Brighter at Night
Just a short story I wrote for my English Honours class.
I'm surprised this came out the way it did. For once I actually had to plan out the plot. Haven't decided whether or not I'll hand it in for the writing contest my school has yet. If I don't come up with something better, I guess I shall.
Also, depending on how productive I feel..I may write a sequel, or rewrite it into a chaptered story..
Dark clouds are starting to roll in, signaling a terrible storm beginning to brew high above the city of Thionville. I should see this as a bad omen, and that things aren't going to take a turn for the better for me any time soon. But of course, as I'm running down the cobbled path scattered with autumn leaves to the cathedral, this thought does not occur to me once.
The service being held today is for our head priest, a man who neither smoked nor drank, who had mysteriously died last night of unknown, or as they’re covering it up, natural causes. The elders haven't a clue to the true cause, but one sister did utter the word murder under her breath. She was, for the obvious reasons, punished for her words. To most, the word wouldn't have any significance, but she caused memories long forgotten to resurface for me. To be fair, they're more like traumatic experiences from my past, that haven’t left my mind.
As I enter, I see the service hasn't begun yet, so I settle into a pew near the front with the sisters and wait for an elder to start. Someone begins to light remembrance candles.
The moment I see the spark of the flame, the nightmare engulfs my vision: incredulous
The inferno that stands in front of me engulfs our small countryside cottage house, including everyone inside. I hear the screams of my family, but those are cut off shortly, as the roof collapses on them.
By the time I reach the steps, all that is left of my home is the foundation and a lone chair I had received only hours earlier. I see no remains of my siblings nor my parents. The fire continues to burn on, despite the words being caught in my throat, as I try to cry for help, but no one comes. It finally hits me, I'm seven years old, helpless and completely alone.
This entire time, I've been oblivious to the man standing no more than ten feet away, staring directly at me. His gaze matches the intensity of the fire. His scars, illuminated by the flames, hold mixed emotions. I can clearly see hatred and… fear? in his eyes as he mouths my name…
"Naomi!" A sister whispers to me, as she's shaking me out of my dream. "You look pale… what's the matter?"
She must see the shock on my face. The second my eyes are refocused, the elders are introducing our new priest, and I may as well still be dreaming, for I see the man who murdered my family standing directly in front of me. He’s speaking to the entire congregation, but his eyes seem focused on me alone. He gives me a sly smile only I could ever recognize as insincere. Because for seventeen years, he's been tracking me down, set to finish what he started on my seventh birthday.
"Are you sure?" Caroline asks me in the church's empty corridor. Her face shows disbelief, unwilling to believe in my tale.
"Positive," I say.
"But he couldn't possibly have done it. He's a priest, Naomi."
"He's the one. I'm sure of it. Those scars on his face, I saw exact same ones on the man who murdered my family. He made my life a living nightmare." I snap.
"Maybe it's a doppelganger or something?"
"Would you quit denying it?” I pleaded. “I'll find proof. Just you watch."
"Alright… but," she trails off, pointing to something past me, "Care to explain to me as to how in the world that chair is floating?"
I'm not sure if it's just our late night excursions through the corridors or my frequent sleep deprivation, but in a high ceiling room of the church, sure enough, there is a chair floating high in the middle. Lightning flashes and sheds light on the mysterious chair.
My jaw, I'm sure, has dropped. "Never mind the chair, don't you see the girl sitting on it?"
"Nay..” Her face is grave. “There is no one there."
I stare at her in disbelief. I leave her side to get a closer look. On inspection of approaching the phenomenon, I recognize the face of the woman. It is of Annabelle, my sister who perished in the fire all those years ago.
"Oh my, there seems to be a bit of mischief afoot in this church." A voice calls out from the shadows. The priest walks out deviously, with a questionable expression. "Now, Naomi, whatever is that nasty look you have there?"
Overcome with rage, I simply mutter an apology and storm out of the room. I try to get as far away from that god-awful man as I can manage.
Strange events begin to occur regularly since the pyromaniac was appointed to his position. It all starts with money disappearing from funds, to food shortages and most common of all, the mysterious chair floating every night as I involuntarily wander off to that room. Weirdest of all, every time, I see Annabelle, and as if on cue, the priest always seems to come waltzing into the room from the shadows.
One night, I muster up the courage to speak to him. "I know all the hateful crimes you’ve committed.”
