Halloween Story Chazwriter Challenge

Discussion in 'Buried Bones' started by Renee750il, Oct 21, 2010.

  1. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    I found this picture and it hit me that there are many stories in it . . .

    So, here's a challenge to all the writers here on Chazhound.

    Find YOUR story (or poem) in it, write it, and share it with us, posted by October 30.

    [​IMG]
     
  2. Baxter'smybaby

    Baxter'smybaby swimming upstream

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    oh cool idea! I will be watching this thread!
     
  3. That is an AWESOME idea!!! Can't wait to see what everyone comes up with!
     
  4. Romy

    Romy Taxiderpy

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    Awesome! If only Halloween wasn't so close! :wall:
     
  5. Zoom

    Zoom Twin 2.0

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    Good practice for NaNo, I guess. :)
     
  6. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    It doesn't have to be polished, just get the story down :) Even flash fiction!
     
  7. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    I'll have mine up by Samhain . . . errr, Hallowe'en ;)

    Anyone else?
     
  8. Romy

    Romy Taxiderpy

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    I've been trying, but between getting everything moved out by Nov. 1st and making sure Aurelia has a halloween nothing has happened yet. Really looking forward to yours though!
     
  9. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    Mine's ready :D
     
  10. Doberluv

    Doberluv Active Member

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    Darn, I only just now noticed this thread. Somehow, I tend to not notice the sticky threads. I'll never come up with something this fast. But can't wait to read those who have something.
     
  11. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    Bet you could have one up by tomorrow night, Dober. Maybe even a poem?

    I essentially wrote mine last night. All I had was a few notes -- many of them discarded.
     
  12. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    I'm going to go ahead and post mine since something may happen that I can't get back to either of the machines I've got it stored on.
     
  13. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    [​IMG]

    Samhainʼs not generally considered an auspicious night to go wandering in old places in
    strange moods, not when thereʼs something in your DNA that calls out to the Old Ones
    hidden in the deep places . . .

    I knew better than to drive through that particular mountain pass, the one that goes to
    my favorite trail -- that peters out to a deer path, then diminishes to the gray fox runs
    and disappears to the subterranean realms of the burrowers; where the cedar and
    sumac give way to the birch with her trailing bark tresses and the wild cherry trees spin
    branches gnarled and elf-locked outward -- on that particular evening, in that particular
    mood.

    But itʼs a section of the Smokey Mountains I love. It stretches across the Tennessee-
    North Carolina border, back where my ancestors settled; the Irish and Scots, seeking to
    escape British tyranny; a deep place, where they could wear the forbidden plaid and
    play the pipes and harp, a place that reminded them of home. And deep within this new
    world some of them found their oldest roots -- a faith and wisdom all but lost in the
    hellfire and damnation brought by Patrick, knowledge and power all but buried under the
    weight of the foreign gods, old gods mocked and painted over to be hidden and
    hopefully rendered impotent as images of demigods belonging to the harsh new
    religion, older Powers, their Names usurped to be sainted or demonized. Old Gods, old
    secrets. The Oldest Powers, old as the land . . . older.

    So off we went, the three dogs and me with a roiling case of the Celtic Blacks, that
    deep, dark dudgeon that takes hold of the Irish soul from time to time for no explainable
    reason. It rolls in on a riptide of despair and subsides in its own inimitable time and
    takes the soul along -- sometimes leaving it adrift far from shore. Itʼs not a good mix with
    a fair bit of anger and a hunger for vengeance, however justified.

    The sun was up when the dogs and I left the car and started our walk. It was hazy and
    the light was soft, but looking at my watch and the position of the sun assured me we
    had plenty of time for a leisurely trail tromp as long as we turned back before the sun
    neared the top of the farthest ridge. Once it dropped behind the ridge darkness would
    fall like a shroud and the mountain mists would make a flashlight nearly useless. Not a
    big deal, weʼd walked this way uncounted times and had the timing down to a science.
    Even without a watch, I could trust the dogsʼ instincts to head us back to the car in
    good time.

    Besides, what was there out here to be afraid of, me, with my three?

    Irritation and that “itchy†feeling drove me to move faster than my usual wont, and my
    black mood had me too wrapped up in myself to be aware of my surroundings. Normally
    I move through my world with hyper sensitivity. I may not notice people around me, but I
    absorb everything else in my environment. I wonʼt be able to recount conversations, but
    I can describe, in detail, any creature, any event, any thing and the feelings, emotions
    and sensations theyʼve evoked. Long before I would have thought it possible, we had
    reached a small clearing Iʼd never seen before, where a large, low mound of earth rose
    in the center, too even to be natural, covered in the green of spring rampant with violets
    and starflowers blooming -- amid the dying leaves falling around the perimeter of this strange dell.

    I was lost in my own dark reverie, weaving curses and sating my evil mood with
    scenarios of well-earned revenge, satisfying fantasies of myself as the Morrigan, Babh,
    the Battle Crow . . . and didnʼt notice the mist moving in until it had enveloped us. The
    dogs were dim shapes ahead of me and I shook with relief when they came immediately
    to my side when I called. Clipping their leashes on, as much to keep from losing myself
    as to keep them from roaming off, I tried to calm myself by talking to them, but my voice
    fell, strained and dampered in the fog.

    Silence enveloped us. I felt the dogs straining their senses, listening, tasting the air for
    scents, alert, looking for out of place shapes or movement, waiting to be alarmed, ready
    to strike at anything that ventured within our circle.

    I had to try.
     
