The Study

A man sees strange beings in the night.

The Study

The room was eerily silent, save for the rapid beating of the man’s heart. The man was old in years, and prone to frequent hallucinations. 

Scant white hairs huddled closely together on his scalp in the places that had not yet balded, and from the center of his face protruded a large, pale, aquiline nose.

Inches from this conspicuous feature were two predatorial eyes that held the keen eyesight necessary for his occupation. Anything subject to their observation would inevitably be fixed rigidly in place, unable to flee from the visceral, scrutinizing gaze. Their lids were close together, and revealed only round, dark pupils, dilated until they seemed to fill the small sliver of parted skin. They increased the eagle like appearance, and composure of the man, as well as giving him an intelligent, and brooding countenance.

At the moment, he was sitting in a high backed chair at his mahogany desk in the center of the room. It was well past midnight, and he had been finishing paperwork for his business. This paperwork now lay scattered across the surface of the desk, and around it on the wooden floor. 

The study was long and rectangular, with a large window at one end. Shuttered, closed to the night. The room was lit by six candles, strategically placed to provide the space with enough light for all of it to  be seen. The man feared tight spaces, and darkness would only constrict the area. 

As the man sat, with his heart pounding against his rib cage, his fingers gripped the arms of the chair. His knuckles were pale, and colorless. His eyes which until that moment had been slits, now widened to reveal listless blue irises, the pupils now insignificant points of black. His nostrils flared, and he swallowed deep, heaving breaths. 

The shutters groaned, and a sound like that of restless spirits resounded from the outside air. The phantom voices seemed to clamor at the window like a forceful gale, violently pounding upon the frame. 

The shutters yielded to the mighty breeze, and flew open, colliding with the wall behind them, creating a frightful din. The light from the candles was suddenly turned to darkness; the smoke from the wicks tracing gloomy patterns in the air. 

Dim was the light that entered the chamber. The moon was but a pale crescent, spectral, and silver. The light did little to counter the darkness that closed in upon the man. The black curtain swung forward, and the large rectangular study became a small circle. It was as if he was standing in a spotlight. The darkness was a wall, encompassing, and restrictive. 

The man’s breaths quickened, and they became sharp, and vehement. As he looked into the shadows, figures emerged, or rather his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and focused upon them. When their forms became clear to him, his fear only escalated. 

The beings stood, each a solitary sight, emotionless, silent, spectral, and still. They seemed dead, and lifeless. And yet there was a life behind their glassy eyes that cried out, with such a pathos, and such pain that one was drawn deep within the blank, empty stare. 

This however was not the most striking feature of the figures. The figures were not human, nor were they animal, they were beasts. Beasts subject to eternal torture. The torture of silence. Silence while enduring unspeakable pain. 

Each beast bore terrible scars. Some impaled, and some slit down the back, each disfigurement more gruesome than the last. 

The man’s face was a ghastly white, his breathing labored, coming in short gasps. Closest to him was a stag. The creature was beautiful, elegant, and maimed. The horns twisted upwards into intricate points, and its body was fit, and muscular. But the skin of its hind legs, long and slender was brutally pierced by a long iron shaft. From the hind legs up,  the fur, and skin was peeling, and hung loosely over its white skeleton. 

It was then that a small fox caught the man’s attention. Its red coat was sleek, yet its skin was torn along its stomach, the gash tracing its way along the fox’s body. Its paws were twisted, and bent into uncomfortable angles. Large folds of fur hung limply from various areas of the creature’s body, and draped down around it. There were no eyes to be seen. 

The man’s eyes darted feverishly away from the creature, and came to rest on what looked like a bird, the feathers stripped away from its flesh. Some parts of the skin still clung to the plumage, but only feebly. From the center of the strewn remains shone two points of brilliant white, glinting in the silver moonlight. The bird's eyes seemed to fixate on the man, holding a vivacious life disturbing in its proportions to the mutilated mass. They peered into the man’s soul, questioning him. 

The man leapt backward in his chair, and let out a hoarse whimper, choked and strangled. Around him there were dozens more of these singularly grotesque forms, they seemed to be moving, yet his eyes never caught the action. Everything now came upon him like a hurricane, he had been in the eye, but now he had entered the tempestuous storm. Every eye in the room was fixed on him, the forms were tremulous, and strained from bondage. His eyes opened to their furthest extent, and his mouth sucked in great gasps of air, his heart thumped, and shuddered, and he coughed, struggling to find air.

His breath came in short bursts now, and became shallow, and wheezing. He choked, and rasped once more. The veins in his eyes were a vivid crimson, and an ashen pallor passed presently over his face. His eyes became glassy, but not peaceful, preserved in his now eternal state. He became one caught in the final throes of terror, a mortal being faced with an immortal foe, Death. Those who die from terror do not die serenely. They are flung brutally from this earth, and die in suffering. There was a horror in his final expression that cannot be described, nor scoured from any memory. . .

---

Outside, in the chill night, it rained. Each droplet of water fell quickly, and sharply towards the ground. Some made it to the earth, and trickled in among the other thousands that did so as well. But some landed elsewhere, some in trees, or into storm drains, or onto the roof of the man’s house. Among those that plummeted onto the roof, many rolled down into the leaf infested gutter, but from there, only two drops found their way to a small hole. Beneath this hole was a large, elliptical sign, fashioned from wood. The raindrops plunged downward, and met suddenly with the top of it, rolling swiftly down the sides.

The words on the sign were written in a neat, practiced hand, befitting to the occupation they were advertising. The sign contained only three words.

Roger Feildkirk,

Taxidermist

  

Reviews

[Haley]

Riveting and a great read. Loved how descriptive everything was; however, for me, a bit wordy in some parts, for example - "The beings stood, each a solitary sight, emotionless, silent, spectral, and still. They seemed dead, and lifeless." Great first sentence, second seems unnecessary with the description of the first, or you could just work with repetition, and do something like, "Dead, lifeless." But good!!

[DomCobbNolan]

Thank you for the feedback!