Hallows Grave

This is a story I wrote mimicking Edgar Allen Poe's style of writing for my eleventh grade Advanced Literature class. It's about a man who is haunted by a vengeful spirit.

Hallows Grave

 

 

With quill and ink I make physical the events that have transpired of late.  The shrill cries of the wind cut through the still quiet that has invaded my mind, as alone I sit…candlelight reflecting solemn shadows along this now, barren room.  They whisper of the inevitable omen that is soon to befall this withered soul.  No sign of life remains; unless you could call what is left of myself…wait…there is nothing left, only a faded image of a man, stricken with a fear that mere words cannot begin to explain.

          I should take you back to when it all began.  Back to that dreadful hour, forever branded into my dreams, that nightmarish hell that has visited me every night since the encounter.  All Hallows Eve, late evening, I took a walk down a well deserted path.  I should have known better than to tread down that road, the signs were all around, but arrogant as I was I continued on, and it is not till now, thinking back on that night, that I realize I was not alone.    Continuing on, my footsteps echoing through the still silence that enveloped all that was around, until I came to a tree like no other I had seen before.   Its limbs twisted out like broken, knarled arms.  Its trunk was black and twisted to an extent that it was hard to even say it was a trunk.  In the background, was nothing but the last fading glimpse of light as the sun laid its head to rest.   A chill, a chill so cold it could freeze your soul, radiated from it.  I should have left then, but curiosity, being the masochistic tormenter that it is, drew me to investigate this unnatural phenomenon.  Oh! how my hands now shake, as this reiteration awakens in me the fear I have tried so hard to contain.    Walking forward, I pushed my hand forward, brushing only the extreme edges of my fingertips across the bark, when all of a sudden everything fell silent.  The wind, the insects, everything…silence, as if sound ceased to exist.  My heart began to pace faster and faster…thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump.   A whisper…or simply a rustle of the previously dormant wind…no it was definitely a whisper, brushed past my ear.  I froze, not even daring to disturb the silence around me with my breath.  Seconds passed by…maybe minutes…or even hours?  I’m not so sure anymore, until as if nothing had even occurred, I could hear the wind whistling in the nearby trees.  Still in shock, but completely conscious, I willed my feet to move, away from the twisted tree that will forever scar my memories, until finally reaching the solace of home, but now, I’m not so sure that Home is safe any longer…

           While writing, I’ve been noticing…changes in the presence of this house.  Where, once, insects were singing outside the windowsill, now no melodies drift to my ears.   I’ve also heard whispers in the corners, unintelligible rasps and mutterings.  They are no doubt mocking my fear.  Oh how foolish they are…They have never know fear like this, debilitating, immobilizing fear that grips every fiber, ever thread of your soul, until there is nothing else left that resembles a soul.  Now…another day of woe befalls the corridors of my mind, my second encounter with the bringer of my fear. 

          It was early morn, the sun was still cloaked in the blankets of night as I walked the, now well worn path, to the ghastly tree of my nightmares.  I have named it Hallows Grave, for the fact that each time I am around it, I…sense death, and the chill that it emits, is like the same numbness that I believe we will all undoubtedly face when death has sheared the final threads of our lives.  I have come here often, to better understand all that happened that dreadful day that transpired weeks ago, and have begun to notice things, unnerving things that need much looking into.  One: The earth around the tree seems to have been disturbed lately, like someone…or something was trying to dig under the tree.  Two: I have found dead animals all around the tree, all of which have had their hearts ripped out…(none of which I have found).  And Three, which is the most disturbing of them all…There were…etchings in the bark of the tree, as if someone took their fingernails and…scraped them along the tree.  Oh how the thought sends shivers down my spine!!  And I can’t shake the feeling of being followed.  Each step, I feel, is shadowed by some entity that insists on haunting me…and I’m beginning to think that the two are related….

          Oh how the deterioration of the mind leaves room for madness to set in.  I have pondered long and hard on that which has largely disturbed me, the final detail that I have collected at Hallows Grave, which may be the last that I have a chance to acquire, for something has followed me to my home, since my return from Hallows Grave.  A creak, disturbing the silence that only the scratch of my quill upon this paper occupied, came from outside my door.  My hear has begun to race again, for the realization that what I found has become true…Another creak, this time closer, then closer, then closer, and all I can think about were the words I found, on my last trip to Hallows Grave.  There, etched in the bark of the tree, hung the words….I’m Coming For You.