The Alchemist Foliot
10 Nov 06 - 17:28
You have been warned that this is a horror story. xD Not meant for little children.
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Glacial was the night, the ancient night, when wolves howled sacred songs and prey ran mad with terror. The skies were a tumbling carpet of midnight blue and the flaxen moon was a mere scything curve. Stars were liberally scattered across the haunted horizon, a meandering river of milky white. It was a glorious sight to behold, on Halloween night.
Spirits were running high, all the way along a disarrayed parade along Quotenbury field: a thin stream of children marching merrily forwards. Most of them were bearing paper lanterns in the shape of a leering pumpkin. They had evilly slitted eyes and gaping jaws with glaring orange malice bristling in every line.
But there was not a single lit candle to been seen within them, nor a flickering spark: the parents were reluctant to let their precious children play with fire.
Instead, they were given torches in addition to the lightless lanterns, which cast a watery amber hue that shone transparently through the oppressive, muffled darkness. To ward off the chill, the children huddled in thick homespun garments: cold weather gear such as cozy woolen pants and sheep fleece cardigans.
The only reason why the kids were allowed to wander about like this without chaperones, in the dead of the night, was because the field had been traversed many times before and the passage had been relatively safe.
Or so the adults thought.
As the children traipsed on, legs and feet brushing hastily past the itching, stinging grasses, they made quite a bit of a hullabaloo that daggered the eerie silence of the field: chattering in excitement about the nearby village where they were going trick or treating.
They were somewhere near the middle of the vast grassy plain when they reached the scarecrow.
There it stood, a dejected, desolate patchwork doll of towering authority. It was balanced on two rickety stilts of wood that teetered precariously when gently pushed. Stuffed to bursting with tattered yellowing hay, with a distinctively ratty black coat, the scarecrow was an oddly horrendous being. It also had a carved pumpkin for a head, which was wobbling rather unsteadily. The bulging vegetable was a violent shade of orange and had a jagged set of eyes and a wicked smile.
An audible gasp bubbled to the childrens lips: the scarecrow was as tall as an adult! Besides, it looked scary.
The first of them skirted the scarecrow cautiously, slinking away involuntarily from the imposing figure. The younger kids let out little whimpers of fear as they eyed the scarecrow, while the older ones tried to act brave and not piss their pants.
the cold and lonely field
it is dripping with blood
but can you see it?
Just then, a cold wind went whipping past the field, bending withering grasses into crooked hunches.
the cold and lonely field
it is echoing with screams of the dying
but can you hear them?
As though they sensed something amiss, the children at the front of the line staggered to a halt. The rest of them behind crashed noisily into the leaders, but even their furious protests died down as the wind picked up speed.
the cold and lonely field
it is reeking of sanguine stains
but can you smell them?
An aura of wrongness was gathering and even the children could feel that it was evil, right down to their very bones. Quivering into a broken and disjointed huddle, they frantically cast about with wildly panicked gazes upon their innocent faces.
There was a sudden howling ululation as the winds screamed across the field.
At this, several children wailed aloud-
-and then the scarecrow-
-it was walking-
-towards them-
The childrens shrieks unified into a singular tortured howl.
As one, they turned and scattered across the field, half stumbling and running, letting out small choked cries, their throats gagged with horror. Lanterns and several torches slipped from their slacking grasps and rocked uselessly in the grasses.
Behind came the scarecrow, its wooden limbs creaking like an un-oiled gate, it hobbled in dogged pursuit, despite an occasional wobble of stiff appendages given little use and wooden legs not suited for movement. Its pumpkin head was tucked awkwardly under an elbow: the eyes were flaring with spectral neon lights.
As the scarecrow moved forth, its once pitifully blunt, rounded peg feet and hands were fast transformation into long claw-like extensions. Each claw was curved as a sickle and shone with a soft polished sheen in the moons glow.
With the sudden mutation of its appendages, the scarecrow seemed more mobile: its once faltering walk became long and fluid strides. Within seconds, it had caught up to the slowest of the children: the boy was a plump little thing, sobbing with fear and despair, eyes rolling wildly in his sockets.
There was a horrid splutch as the pumpkin wedged between the scarecrows elbow wrenched its carved jaws apart and began to speak. Little boy, surely you know that Halloween night is not the time to wander? Its voice was vaguely reminiscent of a violin being played by a person who did not know how to play one: screeching like a cat being butchered.
The child could only babble and shake his head all at once.
The scarecrow growled. Stop that. I do not allow my food to play game with me.
Then turning about and noting that the rest of the children were but quite a distance away, the scarecrow too, shook his head, or rather, the arm clutching it.. Well, well. Looks like its just you and me. Thats fine. A sweetling like you should be sufficient to whet my appetite.
Then the pumpkin head was released with a thump to roll idly about the soft ground
All the boy saw was a whirl of scything claws before the scarecrow jumped him. There was only time to feel a searing, ripping agony-
the cold and lonely field
it is slathered with blood
There would be nothing left when the adults came to seek the missing child, when morning came. Just a lonely scarecrow in the middle of the field and a heap of nibbled and spotless bones.
the cold and lonely field
it is scattered with bones
End.
