a short story I wrote
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Sophius
- Posts: 209
- Joined: 08 Nov 2010, 18:29
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a short story I wrote
It appears one may recieve feedback for stories which they have written, so I would like to a short story called Dead Man's Gorge
Dead Man's Gorge
Sophius Palemngraine
Amid the towering Appalachians, on the grassy plateaus in the heights, lies a small community known as Soror mortui. Such a grim name does not in anyway denote the town, as it is what one would expect from a charming mountain village. At the break of dawn, upon the first rooster's crow, farmers rise from their beds to sow and harvest plant and animal alike. The children, not yet old enough to hold a work, run to yonder fields to play their joyous games. Others awake to the first mountain breeze, carrying the cool scent of fresh water springs and the wondrous fragrance of blooming wildflowers. Within the hour, the marketplace at town's center comes to life,with the cry of salesman and the clattering of wagons upon the brick rodes filling the air.
"Fresh melon, six dollars." and "chickens, eight dollars a piece." they shout. Whether it is spring, summer, or fall, the planting season always marks bustling activity and joyous festivity. Life is happy and satisfying for all who live it in this town, and seldom will one see one experience true sadness and misery.
As one can see, the town, radiant with innocent pristinity, is the very epitome of small country communities. With one oddity. A few miles outside of what is officially the town lives an old hermit, rumored to be quite insane. Children are warned not to go near him or his house, nor the large canyon that lies near.
Ahh yes the canyon, said to be where Mayor Gerard, a corrupted politician guilty of raping his own daughter, among other things , had committed suicide. The story of old Mayor Gerard is has been passed through the town, most commonly from parents to son("fold your clothes or Mayor Gerard will get you"), for as long as fifty years(it may seem odd but what else is to be expected from hill billies?).
But with the exception of that, one might be tempted to say that this little town is perfect. That is at least, if you can see past the fact that it's residents are certified country hicks and hillbillies. However, this underwent a dramatic change rather recently. The matter was rather ironic really, that the town should be damned because of the whim of a mere child.
It was a warm october evening, the sun had just begun to set into the horizon, and the the colored leaves gently fluttered in the moderate breeze. Ten year old Simon Dalspake ran threw the high plains, enjoying the crisp scent of fall that seemed to envelop him and the bright yellow kite in his hands which he joyously flew. His shoes made shoes made wet thumps as he madly dashed, the ground not yet dry from the recent rain.
"Fly hornet, Fly!" the boy hapily cried, tugging the taught string and eyeing the kite's dives and dips. As he scampered through the field, Simon passed in and out the the shadows of the trees, oblivious to all of his surroundings except for the kite. When a strong breeze passed overhead and made his hair fly all about, the boy giggled with delight.
Today, for his birthday, Simon had recieved the bright yellow kite as a present. His gradfather had given it to him along with a five dollar bill.
"Now you fly this here kite high, all right sonny?" The grandfather had said, ruffling Simon's hair. The boy had every intention of living up to his grandfatther's expectations, and the kite string was completely unwound.
"Higher, Higher!" he continued to shout, now jumping in attempt to increase the height at which the kite flew. After a few more moements, Simon tripped on a small rock. As he hit the ground he let out a small "ouch" and rolled forward once, splaying him on the earth like a starfish. He was up in an instant and, after spotting his kite flying into the distance, sprinted after it shouting, "Hornet, come back! Come back!"
Soon the kite was out of sight, but the boy, not wanting to dissapoint his grandfather, continued after it anyway. His pace, already shifted from a sprint into a run, began to taper. It soon became a weak jog, and then an unsteady amble. Simon was breathing heavy, but he continued on. Eventually his amble again became a jog, and was maintained for fifteen minutes. Just as his breath was again failing, Simon came upon a dainty wooden shack next to a large gorge.
The sight proved to capture the young boy in it's sheer rusticity and olden splendor. He did not know why, but he found that there was something wonderous about he way that the shack rested itself just above the canyon, with the steady spiraling rush of water below it. Though there was something ...unsettling... about it. A feeling like he should not be here.The kite temporarily forgotten, Simon rounded the shack in awe at the spectacle, and in his walkings found himself face to face with a dark skinned old man who was just exiting the back garden.
All at once,a memory of something his mother had said rushed back to him. "Simon, if you're goin' to go and play in that field out of town, there is something you should know. A mad-man lives there, by a large gorge, and if he catches you, he'll kill you. And once he does he'll gut you and string you up like a ham. Don't go near him"
Simon let out a pitiful squeak, but he could not move. He seemed to be entranced, held in place by the old man.
"Now what are you doing down here lad?" he spoke with a pleastant southern accent, and with a smile that seemed genuine. It wasn't just with his lips, it was with his eyes too. "Would this happen to be your kite that I found in my garden?"
