Abuse.Craft
05-11-2004, 10:13 PM
Based on Edvard Munch's The Scream (http://home.ied.edu.hk/~s0015220/image/1munch-scream.jpg), this is a horror story I had to write for class. I hope you enjoy
A shriek cut through the chill night, a scream of horror, pure animalistic horror. A thud could be heard, the thud of an empty vessel collapsing, perhaps, against a solid foundation such as the old, rickety, wooden bridge in question. Again, a shriek pierced through the night, a hot knife slicing through the butter of the damp air. Then there was another thud, and this was unlike the first in the fact that this one had a metallic ring to it... the sound of a metal object falling to the ground onto which it fell....
+ + +
The day was clear, only the slight puff of white to be seen in the sky, which was, despite this occasional fracture, a deep sea of endless depth, in which the tufts of cloud could be seen as the foam of the sea floating across on a calm day. Under this sky, a pleasant, tranquil scene rests, a clearing of grass, and a well-maintained garden beside a handsome cottage of sufficient size to host it’s family of two (and one soon-to-be). The wife, six-months pregnant, having just finished cleaning the break-fast dishes, had ventured out into the clearing which was her’s and her husband’s, but she quickly stumbled into the swing near-by... being pregnant had begun to wear her down. The husband, having gone to work, knew nothing of these ventures outside, and if he did he would surely have forbade, if not directly, he would come up with some excuse to stay home with her to keep an eye out... so she took it easy, not pushing herself too far no matter how tempting it was; after all, her husband’s concern wasn’t just for herself, it was for her new son also. Of course, she didn’t really know if it was going to be a son, though she bragged to everyone it would be. She did not want the doctor to tell her, and he respected her wishes. Every time she said “son”, however, her husband, whom the doctor did tell the results to, would merely smile, with a twinkle in his eye that silently chanted “I know something you don’t know... I know....” He never did tell her though, honest to his word, even though she tried every method she could to get him to tell (not for the sake of knowing, but knowing that her husband was a proud man who honored his word greatly, knowing that she could push him, tease him, and he still would never tell); the closest he ever came to telling her was his saying, “Okay, okay, stop,” – she had been tickling him hard and trying to seduce him into telling her; he looked at her gravely now and said in a monotone – “‘he’ is going to be an ‘it’; yes, baby, we’re having a she-male.” After this smart-aleck remark, he gave her a sly grin and ducked as she threw a pillow at his head.
Awakening from her reminiscence, Claire (for that is the name of the pregnant-woman) notices a disturbance in the forest ahead of her... not something she normally would have spotted, but for some reason it catches her eye. She stands and begins to walk away, for it isn’t the type of disturbance that nature makes... and she didn’t typically get too many visitors out here, and when she did, they came from the road to the north of her house. She began to walk briskly back to her house, looking back only once, and she could see the vague outline of a humanoid in the falling dusk; her walking became quicker, and it began to hurt, feeling the baby moving uncomfortably inside her. She reaches in her pockets, fumbling for her keys – she panics, as she can’t find them. Seeing her car not too far away, she darts inside and cranks it up, quickly driving away.
+ + +
Chuckling, the figure follows, running through the forest, out-of-view, following the red glare of the headlights in the suburban. The car never stops, not once, even at the stop sign – she kept on driving, making a quick right turn. The figure follows, laughing.
+ + +
She didn’t know where she was now, having gotten lost a few roads back in her panic. She had calmed down, and was now trying to convince herself she was overreacting, that it was probably just the wind, and that the silhouette she saw was merely the shadows from dusk falling, given form and shape by her sleeping-state. She was on the verge of turning around when her tire popped. She waddled out of the van, cursing, to check the tire. It was flat, and she had no spare. There was a bridge up ahead, and a store, she knew (having seen the bridge, she realized she was in the western part of the village) wasn’t far beyond that, so she started on her trek.
+ + +
‘A turn of luck,’ thought the silhouette, panting slightly as he caught up to the suburban. ‘She has stopped... I wonder why.’ Warily, he approached, still under the shroud of the forest, slowly. He noticed she was outside of the vehicle, inspecting one of the tires. A flat tire. Overjoyed, the man exited the forest and began to stalk his prey.
+ + +
“Can I help you miss?” called out a friendly voice, and Claire turned around, seeing the person before her.
“Oh, hi,” said she. “Um... no, thanks. There is a store not far from here, I think I can make the journey myself.” She could only really see the man vaguely, since the setting-sun, what she would have called beautiful on any occasion other than this, was behind him, obscuring her vision. He was taking his time walking to her... he seemed to be talking but she couldn’t understand him, it might have been under his breath. Then she noticed something else about the man, something that might have saved her had she noticed it any earlier, but now she noticed it too late – he was a vague silhouette, nothing at all like the sharp silhouette of a setting-sun. Just like the man in the forest. She turned to run, but the man was faster than her, having seen the terror in her eyes, he transitioned from his slow, swaggering canter to a brisk run. She knew he was behind her, and she turned to defend herself. She saw the knife before she felt it, flickering in the falling sun, and she screamed, screamed like she had never screamed before, as the knife plunged into her chest. She fell, with a thud, the thud of an empty vessel hitting wood. Before she died, she screamed again, and the knife fell from the killer’s hand, cutting deep into the wood of the bridge – and then all was silent, except for the sound of the fleeing killer.
