Writing Prompt

The walls around them trembled, bits of the ceiling rained down. Running through the rows of benches in the Old Church, the couple cared nothing for reverence at this time; they knew what little time they had left couldn't be spent on formalities.

Thalorin stopped them at the front of the benches. "He already knows. He's trying to reverse it."

Orlithsir put a hand on his pistol. "How long has he been at it?"

"Mind your tongue, executioner! High Lord Carrsa has been working tirelessly for the last five days! He knew of these events long before we did. We should be grateful that he tries to save us instead of joining his brethren and abandoning us."

"While that does bring us comfort, dear Churchead," Zetharrin stepped between the two, "the fissions are expanding. The world is breaking and our people are dying. If there is nothing that we three can do, especially to help High Lord Carrsa, the world will die and we will lose everything we've built."

Just when Thalorin was about to answer, High Lord Carrsa walked out to them, holding a small, newborn child. He sighed, smiled, and turned to his three loyal officials. "My friends. I present the solution to fix our world." He held the baby to see. "Behold! This one is called Kaelithem!"

"The Keeper of Threads." Zetharrin translated.

"Correct, my Goldflow. I've come to learn that the end of this world is the work of my brethren. It is believed a world unified under my rule is one that cannot be tolerated. It is believed that the masses can rule better than I." The three stood in silence; they understood what was about to happen and what would need to be done.

"When their divided world falls and its people are thirsting for the blood of another, the Keeper of Threads will mature and take her rightful place in the New World."

"What of our people, my lord?" Orlithsir asked. "What will become of them?"

"In order for the New World to thrive under Kaelithem's charge, all must relinquish their spirit. Even us. When she arrives to the broken and divided world, she will pull the buried remnants of this one out from under it and open the minds of all who belong to our congregation. Our spirits will be quick to join her and we will see a unified world." High Lord Carrsa handed the child off to Orlithsir. "Be with her. All of you." The others nodded. "Go now. I must finish this."

High Lord Carrsa walked out of the Old Church, leaving his four subjects behind. When he opened the door, he welcomed the end of his world. "Let the rivers grow and form the oceans that will separate the people. Let the island chains grow further apart. When you see the new age tear itself to shreds, hear the words of my people testify against you. Rejoice in Unity!"

The last words were followed by the earthquakes tearing the Old Church down the middle. The once mighty empire on the ancient supercontinent became a barren wasteland as the lands drifted apart.

