The Yellow Man.

As the yellow man dragged the fresh carcass through the woods, he could feel them in his breath, in his bones and on his palms

Like hot termites, like a rash.

They were coming, but he did not know who, what or how many.

 

Clouds began to move like wayward mules, and the wind began to stutter.

He had buried, his wife, sweet Rachael, and burnt her clothes.

Satisfied, he made his way back to the cottage and started supper for two.

As time swam past, fatigue gripped his failing bones and he slept like a lake.

In his dream he saw himself, the yellow man and a dozen crows.

They sang to him a merry tune and galvanized his head with Daffodils.

It was a jolly gathering.

In a seconds wake, a cold wind rushed in like an excited June Sunday and flirted with the dried leaves that upholstered the silver floor on which he lay.

He was cold.

But just as quickly, a darkness crept in, but this was no ordinary darkness, this darkness was hot, and it came with the confidence of a visitor that knew he was expected.

This darkness had a name.

And it was greyish blue in color.

It had a mouth and a foot, silver hair and a breast.

And It sang.

”Come thither, O forest man, bite my arms and kill my soul, swing thy round neck and laugh with me”.

 

The yellow man sat, as he let terror seize his medium build, he wanted it, perhaps even needed it.

But the terror melted like a whisper and he was overcome by a new terror, and it smelt like his urine.

He watched the darkness approach, slowly, like a war horse �" like Bucephalus.

Its long dark mane like the bitter sounds of his childhood.

This new terror also withered and he could feel his legs.

He ran.

 

He could hear the click-clack of his own worn out soles.

He looked behind him,but could not find his executioner.

So he ran still.

Unicorns with the similitude of rabid dogs; gazed with technicolored vision upon his running body, His head moist with the tears of lachrymose stars.

Oblivious to all this, he ran still.

Until there was nowhere left to run.

He looked at the wall that was his dead end.

And for the first time in many years, he wept.

But something stopped him.

A tap on his shoulder, he turned around to see his dearly beloved, sweet Rachael, she looked as beautiful as the moment the bullet from his gun struck her earlobe.

She had come to comfort him.

Her skin a pale white and her hair the color of fire, she smiled.

O, sweet, sweet Rachael, he began to plant kisses on her cold face.

But there were too many kisses and not enough time.

But he didn’t know that, even when the darkness flew out of her left nostril, gnawed at his chest and drew blood.

Lashing after lashing, the voice still sang..

”Come thither O forest man, bite my arms and kill my soul, swing your round neck and laugh with me”.

 

His face was now bloody and mangled, but the torment continued.

He decided to fight back but everytime he reached for his assailant his hand grabbed nothing.

He began to whisper whatever jumbled up bits of scripture he could remember, he offered prayers to all the gods his mind could reach for and the ones it couldn’t.

He shut his eyes tight and screamed.

 

Waking from his dream, his eyes fluttered open.

And there was a coolness that he felt, one that he knew well.

Slowly, he opened his frightened eyes to the ceiling fan of his living room.

He sat there, on the red chair, for several minutes.

As something like joy encompassed him.

He smiled a conqueror’s smile, and that smile turned into a giggle.

A loud, ugly giggle.

And then almost immediately, he swung his round neck and laughed.

Laughed until he died.

 

Author's Note

What do you feel?

Reviews

[Priscilla Sayers]

I am glad he died! I grieve for "sweet Rachael", glad her face was seen before his death, revenge so wonderfully placed as the fear he endured, to die laughing the prophetic dream warned well... This was a story that grips, that has the reader,, me, jumping into it, swimming into the scene.... A suspense that zaps you out of your own reality, a short but adventurous break. I love when a story takes me away, to another place, it is a nice escape from the regular day to day...
Thank you Joshua!
Holding my breath for another! Write on, Love!