6 Short Stories to Quench your Appetite for the Night!
It could happen anywhere, really. How it occurs or why I do not know. I only know it does. To say this was my first encounter would be a lie, and to say the melody never changes would be my second. My name’s not of importance, so I shall omit it from my writings and carry on.
My hair was pinned in curls, my dress the color of pine with a simple lace. I still remember the gloves I wore, green leather. A smile plastered my face as I entered the sellers’ market. It was at that moment when the hands on the clock struck back, and a beautiful melody emerged, one my ears had never heard before. Everything about it ripped at my core like wildfire. The light around me dappled, and within moments, my feet were planted at another point in time.
Everything about this place was odd and what was I wearing? Taking to account that I stood inside a tunnel, staring at a fast-moving locomotive, didn’t to the hilt bring a smile to my face. Many things happened on this train, but forget about the train for now. I remembered his face, the sound of his voice, the feel of his body, and the fact that he had a birthmark on the upper left side of his chest. He’d been in the war and stationed in a small living quarter on the south side of....
On the 20th. of March, the feeble cries of a small child were heard as midwives rushed with basins of water in and out of Nora Kitcher’s room. Soon after, a tall man whose face ran dry entered the room. Ripping the child from the arms of a frail and sickly albino woman, he handed a note to Roos Minster, The Churchwarden, leaving the room. The note read:
You’re to meet me before sundown near The Whispering City. Not far from the river, you’ll come across an abbey, wait for me there, and before my mind scatters to the wind, make sure no midwives leave the premises.
Folding the letter, Roos Minster placed it within the pocket of her jacket, locking the doors as she made her way toward The Whispering City. She seemed strangely plagued by the dark, which made sense as she spent most of her time indoors and barely traveled. By the time she arrived at The Whispering City, the last of the rays had fallen, and the Black-Crowned Night Heron had started his warble.
From a distance, the silver stones of the abbey were visible as Roos Minster made her way inside to find Nora Kitcher’s child wrapped in a blanket. The more she glanced at the child, the more she noticed its oddly shaped head and unusual features. Interrupted by the sound of breaking twigs, she turned to see the tall image of a man entering the room...
A bread maker by the name of Kapys Timesisthius claimed Zaleria Blackwood grew up in the small Village of Bergelles. Villagers described her as a small-boned woman with distorted limbs, a large, misshapen nose, and a forward angled hump. Fearing her abnormal features, the village folk kept her away from public view, and though she spent most of her time alone, Zaleria became quite the skilled artisan, creating the most beautiful gowns. When word got around to the King’s wife, Theophane, she just had to see the gowns for herself, taken in by their unique beauty; she bought four.
However, as beautiful as the gowns were, they each had a story, or shall I say memory? You see, each time Zaleria weaved a gown, it was said the skies grew dark and for each tear shed, a drop of rain fell. A thousand tears for a thousand beatings, drowning the fabric with all her pain, malice, and hate toward man.
A parchment maker by the name of Marcion said he forbid his wife to wear a Zaleria gown or any gowns from The Blackwood shop as rumor has it, they’re cursed! Whispers inside tavern halls say Joe Whittles wife wouldn’t listen to scuttle-butt and bought a gown from The Blackwood shop and on the same night, it was as if darkness ran through her veins. So loud were her screams that Joe Whittles ran to her and what he saw was best described as uncontrollable blood ruptures throughout her entire body. However, some say she died after drinking from the cursed waters of Lioms Lake said to have been visited by Spriggans...
It was near dark when I escaped the horrish sounds of my mind, making my way into an old Amish barn whose nauseating smell made one want to gag. I should’ve turned, but the curiosities of the mind are much stronger than imagined. That’s when I saw it! .....
Published in the U.S. of America and distributed by DrearyNightWritings.
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Copyright © 2021 By Marilyn Velez All Rights Reserved, printed in the United States of America All Rights Reserved. Information here is part of the Copyright Office Records.
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This work is fictitious. All names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and therefore used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, living or deceased, businesses, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.