The wind chill was unbearable, as the tribe marched through the snowy hillside. Tan skins shivered beneath thick sabertooth hides. Tuuk's forehead glistened with frozen beads of exertion. The light reflecting warmly off of his golden brown eyes. He was fighting against friction, using a makeshift sled to carry his brother, Buusho. He had been hurt during the hunt, and couldn't walk on his own, so Tuuk took up the slack. He fashioned an old sled from the bark of a dead tree and some extra furs packed for emergency, and bore the straps on his shoulders, dragging his sibling across the hellish winterscape. Tuuk looked at the sun, the symbol of a deity who clearly didn't see fit to bless them, as it's warm radiance retreated beyond the horizon, as the frost of the moon set in. A camp had to be made quickly, and the tribe's leaders were already on it. A spot in a thicket of trees was secured, the dense copse of woods being a perfect barrier for the assaulting wind. Tuuk was a few paces behind, on account of his increased load, and made it just in time to set his Buusho to the side, and get to work starting a fire. The damp wood the others gathered was incredibly inflammable, but Tuuk had a trick in his arsenal. He reached into his Buusho's leather pack, taking it from his young brother's sleeping arms, and pulled out some dry, warm grass and placed the pack under his head, lovingly. He shredded the grass apart into small fibrous pieces and packed them into a loose ball, like a nest for the fire, and started upon creating the spark. Clack clack clack Sparks flew into random directions, even stinging Tuuk's muscled legs, but finally a small ember laid, cradled, within the dry kindling, so he added pressure and started to blow gently into the flames. The ember grew into a flickering flame, growing an appetite large enough to gorge upon the wet timber. Tuuk's heavy-lidded brown eyes danced with fluttering red light, as he quickly tossed the ball underneath the wood pile, and patiently awaited the spread of flames. Sure enough, the flame caught, and the camp started warming themselves by the ever growing fire. Tuuk scanned the other members of his tribe, counting twenty heads, much less than the 40 they had started the hunt with. Their hunt had been largely successful, gathering the hides they wore today and the meat in their bellies, but many of their rank had succumb to the cold, flittering out quietly among the sides of the group. Losses weren't uncommon, but they were unprecedented in this amount, it would take the tribe time to recover from these deaths. Families would be left weakened, and men would have to take in new wives and children, to ensure the survival of their tribe. The fire woofed, clearing off the remaining wetness of the wood, and the heat allowed the bleary-eyed tribesmen to take some much-needed shuteye, and so the light of the moon surrendered to the calm darkness of sleep. That is, until the men of the tribe were awoken to the sound of screams within the forest. Tuuk knew animals to make sounds like crying children to lure them out into their hunting grounds, but he had never in his years heard one imitate a man's dying scream like that. He looked around, one of the men should have kept watch, but he saw that nobody was at post. All were resting when the scream roused them, and heads twisted around nervously as the smart among the tribe realized. Their heads numbered nineteen. Another scream echoed into the woods, as a dark blur appeared and disappeared among the fringes of the group. Tuuk couldn't make out any details of the creature, but soon everyone realized this wasn't a normal animal. Tuuk grabbed his brother, and ran towards the fire, grabbing a smoldering stick to defend himself. His fellow tribesmen being picked off far too quickly. Only ten, no nine remained, and more were going with each passing second. There were those among his tribesmen that tried to run, or fight, or scream, nothing worked. Nothing stopped the onslaught on his people. Finally, it was just Tuuk, and his brother, but they weren't alone. "Huuungrrry.", a hollow voice scratched out among the top of the treeline. The creature sprinted towards his brother, but Tuuk swiped with the smoldering log, and the creature flinched, and jumped back meters. Only in that moment did Tuuk get a good look at the murderous creature. It stood 5 feet tall severely hunched, with black fur and wet blood covering every inch of it's body, save for the head. Atop it's furry, sinuous frame, rested a alabaster tiger skull. There was no skin, no eyes, no muscle, only bone and two furious blue flames rested within the otherwise empty eye sockets. It retreated back into the woods, and hissed out, "Briiiight. Buuuuuurns." Tuuk understood how they could survive this. The beast couldn't stand the light, he only had to wait it out until the sun rises, but the night was still young, and the hissing and growling from the woods only intensified as the night deepened. After hours of unresting vigilance, and several unsuccessful attempts from the beast, the sun finally poked out from the horizon, and with it's appearance the attacks finally stopped. Tuuk, took a short rest, but as the warmth of the sun started to invigorate his muscles, he knew he had to make haste to get back to the encampment. Dragging his brother behind was a challenge, especially after a restless night, his mind reeled. Exhaustion set in, and they were still a ways from their home. They had nothing to eat, everything lost in the attacks, but they still had a smoldering flame that his brother watched and cared for with his life, even with the freezing wind threatening to put it out at a moment's notice. Tuuk took cold, burning breaths, and sat down, the blood surging dully in his head. His brown eyes had dimmed and dried after a full day of dragging his little brother behind him. The sun drove past the center of the sky alerting Tuuk as noon had passed, and soon, they would be at the mercy of the beast again. Adrenaline surging, Tuuk stood back up, put the harness onto his shoulders, and sped, almost running, towards his encampment. The trees became more familiar, and the grass lusher, and finally Tuuk saw his home encampment lit up by the setting sun. The sight would be beautiful, if not for the reality of what was behind them. Sprinting as fast as possible, his brother struggling to keep the torch alight, Tuuk raced the dusk, but time was not on his side. The light of the moon soon illuminated the wooded fields, rays of moonlight rippling across Tuuk's skinned feet. Blisters leaving a bloody trail in his wake, a perfect track for the beast to find him. His brother clutched the torch tightly, holding onto his last illusion of safety. Tuuk was single-minded and focused, but the flame of hope was extinguished within his dark eyes. His legs gave out, and he crashed onto the ground. "Big Brother. Big Brother. Tuuk. Why did you stop?" "Tuuuuukkkk?" mimicked a voice from the woods, and just like that the beast was upon him, looking even skinnier and more sickly that last he saw it. Clawed hands ripped into Tuuk's back, and blinding pain gripped his spinal cord. The beast dragged him 8 meters away towards the woods before a hurtling log of fire smacked the beast in its back. Buusho worriedly had given his only safety measure, in exchange for Tuuk's safety, in a desperate gamble. It dropped Tuuk on the ground, as it's body erupted into flames, like kindling. It rolled uselessly in the grass, screeching, it's form shrinking into something closer to that of a human, an inaudible cackle shook it's frame, before it loosely dissolved into a pile of dust. Tuuk and his brother were safe for a night. His brother crawled out of the sled and limped over to the torch slowly, and dragged his older brother closer to the sled, off of the hard, cold ground. Tuuk's legs dragged uselessly behind him. His bloodied back didn't leave a trail as it smeared across the ground, the bleeding had already fortunately staunched. After a night of exhausted sleep, Tuuk was revivified in the morning, able to take the weight back on. His back was itchy, but was barely bothering him. He dragged his brother back into the encampment, where they were both immediately taken away for medical treatment. Tuuk was seen by the elders, and questioned during his treatment, and the tribe mourned the loss of their husbands and fathers. Tuuk was saddened by their loss, but the relief of being home had brought respite to his soul. When Tuuk and Buusho reunited, his younger brother's leg had been reset, and a clay cast had been molded around it, and Tuuk similarly had clay on his blistered feet, and salve on his back. Buusho looked at the sky, and for the first time in days, didn't fear the setting of the sun, the moon taking it's place in the sky. He looked down into the eyes, of his strong older brother, and saw the same joy reflected back from his incendiary eyes. Had they always been so blue?

