here is where i will post some fiction i began to write
i realize it has problems.. first, they cant bring the girl to the front door, second, he would have to know them.. but im figuring it out. she is going to remind him of the virgin mary.
It was just beginning to grow dark when the long, black vehicle pulled up in front of the house. I was peering out from my bedroom window, past the blood-red curtains which had begun to violently flicker and wave into the room. My gaze turned toward the skies, which had become filled with impregnated, gray clouds. Glancing back down, I could see the two men pulling Her from the car, out on a white stretcher. Through the open window, I could only hear the loud sign out front which read “Mason’s Funeral Home” in faded letters, making quite a racket from the coming storm. Quickly, I shut the window and drew the curtains tightly closed.
I could sense, even then, that this one was special. Turning, I glanced over at my reflection in the only mirror in the room. It was dusty; I did not look in mirrors often, but I rubbed a dust cloth against it until I could make out my reflection. I attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt and quickly combed my hair over the freckled bald spot on my head.
Normally, I would not care about the reflection staring back, but I could feel my heart thumping rapidly with anticipation and I just knew. Something was different about this one. I attempted to smile, but turned away from the mirror when the smile was returned with a ghoulish and horrible grin, one filled with yellow, rotting teeth
I heard the men knocking loudly against the front door as I descended the staircase outside of my room, a pale, bony hand latched onto the railing beside it for support. I remembered jumping these steps a few at a time when I was younger, but those days were far behind me. I was the last of my family left, and had never found one to marry. I had been attractive, once, and in my younger days, I was not without the occasional date here and there, despite my odd mannerisms. “You never listen, Mason,” they’d say, shaking their head and sighing at me as if I was some sort of weird creature. That was always their complaint. And I can’t say I blame them; I could just never find it in me to even pretend to find what they were going on about was even remotely interesting.
I heard the knocking turn to banging against the large door as the dark hall lit up, followed by a loud clap of thunder which shook the old house at its roots.
It was just beginning to grow dark when the long, black vehicle pulled up in front of the house. I was peering out from my bedroom window, past the blood-red curtains which had begun to violently flicker and wave into the room. My gaze turned toward the skies, which had become filled with impregnated, gray clouds. Glancing back down, I could see the two men pulling Her from the car, out on a white stretcher. Through the open window, I could only hear the loud sign out front which read “Mason’s Funeral Home” in faded letters, making quite a racket from the coming storm. Quickly, I shut the window and drew the curtains tightly closed.
I could sense, even then, that this one was special. Turning, I glanced over at my reflection in the only mirror in the room. It was dusty; I did not look in mirrors often, but I rubbed a dust cloth against it until I could make out my reflection. I attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt and quickly combed my hair over the freckled bald spot on my head.
Normally, I would not care about the reflection staring back, but I could feel my heart thumping rapidly with anticipation and I just knew. Something was different about this one. I attempted to smile, but turned away from the mirror when the smile was returned with a ghoulish and horrible grin, one filled with yellow, rotting teeth
I heard the men knocking loudly against the front door as I descended the staircase outside of my room, a pale, bony hand latched onto the railing beside it for support. I remembered jumping these steps a few at a time when I was younger, but those days were far behind me. I was the last of my family left, and had never found one to marry. I had been attractive, once, and in my younger days, I was not without the occasional date here and there, despite my odd mannerisms. “You never listen, Mason,” they’d say, shaking their head and sighing at me as if I was some sort of weird creature. That was always their complaint. And I can’t say I blame them; I could just never find it in me to even pretend to find what they were going on about was even remotely interesting.
I heard the knocking turn to banging against the large door as the dark hall lit up, followed by a loud clap of thunder which shook the old house at its roots.