Dead-water - Gothic Horror

#Please read my 1st Gothic Horror story, not that good, but hopefully a tad freaky and strange!

Preface

It was a long placid night of December. The trees swayed in the cold, sharp breeze and all was tranquil. Suddenly, thick balls of snow began to cave in and loud thumps echoed from the rooftop. It lasted several hours. At last, a whisper to the ear and snowflakes tumbled down from the violet sky. Inside was less beautiful, cramped and tight. Mum’s obsessed with Christmas. We have a festive object in every corner. I hate Christmas. The expenses, stress, panic, our tall and powerful tree and that creepy snowman we have out every year. Mum reassures me “This year will be different!” Yes. Something always happens on Christmas.

Chapter One

Mum has gone Christmas shopping. Again. I don’t quite know what she does down town and I’m not about to ask. I don’t mind being home alone either, peace and me. It’s quiet. It’s great! I usually watch T.V or raid the kitchen.

I scrolled through the T.V guide, glaring at all the Christmas films. Hmph!

I wandered into the kitchen excitedly. My thrill was soon killed to discover a bare fridge and an empty cupboard, almost empty. A silver tin. Gently slotted in between the cereal and stale, brown bread.

The tin was sealed, but not for long. I emptied the contents onto a plate and returned to the lounge. I sat down and one by one I ravenously devoured each biscuit. Scrumptious, delightful, delicious cookies! Where they Belvita? Oreos? Whatever they were, I savored every mouthful, slightly spicy and warm as if they’d just been baked fresh. I had no idea where, how or who, just that this couldn’t get any better…or any worse. As one had the most bizarre taste, it tasted peculiar: metallic, gingery and tangy. Then something cool, this wasn’t a cookie at all. I darted to the sink and spat out the question mark. I had coughed up a key, which was the tiniest of keys, gold, rusty and antique. The top was an irregular spiral shape, leading down to a miniature cut of a butterfly. I was bewildered, stunned and a tad alarmed. Had I just eaten a key?

I washed the key. After a hot soak and a few squirts of fairy liquid, it shone. However, it didn’t belong to anything. This key seemed to fit in something completely out of this world. Not any of our drawers or jewelry boxes or cabinets. I even tried it in Mum’s safe! No luck. I went back to the kitchen and sat at the table. Thoughts raced around my head, questions unanswered. My head fell into my hands, trying to control this unruly migraine. When I raised my head I found an envelope lying in the centre of the hollow tin. It was addressed to ‘Finder’. Eagerly, I teared it open and read:

To the finder of this key,

I bet you’re wondering what it could be?

What does it belong to? A chest? A drawer?

I bet you’re eager to find out more.

Well hold your horses, pause a minute; don’t you dare think that you’ve won it!

This key is anything but pleasure,

A story of secrets, dismay and measure.

Secrets never to be told,

Dismay to turn your blood ice cold,

And measure, oh this journey is old.

It’s going to take a long time for this mystery to unfold.

But go ahead, knock yourself out!

But I’m telling you now; you have no chance.

Ok, ok, I’m not that mean and I’ll give you a clue – Its somewhere green!

Take this ticket, the train leaves at 19:30, don’t be stylish, it’ll be dirty!

Somewhere natural and serene, this train will take you.

But don’t get too relaxed, that’s not how we play you!

There you’ll find the fit for this key…

Stop smiling friend; it’s not that easy!

At the end, you’ll be finally happy!

So quick, get moving and get snappy!

Oh, one last thing I’d like to say – thank you for making all this possible today!

I’ve waited so long for someone to miserably fail.

Hang on; I wont build my hopes up just yet…

Oh, whom am I kidding? Of course you wont prevail.

Sincerely,

My mouth dropped. The letter floated down as my hands gave way. An old ticket fell out with it. Yes. There it was. 7:30pm was highlighted. Oh, I mustn’t forget my road trip. Repeatedly, I travelled back and forth across the room. Should I go? I dithered. No. I’m not going anywhere I murmured to myself.

I plonked in front of the T.V. A woman isn’t really happy. Her husband has either cheated or she can’t go somewhere, ice skating perhaps? Before I knew it a dog was on the screen barking. Then Santa, putting presents under a tree.