“Here’s a sandwich, love. You really must eat something,” Gwen said.

I shook my head and the world swam. Artie wrapped his arm around my shoulder to keep me from falling apart. Gwen set the assortment of tiny sandwiches next to the flyers for Tommi’s memorial candlelit virgil on my coffee table. Tommi, my bestie, murdered. Her killer still free.

“let me at least make you a cup of tea,” Gwen said, heading to the kitchen.

All of Grandview College was reeling from Tommi’s murder. Struggling to come to terms with the shock and violence, Tommi’s family was overwhelmed. My apartment had become a de facto headquarters for mourning my friend on campus. We were drawing on each other for strength but some days were harder than others. Today, Tommi’s viewing, was one of those days. I picked up one of Tommi’s memorial flyers. We’d selected one of Tommii’s self-portraits. With my index finger I traced my best friend’s face. She was so talented.

Evan, Tommi’s ex, sat beside me on the sofa and with one look we both burst into tears. We held each other. Evan’s back shook from crying. His arms held me tight. I had ordered some food trays. The Delta Phis had brought in extra supplies and Gwen had set up everything. Half of the college must have passed through my apartment to pay their respects.

“Part of me is waiting to wake up and see this was all a horrible nightmare,” Evan said rubbing at his wet face.

“No it’s real, too real. The cops pulled me in. Talked to me for hours about Tommi. Like I would do anything to—“ Artie said before getting choked up.

“The police have to look at everybody close to Tommi, Artie, if just to eliminate suspects. Think about the Golden State Killer, active from the late sixties to the early eighties, while forensic genealogy solved the case the police had to eliminate hundreds of suspects to recognize the killer’s pattern and tie together the crimes across the decades,” Layla said.

We all turned to face my roommate Layla. She shoveled an entire mini tuna sandwich into her mouth. Layla was well Layla. I had hoped she would go home for Tommi’s wake, but no such luck.

“Look, nobody has time for your true crime bogeyman stories,” Artie snapped.

Suddenly, Gwen was there with a tray of mugs of tea. Breaking the tension, Gwen handed them to each of us.

“Drink up I made them extra sweet to keep you from flagging. I know the stress of grieving can play havoc with your blood sugar. Makes you cranky,” Gwen said, “Someone brought a pie. How does apple pie sound?”

Nodding, I patted Gwen’s arm as she passed. Gwen had been Tommi’s friend and lab partner and she had become my rock after Tommi’s murder. I don’t know how I would have made it through the last week without her.

