you're caught up in horror.
excerpt 1: “Do you know what tomorrow is?”
“What?” she asked, confused by the sudden subject change.
“I know what it is!” she retorted, with the cause of her anger coming from much deeper than he would ever know. “It’s my birthday though I doubt you have any intentions of helping me celebrate it.”
Her birthday had never been celebrated, not as a child or as an adult beyond the ‘everyone pitch in and sign a card and provide a cake’ at work. She certainly never brought any attention to it, not after the hell it had always been as a child, a memory that nearly wrung a sob from her. Not only were birthdays never celebrated, she was condemned because hers fell on so unholy a day.
“You were born on Halloween?” he asked sharply.
“Oh, yes, one of the many reasons I had to—” She caught the rest before it was out, the bitterness nearly choking her. While other children were out running happily from door to door, she had been on her knees praying.
“Had to what?”
“Just how strong a witch are you?”
Sara screamed at him. “I am not a witch!” She panted to bring her emotions down and growled out, “I don’t believe in any of that garbage.”
“It isn’t just David tormenting you, is it?”
She laughed with a hysterical edge. She wasn’t at all sure she wasn’t losing her mind with all that tormented her. “Don’t waste any more of your time on me, Mr. Beaumont. You’ve accomplished what you set out to do. Even with David dead, you had to prove you could take what was his.”
excerpt 2: “Get ready. It’s time to start,” he told the two men and took her arm again.
With a limp, he escorted her up the steps, through the black drape and onto a small stage at the edge of a pit of hell. Walls, ceiling and floors were pitch black, flickering slightly with glimmers of red. The only light came from a low torch on each corner of the stage and glowed dully from braziers sitting towards the back an abyss of dark. Her eyes watered, and her nose stung from the air, heavy with the scent of sulfur. At the front of the stage, his followers waited, all covered in black from head to toe.
He faced his audience and raised his hands. The murmur of conversations stilled in rapt anticipation. His gloved hands reached out towards torches on each front corner of the stage. With a flick of his fingers, each flared to twice the height, burning with a brightness that hurt her eyes in the gloom. In response, an excited murmur ran through the black clad figures crowding the edge of the stage.
The depraved hunger for the coming blood and death rushed over her. Sick to her heart, Sara’s hands flew out to hold it away. Still, the terror ate its way into her soul. She didn’t hear the words of the chant, yet she swayed with the rhythm. She continued to sway after he sat her down on a bench in the center of the stage and moved to the front, arms raised in praise to their chosen god. Those standing on the floor, their slick, black faces raised in enthrallment, fell silent as he called the Dark Prince forward.
The black walls moved, fluttering and rippling at first, then in and out, flickering with the malevolent life of a monster awakening. A strong draft surged through; the walls rose and fell, puffing in and out, and, faint at first, the sound of a heartbeat as well as the sound of raspy breathing grew in volume.
Larriane AKA Larion Wills, two names one author, thousands of stories
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