind a small altar of marble. Behind him a ten-foot-tall statue of their deity towered, his arms folded over his chest as he stared out over the attendees. Edith glared defiantly at the stoic face, and halfway down that long path, she lifted her hand towards the statue in a vulgar gesture.

The crowd gasped, the priest stared in disbelief, but she didn’t miss a beat, striding the rest of the length to the altar.

“Edward…” the priest started, his tone hushed as Edith and her father stopped before him.

“She is the only choice now. It is too late to choose another,” Edward replied with a brief baleful glare at his daughter.

Her lip quirked into a half-smile.

The priest gave him a small nod and then looked to Edith, surprised to find her already pushing herself up onto the altar, her back to him.

She glared at the people, at the town so ready to see her die for their fickle beliefs. Her blood had no bearing on the fertility of the fields, would not make the next year any better or worse. She felt the cold, cruel line of the priest’s knife touch her flesh.

The blue sky suddenly turned grey, people cried out, and the priest tried to slit her throat, but it wouldn’t sink into her skin.

“I like this one,” a voice echoed, seeming to belong to the wind. Edith’s mouth went dry as she looked up to the sky. A transparent form shifted and swirled in the clouds.

“I will not see her killed. Not this day. Edith Ashina, I grant you a choice, and I trust you to choose well. As much as you wish to not believe it, the spirits do demand a sacrifice so that the next year will be blessed. You can name the sacrifice. It does not need to be human. Other agreements could be reached. The spirits can be agreeable.”

Edith lowered her gaze to the people. Everyone was staring at her in awe and horror. All traces of pity and relief were gone. Without shifting on the altar, with the priest’s knife still at her throat, she turned her head to look to her father. His eyes widened, a delicious flicker of fear kindling within their dark depths.

“Great One,” Edith said, her voice clear as the noon-day temple bells. “I choose my father as the sacrifice.”

I had tried so hard to hide the fact that I was human from them. There was a girl who knew that I was human, but she would never have told them. She could be trusted to keep the secret. I did the best I could to hide what I was from the rest of them, but I couldn’t hide my scent. In the end, not even she could help me. She tried, but they just turned on her, too. How could she stick up for a human? We were the real monsters in their world. I could have tried denying it further, but if I had, they would have hurt her to get the truth. So I confessed. I confessed, and I sacrificed myself to keep her safe.

I didn’t feel the fingernails that thrust dug into my shoulders as the posse dragged me through the school corridors. They called themselves the police – there to keep the order between the monsters that called the school home. But in reality, they were little more than bullies who abused the trust of the students. They dragged me through the long hallways where everyone lined up to watch and whisper. I paid them no mind. All I could see were the looks of betrayal that had crossed the features of my friends. They had believed in me, believed that I was one of them – one of the monsters. But I wasn’t strong enough to protect them. I couldn’t even protect myself.

I didn’t fight as they dragged me into the courtyard and strung me up to the tree that grew there. They announced my coming execution with glee on their features. I watched my friends enter from beneath my fringe, saw the melancholy set to their shoulders as they tried to process the situation. My friend – the girl who had known what I was, was not with them. I could only hope that she was okay. That with time I would be nothing more than a memory to her and the others. I could only hope that they would not hate me too much.

The student president stood before me in his monstrous form, his grin stretched from ear to ear, revealing a double row of sharp teeth. I could see nothing but contempt in his eyes. I looked away. There was no point in fighting them. I was only human. Everyone else here was a monster in one form or another. My friends were strong, but even if they had wanted to save me, they weren’t strong enough to defeat an entire school of monsters. I closed my eyes.

The girl who had kept my secret screamed out my name.

@SocialBookWorm

The clouds were great in the sky that day. They covered the sun in a thick layer of grey as Aurora’s long fingernails scratched the altar. There would be three sacrifices here in less than an hour.

It was the yearly sacrifices the small town of Bloomington needed in order to have a plentiful harvest next year.

The posses were gathering the victims. They needed all kinds of people. Someone from the rich end of town, someone from the poor end, and someone in a leadership position. One day, Aurora would be the latter next year after she trained Erica. Not that Aurora would ever be ready for her time to come to an end.