“Speaking of bogeymen, some researchers attribute Jack the Ripper’s crime to an avenging angel sent to punish Whitechapel’s vice. Of course those in the know know it was a Masonic cabal. True facts,” Layla said blowing on her tea.

Evan groaned. Artie cursed. The air in my apartment felt close. Barely able to breathe, I pulled at my black dress’ collar. A couple of Sigma sorors showed up to hug and cry. The rest of the evening slipped away as half of Greek row came and went. Artie, after finishing a six pack, passed out in the easy chair. I covered him in a blanket and then went to help Gwen clean up. Layla ate the rest of the pie while giving a deep dive on the Lonelyhearts Murderers versus the Moors Murderers. I threw her a look.

“I’m just saying while historically men are more prone to violence women murder. Female murderers are often overlooked, their motives going unseen,” Layla said.

Squeezing hard, I hugged Evan good night.

He whispered in my ear, “I hate to leave you here alone with Miss Thrill Kill.”

“No worries, Gwen is staying over. She’ll be a good buffer.”

“I’m glad. Your cousin is so nice to come up and help you through all of this,” Evan said.

“Gwen’s not my cousin. She was Tommi’s lab partner. I thought you met her before.”

Evan scratched his chin. “No. I’m so tired. i must have heard her wrong.”

I watched Evan walk down the hall. Suddenly I was exhausted. I was determined to ignore Layla and get some sleep. I wanted to sleep forever. All I could think was how much Tommi would love to have so many people around her. Laying in bed, all I could think was Tommi never told me she had a lab partner. She never said she had even taken a Biology class. In fact Tommi took Astronomy for her science credit. I remembered Tommi thought it would be close to Astrology and nearly failed. My eyelids were heavy. All I could think was who was Gwen anyway and how did you get to be such a big part of my life

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Come along, they said. It would be a new, fresh start, they said.

But nowhere did they say that sickness would ravage the travelers. Nowhere did they say that so many of us wouldn't make the trip over. And what of the ocean? Will the creatures lurking underneath murky seas allow us passage or strike at our ship full of easy prey.

King George was a monster. King George was unfair. As true as both of those things were, King George, contained one other key personality trait. He was predictable. With King George, I knew what to expect and how to navigate life so that I could at least get by, but now on my way to a new life, I knew absolutely nothing at all.

I knew nothing about what waited of me beyond the endless seas. I knew nothing about the land I was to soon call home or the people already inhabited there. Although if it's anything like this journey so far, I can see this exciting new opportunity morphing into my doom before my very eyes.

Because horrors aren't in the the fantastical; the true horrors are the things lurking in our everyday world that we simply don't know.

The wind whistled through the grass As the moon cast light over the field The air was chill, autumn is in the past Winter is here, as months roll by like a wheel

It was an eerier night here in the deep Carolinas But then old folks here did not need a reminder It was a full moon you see, where vampires come out to play To strike fear in the Victorian townsfolk, ruining their night and their day

An inhuman scream pierced the night, and Devan felt his heart drop before he realized it was just the bats as they took flight from their perches in the trees. The cold winter night's air in the forest bit his cheeks, turning his skin red and painting his brows and beard in a small layer of ice. Upon further reflection, there were a thousand better ways to accomplish the task he had set out to do, and he had considered none of them before gearing up to venture into the forest at night. The tears of a pretty dark-eyed woman and a missing child was all he needed to hear to flaunt his skills as a hunter. But despite his experience with a bow and a blade, he was keenly aware that these woods were not his own. He didn't have the advantage he had there, the knowledge of every nook and cranny, every ill-placed snare, every hidden creek and fox den. To add to that, something about this forest felt...off. Every step he took made him feel like there was someone at his back, something whispering, warning him to leave, get out before it was too late.

"The longer you stay, the more danger you're in," the trees seemed to groan through their frost-covered branches.

Daven had stumbled upon his situation quite by accident. He had been selling furs alongside the Russian traders he had met in northern Moldova until one morning, he had woken to find his business partners gone, and all of his pelts. He had been lucky to find the village, and even luckier that the people there were kind enough to take him in. In these lands, strangers could be dangerous, and he couldn't help but marvel at such strange luck and hospitality. Sure there had been some suspicious looks, some whispers and glances, but so much was to be expected in these parts.

