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Not All That Glitters is Gold

A Thousand Wishes

By Isabella RosePublished 4 months ago 4 min read
3

He stepped out of the church onto the busy street, folding the collar of his thick grey woollen coat. It was a brisk autumn day. The trees were alive with vibrant colours of orange and gold. A thick layer of smog quilted the city like a heavy blanket. The wet leaves caused him to be more observant as he walked along the paving stones towards the cafe.

Thoughts swirled around in his head as a woman’s desperate pleas echoed in his ears. “You have to help her Father. She is sick,” stated the agitated mother.

Father O’Leary looked into the woman’s jade eyes, trying to provide some reassurance whilst conveying that he was in a hurry. The church no longer dabbled in the ceremonies of old. Now there were hospitals for such afflictions, coldly pondered the priest.

****

Dazingly, she looked at the shiny blue stone displayed in the shop’s window. Her eye’s widened in amazement as she recalled the day Gretchen picked up a solitary black pebble. It was on this day that the trouble began. Her friend had begun to act aggressively. Sometimes, tearing out her own hair in a fit of rage. She desperately wished that she could help her, but it was a lost cause, time and time again she had advised her to get rid of the black stone, but not once had she ever listened.

****

Unhooking the various t-shirts in the rack and dropping the ones he didn’t like on the floor, caused the store clerk to walk swiftly over to him. “Excuse me, Sir,” spoke her voice as her almost eagle-like eyes cast a judgmental stare.

He laughed loudly as he continued to sift carelessly through the clothing, pretending also not to of seen the woman.

“Excuse me!” followed the lady. She placed her hand on his arm in the hope he would stop dropping the items.

Letting the last object fall recklessly to the ground, he confidently brushed her hand off his arm and determinedly headed towards the door.

Before leaving he turned to the rep and said, “Best you pick those up, Love; someone might trip over them.”

A blast of wind half-blinded him as he walked onto High Street. Spying a street vendor selling coffee, his need for caffeine drew him in. The fresh smell of the day’s grounded beans hit his nostrils, making him breathe in even deeper, only for the sound of a loud bang to distract him from his endeavour. Sounds of panic filled the city street as his mind struggled to focus.

He let out a heavy sigh as shoppers ran terrified around him. All I wanted was a damn coffee, he begrudgingly thought to himself, uncaring of the imminent danger. Still, he walked over to the now unattended cart, proceeding to make himself a coffee. Waste not, want not, he mused to himself.

“Why aren’t you running?” spoke a female’s voice as he quietly sipped his drink.

“Why?” he replied bemusedly. He felt a sudden jolt, causing him to drop his Mocha. Now that’s taking the piss, he mumbled, looking up to the sky.

****

Father O’Leary looked up from his Bible, momentarily breaking from preparing for the following Sunday. A ferocious rumbling echoed in the distance as the Holy Water boiled in the basin at the door. With distinct trepidation, he made the sign of the cross, whispering a rather meek “Hail Mary.”

A cold burst of air whirled through the Cathedral as the frantic and unkept woman burst through the heavy oak doors. She knocked over a row of leaflets as she searched for anyone she could find. The Priest gazed into her eyes, which reflected all the terror of a wounded animal.

Noticing the blood seeping through her sleeves, he grabbed her arms without hesitation, rolling up the arms of her lacey white shirt. “What have you done?” he said, half in anger and half in concern.

“He told me if I didn’t do it, he would kill her!” exclaimed the woman before breaking down in tears.

“Who told you? What are you talking about?” he confusingly enquired, his voice shaking in anger.

Without answering, her eyes grew wide in panic before declaring, “They are in here with us now!”

Horror
3

About the Creator

Isabella Rose

I am a dedicated author with a passion for fiction. I own a joint business with my amazingly talented co-writer and poet, Raven Black.

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Comments (3)

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  • Manikandan Blog Writer3 months ago

    GOOD. ONE OF THE CREATIVE STORY

  • noor3 months ago

    nice try and the title is eye catching

  • I'm so sorry my Morbid Friend but I don't understand what's happening in the story. Who are all of them afraid of?

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