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Comments, PLEASE? XDD
^Credit to Jory/Absolicious
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glacial was the night, the ancient night, when wolves howled sacred songs and prey ran mad with terror. The skies were a tumbling carpet of midnight blue and the flaxen moon was a mere scything curve. Stars were liberally scattered across the haunted horizon, a meandering river of milky white. It was a glorious sight to behold, on Halloween night.
Spirits were running high, all the way along a disarrayed parade along Quotenbury field: a thin stream of children marching merrily forwards. Most of them were bearing paper lanterns in the shape of a leering pumpkin. They had evilly slitted eyes and gaping jaws with glaring orange malice bristling in every line.
But there was not a single lit candle to been seen within them, nor a flickering spark: the parents were reluctant to let their precious children play with fire.
Instead, they were given torches in addition to the lightless lanterns, which cast a watery amber hue that shone transparently through the oppressive, muffled darkness. To ward off the chill, the children huddled in thick homespun garments: cold weather gear such as cozy woolen pants and sheep fleece cardigans.
The only reason why the kids were allowed to wander about like this without chaperones, in the dead of the night, was because the field had been traversed many times before and the passage had been relatively safe.
Or so the adults thought.
As the children traipsed on, legs and feet brushing hastily past the itching, stinging grasses, they made quite a bit of a hullabaloo that daggered the eerie silence of the field: chattering in excitement about the nearby village where they were going trick or treating.
They were somewhere near the middle of the vast grassy plain when they reached the scarecrow.
There it stood, a dejected, desolate patchwork doll of towering authority. It was balanced on two rickety stilts of wood that teetered precariously when gently pushed. Stuffed to bursting with tattered yellowing hay, with a distinctively ratty black coat, the scarecrow was an oddly horrendous being. It also had a carved pumpkin for a head, which was wobbling rather unsteadily. The bulging vegetable was a violent shade of orange and had a jagged set of eyes and a wicked smile.
An audible gasp bubbled to the childrens lips: the scarecrow was as tall as an adult! Besides, it looked scary.
The first of them skirted the scarecrow cautiously, slinking away involuntarily from the imposing figure. The younger kids let out little whimpers of fear as they eyed the scarecrow, while the older ones tried to act brave and not piss their pants.
the cold and lonely field
it is dripping with blood
but can you see it?
Just then, a cold wind went whipping past the field, bending withering grasses into crooked hunches.
the cold and lonely field
it is echoing with screams of the dying
but can you hear them?
As though they sensed something amiss, the children at the front of the line staggered to a halt. The rest of them behind crashed noisily into the leaders, but even their furious protests died down as the wind picked up speed.
the cold and lonely field
it is reeking of sanguine stains
but can you smell them?
An aura of wrongness was gathering and even the children could feel that it was evil, right down to their very bones. Quivering into a broken and disjointed huddle, they frantically cast about with wildly panicked gazes upon their innocent faces.
There was a sudden howling ululation as the winds screamed across the field.
At this, several children wailed aloud-
-and then the scarecrow-
-it was walking-
-towards them-
The childrens shrieks unified into a singular tortured howl.
As one, they turned and scattered across the field, half stumbling and running, letting out small choked cries, their throats gagged with horror. Lanterns and several torches slipped from their slacking grasps and rocked uselessly in the grasses.
Behind came the scarecrow, its wooden limbs creaking like an un-oiled gate, it hobbled in dogged pursuit, despite an occasional wobble of stiff appendages given little use and wooden legs not suited for movement. Its pumpkin head was tucked awkwardly under an elbow: the eyes were flaring with spectral neon lights.
As the scarecrow moved forth, its once pitifully blunt, rounded peg feet and hands were fast transformation into long claw-like extensions. Each claw was curved as a sickle and shone with a soft polished sheen in the moons glow.
With the sudden mutation of its appendages, the scarecrow seemed more mobile: its once faltering walk became long and fluid strides. Within seconds, it had caught up to the slowest of the children: the boy was a plump little thing, sobbing with fear and despair, eyes rolling wildly in his sockets.
There was a horrid splutch as the pumpkin wedged between the scarecrows elbow wrenched its carved jaws apart and began to speak. Little boy, surely you know that Halloween night is not the time to wander? Its voice was vaguely reminiscent of a violin being played by a person who did not know how to play one: screeching like a cat being butchered.
The child could only babble and shake his head all at once.
The scarecrow growled. Stop that. I do not allow my food to play game with me.
Then turning about and noting that the rest of the children were but quite a distance away, the scarecrow too, shook his head, or rather, the arm clutching it.. Well, well. Looks like its just you and me. Thats fine. A sweetling like you should be sufficient to whet my appetite.
Then the pumpkin head was released with a thump to roll idly about the soft ground
All the boy saw was a whirl of scything claws before the scarecrow jumped him. There was only time to feel a searing, ripping agony-
the cold and lonely field
it is slathered with blood
There would be nothing left when the adults came to seek the missing child, when morning came. Just a lonely scarecrow in the middle of the field and a heap of nibbled and spotless bones.
the cold and lonely field
it is scattered with bones
End.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments, PLEASE? XDD
^Credit to Jory/Absolicious
