A Darker Moon

It was a full moon last night. I went to lock the doors and moon shadows painted on the grass caught my attention. The trees at the bottom of the garden are pines, dark coloured in the summer and black in the winter moonlight. Between them is darkness, pits in the fabric of reality. I watched the shadows deepen as they took on a quality richer than before. The moonglow tumbled into the void, silver sliding into a black hole.

It seemed to me then that the blackness crept forward; a treacly slithering across the dark lawns. At first I believed it to be nothing more than just the reaching branches casting shadows in a new direction.  It advanced beyond the reach of the greatest limbs.

The part of my mind not numbed by the sight of the garden being consumed by the blackness told me I was safe. Have another drink, go to bed. It’s a trick of the light; it’s interesting and strange but not important. Too late, it had me in its maw, I was captured.  I think that it is probably true that it was too late from the first moment that I looked out.  The forces of darkness had called me to them but I was required to make the first move. As a vampire has to be invited over the threshold of your house this power had to be invited over the threshold of my spirit.

The emptiness advanced until just yards away from the house. All the night noises hushed, the fire no longer crackled, no creaking as the house slowly cooled in the night. More than just a lack of sound, a deeper enveloping hush became a tangible thing of itself. Not a lack of noise more a reality of silence.

The lights of the house may have been still shining behind me; the moon must have still been gleaming in the sky. For me there was only silence and the depth of blackness. My eyes tried to adjust. I felt them straining to find some glimpse of paleness, anything for focus in the nothing.

At first I thought the tiny pinprick of searing light was an internal apparition just my brain’s attempt to focus on something. I watched it grow until it was the size of a penny, then a saucer. Then came a high pitched noise a whistle, inside my ears, outside, I couldn’t tell. Almost musical briefly and then a dagger spearing through the whole fabric of my being. Blinding light enveloped me painful in its intensity. I fell to my knees hands over my ears in a futile attempt to protect them. Logical thought was impossible there was just the noise, the searing light, the terror.

The explosion or implosion came next. A breath of air, like the heat of the oven door opening magnified a million times. If thought had been possible at that point I suppose it would have been that I must be killed but all that was real was the horror. When I became aware again I registered the fact that I was sobbing and shaking with reaction. The hairs on my neck and arms were prickling, my breathing shallow, stomach clenching. I turned slowly.

Even in the light of day I can’t fully describe it, was it beautiful? It wasn’t ugly, it should have been, it should have been ghastly. Slender, elongated hands stretched into tapering fingers and the long body ended in unfinished lower limbs. The face was still forming surrounded by a virulent cloud of yellow white gas. I was sure that it would envelope me. I was ready to welcome the coming oblivion, so quickly gone from loving my life, cherishing reality, now ready to accept the end of everything.

There was no speech, evil doesn’t communicate verbally. There was the automatic reaction of my self now a robotic container for my screaming soul. The Thing moved and my auto-self followed down the lawn, through the pines and into the fields beyond. Later I would find that my legs were torn by the brambles and my hands bloodied but I followed, leashed to the Thing by the power it exuded.

The trip to town takes about twenty minutes. Last night I don’t know how long I followed the yellow cloud dispersing and reforming before me.

The church and graveyard are charming. The old stones are mellow and moss covered some of them lean theatrically. The Thing dragged onwards through the gate and to the back of the church to the shadow of the massive yew trees. I reached the mound covered in couch grass, the middle one of seven. This is the dumping place for the town’s undesirables.

The ground heaved and opened. The Thing focused on the moving, swelling earth as the soil fell into the growing chasm. I peered into the grave and there deep in the void was the ancient wood, glowing in the moonlight. It should have been barely more than crumbs eaten by worms and beetles, but it gleamed in the unearthly light. The top of the coffin was obscured by a cloud of gas and then there in the hole stood the woman.

She was beautiful, gloriously lovely with long hair a gleaming auburn wave down her slender back. Her skin shone pearlescent in the moonlight. The eyes were pools of blackness the lips a vivid slash of scarlet. She rose towards me a smile curving the full lips the black eyes staring and the arms reaching. She beckoned me forward, my body obeyed. I was embraced. The arms were warm, the shroud was soft where it brushed my bare skin and the flesh was yielding. Her full lips touched mine. An horrific screech filled my ears, my body was struck by enormous force as air thudded from my lungs. Then there was nothing until I opened my eyes to this lovely morning. What am I now?

1 Comment

Filed under Serials, Shorts and Stuff, Shorts and Stuff

One response to “A Darker Moon

  1. Fran Macilvey

    ooooOOOOOooooo Spooooky.

    Great stuff. xxxx 🙂


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