Obviously, I couldn’t concentrate! What was I watching? My head was swimming, jam-packed with thoughts the size of boulders. NO! ENORMOUS BALLOONS! Each balloon bursting with wonder and questions. What if this turn of events was a sign? A symbol? A hint from Dad above? What if this could change our lives forever?

Yes. I’m going.

Chapter Two

It was 7pm. I’d spent most of the day packing, gathering gadgets and other items I needed for my trip; a torch, a Swiss army penknife, my mum’s purse and of course my mobile phone.

I arrived at the station about 7:15. I sat in a molded, plastic chair waiting for my train. Everywhere was quiet. I stared beyond the tracks. Was I making the right decision? I examined my ticket.

19:30 Deadwater, Northumberland

The name of the place filled me with dread. I pictured a thick black pool, fish floating at the top, lifeless. Although, my imagination has always ran away with me. A chill slithered slowly up the length of my spine. Too late to turn back now, here was the train.

I boarded. It was quite unusual, but then again I had never journeyed this far alone before. Inside the train was fairly archaic; divided up into separate cars. Each car with red velvet seats, floral lamps upon the little tables in between and all in front of silky, short curtains. I chose one and went inside, closing the door tight behind me. I sat back, eyes to the front at all times. The train pulled out from the station, the hypnotic rhythm of the wheels against the railway ricocheted around me. My eyes eventually closed.

Startled, I awoke to the sound of a loud voice. A man stood outside of my compartment, his finger tapping on his watch. I jumped up, got my bag and opened the door. He told me I had reached the last stop. “Deadwater?” I questioned him. No. I was in Otterburn. I showed him my ticket and he told me that there hadn’t been a route to Deadwater since 1956. I gulped. Nevertheless, he calmed me by saying I could get a taxi. “Thank god” I mumbled sarcastically.

Otterburn looked a lot more pleasant than I dreamed Deadwater to be. It seemed homely and warm; I could see a lot of cars and shops. I envisaged wildlife scurrying around vast meadows. I had hoped this would be my final destination.

My hopes short lived as I saw a taxi across the road, as if it was waiting for me.

The driver explained that it was fifty miles to Keilder, all my money gone. Then I thought; I had come this far. I’m going. I hopped in the back and I was on my way.

Car sick, dreadfully. It felt like a spinning ride for the whole forty odd minutes. It was dusk by now, it felt like it was getting darker and darker by the millisecond. Every inch the car made further down the road, there was a new shade: a twilight glow, then dark violet and then navy. Suddenly, he stopped the car. I jerked forward. He smiled wickedly and told me to pay up. Stranded, I was left.

It was as if he’d stopped at the sign of Deadwater, not a centimeter further. I stared beyond the long, bumpy road. This was going to be a long night. I looked skyward towards the moon, being the only source of light there was.

I had no idea where I was going. No one to ask. I got out my ticket once again, scanning both sides searching impatiently for an answer. On the back, at the bottom, it said ‘Forward, turn left, forward, turn right, forward, stop’ I guess that’s my answer. I ambled cautiously forward. I felt trapped, sandstone walls either side of me. I shuffled nearer to my left and stroked the wall with my hand as I walked. Damp moss prickled my fingers; still I had to grip something.

Then, I turned left. I saw, what seemed to be, the old train station. Disused. Scary. It looked as if it was about to collapse, I wouldn’t have used any of their transport! Opposite, outside the other wall, was an immense lake. Still. Inert. Dark. Hypnotizing. Dead water. Shaking my head, I wasted no time and carried on. Subsequently, I turned right. Chills zapped my body and I panted as the cold, night air stabbed my face. Outrageously frightened I had been. What kept me going was the sensation of inquisitiveness I had. Stop. This was it I guess. I looked up, from bottom to top, in front of me; a colossal, wrought Iron Gate.

Chapter Three

Pushing the gate, I felt a resistance, as it wouldn’t open any more. An ornate padlock hung from a metal chain. I recognized the hole, a butterfly. I brought out the key, inserted it into the lock and turned. The latch sprung unlocked, the chain fell to the floor and the gates flung open as if to welcome me. I hesitated for a couple of minutes; illusions sprinted around my head, messages from my brain to turn around. What would my Mum be thinking? No. I’m doing this for her. I knew there was something behind all this. Something beneficial. I marched up the path.