  14. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    Gripping all three leashes tightly in one hand, I unhooked the maglite from my
    waistband, twisted it on and shone a broad beam out into the milky mists, looking for a
    break in the fog, something that would let me get my directional bearings, something,
    anything recognizable in the landscape of phantasms that surrounded us. Nothing
    looked real. The light splattered against the fog and bounced back.

    The dogs stiffened and their hackles rose at the same instant as mine. I cursed my own
    foolishness under my breath, worried more that something might happen to them
    through my folly and foul mood than about myself. I was still angry -- truthfully, angrier
    than ever, at the fog, at the asshole Iʼd thrown out of my house -- finally -- at my boss
    who was letting his paranoid wife ruin my job, at myself for not walking away from it all,
    at the only man who ever “got†me for being afraid to be happy, at everyone and
    everything that had ever thwarted me, cheated me or broken my heart, and at myself for
    getting us into this mess -- whatever it was.

    “Take us back to the car.†I trusted my dogsʼ sense of direction. Mine was completely
    confounded.

    They looked at me and whined softly.

    “Cʼmon, letʼs go home!†My voice came out a hoarse whisper. “Please . . . letʼs go,†I
    repeated and joggled the leashes in entreaty.

    All three sniffed the air, then the ground and moved forward tentatively. I followed,
    tethered to them, hanging onto their leashes as the fog parted reluctantly around us. We
    swam through a viscous pool of silvery, shimmering veils. Anywhere I shone my light
    turned to a wall. It made me claustrophobic. My imagination began to take over. We
    were prisoned in a saining pool. If I looked up, I would see the outlines of a face
    looming, looking down, seeking a vision.

    Shuddering, I tried to rein in my imagination before it took off to places I did not want to
    go.

    The dogs and I all stopped.

    We held our breath to listen.

    The smallest -- well, sheʼs fifty-five pounds of muscle and moxy -- reared up and threw
    her head back and shrieked out her battle cry. Iʼd never heard the banshee -- The Ban-
    Sidhe -- but that long, wailing scream had to come through the DNA from her Blue Paul
    ancestors just as surely as my own . . . well, feyness, runs in mine. The swirling fog
    stilled. It glittered. It glowed. It thinned.

    That scream pierced the waiting silence again and I moved to hush my dog, but she
    was sitting quietly. They were all quiet. Waiting. Ready, on edge, quivering with
    something -- not fear, more than anticipation. I braced myself and hung onto the leads,
    praying that the dogs would stay silent and whatever that cry had come from would
    pass by without noticing us.

    The mists shivered and parted, sheer curtains in a breeze, I looked around. Turning
    off the light seemed like a good idea; no sense making it easier for whatever was out
    there to find us. Behind the mists it was full night. There was light ahead . . . the full
    moon? No. “Sh1t,†I muttered to myself. “Shitshitshitshitshit.†I remembered. Tonight was
    the new moon. On Samhain. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.†I searched my mind for more ways
    to mentally castigate myself for this monumental folly.

    Shapes moved within the glow. Muffled sounds. Bells. Hooves. The soft jingle of bridles.
    Silhouettes floated forward in the shreds of the fog. I knelt with my arms around my
    dogsʼ necks, whispering to them to be still, quiet,
    “Danu, Lady, Mother, Goddess . . . Cernnunos . . . . watch over your own . . .â€

    The rade turned before the riders saw us. The dogs stayed motionless, soundless, I
    breathed again.

    And one rider, the last, broke away from the rest and I found myself looking up into a
    cloak of endless shadow, a face unseen save for burning green eyes . . .

    ***************

    My hounds and I . . . . Now we ride to The Hunt. We will never grow old. We will never
    falter. We will never be parted. We are a new legend in this latter land, given life by the
    legends of our ancestors.

    Watch for us where the mists swirl near green mounds; me and my three -- one red as
    autumn bracken, one black as deepest night, one dappled gray as twilight shadows.
    Listen for the song of our hunting. If the blood in your veins surges to the sound of the
    harp and your skin thrills to the drone of the pipes, watch and know the Old Ways are
    alive and well.

    But if your belly clutches in a knot and your throat closes in ragged terror and you claw
    at your crosses with clammy hands . . . aye, well, you will learn . . .

    My name is Morgan.
     
  15. Doberluv

    Doberluv Active Member

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    Ye gads that was scary Renee! Very good!:thumbup:
     
  16. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    Going walking in the woods this Hallowe'en night, Carrie? ;)
     
  17. Doberluv

    Doberluv Active Member

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    LOL. I don't go walking in the woods on any night. LOL. But I'll be listening very intently...

    Well, I don't have time to write a whole story, but here comes a little poem. It can have more meaning than the obvious, if you get my drift.
     
  18. Doberluv

    Doberluv Active Member

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    [​IMG]



    Dark Apparition


    Dark the skies and black the night,

    One faceless, cloaked rider steals the moonlight,


    From without to within,

    Musty mansion of sin,

    Dark apparition draws my love in,


    No will to recede,

    fades hope to be freed,


    Crashing wind, my own voice mute,

    Vanishing doors never regained,

    My mausoleum, vortex of regret,

    Never to be seen or heard from again.
     
    Last edited by a moderator: Oct 31, 2010
  19. Renee750il

    Renee750il Felurian

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    Excellent! Chilling.

    Good poetry always has many levels and speaks to each reader individually.
     
  20. Doberluv

    Doberluv Active Member

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    Thanks Renee. It is rather dark and depressing, isn't it. LOL.
     

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