The Devil Within Mister Sinclair

June 18, 2010
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Violet Wickham perched herself over the crumbling cliff that overlooked the soulless, obscure lake. She pulled off the petals of the red roses entangled on the ledge as she intently watched the petals dive into the lake. She gazed off to the lake’s horizon as she heard the footsteps of a burly, bearded man stepping towards her. She stared at the pallid corpse drifting towards the cliff . She grimly smiled. She had completed God’s work.


Excuse me ma’am,” an officer with a cockney accent bellowed. “Do you know who murdered that man in the lake?”


She smiled seductively. Without hesitation, she said, “I did.”


“That’s an awfully hefty man Miss. How did you do it?”


Violet opened her pouted lips and spoke.

“It was a few hours ago. I had been reading the affairs of Mister Darcy at the Hawthorne Park and the wind danced around my auburn curls and ravens gathered at my feet. As I was ready to retire to my cottage, I realized I left my keys on my nightstand. Knowing that my blacksmith was in Yorkshire until the 27th, I walked to Ronald Sinclair’s house, who had always been amiable to myself, not once forgetting my birthday and always paying his respect to my mother’s grace around the time of her birthday. I loved the man with my entire soul. Of course, it is utterly barbaric to openly pursue him, so I would initiate flirtatious banter. At the house, he greeted me with a warm embrace as my cheeks flushed into the shad of the poppies blooming next to his porch. He led me in the house and sat me in his living room. As we discussed the novel I was reading, I abruptly professed my deep admiration and love for him, and his face was extracted of its rosy tint as he hastily excused himself to brew a pot of tea. After he left, an old man draped in ethereal robes and fashioning a floor-scraping grey beard appeared in front of me. He told me who he was and I informed him I was aware of who he was. He replied to me majestically, requesting that I kill Mister Sinclair when he arrives. I ask him why and he said he is full of wickedness and was friendly with the devil. The statement delivered a feeling of uneasiness to the pit of my stomach. As the man approached the chamber door, I asked when he would return, the almighty being muttered, ‘Nevermore.’

Mister Sinclair shakily carried the tray of Earl Grey and he queasily sat down. His voice began quiver. ‘I cannot marry you my dear… for… I… am… your… your… father.’

Disgust and angered swam in my veins as I lost my state of being. Minutes later, I believe, I gained awareness of my actions and there was Mister Sinclair, lying before me adorned in microscopic cuts. Feeling uneasy if I left my father lying dead on the floor in the living room, I dragged the hefty man’s mutilated corpse two miles to the very lake you and I are conversing near and dumped him. And that officer, is how I murdered a man I was enamored with.”
“All right then,” the officer muttered in sheer confusion and disbelief. “What is your name?”
”Violet Wickham,” she replied in arrogance.
The officer tightly tied Violet around the willow tree that lay fifteen feet away from the edge of the cliff.
“I’ll be back Miss Wickham, I need to retrieve papers.”

Violet nodded and thought that the officer was going to congratulate her for playing out God’s work. She began to think of the wonderful consequences that were about to come as she began to drift out of consciousness,

Twenty minutes later, Beatrice woke up to discover herself wrapped around a large willow tree. She screeched in horror, not knowing how she got into the state she was in. She tried breaking the rope apart with her arms, but it was wrapped too tightly. She looked out to the lake to find a boater, but all she found was the body of Mister Sinclair floating towards her. She shrieked even louder. She heard footsteps. She cringed, fearing she would be next.
“Okay,” the officer grumbled to Beatrice. “Sign this.”
“What is this?”
“Miss Wickham, you are aware of what it is.”

“I beg your pardon, but my name is Miss Champlain.”

“Miss, there is no point in denying that you did not commit the murder of that man.”

“But I did not officer, I do not remember doing so.”

“You just took ten minutes of my time to describe exactly how you murdered this man.”
”That’s preposterous!”
”I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you to the station.”
The officer unraveled the ropes from her waist, and as Beatrice profusely wailed, she attacked the officer leaving minute scratches on his face, just like the ones on Ronald. The officer managed to cuff her hands, but Beatrice ran away from him, inches away from the edge of the cliff. The rocks began to slip from under her feet into the murky depths below her. Slowly, it seemed to her, she fell into the lake her head making contact on the jagged rocks. Her body floated next to Mister Sinclair and they drifted off to the horizon.
Nevermore would she carry out the work of God.





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Blue4 said...
Jun. 27, 2010 at 7:13 pm

This is great! I love your word choice, and the plot is so interesting! Please write more!

Did you mean to make it seem as the woman in the story had multiple personality disorder? That is a very intriguing phenomenon. (If you don't mind, please read the story I had submitted, and please rate it.) ;)

 
kuhxxristen replied...
Jun. 28, 2010 at 11:22 am
thanks yeah I made it seem like that.  Actually this was a writing assignment for English class where I had to write a gothic short story, where it had to 900 words and told how I told it
 
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