Every year, she prepped the altar. Cleaned it. Fixed the cracks, and set up the non-human offerings to the gods. And every year, she listened to the opening ceremony, ran off while the did the sacrifices, and came back for the end.

When she saw one of the posses coming up to the altar, the blood drained from her face. Their expressions were solemn, some distraught, some neutral.

“Aurora, we’re sorry, the council has decided you will go this year,” said Trevor, a man old enough to be her grandfather with a white mustache and age lines on his face. He was the most stoic during this occasion but even she could his resolve starting to crumble as he said the words.

She had trusted these people for years, decades even. But she sort of always knew when she took the job in the first place that it put her in the running. Perhaps she had done it because she couldn’t stand to see someone else go up there. Her eyes looked to Erica, who was busy with filling the cracks in the stone to help with the situation.

Aurora nodded at Trevor’s words. “Okay,” she said quietly, and the posse surrounded her to keep peering eyes away as she would enter Jennifer’s house, the lady who prepared the sacrifices each year.

---

Soon, Aurora’s life would be a distant memory. In a couple decades, only the people who attended and the book keeper would remember her. There was nothing glamorous about the occasion.

The ceremony was filled with melancholy, of a quiet, understood sadness between all who attended. There were the creeps who enjoyed watching people get slaughtered, and there were the people who had no respect for the sacrificed.

The sky was still grey.

Aurora laid on the altar and listened to the priest bless her body to the gods. A sad and haunting prayer and blessing. Every word went in one ear and out the other. In the corner of her eye, she saw the glint of the sword.

This was the end.

@SocialBookWorm

"Do you trust me?" he shouted over the howling wind.

"Yes," came the faint reply. Michaela's fingernails on the one hand scrabbled in the dirt, the others digging into his arm as he bore half her weight over the edge of the chasm.

"Good," he hissed, and ripped her precarious grip away from the cliffside. Her scream was lost in the melancholy keening of the wind.

He began the eldritch invocation. A sacrifice, a binding, and time. Ingredients to a dangerous and forbidden spell.

Evan considered the memory of his greatest failure with distaste. Perhaps the woman he loved had not been enough of a sacrifice; but he had been too young and impatient to wait for her to bear him a child; and he had not loved since.

A shadow entered his view, and he raised his head impatiently. Who disturbed the one who would be king? All thought and reason left him, however, as he gazed upon the abomination before him. It was vaguely humanoid, but in such a way that it provoked more unease rather than appeasing the senses. Some of it's limbs had too many joints and some too little, unevenly distributed, parched skin stretched over a skeletal frame. Two spots of glowing ruby peered out from a sunken cavity in the front of its head that must have been its face.

It opened its mouth, stringy flesh stretching and snapping over a cavernous maw where venomous glints belied the concentric circles of rotating fangs. "Do you not remember me?" it spoke in a familiar lilting tone.

"Michaela?" Evan choked.

"Hmm," she said, and he swore that there was a smirk in her tone, though the creature's face did not show it. "So you do. How... wonderful."

"Michaela, please," Evan gasped, backing up, reaching for his sword. The creature -Michaela - cocked her head, and quite suddenly, he was frozen in place.

"Ah-ah," she said. "None of that, now."

"How, -" Evan sputtered, finding that he was still able to speak.

"Well now, that's a fascinating story," she said. "You know that an Abyssal Abhorrence - what you made me into, by the way - will become subservient to the first creature that says its previous name. You simply did not wait long enough, my dear."

Chills ran down his spine at the endearment.

"The Chasmclysms consumed my soul, but you were not wrong about me, after all. I was strong enough to claw my way back up, all the long, long way I had fallen. Apparently, as I learned after some time more, intellect is not tied to the soul. I regained some memory, and when I finally remembered my name, gained mastery over myself."

Evan went to shout for help but found his mouth clamped shut and his vocal chords unresponsive.

Michaela stepped closer, an unwholesome smell of burnt human hair and rotten leaves washing over Evan. His throat convulsed in response, but with his mouth closed, he nearly choked, coughing in his chest.

