The Grim

Haunted by his brothers death, Abel keeps the reader guessing as to his guilt or innocence in this short story.

The dismal sky that casts itself over me now is as great a joy as I could hope for in the final moments of my existence. Though my life has been nothing but a bereft foray into the occult, I have learned more in my short time here than I ever thought possible. Men may speak of me as craven or cowardly for the acts I have committed leading up to now, but I beg that you hear my tale yourself, and thus come to your own conclusions.

Cast out of my home at fourteen for the untimely death of my brother, I wandered the streets alone, partaking in every sin legitimate and otherwise that I could grasp. So great my dependance capitulated to these hallucinogens of lechery and alteration that I found myself in an endless cycle of theft and treason. As to the demise of my brother I cannot and will never speak, however I must make it clear that I loved my brother dearly, and that is all I have to say on the matter. I do not wish to incriminate my father for expelling me from our home; for not even to he would I explain as to how young Lionel drowned that morning.

As for the occult dealings that I wish to speak of, the details are few and shrouded by the thick lens of intoxication. Many a time I could not bring myself to perform these acts without some sort of mind altering substance to sustain me. I will not say as to what brought me to practice these dealings with the other world, only that it had been in play since before I was cast from my parents home. My Mother had always described me as strong in the heart but weak in the mind, but oft I find it to be the reverse. I usually spent my nights in the other world, after the ritual of bloodletting.

It was after one such night that I awoke languidly, basking in the light of the moon as it shone through the branches and cracked window of my abandoned stronghold. In the corner lay my only friend and companion, his eyes closed and palms bleeding. A wicked looking dagger was sunk into the rotting wood that divided us, and blood dripped from it's handle. I found it instantly strange as my own arm was bleeding profusely, and only one of us would ever partake in bloodletting at one time, should something go awry the other must be capable of action. However, as I pooled the warmth off of my arm I saw in horror what lie beneath.

Carved into my arm was the name of my dead brother, Lionel.

Immediately I roused my friend, who in his stupor claimed that he saw no marks upon my arm, and that I must be imagining it from whatever substance I was coming off of. As the days went on however, my wounds began to scab, and still the mark of Lionel was plain. Though it would appear I was the only one capable of seeing it, as all I queried said that my arm bore no mark or scab. Terrified, I immediately stopped partaking in my nightly rituals, and abstained from all drugs that I could manage to keep myself from, but still my brothers name stood. Even when I would awake, hoping its was all some dream, still his name was there, mocking me.

Later I began hearing queer happenings in the night; the laughter of boys and the steady trickle of stream, though I lay nowhere near water. It was plain to me that I was driving myself mad with guilt, or some thing from beyond was attempting to make me pay for whatever crime it believed me to have committed. Though I maintain, I loved my brother dearly.

It was last night that I believe I met my final demise, as I drunk from a pitcher in the snow laden mountains near my old home, I felt that perhaps by traveling home I could somehow make peace with whatever it was that perplexed me. It was towards the end of the night that I saw some fellows approach the tavern, heavy coats and snowy boots seemed to make their entire being, and their faces were obscured by hoods and cloaks. I chose to ignore them, as I often do with others. My resentfulness to human contact often kept me out of trouble I did not seek.

The newcomers had different ideas though, and imagine my amazement when one took my pitcher and began to drink from it heartily, not offering me any compensation. As I held no income, this was a precious waste to me as coin was hard to come by without my blood lettings, which I had given up all together. A sudden rage overtook me, and I struck him with my hands, causing him to stumble. The deed went not unpunished, as his friends took me and began to hit me and throw me out of the tavern. I crawled upon the snow while they kicked at me viciously, searing pain engulfing my entire body.

I was almost grateful when one took out a dagger, which marked striking resemblance to the one I had seen in the light of that so distant moon, on the night of that fateful bloodletting. My basic human drive of self preservation took hold however, and at the last moment I grabbed at my assailants sleeve, hoping to halt the knife from being driven into my stomach. However, as the sleeve of his tunic rose, I saw in scarred lettering a name upon his forearm. A name so terrible and so frightening that I lost all hold of resistance, and the knife was driven into me.

As a lay dying, I wonder, why the gods have betrayed me so, or is it simply fate that I could see what others could not. Upon the mans forearm was a name, Abel. My name. My killer bore my name, as I did that of my brother. Though I maintain, I loved my brother dearly. I wish I could leave this life astutely, but as I lay I wonder; Will the gods think I killed my brother, or in an circuitous way, did my brother kill me. 

Reviews

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I am quite surprised that nobody has left a review or comment on this piece. I thoroughly enjoyed this short story. I am a big fan of how you left the reading wondering about the circumstances surrounding the brother's death, and I believe it is fitting that we finish the story without knowing. Delving into the mind of the main character was also well executed, I could feel a shade of guilt mixed with loss and confusion.

The story-telling and pace was consistent throughout which delivered your story seemlessly. I enjoyed the idea, and I enjoyed how it panned out. Well done, sir.