"Do you?" He seems genuinely confused. "I don't recall ever doing anything to deserve such accusations."
"You can cut the act any time," I sneer. "I'm ready to speak the truth about our heavenly father."
"Alright, but who are they really going to believe? You're seeing your dead sister up there, whom no one else can. But you've also been a traumatized delinquent, now haven't you?"
"You're a sinner." I can't seem to stop the words from escaping me, and I'm sure to be penalized for what I say next. "I will avenge them, and murder you."
Turning my back to him as I leave, I hear his words echo through the halls behind me, sending a chill straight through to my bones. "Watch your back…"
In the morning, I take a plane to England to visit the cemetery where the empty graves of my family lay. Today is the 17th anniversary of their death, and my twenty-fourth birthday.
Anger beings to form inside me as I see a bouquet of chrysanthemums lying on Annabelle’s grave, almost like a forewarning. Immediately, I know they were placed by him, and I suddenly know what I have to do. I'm positive I will have a one way ticket to Hell for this, but for my peace of mind, it has to be done.
It didn't take long to figure out his schedule, or the routes he took. He would always wander off to the kitchen at night after speaking to me in the room with my old chair. I also learned he would wait in the shadows for my arrival by the passage that lead to the kitchen.
Tonight, I would confront him in the kitchen, not bothering to see the chair tonight. He would tell me everything, and then he would be gone. Simple. No backing out now.
Taking the element of surprise, I ask him sternly, "Why'd you do it?"
"And what do you mean by that?"
"The fire. Becoming a priest. Destroying my life. The chair. My sister."
"How did you figure out the chair was my doing?"
"You were the only one who was there when the fire burned on. The chair was the only thing left of that house, and my name is engraved in the back of it. When I came back the next morning, it was gone. As for my sister reappearing, I'm at a loss.”
"To be fair, your sister appearing is not my doing."
"But-"I began.
Interrupting, he explained, "I killed her. Of course she haunts me. She's the only reason I didn't get away with this."
"So why'd you do it? Why burn MY house down?"
I saw him ponder it for a moment before he simply said, "I’ve had enough. Goodbye, Naomi," and before I could stop him, he's jumped into the hearth, where his skin disintegrates on contact with the burning coals.
I never got the answers I desperately needed to know.
I'm surprised this came out the way it did. For once I actually had to plan out the plot. Haven't decided whether or not I'll hand it in for the writing contest my school has yet. If I don't come up with something better, I guess I shall.
Also, depending on how productive I feel..I may write a sequel, or rewrite it into a chaptered story..
Dark clouds are starting to roll in, signaling a terrible storm beginning to brew high above the city of Thionville. I should see this as a bad omen, and that things aren't going to take a turn for the better for me any time soon. But of course, as I'm running down the cobbled path scattered with autumn leaves to the cathedral, this thought does not occur to me once.
The service being held today is for our head priest, a man who neither smoked nor drank, who had mysteriously died last night of unknown, or as they’re covering it up, natural causes. The elders haven't a clue to the true cause, but one sister did utter the word murder under her breath. She was, for the obvious reasons, punished for her words. To most, the word wouldn't have any significance, but she caused memories long forgotten to resurface for me. To be fair, they're more like traumatic experiences from my past, that haven’t left my mind.
As I enter, I see the service hasn't begun yet, so I settle into a pew near the front with the sisters and wait for an elder to start. Someone begins to light remembrance candles.
The moment I see the spark of the flame, the nightmare engulfs my vision: incredulous
The inferno that stands in front of me engulfs our small countryside cottage house, including everyone inside. I hear the screams of my family, but those are cut off shortly, as the roof collapses on them.
By the time I reach the steps, all that is left of my home is the foundation and a lone chair I had received only hours earlier. I see no remains of my siblings nor my parents. The fire continues to burn on, despite the words being caught in my throat, as I try to cry for help, but no one comes. It finally hits me, I'm seven years old, helpless and completely alone.
This entire time, I've been oblivious to the man standing no more than ten feet away, staring directly at me. His gaze matches the intensity of the fire. His scars, illuminated by the flames, hold mixed emotions. I can clearly see hatred and… fear? in his eyes as he mouths my name…
"Naomi!" A sister whispers to me, as she's shaking me out of my dream. "You look pale… what's the matter?"