"You possess what I need to finalize your spell. The blood of the Sacrificier to give the desired form and ultimate power."

She reached around him, slwoly drawing his sword from its scabbard with a scrape of metal on metal. Then with a movement like a snake striking, she slashed it across his throat, catching him as he fell and putting her maw to his neck.

He knew his life was ending as she greedily drank the blood freely flowing from his jugular vein. But he was surprised when she let him fall to the ground with a thump, herself standing tall.

Through blurred vision, he could see a tall human woman, slender, with pale smooth skin and long, dark hair, cascading down her back. She turned and bent to his face one last time, so that he could see her large, dark eyes, angles and framed with long lashes, and her full red lips in a face with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. She was beautiful now, in a sinister, disquieting way. Maybe it was the sheen of red behind those eyes, or the lack of blood in her just-sunken cheeks. For the first time, Evan felt fear for people other than himself - and maybe even ... remorse?

"The soul does not house intellect, but it houses much, if not all else," the creature that had been Michaela smirked. "I wanted you to die alone and humiliated, helpless in the knowledge that you have unleashed a horror the likes of which the world has never seen and for which it has no defense. Trust me." She laughed, high and cold and sharp like the trill of a flute, and walked away.

As his awareness faded, Evan grasped at his last remaining thought - What have I done?

@SocialBookWorm

I am wood and I am bone. I feel full of life, but it is hollow. It does not truly touch me, and my thoughts are not my own, as if there is nothing truly tying me to this body I inhabit. A witch stands before me, hair flowing as if we are swimming and with a sense of dream surrounding her being. The world is dark and full of dust, and I know us to be in a cave.

“Wickerman,” the witch says, and her voice fills me. “Tear this town apart.” My legs, possessed not by my own will, move me forward.

The darkness is replaced by sunlight, bright and brilliant and blinding. I do not recoil from it; it’s beautiful, and the wood of my body feels warmed by it. Before me is a path and beyond it lies the town. With no memory of starting to walk, suddenly I am there, and I enter the abandoned streets with the sense that I do not belong.

There are people here. They are bone like me, but the flesh that covers their being is soft and sun-touched. They cower in fear, and they die beneath the hands of my kin. They attempt to run, but they do not run fast enough. It is not long until the witch's command has me ravaging the town, but I do not feel it all being torn beneath my hands. I feel nothing at all.

Time passes, and something not unlike the other fleshy creatures arrives. This one is different, because she matches our hits with her own ferocity. She is a flurry of daggers and rage, and she helps the townsfolk in their escape. Is this relief I feel?

Then she sees me, and she approaches me, and the wood of my body suddenly grows stiff. I am dormant once more, and the witch rages within my mind. My vision goes black.

“Wickerman, awaken.” It is her voice, and it is gentle. I feel empty now, without the witch demanding things of my body. The creature of flesh stands before me, and her knives have been replaced with searching eyes.

The creature does not fear me, and perhaps she knows I cannot do anything to stop her. She approaches me, magic flowing from her, and I feel her mind press against my own in that slim space where my conscious lies. With her there, the witch is pushed out, and I feel a dull sense of melancholy. Like fingernails, the creature's mind forces its way into my brain, and after a time she seems to find grip. In my mind, I see her stretch out her arms. I stretch out my arms. She takes a step, and I take a step. We are unified, now, and once again my body is not my own.

The creature takes me into the town. She takes me past it, towards the path, and she takes me to the end where I know the cave to be. My sunlight is replaced with the dark and dust-covered insides of the cave, and I feel my body grow cold once more.

The witch is there, and she rages. I rage too, because I did not ask for this. Any of this. The flesh beings yearned for survival, and I wanted it too. I feel the creature's want in my own mind, for safety. For the death of the witch, and it is in harmony with my own thoughts. My mind battles for control, and eventually the kind creature lets me have it. She releases my mind, her trust being the last thing I feel, and with the fury of long-awaited freedom I tear my creator apart until nothing remains.

My wood grows stiff, the wet of her blood staining my hands and seeping into my grain. I feel freedom and peace, and then I feel nothing at all. The witch is dead, and I crumble into nothing.