He had been enjoying some warm mead when the barkeeps daughter had burst through the door in tears, wailing about her missing son. She said he had gone into the forest to play and hadn't returned before sundown as he normally did.

Daven didn't normally consider himself to be a charitable person. The fur trading business didn't reward do-gooders much, and he was of the impression that nature had a way of choosing survivors. He was a survivor, that much was for sure. No one ever looked out for him, so he didn't look out for anyone but himself. Looking out for others got people into situations like these, cold and alone in a foreign forest with an increasing sense of dread and wrongness.

But the girl's watery eyes and warm mead he hadn't paid for make him foolish and brash. Why not? he thought to himself. Why not be the hero for once?

This was why.

He told himself he'd get to the tree the girl had told him the child liked to play at, look around quick, and then go back. If the boy wasn't there, odds were he was too lost to be found. If he was, Daven would get to play hero for the first time in his life and then move on.

Yet with every crunch of his boots across snow, the strange twisting in his gut grew stronger. The howl of the wind seemed more ominous. The whispers of the woods seemed more desperate. Daven had never been much scared of anything, but he had a hunter's sense. He knew when the land had a message, and this forest's message was clear. "Get out."

Just when he was about to listen to his sense, he came upon the tree. It was an old, twisted, dead thing in the middle of a clearing. The bark was pure white, striped of color and covered in snow. The sliver of moonlight pierced through the forest and cast a shadow that made dead branches look like arms, straining to wrap around whatever they could touch. Perhaps most shocking, small trinkets and effigies swayed in the wind, made of bones and twigs. The wood creaked in the wind and the effigies clanged together like windchimes, but the rest of the clearing was strangely silent, not even a hoot of an owl or the crackle of leaves.

At the base of the tree, a small figure was curled into a ball. Letting out a small sigh, Daven felt himself relax a little. So the boy was here. All that unease for nothing. Stepping into the clearing, he called out. "Hey. Hey, you. Your mom's worried sick about you."

No response. The form at the trunk didn't so much as twitch. Unease returning, Daven stepped closer. "I don't know your name," he said, "but your mother sent me to look for you. Said you were supposed to be home at sundown."

Still no response. Growing frustration propelled Daven forward. "Come on," he said gruffly, reaching down to put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

He pulled at his form, but the boy didn't budge. Then, slowly he turned his head and looked at Daven. He smiled.

Daven stumbled back. Black eyes and sharp teeth, a mouth of a thousand knives. The hunter fell onto his back and scrambled backwards through the snow. The boy slowly rolled over and stood to his feet, and as he did, his form seemed to grow. Bones creaked and stretched, cracking like dry branches underfoot as the figure transformed into something grotesque. Legs as long as spears, white as snow, arms gangly and thin. It was no boy at all. A wendigo.

Suddenly, the villagers' kindness seemed more stilted, more practiced. The maiden's tears seemed less genuine. No one was kind to strangers in these parts. He should've seen it before. Shouldn't have wanted to play the hero.

The wendigo tilted its head, saliva dripping from between its pointed teeth, it's mouth stuck in a perpetual grin. Despite it's inhuman smile, it's eyes looked strangely tormented. "Hungry," it croaked. "So..hungry."

Daven ran. Through the branches, blindly, he desperately searched for something, anything to save him. The trees seemed to grab at him, twigs cutting his face as he blindly barged through the thicket.

He did not run fast enough.

Just before the wendigo tore out his innards, he briefly wondered how many other would be heroes fed the forest.

One more show left. Deep breaths and it would be just fine, at least for a few songs. Tristan stepped out onto the stage and smiled after another breath. “Hey~” He looked out at the crowd with a smirk that could make anyone blush. “Are you ready to rock y’all?” A cheer erupted from the crowd and Trist nodded. “Now cheer with some tone eh? Cmon repeat after me! Oh-hoh-oh!”

