Curse of the Full Moon

September 1, 2007
The hollow, thin words were hissed eerily through midnightÕs thick silence, so soft, so meaningless to those of mortal ears, yet having taken a bone-chilling tone, one that held so many alien secrets. If there had been a witness present to listen, to understand, he would have come very near to having his heart freeze mid-beat, would have almost felt his once warm blood stop flowing and run cold. He would have clutched at his chest, turning at lightning speed to churn up brittle, dead countryside as he fled off into the darkness, not caring what may be out there awaiting in possible hunger, just seeking to be away. If only there had BEEN a witness. That night displayed clear, calm skies, a perfectly full moon shining gentle, silver light throughout the midnight hour and down over the land. A nearby pond of cool, azure water was reflecting the waxy sphereÕs intense illumination, lighting the ripples threading through it. The scene had been completely free of prying eyes other than the small, beady irises that belonged to tiny field creatures. Mice, rabbits, fireflies. Little did they know what was about to befall them. The things that go bump in the night had not the slightest idea of the bewitching happenings that were due to take place within mere minutes. Had they been aware, pandemonium would have quickly dominated their small brains. But no other being, not even the furry lurkers of the bush, were intended to be in sight for this going on. No matter that they could not catch on. It was a thing of secrecy, plain and simple. No one was to know; it was a deadly truth. A hundred years in the future, children would sit cozily around a roaring campfire, grasping mugs of hot chocolate, listening to their parental figures whisper ‘scary storiesÕ conceived of vampires, ghosts and severed human hands. They would let loose with wild, uncontrollable screams when the tales ended with a shout. The adults, springing to their feet, would wave their arms helter-skelter as the children cowered under their sleeping bags Those would-be fables could never measure up to what was about to occur. If the children were exposed to that nightÕs actions twisted into the form of a camping story, they would surely die of fright when certain things were said. Their little hearts would simply stop. Shocking words being told to young minds would become a popular activity, although, if parents were to hear what was about to happen on that night, a century ago, they would most likely find the material gruesome, lacking any morals, a bit TOO scary for their offspring. They could not be any more correct. Hence the heavy seal of secrets surrounding the eventÉ if you wish to call it an event. If any others found out, they would refer to it as a Mystic Phenomenon; a Terrifying Wish of Death. If only they had knownÉ Not as if they would have had the power to stop it. The enchantment was stirred together to hold back the strongest of mages; to confuse the most powerful of the wizards; to mortally destroy all those of pure blood, those who sought to free the world of perpetual darkness. The Fall of Heroes.Ó A hill, a small mountain, its dew-drenched blades of grass bathed in pale moonlight appeared an endless ocean of whiteness. The black night rose up around the land rise, the stars barely visible in the inky darkness. A sudden breeze rose up to caress the leafy branches of far-off oak trees, a rustling sound breaking the ghostly silence. The grassy, raised knoll, however, held fast in remaining completely clear. No foliage in plain sight. Just an immense stretch of grass which looked more like lightly fallen snow than its usual bold emerald color. A night not recommended for the meek minded. A night built to bring fear into the minds of the fair; tailor made for things of terror. It took place on All Hallows Eve. The night designed for local Witches, Goblins and Imps to cause mischief--perfect for Dark Magic to bring about evilÉ A long, slender shadow broke the soft moon glow at the base of the hill. Like a rip slowly tearing itself through a sheet of crisp paper, the figure began making its way up the incline, flowing clothes waving behind it. The build was feminine, tall, insanely slim. Swaths of black, skin-tight fabric clung nicely to her narrow frame, the end of the mid-calf length gown billowing around her thighs. As she swished to a halt, she stole a glace around the wide meadow, smirking in the darkness. A hood was dropped back, pooling around a swan-like neck to allow waist-length, shimmering straight, ebony hair to fall loose, whisking down a bony back. The smirk grew to a closed-mouth grin, her entire face full of maliciousness and spite. Her face was of ethereal pallor, seeming to glow in the solid onyx night. Creeping, white fingers trailed down to the makeshift rope belt draped around the thin waist, fooling with a dangerous, jagged dagger hanging from its belt. The moonlight could have flashed wrongly at that time so long ago, but the weaponÕs tip seemed to be stained with something; a dark, mysterious crimsonÉ Fall of all heroesÉÓ The voice was female, low, breathy, full of a rare kind of rigid delight. How sweet those words sounded, rolling off of her tongue. She had been waiting for so longÉ YesÉ it shall be fulfilledÉ the innocent spirit shall be avenged.