A short story: Gothic Literature Style - Untitled
Posted: Fri Jul 29, 2005 2:16 am
<i><font color=purple>Just to prove to everyone that I <i>can</i> finish a story... lol.
Alright, I was going for gothic literature here, as in the Romantic Period... Edgar Alan Poe being one of the most notorious gothic writers. I like the story, though my writing gets a bit hazy towards the end. It's nicer at the begining... Anywho, it needs a name, so if any one is reading this, let me know what you think. I had originally named it "Human Nature" (it was originally a piece I did for a class, so I had to pick something) but I don't really like it.
The whole first person narrative is hard, and not something I usually attempt, but this turned out fairly well...
Hope you like it.</font></i>
<center>~~~~~~</center>
I had known the nature of this creature before ever entering its lair. I had seen the still frame photographs, witnessed their horror. Although tainted by the black and white ink that colored them, I knew what they held. The vicious hatred, the unadulterated terror in each splatter, each pool, each broken body slowly ebbing away life. I saw in those faces the cold will of their killer, gazed intrusively upon their last moments, their icy stares tainted with death.
Yes, I had seen the will of the monster. I had understood to fear it’s intent. And yet...
It fascinated me. My mind twisted and turned. It clung to the instinctive human fear, and reveled in the feeling of it. Temptation lingered on the edge of my conscious mind. It overwhelmed my darkest fantasies, opened my most twisted ideas; thoughts that otherwise might have been hidden, stuffed down into the cold, black corners of my mind. Soon, my curiosity began to swell, superseding my ethics, and quietly provoking me until at last I began to succumb to its will.
I knew it was wrong, this morbid fascination that I harbored. I knew it should have been smothered, it’s life taken before it could mature. But I cradled it, nursed it with my darker thoughts, and soon began working to bring this strange fantasy to life. It was justified in my mind, somehow, as nothing more than a primitive craving, kindred perhaps to hunger or fear, which needed satisfaction. I knew that the only cure for my temptation would be my submission.
As a high-ranking doctor of psychology and a practitioner of such sciences, it had been a simple enough task to assign myself within easy reach of my interests. The town was discrete, cradled by the mountains that lay on the borders of France and Spain, and isolated in its thoughts and endeavors. They had answered my letters of request with few questions, accepting my degree and reputation as a reasonable judgment of my nature, and allowing me to slip unnoticed from the grander world into one that would soon lay the foundation for my plans.
That had been weeks ago, and as my black-walled carriage tumbled its way along intricate roads, my mind began to race with aggressive curiosity. The asylum that sat within the folds of these mountains had no name. The villagers that had lived in its shadow for centuries had come to know it as the <i>Maison du Oublié</i>: the home of the forgotten. Here, was the silent graveyard where vicious criminals had been buried alive in walls of stone. Here, they were locked away in hopes that their crimes could be repaid with their lives. Here, deep within the maze of this vast castle, was what I had come for.
The physical shell of the building sat on the edge of a deep valley, looming over the village below. It appeared as though it had once been a fortress of great proportions. I assumed that somewhere in it’s past, when it no longer suited it’s purpose, it had been abandoned here, it’s interior gutted and redesigned for more sinister purposes.
When my coach finally halted, it sat at the edge of the great buildings shadow. The driver advised me before he departed to enter the gates on foot, as the horses could go no further. As the slow throb of hoof beats finally disappeared, the guide I was assigned to bid me follow him to the front door. I kept my mind focused as to keep my feet from causing me to stumble on the rocky terrain. <i>Wait</i>, my mind whispered. <i>Soon</i>...
In the front hall I had my first chance meeting with Dr. Angelene, Head of the Ward. Although he had been agreeable in his letters, he now seemed like nothing more than a skittish, balding man whose irritating, nervous habits only added to my distaste for him. The group of men behind him, however, contrasted starkly to the erratic nature of the man they followed. Their mere size was an imposing threat to whomever they sought to control. <i>A brute squad</i>, I thought viciously as I gazed at the middle-aged coward. Their subservient manner as they followed him was the only visible boast to suggest his authority.
He stopped a fair distance away, nearly across the hall, when he saw me. His gaze was wary when he set eyes on me and with a twitch of his finger he gave an order to his men. A large intimidating form strode purposefully in my direction. Naturally I shrunk back, in reasonable fear of being battered. Angelene’s anxious voice was hardly comforting as it echoed across the hall.
“Just standard procedure, I assure you!†He screeched as the large man promptly began probing my pockets. “Wouldn’t want any of our patients getting their hands on something dangerous.â€
My hands rose defensively as the large man finished his search and backed away. I kept still as Angelene nervously stumbled across the hall to a shadowed stairwell. He waited at the entrance, seizing a torch from a bracket on the wall.