Rayshawn looked down at his hands were the gun was tightly wrapped. Heavy and cold. Just like he would be in a few minutes. He supposed he was supposed to feel sorry, and he did... somewhat. It was just so hard. Ray has been looking forward to this day for a while. Its been only a few years for them, but countless of lifetimes for him. He was allowed a break wasn't he? He chuckled under his breath. Jean would never forgive me. That was the reason he felt sorry. One person. It's kind of ironic. How the one person that could ever make him stay can't. Oh I know how this would eat him up from the inside. Ray's thoughts were swimming. But I'm allowed. I'm allowed to rest. I allow myself to rest. A tear ran down his cheek. The last feeling he would ever feel. Not sadness. No, relief. He was so relieved. So, so thankful. Thankful that Jean wasn't here. Thankful that the cool air provided comfort. Thankful for this glorious end to the day. The gun in his and seemed to glow. "Beautiful." Ray muttered. What a quick way to go out. It was the best he could wish for. "I'm sorry Jean." The last time he would say his name. Love was important, yes, but this time it wasn't enough. To Rayshawn it won't ever be enough. And maybe the was the most horrifying thing of all.

He didn't even hear the gunshot go off as he dove into darkness.

To thee do we cry Oh poor banished children Why do thee cry at night Is the ghost of the past haunting thee again Your weeps are soft and silent But what is keeping thee awake In a tower so tall And chained to the wall Why you cry Is it the knife I have in my hand Or the fact that your life will end

I’m the ghost of the past I know you want to end Let me end thy suffering You whimper at the thought But don’t utter a word You have nothing to live for But now I smile When your scream’s pierce the air I walk away No more children cowering at me I guess it’s finally time to move on

Olivia took a cautious step down the first step, one hand on the bannister, the other resting on her bump.

“Liv love come quick you’re gonna miss it!” Her mother called from the living room.

The young woman descended the stairs and trudged into the small room which was now crammed with people. Family, neighbours, everyone who wanted to see the coronation for themselves.

The Parker’s were one of only two houses on the road to have a television and Mrs. Parker made sure everyone knew it. So now they were here taking up space, suffocating the room.

Olivia made her way over to the packed sofa. It was full with her two grandmothers and teenage cousin who just rolled his eyes when he saw her approach.

She begrudgingly stood beside the sofa one hand gripping the arm of the chair to steady herself.

The Queen’s coronation began as the room waited in quiet anticipation.

A pain builds up in Olivia’s lower abdomen she grips her stomach in agony as she grunts, teeth clenched.

“Will you shut it!” Her cousin tells her with a dirty look.

“I think it’s coming!” She bends over in agony.

“No it ain’t” Mrs. Parker says in frustration “now shut your mouth we’re trying to watch.”

As The Queen walks down the aisle, Olivia feels her waters break. Fluid gushes from her body.

“Eww Liv wet herself!” Her cousin exclaims sitting back in his chair.

Mrs. Parker turns to look at her daughter, fury in her eyes.

“Oh, it’s just like you to be so selfish. You knew very well this day was important for me and you’ve gone and ruined it. Couldn’t keep your legs shut could you?”

Olivia blocked out her words she begins breathing heavily. Her heart pulsates as her vision begins blurring.

Now everyone is having a go at her, telling her how selfish she is, how she’s ruined a once in a lifetime event. The image of The Queen is ignored by the family yelling insults, but making no effort to aid Olivia through her labour.

“I need a midwife!” She exclaims to what may as well be a brick wall.

“You’re not going to ruin this for me!” Mrs. Parker growls.

The room begins to swirl around her. Her nails digging into the sofa exposing its innards as her stomach begins to feel like it’s tearing itself apart.

Because it is.

Tiny claws push through her flesh before protruding from the fabric of her dress causing the room to fall into silent disbelief.

The creature tears itself out from Olivia’s womb with her screams serving as its intro music.

It leaps from her body dragging blood out behind it as it heads straight for Mrs. Parker. It digs its claws into her throat before tearing her apart in a matter of seconds.

People try fleeing the room, but the creature is too fast. In moments the room is painted with blood and gore.

The room is silent now as the creature climbs over the corpse of the cousin before an out of it Olivia scoops it up into her arms.

The creature cuddles into its mother as she rocks it. Tears streaming down her face as she smiles with content.

She watches the television with a weak smile and doesn’t look at the creature as she whispers to it “I think I’m going to name you Elizabeth.”