At the mention of the kite, Simon was convinced the man was harmless. Exhaling deeply, the boy replied "Yes...yes sir." his voice still shook with fear.
The man answered, thoughtfully at first, and then cheerful"Yes sir... You know, I like you kid. Here you are." He handed the kite to Simon with polite grace, which Simon accepted speechless. "Say, would you like to come in for a cup of tea and cookies.
At the mention of cookies, Simon forgot all of his previous aprehensions. "Sure!" he answered. And befofre he knew it, he was following the old man into the shack, setting his kite down just outside the door. Briefly, the was that dissettlement again, like he should not be here. But it was quickly cast aside in favor of cookies.
The old man was all that his smile had promised. His homebaked cookies were delicious, and he entertained the boy with many card tricks. He explained how he used the cards to tell the future, and attempted to predict the boy's. However after three re-shuffles, he frowned and comented that he must be seeing it wrong. The boy enjoyed himself greatly, and when sun had nearly set, he was disapointed that he had to leave.
"You ought to be geting back to your home now." the old man had said, "It's geting late."
Simon frowned in disapointment, but recognizing that it was indeed time to depart, he said, "Alright, bye gramps!"
"Bye Simon!" he called back, again smiling.
The boy departed from the house, again sprinting across the field. However, half of the way there and darkness nearly upon him, he realized that he had forgoten his kite. Groaning, Simon turned around and ran back toward the shack of the old man, and by the time he reached the vicinity which the man inhabited, it was completely dark. It was therefore that Simon ran straight past the house and tumbled down into the gorge, dying as he hit the water. His scream echoed all throughout the valley.
The next day, the old man entered town, deeply grieved and somber. As he passed the many people, they muttered and pointed, fearful of the man. He walked throughout the town, searching for the father of Simon, holding back tears the entire time. Upon noon, he found a man ,who was the spitting image of the now dead boy, working in a field of crops. He walked to him, and spoke.
"Sir, I need to talk to you."
The father looked up from his hoeing, nonplussed. Recognizing the old man, he responded nastily, "What do you want you filthy negro?"
Pretending he did not hear the insult, the old man answered grievously. "Sir, your son is dead, he fell into the gorge yesterday." He inhaled sharply, then continued, "It's partially my fault. I'm so very sorry that-"
"What the hell are you talking about you filth."
"Sir, your son-"
"I damn well heard you! But it's a bunch of rubbish, my son can't be dead!"
The old man hitched a breath, his grief nearly overwhelming. After a pause, in which the father glared at the other man in anger, he waveringly replied, "He is sir, he is. I ...sniff...heard the scream. He drowned in the river."
"My son- my son is dead? Simon is dead! Damn you you ******, damn you! You killed my son! You killed him!"
Distressed the man said, "Sir, please, you must listen. The town is in terrible danger, I saw it in the cards."
"Damn you to hell you black bastard, I swear I'll kill you! I'm going to kill you, damn it!"
Simon's father came after the old man with his hoe, forcing him to run away from the farm and back to his lonely shack. Enraged ,the farmer gave up chase at the town limits, shouting curses into the distance. Swearing that he would kill the man. Swearing he would do it soon.
Later that night, Simon's father and likeminded individuals from the town fell upon the old man in his sleep. He was beaten senseless, all of his limbs broken. And finally, when he was but a bloody mass of flesh barely alive, they took him upon the cliffs, and cast him into the gorge. He also died as soon as he hit the water.
The first person became ill four day later. The person, an old woman, came down with a fever of one hundred and two. She vomited anything she ate, and choked on any water she drank. Within four more days, she was dead and five others were sick, expieriencing similar symptoms to the woman. All of them died in six more days. By the passing of two weeks, half of the town was afflicted with this unknown illness. And when physicians were called to the town, all they could find was that it was some manner of food poisoning. Simon's father and mother died a day apart, three weeks after the start of the strange plauge. And the grandfather expierienced a heart attack soon after, brought on by grief.
Slowly, the town lapsed into a diseased stupor. The number of sick and dead increasing each day. A month after it's start, a young man named Samuel returned after a vaction in a nearby neighboring state. Even from when he entered the town limits, he could feel the dissent of the place. That something was horribly wrong. He arrived home to his sick mother, who had contracted the mystery illness the day before. Coughing, she told the young man what had happened, and that it seemed that the whole town should succumb.
When Samuel ventured into the streets, he saw the people walk an unhealthy amble, coughing as they went. Upon learning that many of his friends were dead, the others dying, it was decided that the young man would not rest until he had located the source of this phantasmyl poisoning.
It was by chance that when he walked through the center of town, that he saw a glimmer inside of the well. And it was by that glimmer that he discovered the source of the illness. Shining a flashlight into the well's depths, he saw the rotting corpses of both the old man and the boy, swept into the aquifer by the river. Revolted, Samuel was sick in the well, adding his own bile to the spoiled blood which had poisoned the town.
