It was dark. The creature of the night lurked among the shadows cloaking the village. One word permeated every nuance of thought. Blood! BLOOD! He must have blood. But the empty streets yielded no opportunity of fulfillment, no chance encounter to satisfy his hunger. How long had he been this way? Weeks? Months? A hundred years? His thoughts no longer retained the proper order to reflect upon these unclarities. But a feeble awareness seeped into the sea of crimson that was his single obsession. Christmas. Yes. Christmas. That is why the streets were deserted, why the hunt remained fruitless. Everyone was indoors, huddled with friends and family around a warm fire, or a table with candles and a feast, communing with one another, sharing remembrances with one another. Christmas. That was so long ago...He continued creeping along, the blood lapping anew into his thoughts. With his acute sense of audition he perceived voices in song, a choir, a congregation of a church, no doubt. He turned towards the origin of the sound, and began to move closer. He passed as a shadow through a graveyard, some of the stones marking the final resting place of those whose blood he had taken. Of this he was scarcely aware. The church stood hulled in the thick tar of night. As he approached, it loomed ominously before him, surreal in its proportions. But he did not shy away. Where there is song, there is also blood. BLOOD! He stood before the massive door, pulling it open just a crack. He could not cross into the consecrated bounds of this sacramental location. But he waited, eyes turned downward, and listened. An organ toned the notes of a new melody, drawing a multitude of voices together into a sincere and unpresuming unison: "Silent night, holy night...." the peaceful words flowed to where he stood, and for one moment he forgot the blood.
Story #415
This photo appears by kind permission of Michael Spry. Please feel welcome to browse his flickr gallery (Mickal) and his Website (michaelspry.com).
Previous Christmas stories:
2004: #118
2005: #323
2006: #384
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and a Grand New Year to Everyone! I will post story #414 in the next days - still not satisfied with what I wrote - thanks to all who contributed! Contributions are welcome for this photo too, but I felt I should post first this time. You've all been so patient.
23 comments:
Oh i get to be the first to read it..... i demand more bloooood.... blooooddd!!!
Traditionally, red has been one of the colors of Christmas.
I KNOW how it looks, Lord Ecgfrith, but I'm from the North Pole, not Viking country! And this is a sack of TOYS, not booty! And I was coming down your chimney to GIVE, not take! Now PLEASE let me out! You're being VERY naughty!
Happy Holidays, Indie!
Happy Christmas to you and yours dear fiend! OOOppps! I mean friend!!! :)
That was really good, I loved the ending. :)
Indie I have a Christmas gift for you in my blog.
Take care
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Oooh... I did quite enjoy this one amigo mio... brilliant!
Merry Christmas to you and yours!
Hehe, I watched the video of you and let you do all the reading this time as I read along. I loved the story though especially the part where it talks about how she killed a man in Kansas. It's funny that you got noticed in Germany for that video.
I think that's awesome! :D
Nosferatu crept to the back door of the Netherworld Hotel. His badly outmoded clothes from, like, two centuries ago were soooo tacky, but, like, his boyfriend Wolfie, who is a werewolf, was too tasteless to care about how totally out of date Nossy's fashions are. Wolfie's clothes are always all torn up and stuff so he can show off his really hairy chest while he's onstage with Death Cheese, and that really turns Nosferatu on. EEEEWWWWW!!!! I guess the good thing about them being gay is that they can't, like, have a baby or something. Because imagine how ugly it would be! Mother Nature really knows best, but, like, Dr. Schitz usually finds a way to get around natural laws with his gene splicing in his icky old laboratory where my geeky sister Daria works with him and his wife, Nurse Violent.
While some people were wishing for peace on Earth I was wishing that all these fashion disasters I talked about in this article would GET A CLUE and come up into the 21st century. Their clothes are all, so, like, last millennium! Or two millenniums ago, in SOME vampire's cases!
Highly evocative, creepy, dark: just the way I like it! Here's my contribution:
A Certain Doorway
There is a certain Doorway through which some have crossed over to other places, other dimensions, from which few if any return. Some say the Doorway is a Painting, a Magic Painting. Others say it is a device---a stargate, a portal, a wormhole---created by unknown and unknowable beings in the singularity at the very heart of the Cosmos.
Mathematicians believe it is a flaw in the geometry of spacetime. More sensible people perceive it as an actual, material door (made of wood, stone, plastic, metal, ivory or any other substance for that matter in any known or unknown universe, including the strange substance of which the Philosopher’s Stone is made).
The Doorway makes itself known at crucial turning points in a person’s life. The Doorway appears in dreams and visions. It materialises miraculously at moments of peace and stillness, when the multitude of clasping clutching things required to sustain the illusion of self retreats snarling with frustration into the lower circles of hell.
It also materialises at moments of great turmoil and misery in a person's life, offering an escape to those able to recognise the possibility.
But to see the Doorway is one thing. To walk through it is another. It takes a brave heart indeed to enter those domains that lie beyond.
Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.
So is the photo of the moment he forgot blood or the moment he remembered, and wanted it more than ever? :-P
Merry Christmas to you and yours, Indie!
Brilliantly constructed story for the holiday Inde.
Happy Holiday to you and your family, enjoy.
The door was closed again. This was the third night this week that this had happened. The master was becoming more and more of a tyrant with every passing night.
What need had he for me at night when the dark had taken over the world and the absence of light made sure that I could be of no use? But he insisted on keeping me imprisoned in that castle. It had been three nights since I had been able to venture out and smell the frostbitten trees.
I was angry. I was disappointed. I was helpless. I was just a shadow that could not venture out into the world without my master's permission.
Loved the ending to your Christmas horror story. And Happy New Year in advance! :)
Looking forward to more in 2008 - Happy New Year!
Missed this one, but you're right I love your story and the picture. Merry Christmas to you and a Happy New Year!
happy New Year Inde.
Happy New Year! :D
Thanks everyone for all the wishes - and the stories! I didn't thinkanyonewould have time to write anything around Christmastime, so I just went and posted first.
Hobbes: Nice twist on the photo.
Mrs Weirsdo: Thank you, and likewise.
Cori: This will be a great year for you with your book coming out at last!
Mavin: Thanks for the compliment, and also for the Christmas present! Also glad you enjoyed the video.
Miz BoheMia: Thank you! I'mq uite flattered that you enjoyed the rather dark Christmas story.
Quinn: Fantastic story! But don't worry, these fashions a cyclic, so their costumes are sure to be back in style again soon.
Mistery: I'm so happy you liked the story. It just came out of the idea, what would the words "silent night holy night" mean to a vampire. Don't know if this has been done before.
Your story was great - I saw it as a metaphysical allegory of the chances we are constantly offered but rarely even perceive. Very poetic. And very synchronicity.
Ariel: good question! I don't know what happened next. How does it happen in real life?
Cooper: Thank you!
April: Same greetings to you!
Poojo: Your story really captures the Bram Stoker mood! I love it!
Letters: Thanks and likewise!
Sandra: Thank Mickal for the picture. And I'm glad you liked this!
Lovely story, Indie, but if the creature is a vampire, those graves would hardly be the final resting places of his victims . . . .
Mrs Weirsdo: You're right, and I thought of that as I wrote it, but I'm following the Dark Shadows interpretation where some of the victims, depending on how they die, do not become vampires. I guess they didn't want the show to get cluttered up with vampires ;-)
Great story, and thank you for visiting my blog, as well!
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