“Come. I will take you to your to your quarters.â€
My heart began to beat wildly against the walls of its hollow cage. <i>Perhaps, if it were far enough, I’d catch a glimpse</i>... The thought rattled me, and I fought hard to swallow my ever-growing anticipation. I sank even deeper into my own private observations as we descended further into the bowls of the asylum.
Vision was blurred by darkness in the hallways we traveled along. Soon, the cold, stone walls fell back, becoming murky jail cells cloaked in shadows. Anguished voices rose up from the darkened spaces, their owners hidden behind barred doors. Shadows huddled in the corners twisted themselves into obscure and horrifying shapes. My pulse was slowly picking up pace, once again. For the first time, since I had completely entwined myself in the ordeal, I began to doubt my own intentions.
Shadows began to cling to my feet and onto my body. Slowly they wrapped themselves around my chest, silently pressing the air from my lungs. Those strange forms that had lurked in the corners twisted themselves into horrifying faces. A tremble of fear overtook my person, and yet those around me stayed abnormally calm. I knew what was approaching, and I no longer enjoyed the fear that froze my soul and shortened my breath.
We had reached the final door, the small opening at the top strung with thick metal bars. The men began to close in around me, making it impossible for me to go anywhere but inside the open door. Shaking myself, I stepped forward, hoping a viewing was all that was required of me.
My mind tried to recall the excitement I had once felt as I took step after step closer. I held my breath in an attempt to keep the panic at bay. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness they began to lock on a shadow that was beginning to take definition. Its small hands were clutching something. My breath caught when I saw what it was.
A long, slender razor lay across the tiny fingers, it’s blade darkened with rust. I wretched as the tiny form turned to face me. It smiled, revealing row after row of elongated teeth. Fluidly it reached forward, lodging the thin metal into my arm.
The door slammed behind me as I turned to run, locking me inside with the creature. Fruitlessly I pushed against the cold metal, the sound of dragging flesh behind me, pushing my body further into the door.
The knife clanged to the floor at my feet and my hazy eyes began to focus. It wasn’t a knife anymore, but a long syringe recently emptied. My heart skipped a beat, and my worst fears were realized. Something was wrong. As the voices outside began to fade, my mind began to sharpen. My body, however, was no longer under my control. I felt my physical-self fall, felt the blood flow as it hit the cold stone floor. I felt it all, and began to remember.
I remembered the photographs, remembered the blood, remembered the crime, remembered the pain, the anger, the hate. I remembered...
That the monster was <i>me</i>.
Alright, I was going for gothic literature here, as in the Romantic Period... Edgar Alan Poe being one of the most notorious gothic writers. I like the story, though my writing gets a bit hazy towards the end. It's nicer at the begining... Anywho, it needs a name, so if any one is reading this, let me know what you think. I had originally named it "Human Nature" (it was originally a piece I did for a class, so I had to pick something) but I don't really like it.
The whole first person narrative is hard, and not something I usually attempt, but this turned out fairly well...
Hope you like it.</font></i>
<center>~~~~~~</center>
I had known the nature of this creature before ever entering its lair. I had seen the still frame photographs, witnessed their horror. Although tainted by the black and white ink that colored them, I knew what they held. The vicious hatred, the unadulterated terror in each splatter, each pool, each broken body slowly ebbing away life. I saw in those faces the cold will of their killer, gazed intrusively upon their last moments, their icy stares tainted with death.
Yes, I had seen the will of the monster. I had understood to fear it’s intent. And yet...
It fascinated me. My mind twisted and turned. It clung to the instinctive human fear, and reveled in the feeling of it. Temptation lingered on the edge of my conscious mind. It overwhelmed my darkest fantasies, opened my most twisted ideas; thoughts that otherwise might have been hidden, stuffed down into the cold, black corners of my mind. Soon, my curiosity began to swell, superseding my ethics, and quietly provoking me until at last I began to succumb to its will.
I knew it was wrong, this morbid fascination that I harbored. I knew it should have been smothered, it’s life taken before it could mature. But I cradled it, nursed it with my darker thoughts, and soon began working to bring this strange fantasy to life. It was justified in my mind, somehow, as nothing more than a primitive craving, kindred perhaps to hunger or fear, which needed satisfaction. I knew that the only cure for my temptation would be my submission.
As a high-ranking doctor of psychology and a practitioner of such sciences, it had been a simple enough task to assign myself within easy reach of my interests. The town was discrete, cradled by the mountains that lay on the borders of France and Spain, and isolated in its thoughts and endeavors. They had answered my letters of request with few questions, accepting my degree and reputation as a reasonable judgment of my nature, and allowing me to slip unnoticed from the grander world into one that would soon lay the foundation for my plans.