Dead Man's Gorge
Sophius Palemngraine
Amid the towering Appalachians, on the grassy plateaus in the heights, lies a small community known as Soror mortui. Such a grim name does not in anyway denote the town, as it is what one would expect from a charming mountain village. At the break of dawn, upon the first rooster's crow, farmers rise from their beds to sow and harvest plant and animal alike. The children, not yet old enough to hold a work, run to yonder fields to play their joyous games. Others awake to the first mountain breeze, carrying the cool scent of fresh water springs and the wondrous fragrance of blooming wildflowers. Within the hour, the marketplace at town's center comes to life,with the cry of salesman and the clattering of wagons upon the brick rodes filling the air.
"Fresh melon, six dollars." and "chickens, eight dollars a piece." they shout. Whether it is spring, summer, or fall, the planting season always marks bustling activity and joyous festivity. Life is happy and satisfying for all who live it in this town, and seldom will one see one experience true sadness and misery.
As one can see, the town, radiant with innocent pristinity, is the very epitome of small country communities. With one oddity. A few miles outside of what is officially the town lives an old hermit, rumored to be quite insane. Children are warned not to go near him or his house, nor the large canyon that lies near.
Ahh yes the canyon, said to be where Mayor Gerard, a corrupted politician guilty of raping his own daughter, among other things , had committed suicide. The story of old Mayor Gerard is has been passed through the town, most commonly from parents to son("fold your clothes or Mayor Gerard will get you"), for as long as fifty years(it may seem odd but what else is to be expected from hill billies?).
But with the exception of that, one might be tempted to say that this little town is perfect. That is at least, if you can see past the fact that it's residents are certified country hicks and hillbillies. However, this underwent a dramatic change rather recently. The matter was rather ironic really, that the town should be damned because of the whim of a mere child.
It was a warm october evening, the sun had just begun to set into the horizon, and the the colored leaves gently fluttered in the moderate breeze. Ten year old Simon Dalspake ran threw the high plains, enjoying the crisp scent of fall that seemed to envelop him and the bright yellow kite in his hands which he joyously flew. His shoes made shoes made wet thumps as he madly dashed, the ground not yet dry from the recent rain.
"Fly hornet, Fly!" the boy hapily cried, tugging the taught string and eyeing the kite's dives and dips. As he scampered through the field, Simon passed in and out the the shadows of the trees, oblivious to all of his surroundings except for the kite. When a strong breeze passed overhead and made his hair fly all about, the boy giggled with delight.
Today, for his birthday, Simon had recieved the bright yellow kite as a present. His gradfather had given it to him along with a five dollar bill.
"Now you fly this here kite high, all right sonny?" The grandfather had said, ruffling Simon's hair. The boy had every intention of living up to his grandfatther's expectations, and the kite string was completely unwound.
"Higher, Higher!" he continued to shout, now jumping in attempt to increase the height at which the kite flew. After a few more moements, Simon tripped on a small rock. As he hit the ground he let out a small "ouch" and rolled forward once, splaying him on the earth like a starfish. He was up in an instant and, after spotting his kite flying into the distance, sprinted after it shouting, "Hornet, come back! Come back!"
Soon the kite was out of sight, but the boy, not wanting to dissapoint his grandfather, continued after it anyway. His pace, already shifted from a sprint into a run, began to taper. It soon became a weak jog, and then an unsteady amble. Simon was breathing heavy, but he continued on. Eventually his amble again became a jog, and was maintained for fifteen minutes. Just as his breath was again failing, Simon came upon a dainty wooden shack next to a large gorge.
The sight proved to capture the young boy in it's sheer rusticity and olden splendor. He did not know why, but he found that there was something wonderous about he way that the shack rested itself just above the canyon, with the steady spiraling rush of water below it. Though there was something ...unsettling... about it. A feeling like he should not be here.The kite temporarily forgotten, Simon rounded the shack in awe at the spectacle, and in his walkings found himself face to face with a dark skinned old man who was just exiting the back garden.
All at once,a memory of something his mother had said rushed back to him. "Simon, if you're goin' to go and play in that field out of town, there is something you should know. A mad-man lives there, by a large gorge, and if he catches you, he'll kill you. And once he does he'll gut you and string you up like a ham. Don't go near him"
Simon let out a pitiful squeak, but he could not move. He seemed to be entranced, held in place by the old man.
"Now what are you doing down here lad?" he spoke with a pleastant southern accent, and with a smile that seemed genuine. It wasn't just with his lips, it was with his eyes too. "Would this happen to be your kite that I found in my garden?"
At the mention of the kite, Simon was convinced the man was harmless. Exhaling deeply, the boy replied "Yes...yes sir." his voice still shook with fear.