Ó Her tone took on an icy edge, cold with unknown fury. Bronzed eyes flicked down to a pouch hanging from the rope belt, soon to be yanked off and tugged open. The woman drew steady breaths, reaching into the pouch, hand emerging again with something cupped in her palm. She closed her eyes, bringing her face close to the hand, and blowing a short puff of air through thin, pursed lips. In a sudden lavender flurry, the grainy dust was swept away from her palm, swirling up into the air as a gust of fierce wind blew past, turning the surrounding space to a miniature storm of gentle purple. Tendrils of fine sand reached up towards the sky. Moonlight shone through the dust, giving the now slightly-violet area a smoky appearance. A crack of lightning split through the air, joined by a stream of cackling laughter, ending the quiet. Slate gray clouds rolled over the moon; the stars began to fade. Normally such things would have cut out all traces of the intense light that had cast down earlier. The strange thing wasÉ all of the illumination had stayed. A sign that The Magical Arts were in use. The first drops of a rain shower had began to fall, but they were unable to touch the dark female and her doings, somehow shielded out by an invisible dome of protection. Nothing must interfere. Her laughter, loud and maniacal, held strong over the noise of pattering raindrops that night. It would all be pieced together as planned. The laughter ceased as her eyes closed for what may have been an eternity. And then, they shot open, no longer a frigid, golden rust-hazelnut, but glowing the same crimson that adorned her dagger. Pillars of violet sand swirled about her, lifting the now wild black hair off the back of her neck, the entire meadow frozen in time aside from her hectic, invisible dome. Slowly, melodically, she began to chantÉ Bon brille par tout dans la fin c'est le temps pour ceci venir par un tournant Sur la route de mortels a des objections Les Héros les ont dans tu lie Telle bonté révèle un scandale méchant ‹ le Sergé toujours est plus que l'Obscurité contrôlera Allume semble concourir l'Obscurité › la convexities Tu espérez écraser ton désosse pour épousseter les Péchés et le sang, les ombres pleines de mensonge Le temps a venir pour te tomber aux pieds du mal Vous osez réclamer la vie de ce qu'a prospéré, quel était le nôtre ? le Mal trouvera ‹ la façon pour venger, dessinant le sang, partant des cicatrices Aucune volonté plus longue ton permettez ceux-là de minuit sacré Õtre tuéÉ La Chute de Tous HérosÉ SERA FULFILLED!Ó ( Good shines through all in the end It is time for this to come through a bend On the road of mortals minds The Heroes have them in thou binds Such goodness proves to be a horrid scandal ‘Twill always be more than the Dark shall handle Light seems to concur DarknessÕ lust Thou hope to crush thy bones to dust Sins and blood, shadows full of deceit The time has come for thee to fall at evilÕs feet You dare to claim the life of what thrived, what was ours? Evil shall find ‘way to avenge, drawing blood, leaving scars No longer will thy allow those of sacred midnight to be killedÉ The Fall of All HeroesÉ SHALL BE FULFILLED!Ó) Thunder rumbled fiercely in the distance, all of the lightning merging together to form a white-hot blanket of burning ivory. The womanÕs eyes were frozen open in terrifying concentration as she rose into the air, the lavender dust now a whirling tornado surrounding every inch of her, blood-red light radiating out of black-spiraled irises. She opened her mouth, a shrill, ear-splitting scream being torn out of her; animal like in a way. Her body wracked with spasms, tears of crimson rolling down deathly pale cheeks. The spell would pull through. And then she would accept the pain, she would readily take on the fate about to bestow itself upon her. She chose to do this to herself. As long as she could bring her precious daughterÕs death to shadowed justice, she would face the consequences. As long as every Hero would fall. In a rush, it was over. With a loud shattering noise, the lightning cover broke apart, trailing off against the dark sky, constellations and moon reappearing. Her screaming began to fade, the frail figure slowly disintegrating into bright red dust, caught by the wind to mix between the violet grains and whisk into one last swirling formation before filling into the black pouch, thumping to the grassy ground in a tiny, rumpled heap. The rain pushed a few drops through where the protective dome once was, wetting that part of dry grass before disappearing, ending the rain storm. And the night calm returned, a balmy breeze having begun to flow once more. Although, a the short range from where the spell had come and gone, a tall, castle-like mansion now sat, rooted to the ground in all its shadowy glory. Everything about the structure screamed evil, just a mark left by some sort of dark witchery. No one would ever come to know about whatever did go on in that mansion as the years passed. Travelers believed it to be deserted, and they could not be more right. No one had ever been in the place, no one had ever come out. The different people born through different times had no way of knowing what had happened all those varying years before. And no one really thought anyone would find a mystery behind that giant castle on the hill. No one seemed to care. That is, until one particular All Hallows Eve, a century in the future.

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Sammy said...
Sept. 12, 2008 at 4:00 am
Wow! Scary stuff, and greatly descriptive too. What happens next?
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