She must see the shock on my face. The second my eyes are refocused, the elders are introducing our new priest, and I may as well still be dreaming, for I see the man who murdered my family standing directly in front of me. He’s speaking to the entire congregation, but his eyes seem focused on me alone. He gives me a sly smile only I could ever recognize as insincere. Because for seventeen years, he's been tracking me down, set to finish what he started on my seventh birthday.
"Are you sure?" Caroline asks me in the church's empty corridor. Her face shows disbelief, unwilling to believe in my tale.
"Positive," I say.
"But he couldn't possibly have done it. He's a priest, Naomi."
"He's the one. I'm sure of it. Those scars on his face, I saw exact same ones on the man who murdered my family. He made my life a living nightmare." I snap.
"Maybe it's a doppelganger or something?"
"Would you quit denying it?” I pleaded. “I'll find proof. Just you watch."
"Alright… but," she trails off, pointing to something past me, "Care to explain to me as to how in the world that chair is floating?"
I'm not sure if it's just our late night excursions through the corridors or my frequent sleep deprivation, but in a high ceiling room of the church, sure enough, there is a chair floating high in the middle. Lightning flashes and sheds light on the mysterious chair.
My jaw, I'm sure, has dropped. "Never mind the chair, don't you see the girl sitting on it?"
"Nay..” Her face is grave. “There is no one there."
I stare at her in disbelief. I leave her side to get a closer look. On inspection of approaching the phenomenon, I recognize the face of the woman. It is of Annabelle, my sister who perished in the fire all those years ago.
"Oh my, there seems to be a bit of mischief afoot in this church." A voice calls out from the shadows. The priest walks out deviously, with a questionable expression. "Now, Naomi, whatever is that nasty look you have there?"
Overcome with rage, I simply mutter an apology and storm out of the room. I try to get as far away from that god-awful man as I can manage.
Strange events begin to occur regularly since the pyromaniac was appointed to his position. It all starts with money disappearing from funds, to food shortages and most common of all, the mysterious chair floating every night as I involuntarily wander off to that room. Weirdest of all, every time, I see Annabelle, and as if on cue, the priest always seems to come waltzing into the room from the shadows.
One night, I muster up the courage to speak to him. "I know all the hateful crimes you’ve committed.”
"Do you?" He seems genuinely confused. "I don't recall ever doing anything to deserve such accusations."
"You can cut the act any time," I sneer. "I'm ready to speak the truth about our heavenly father."
"Alright, but who are they really going to believe? You're seeing your dead sister up there, whom no one else can. But you've also been a traumatized delinquent, now haven't you?"
"You're a sinner." I can't seem to stop the words from escaping me, and I'm sure to be penalized for what I say next. "I will avenge them, and murder you."
Turning my back to him as I leave, I hear his words echo through the halls behind me, sending a chill straight through to my bones. "Watch your back…"
In the morning, I take a plane to England to visit the cemetery where the empty graves of my family lay. Today is the 17th anniversary of their death, and my twenty-fourth birthday.
Anger beings to form inside me as I see a bouquet of chrysanthemums lying on Annabelle’s grave, almost like a forewarning. Immediately, I know they were placed by him, and I suddenly know what I have to do. I'm positive I will have a one way ticket to Hell for this, but for my peace of mind, it has to be done.
It didn't take long to figure out his schedule, or the routes he took. He would always wander off to the kitchen at night after speaking to me in the room with my old chair. I also learned he would wait in the shadows for my arrival by the passage that lead to the kitchen.
Tonight, I would confront him in the kitchen, not bothering to see the chair tonight. He would tell me everything, and then he would be gone. Simple. No backing out now.
Taking the element of surprise, I ask him sternly, "Why'd you do it?"
"And what do you mean by that?"
"The fire. Becoming a priest. Destroying my life. The chair. My sister."
"How did you figure out the chair was my doing?"
"You were the only one who was there when the fire burned on. The chair was the only thing left of that house, and my name is engraved in the back of it. When I came back the next morning, it was gone. As for my sister reappearing, I'm at a loss.”
"To be fair, your sister appearing is not my doing."
"But-"I began.
Interrupting, he explained, "I killed her. Of course she haunts me. She's the only reason I didn't get away with this."
"So why'd you do it? Why burn MY house down?"
I saw him ponder it for a moment before he simply said, "I’ve had enough. Goodbye, Naomi," and before I could stop him, he's jumped into the hearth, where his skin disintegrates on contact with the burning coals.
I never got the answers I desperately needed to know.