His Annabelle Lee

Recommended music - Epica - Tides of Time

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Mist crept along the decayed promenade like the breath of an ancient past, obscuring the eroded traces of those who had once walked there. The stone slabs, slick with sea spray, reflected the faint glow of a solitary lantern. Somewhere in the distance, soft voices murmured, fading into silence as I approached �" as if the night itself whispered its secrets.

I walked, driven not by desire but by an inexplicable force rooted deep in my bones. The house �" old, crumbling, its windows gazing out at the bay like hollow eyes �" filled me with a strange sense of dread. It had long stood abandoned, and yet I knew: inside, something awaited me. Or someone.

“Do you remember her voice?”

The voice within was barely audible, like the wind rifling through the pages of an ancient book. I froze at the threshold, feeling the cold slide along my fingers, sinking into my skin. The door was ajar, as if I had been expected.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and salt. On the floor, near a large mirror in a heavy gilded frame, lay an old doll. Its face was shattered, like my heart �" a painful reminder of the one I had lost. It was her doll. Hers.

I couldn’t speak her name. It remained locked inside me, a sin I couldn’t atone for. She was more than a friend, more than a sister of the soul. She was my Annabel Lee, the only one who understood how to shine in the dark when the world descended into shadows.

But she was dead. Dead… or was she?

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The beating.

It began as a faint echo, hidden deep within the house. The sound grew louder with each step. I felt it inside me, in my temples, in my chest. The beating. Not of a heart �" the rhythm was too jagged, too inhuman. It was something else.

“She’s waiting,” whispered the same voice, and I felt the cold grow warmer, as though a hand reached out to me from the world where she now dwelled.

In the mirror, I saw my face. Pale, weary, but not alone. Behind me, in the depths of the glass, she stood. Her eyes were brighter than I remembered. Her voice was soft, like a melody drifting from a distant shore.

“Why have you come?” she asked.

“To bring you back,” I said, though I wasn’t sure it was true. What could I offer her in return? My ashes? My soul?

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Her laughter shattered the silence like a bell tolling in the night.

“You cannot bring me back until you’ve gazed into the eyes of death,” she whispered, stepping closer to the mirror.

And I understood: the mirror was a door. Not a metaphor, but an actual threshold between worlds. Beyond the glass lay a night where her voice rang clearer than ever. But the cost… The cost was greater than I could have imagined.

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“Are you ready? You might not return.”

My heart pounded so loudly it seemed the house itself trembled with its rhythm. I knew she was right. Life is so fragile, so fleeting. But I couldn’t leave her there, in that oblivion. I knew that death often takes without return, but this time, I had to win.

I reached out to the mirror, and the cold glass turned soft, like water. Silence enveloped me, and then the rhythm ceased. My heart no longer beat. And I stepped through.

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The End

No one knows if I’ll return. Perhaps I’ll remain where light and shadow merge into one. Or perhaps I’ll wrest her from the grasp of the darkness, and we’ll laugh again, as we did when time was still our friend.

Or, maybe, in that house by the bay, only the beating will remain. The beating of a heart no one will ever hear.

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

A mingling mix of The Tell Tale heart and the story of a love that was "more than love". Surcease of sorrow for the lost Lenore or perhaps, nevermore. Nicely descriptive write. I enjoyed.

[Yana Larson]

Thank you for your review. I'm glad you liked it