A mansion reared up before my eyes as I navigated the steep slope. I knocked. It’s politeness. Not that I thought anyone would have been home. The door automatically creaked open. I stood in the hallway, took the torch out my backpack and turned it on, directly in front of me was a staircase. Weirdly enough, there were no cobwebs in a place that looked like it had no visitors. Apparently not even the odd spider. Zilch.

I swallowed involuntarily. Although my mouth was dry, I yelled to see if anyone was there. No answer. I decided to climb the stairs. I suspected that’s what they wanted me to do. Whoever ‘they’ were. I reached the landing. Crunch, crunch, crunch beneath my feet, I aimed the torch at my trainers. A trail of crumbs led up to a door, which read on it ‘Cookie Factory’. I chuckled. Then, I entered. Flashing my torch around the room, I could see stacks of tins, identical to the tin back at home. Crude baking utensils were scattered across a table, even more crumbs. At the end of the table, a white, Tupperware box sat. Peering in, I could see a mountain of butterfly keys; exact replicas of the key that had initiated my journey. At other side of the room, there was an adjoining doorway. Gingerly, I ventured through into the shadows. My torch beam hit the edifice of a solid, gold cube. Was this it? Waves of joy and trepidation jostled for position in my mind. I ran to it, my hands caressed the smooth, shiny surface. Suddenly, I stumbled upon a hole. I put my hand in: a doorknob? If outside was made of pure gold, what was inside, treasure? Elatedly, I twisted it. To the right of me, which seemed to be a door, slid open.

I went inside, my eyes shut tight. I exposed one eye; all was dark, apart from one corner. A long, gold chain hung from a dim spotlight. A small sign on the wall, with the single word ‘close’ was written. Was I close? Had my trip finally come to an end? I made my way over, kicking into a few things below. I stretched for the chain and pulled hard.

A bright light illuminated the entire cube. Simultaneously, the door closed back into its secret position. I looked around. Skeletons were strewn throughout the room. I realised then, that word meant shut. I felt sick as my stomach formed a whirlpool. Regret and panic overpowered me. Tears welled up in my eyes, as I understood my stupidity. My Mum and my friends, would I ever see them again? I wanted to turn back; I wanted to be back home. How could I have been so reckless? I felt, not only trapped, but banned from the world: alone, other than the bloodcurdling company of the spirits roaming around me. Was this a punishment? Losing control, I shoved myself against the walls hunting wildly for an exit. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. Please be a dream; please be a dream, please be a dream.

I bawled with terror as my eyes caught sight of a single sentence across the wall beside me.

‘CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT’

Moon shadow - Gothic Horror

#Not quite much of a Gothic Horror just yet, please read though and leave comments with what you think, any advice? By the way, got so many more stories to come. This story isn't finished yet.

The castle was perched on a hill, peering through the trees. The sun had just set and the twilight glow scattered across the sky. You might say that I am mad? However you'd be wrong; hiking until 6 o'clock on a Sunday evening in the long hours of winter, is perfectly normal.

I love hiking! Exploring the deep woods and moors and increasing my curiosity. I smell scents like never before; the sweet perfume of flowers in my pathway and the fruity richness of the earth, dug up and exposed out of bounds. Evergreen surrounds me, tangles of weeds grows freely. I have no regrets! Even when a sudden tempestuous rainfall strikes and every drop feels like a torrent of slaps, bullets, needles, I don’t raise an eyebrow. I love it!

I made my way towards the castle slowly, through the forest, over the bridge – closer, closer, closer! - I clambered up the steep, damp hill, until, there it was; lavender grey as the moonlight bounced off the stone walls. Medium sized puddles were spotted around the building, where a moat had once been and dried up, as smooth and as still as small mirrors. Had I Wellington boots on? Of course not! Did I want thick mud to wrap around my feet? God yes! I chuckled continuously as I skipped through the slushy dirt – squelch, squelch, squelch -

Eventually, I was at the door and soon in the hallway. It was different scents now, that didnt belong; burning wood and rotting flesh. I travelled down the corridor; medieval furniture covered in dust and cobwebs and skeletons were in the most complicated positions. I stroked one carefully, its head had the similar resemblance as one of my slippers back at home. I threw a gleaming smirk.