That had been weeks ago, and as my black-walled carriage tumbled its way along intricate roads, my mind began to race with aggressive curiosity. The asylum that sat within the folds of these mountains had no name. The villagers that had lived in its shadow for centuries had come to know it as the <i>Maison du Oublié</i>: the home of the forgotten. Here, was the silent graveyard where vicious criminals had been buried alive in walls of stone. Here, they were locked away in hopes that their crimes could be repaid with their lives. Here, deep within the maze of this vast castle, was what I had come for.
The physical shell of the building sat on the edge of a deep valley, looming over the village below. It appeared as though it had once been a fortress of great proportions. I assumed that somewhere in it’s past, when it no longer suited it’s purpose, it had been abandoned here, it’s interior gutted and redesigned for more sinister purposes.
When my coach finally halted, it sat at the edge of the great buildings shadow. The driver advised me before he departed to enter the gates on foot, as the horses could go no further. As the slow throb of hoof beats finally disappeared, the guide I was assigned to bid me follow him to the front door. I kept my mind focused as to keep my feet from causing me to stumble on the rocky terrain. <i>Wait</i>, my mind whispered. <i>Soon</i>...
In the front hall I had my first chance meeting with Dr. Angelene, Head of the Ward. Although he had been agreeable in his letters, he now seemed like nothing more than a skittish, balding man whose irritating, nervous habits only added to my distaste for him. The group of men behind him, however, contrasted starkly to the erratic nature of the man they followed. Their mere size was an imposing threat to whomever they sought to control. <i>A brute squad</i>, I thought viciously as I gazed at the middle-aged coward. Their subservient manner as they followed him was the only visible boast to suggest his authority.
He stopped a fair distance away, nearly across the hall, when he saw me. His gaze was wary when he set eyes on me and with a twitch of his finger he gave an order to his men. A large intimidating form strode purposefully in my direction. Naturally I shrunk back, in reasonable fear of being battered. Angelene’s anxious voice was hardly comforting as it echoed across the hall.
“Just standard procedure, I assure you!†He screeched as the large man promptly began probing my pockets. “Wouldn’t want any of our patients getting their hands on something dangerous.â€
My hands rose defensively as the large man finished his search and backed away. I kept still as Angelene nervously stumbled across the hall to a shadowed stairwell. He waited at the entrance, seizing a torch from a bracket on the wall.
“Come. I will take you to your to your quarters.â€
My heart began to beat wildly against the walls of its hollow cage. <i>Perhaps, if it were far enough, I’d catch a glimpse</i>... The thought rattled me, and I fought hard to swallow my ever-growing anticipation. I sank even deeper into my own private observations as we descended further into the bowls of the asylum.
Vision was blurred by darkness in the hallways we traveled along. Soon, the cold, stone walls fell back, becoming murky jail cells cloaked in shadows. Anguished voices rose up from the darkened spaces, their owners hidden behind barred doors. Shadows huddled in the corners twisted themselves into obscure and horrifying shapes. My pulse was slowly picking up pace, once again. For the first time, since I had completely entwined myself in the ordeal, I began to doubt my own intentions.
Shadows began to cling to my feet and onto my body. Slowly they wrapped themselves around my chest, silently pressing the air from my lungs. Those strange forms that had lurked in the corners twisted themselves into horrifying faces. A tremble of fear overtook my person, and yet those around me stayed abnormally calm. I knew what was approaching, and I no longer enjoyed the fear that froze my soul and shortened my breath.
We had reached the final door, the small opening at the top strung with thick metal bars. The men began to close in around me, making it impossible for me to go anywhere but inside the open door. Shaking myself, I stepped forward, hoping a viewing was all that was required of me.
My mind tried to recall the excitement I had once felt as I took step after step closer. I held my breath in an attempt to keep the panic at bay. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness they began to lock on a shadow that was beginning to take definition. Its small hands were clutching something. My breath caught when I saw what it was.
A long, slender razor lay across the tiny fingers, it’s blade darkened with rust. I wretched as the tiny form turned to face me. It smiled, revealing row after row of elongated teeth. Fluidly it reached forward, lodging the thin metal into my arm.
The door slammed behind me as I turned to run, locking me inside with the creature. Fruitlessly I pushed against the cold metal, the sound of dragging flesh behind me, pushing my body further into the door.
The knife clanged to the floor at my feet and my hazy eyes began to focus. It wasn’t a knife anymore, but a long syringe recently emptied. My heart skipped a beat, and my worst fears were realized. Something was wrong. As the voices outside began to fade, my mind began to sharpen. My body, however, was no longer under my control. I felt my physical-self fall, felt the blood flow as it hit the cold stone floor. I felt it all, and began to remember.
I remembered the photographs, remembered the blood, remembered the crime, remembered the pain, the anger, the hate. I remembered...
That the monster was <i>me</i>.
