Creative Writing: Midnight Malevolence Part 2
In the time it took for one blink the beast was gone. She ran to the other side of the pool, her ebony black hair wafting behind her. She was frantic in her search but could find no other way out of the room. In an instant she was conscious that she was no longer alone. She turned her body slowly, trembling with horror, and faced her execution. He stood looming over her, his midnight black eyes interlocking with her own. From the belt worn around his waist he pulled out a knife, its silver blade sharp enough to refract the moonlight. He stroked it across his fingertips with the air of a sociopathic assassin.
“Katriane,” He whispered her name at a volume that was barely audible. As he did this he raised the knife and pressed the tip against her chest, only slightly touching but enough for her to feel it as her rapid breathing increased. At this moment a single glistening tear trickled down her cheek. His eyes moved to look at it and his face mutated from an expression of malice to that of confusion. Katriane watched in disbelief as he lowered the blade and returned it to his belt. He then left swiftly by the door through which he had come and amalgamated into the darkness. After a while life returned to her and she was able to move ever so cautiously to the window. She looked out into the night beyond but of the man there was no sight, he was gone.
Her eyes opened and she was awake. She remembered what happened, the apple, the wolf, the man, as if it was all real, but how could it be? She was lying in her bed, covered by her backstitched quilt and sheltered by the gilded posts; she had no memory of leaving here or getting back. She sat up slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dazzling sunlight. She was distressed by what she saw before her and proceeded to faint.
On the wall opposite the bed a blood drenched heart had been speared to the wall, blood drops dripping at regular intervals onto the dark oak flooring below. The object which speared it was a silver knife, the man’s knife. Above this a single phrase was scratched by a blood covered finger.
Your life was spared.
“Katriane,” He whispered her name at a volume that was barely audible. As he did this he raised the knife and pressed the tip against her chest, only slightly touching but enough for her to feel it as her rapid breathing increased. At this moment a single glistening tear trickled down her cheek. His eyes moved to look at it and his face mutated from an expression of malice to that of confusion. Katriane watched in disbelief as he lowered the blade and returned it to his belt. He then left swiftly by the door through which he had come and amalgamated into the darkness. After a while life returned to her and she was able to move ever so cautiously to the window. She looked out into the night beyond but of the man there was no sight, he was gone.
Her eyes opened and she was awake. She remembered what happened, the apple, the wolf, the man, as if it was all real, but how could it be? She was lying in her bed, covered by her backstitched quilt and sheltered by the gilded posts; she had no memory of leaving here or getting back. She sat up slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dazzling sunlight. She was distressed by what she saw before her and proceeded to faint.
On the wall opposite the bed a blood drenched heart had been speared to the wall, blood drops dripping at regular intervals onto the dark oak flooring below. The object which speared it was a silver knife, the man’s knife. Above this a single phrase was scratched by a blood covered finger.
Your life was spared.
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