I stood up and made my way towards the staircase; so much of three stairs, I suspect the other eight or so had crumbled over the years. I hopped up them, dodging all the beautiful bones below.

The only door at the top of the tower was open ajar. Cautiously, my hand gripped the doorknob and I happily went inside. A baby's shriek cut into the silence like a knife to butter. Although, the event which occurred next, was the torment.

Chapter One

I haven't been hiking since. I've killed others since. The second victim was a lot more difficult to murder. I had to make numerous plots, risks, sacrifices, in which half didn't work. The librarian. Very annoying man. Not my local library, I had chosen one out of bounds. This. Was. Ancient. Books lay everywhere and it was very dim. I could smell musty pages and sawdust. Then, there he was. Rested behind his giant desk. I remembered him. I never forget a face or names for that matter. He had pushed me into an old lady on the sub way, my suitcase opened, my merchandise lost. Yes. I had to stand there and watch as my priceless possessions fell onto the railway below and I have never fully recovered. I marched over and place five books of my own onto his table.

“To return, mate” I declared. He smiled. Oh he smiled. Bookworm! Then I smiled. He deserved everything he was going to get.

“Want to pick any more?” he retorted. I nodded.

“See you like the old Gothic Horrors, ey? Fancy a couple of our traumatizing novels?” he continued, as he skipped down the isles.

“Fine” I chuckled.

“Let me know how it ends, its a golden that! What’s his name wrote it...Clive Barker!” he protested excitedly and handed me a thick book, slightly tatty. I patted him on the back. Then frankly pulled out an iron bar out of my rucksack. With one whack across the temple, he slumped to the floor.

“This, is how it ends, mate” I sniggered. No-one to witness. No-one visits the library on a Wednesday. No-one saw me. No-one knows. But me. And me, only.

I'm not a murderer. Well, I am in so many words, actions. I’m only doing what I felt was right. You don’t understand what was in that suitcase. A bag of my wisdom, my future, gone. I watched as it tumbled down. I observed as the train galloped over it. I heard the thump, the smash. He just walked off. No apology whatsoever. Cheek of it! Ah well, he's dead now. I got my revenge, now I need to get that property again...quick.

You're wondering what it was aren't you? You want to beg, plead and beseech?  You're wondering, your head is bursting? It's. A. Secret. 

Chapter Two

Introduction - About Me

My name is Lauryn and I am 13 years of age, almost 14.
My passion is writing stories. I see all those authors out there, as well as being minted with cash, supplying the world with books to read and enjoy, sounds quite satisfying.
I love to write varied genres; such as Children's, Teenage Drama, Adventure and I'm embarking on a new style... Gothic Horror.

I'm not big-headed about my work, but not too humble. I think of myself as good, I know I can definitely spell excellently and correct people correctly. I tend to go on and on with description, I enjoy to illustrate by words. I like the reader to picture the story, even when there's no pictures on the book I write. I also like to initiate. I could be lying in bed, day or night, or I could be working on either my Dad's allotment, an idea would explode in my head. Sometimes I would even start writing in my head, starting the story already, inserting characters and speech.

I want to be an author, not just to stock books, but to dedicate them to my friends and family.
I also want the money. I'm not a greedy person and I don't want fame, fame and more fame. My family, especially my parents, haven't had the best of luck. Some issues leaving them broke. I only want to give them what they never had, a nice house, lots of other nice things and basically whatever they want. That goes for the rest of my family too.

Plus, my manager and the best uncle in the world, Dave can have whatever. He has helped me with stories, work, exams and homework. He has bought me many helpful books based on creative writing and many of times gone through it with me. He has written stories himself and scripts, some of his films actually burnt on disc. I starred in 2 of them! He has really assisted me and given me good advice. He's a very good uncle, and a very good friend.
However, this goes for my entire, close family. My Nan and my Granddad, who have always had faith in me. I promise them, I am going to be a somebody, an author.