Well, it looks like I'll be one of the first to post my work in here
I wrote this short story for my coursework last year at school in English. It was based on the adult nursery rhyme theme, using dark, evil plots to describe myths, rhymes or legends. I chose to base my story on the Vamipire myth. Anyway, tell me what you guys think
A Fade to Black
Darkness fell. As the light of dusk dimmed on Olde England, the lavish green fields and hills of the village valley grew darker, and became charred with the blackness of night. The radiant sun, gleaming with a blinding glow fell behind the moors. As if in a desperate frenzy, the last sense of pulsing heat from the glistening speck far in the distance was gone, and the long cold night began. The last few younger villagers were worriedly scuttling into their houses, as if to escape the dark.
Superstition had plagued the towns of Olde England for centuries. Stories and legends were passed down from generation to generation, becoming more exaggerated and emphasised, but not necessarily more untrue. It was believed that when the night came, the undead creatures of evil intent would arise from their sacred burial ground and hunt the lost souls in the heart of nightfall. Those unfortunate to be out-of-doors past the setting of the sun. Those who were destined to be the victim of eternal life. Perhaps the mistake of burying a soul alive would escalate the superstition. In some cases, that was proved not so.
Professor Steepley was driven into obsession, although obligated, to find a working antidote to cure the outbreak of a peculiar disease, which had never been seen nor spoken of before. Epilepsy was the reason Steepley furiously worked himself to create a cure for, as to him the fear of being buried alive, trapped and isolated from thought or life, was too much to take or understand. Life to him was too precious to waste. However, he was too late. The evening luminescence, which spread over the valley, had long since disappeared behind the shadowing hills. Leaving his laboratory, Steepley stood, looked over the meadow plants and oat fields to his safe home.
Everyone, who lived here, seemed to have no existence at this time. Silence clouded the faint murmur of the wheat whistling in the breeze, and the dripping trickle of a nearby stream, which ran between the mill and the cropped farm field, was faded. A sudden shiver came about Steepley, as an icy tremble ran down his spine. He felt faint gaining focus, as he looked wearily into the distance. In his path lay the graveyard, which spanned the length of the night. Breaking the silence in a sudden movement, his body was uncontrollably forced forward towards this 'sea of misery'.
The struggle had become intent to him as he entered through the broken and battered lynch-gate. He crept forward as the dark engulfed the backwoods. The gate slammed shut as he heard a rustling in the grass to his left. Taking no notice of what to expect, he walked forward into the pitch-dark hinterland, wading through the reeds and evading the lonely tombstones. The rustling began again, now louder, as though moving around him. Trying to ignore it, his walk became a slow run, becoming faster and faster every second, but it was no use escaping from the noise. The wailing of the grass seemed to close in, and it now became a whisper chasing Steepley through the black night. In a last attempt to breakout, Steepley stopped in a confused shock. Regaining consciousness, he stumbled on the earth to stand. He couldnít sit up. Suddenly the pain began, as he realised what had happened. The tombstone behind him, in hazed view, was sharpened to a narrow point. He could see it effulgent, red in the half moonlight. As he lay, a stream of clear blood ran through the mud and dirt beneath his face. Too afraid to look at his leg, throbbing with relentless agony, the whispers he heard turned to shrieks, each coming closer and closer, and louder and louder all the time. It stopped. Silence fell once more in the black space.
The pain now was unbearable. He was isolated from thought and life. Alone. Crawling away from the stone, he could not contemplate which direction he should take, let alone how he would raise to his feet. Time ceased to exist, only this torture. He was too tormented to realise that the shrieks had died down into the darkness. He lay, struggling to survive, as his torn leg leaked with flesh in cold blood. Footsteps in the grass now came from behind. Closer and closer, he could feel the cold wind on his wound. Closing his eyes for a second, his view emerged at last. He was suspended in mid-air, held by a hand. Itís torn skin contained long sharp claws, which wrapped around his neck. The spiked claws lacerated his throat, forcing the blood between the huge, fleshy fingers. The other fist grabbed hold of his fragile arm. His left hand was removed cleanly, and was thrown to the floor. The stump forced his vital fluid. He could feel the blood at his throat. The creature tilted his head to the right, and sank its piercing teeth deep into the skin. Steepley was drained before falling to the ground, in a sudden blow his weak face was smashed against the pointed tombstone. The stillness arose all around. The atmosphere was motionless once again.
He awoke far from the graveyard, or from anywhere else. Turning his mangled face away from the dirt, beyond his pale eyes he could see the nearby stream, brilliant in the moonlight. Astonished, he was able to crawl to his feet. The aching and anguish he withstood before had disappeared. In terror he felt the left side of his neck, cold and colourless in the river reflection. Two hollowed bumps had surfaced, and remained. His left hand was no longer drenched, and seemed as good as before. The light across the lower valley became clearer. He ran to the village, now visible in the daybreak. It hurt his eyes, and he could feel the heat more than ever. Arriving at the mill, he stood still, blinded in thought. The myths and tales he had been told as a child flashed before his eyes. He felt his neck again. Frozen in the morning warmth, Steepley watched the burnished sunshine emanate from the hills all around. The c
ockerel crowed, and the sun crept over the moors. He stood in sorrow. Darkness fell.