The man answered, thoughtfully at first, and then cheerful"Yes sir... You know, I like you kid. Here you are." He handed the kite to Simon with polite grace, which Simon accepted speechless. "Say, would you like to come in for a cup of tea and cookies.
At the mention of cookies, Simon forgot all of his previous aprehensions. "Sure!" he answered. And befofre he knew it, he was following the old man into the shack, setting his kite down just outside the door. Briefly, the was that dissettlement again, like he should not be here. But it was quickly cast aside in favor of cookies.
The old man was all that his smile had promised. His homebaked cookies were delicious, and he entertained the boy with many card tricks. He explained how he used the cards to tell the future, and attempted to predict the boy's. However after three re-shuffles, he frowned and comented that he must be seeing it wrong. The boy enjoyed himself greatly, and when sun had nearly set, he was disapointed that he had to leave.
"You ought to be geting back to your home now." the old man had said, "It's geting late."
Simon frowned in disapointment, but recognizing that it was indeed time to depart, he said, "Alright, bye gramps!"
"Bye Simon!" he called back, again smiling.
The boy departed from the house, again sprinting across the field. However, half of the way there and darkness nearly upon him, he realized that he had forgoten his kite. Groaning, Simon turned around and ran back toward the shack of the old man, and by the time he reached the vicinity which the man inhabited, it was completely dark. It was therefore that Simon ran straight past the house and tumbled down into the gorge, dying as he hit the water. His scream echoed all throughout the valley.
The next day, the old man entered town, deeply grieved and somber. As he passed the many people, they muttered and pointed, fearful of the man. He walked throughout the town, searching for the father of Simon, holding back tears the entire time. Upon noon, he found a man ,who was the spitting image of the now dead boy, working in a field of crops. He walked to him, and spoke.
"Sir, I need to talk to you."
The father looked up from his hoeing, nonplussed. Recognizing the old man, he responded nastily, "What do you want you filthy negro?"
Pretending he did not hear the insult, the old man answered grievously. "Sir, your son is dead, he fell into the gorge yesterday." He inhaled sharply, then continued, "It's partially my fault. I'm so very sorry that-"
"What the hell are you talking about you filth."
"Sir, your son-"
"I damn well heard you! But it's a bunch of rubbish, my son can't be dead!"
The old man hitched a breath, his grief nearly overwhelming. After a pause, in which the father glared at the other man in anger, he waveringly replied, "He is sir, he is. I ...sniff...heard the scream. He drowned in the river."
"My son- my son is dead? Simon is dead! Damn you you ******, damn you! You killed my son! You killed him!"
Distressed the man said, "Sir, please, you must listen. The town is in terrible danger, I saw it in the cards."
"Damn you to hell you black bastard, I swear I'll kill you! I'm going to kill you, damn it!"
Simon's father came after the old man with his hoe, forcing him to run away from the farm and back to his lonely shack. Enraged ,the farmer gave up chase at the town limits, shouting curses into the distance. Swearing that he would kill the man. Swearing he would do it soon.
Later that night, Simon's father and likeminded individuals from the town fell upon the old man in his sleep. He was beaten senseless, all of his limbs broken. And finally, when he was but a bloody mass of flesh barely alive, they took him upon the cliffs, and cast him into the gorge. He also died as soon as he hit the water.
The first person became ill four day later. The person, an old woman, came down with a fever of one hundred and two. She vomited anything she ate, and choked on any water she drank. Within four more days, she was dead and five others were sick, expieriencing similar symptoms to the woman. All of them died in six more days. By the passing of two weeks, half of the town was afflicted with this unknown illness. And when physicians were called to the town, all they could find was that it was some manner of food poisoning. Simon's father and mother died a day apart, three weeks after the start of the strange plauge. And the grandfather expierienced a heart attack soon after, brought on by grief.
Slowly, the town lapsed into a diseased stupor. The number of sick and dead increasing each day. A month after it's start, a young man named Samuel returned after a vaction in a nearby neighboring state. Even from when he entered the town limits, he could feel the dissent of the place. That something was horribly wrong. He arrived home to his sick mother, who had contracted the mystery illness the day before. Coughing, she told the young man what had happened, and that it seemed that the whole town should succumb.
When Samuel ventured into the streets, he saw the people walk an unhealthy amble, coughing as they went. Upon learning that many of his friends were dead, the others dying, it was decided that the young man would not rest until he had located the source of this phantasmyl poisoning.
It was by chance that when he walked through the center of town, that he saw a glimmer inside of the well. And it was by that glimmer that he discovered the source of the illness. Shining a flashlight into the well's depths, he saw the rotting corpses of both the old man and the boy, swept into the aquifer by the river. Revolted, Samuel was sick in the well, adding his own bile to the spoiled blood which had poisoned the town.
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BookWorm617
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