A shriek cut through the chill night, a scream of horror, pure animalistic horror. A thud could be heard, the thud of an empty vessel collapsing, perhaps, against a solid foundation such as the old, rickety, wooden bridge in question. Again, a shriek pierced through the night, a hot knife slicing through the butter of the damp air. Then there was another thud, and this was unlike the first in the fact that this one had a metallic ring to it... the sound of a metal object falling to the ground onto which it fell....
+ + +
The day was clear, only the slight puff of white to be seen in the sky, which was, despite this occasional fracture, a deep sea of endless depth, in which the tufts of cloud could be seen as the foam of the sea floating across on a calm day. Under this sky, a pleasant, tranquil scene rests, a clearing of grass, and a well-maintained garden beside a handsome cottage of sufficient size to host it’s family of two (and one soon-to-be). The wife, six-months pregnant, having just finished cleaning the break-fast dishes, had ventured out into the clearing which was her’s and her husband’s, but she quickly stumbled into the swing near-by... being pregnant had begun to wear her down. The husband, having gone to work, knew nothing of these ventures outside, and if he did he would surely have forbade, if not directly, he would come up with some excuse to stay home with her to keep an eye out... so she took it easy, not pushing herself too far no matter how tempting it was; after all, her husband’s concern wasn’t just for herself, it was for her new son also. Of course, she didn’t really know if it was going to be a son, though she bragged to everyone it would be. She did not want the doctor to tell her, and he respected her wishes. Every time she said “son”, however, her husband, whom the doctor did tell the results to, would merely smile, with a twinkle in his eye that silently chanted “I know something you don’t know... I know....” He never did tell her though, honest to his word, even though she tried every method she could to get him to tell (not for the sake of knowing, but knowing that her husband was a proud man who honored his word greatly, knowing that she could push him, tease him, and he still would never tell); the closest he ever came to telling her was his saying, “Okay, okay, stop,” – she had been tickling him hard and trying to seduce him into telling her; he looked at her gravely now and said in a monotone – “‘he’ is going to be an ‘it’; yes, baby, we’re having a she-male.” After this smart-aleck remark, he gave her a sly grin and ducked as she threw a pillow at his head.
Awakening from her reminiscence, Claire (for that is the name of the pregnant-woman) notices a disturbance in the forest ahead of her... not something she normally would have spotted, but for some reason it catches her eye. She stands and begins to walk away, for it isn’t the type of disturbance that nature makes... and she didn’t typically get too many visitors out here, and when she did, they came from the road to the north of her house. She began to walk briskly back to her house, looking back only once, and she could see the vague outline of a humanoid in the falling dusk; her walking became quicker, and it began to hurt, feeling the baby moving uncomfortably inside her. She reaches in her pockets, fumbling for her keys – she panics, as she can’t find them. Seeing her car not too far away, she darts inside and cranks it up, quickly driving away.
+ + +
Chuckling, the figure follows, running through the forest, out-of-view, following the red glare of the headlights in the suburban. The car never stops, not once, even at the stop sign – she kept on driving, making a quick right turn. The figure follows, laughing.
+ + +
She didn’t know where she was now, having gotten lost a few roads back in her panic. She had calmed down, and was now trying to convince herself she was overreacting, that it was probably just the wind, and that the silhouette she saw was merely the shadows from dusk falling, given form and shape by her sleeping-state. She was on the verge of turning around when her tire popped. She waddled out of the van, cursing, to check the tire. It was flat, and she had no spare. There was a bridge up ahead, and a store, she knew (having seen the bridge, she realized she was in the western part of the village) wasn’t far beyond that, so she started on her trek.
+ + +
‘A turn of luck,’ thought the silhouette, panting slightly as he caught up to the suburban. ‘She has stopped... I wonder why.’ Warily, he approached, still under the shroud of the forest, slowly. He noticed she was outside of the vehicle, inspecting one of the tires. A flat tire. Overjoyed, the man exited the forest and began to stalk his prey.
+ + +
“Can I help you miss?” called out a friendly voice, and Claire turned around, seeing the person before her.
“Oh, hi,” said she. “Um... no, thanks. There is a store not far from here, I think I can make the journey myself.” She could only really see the man vaguely, since the setting-sun, what she would have called beautiful on any occasion other than this, was behind him, obscuring her vision. He was taking his time walking to her... he seemed to be talking but she couldn’t understand him, it might have been under his breath. Then she noticed something else about the man, something that might have saved her had she noticed it any earlier, but now she noticed it too late – he was a vague silhouette, nothing at all like the sharp silhouette of a setting-sun. Just like the man in the forest. She turned to run, but the man was faster than her, having seen the terror in her eyes, he transitioned from his slow, swaggering canter to a brisk run. She knew he was behind her, and she turned to defend herself. She saw the knife before she felt it, flickering in the falling sun, and she screamed, screamed like she had never screamed before, as the knife plunged into her chest. She fell, with a thud, the thud of an empty vessel hitting wood. Before she died, she screamed again, and the knife fell from the killer’s hand, cutting deep into the wood of the bridge – and then all was silent, except for the sound of the fleeing killer.