Caelum sat on his throne observing the newly dead streaming through the gates; there were thousands that came walking, all with the same look of horror that comes from realising they were dead.
No creature is able to accept death, most come through with tears streaming down their face, others come screaming - begging to be taken back, to be given a second chance.
Caelum’s role was not in the judgment of their deeds, but simply in ruling over the souls, making sure the balance was held and that none escaped.
His eyes flickered over them, seeing all the sorrow, all the fear. It wasn’t pleasant for him, but neither did he care. It simply was.
His eyes roamed until they landed on a woman; her skin neither light nor dark, her hair tight curls that flowed around her head. She showed no fear, no sorrow. Her eyes showed numbness, she looked as if she had died in death, and this confused him.
He walked down from his throne, and wandered through the crowd of people, pushing them back as they grabbed at him, begging for help.
“Be gone!” He bellowed at all of them, and like a blink, they all disappeared.
All except her.
She didn’t even look up, didn’t seem to realise the crowd had gone. Caelum approached her, frowning.
“Do you understand what has happened?” He asked her softly. Only then did she look up, and the numbness didn’t leave her eyes.
“I just wanted the hopelessness to stop,” her voice was deflated, the words looked as if they had cost her last bit of energy as she fell to her knees.
He noticed the cuts across her wrists and kneeled across from her.
“And has it?”
“No.”
He got to his feet and walked until he was behind her, bending down he placed a hand on her shoulder, “may I?” Her shoulders shrugged. Taking this as permission he lifted her into his arms, and began the walk to his manor.
The land of death was a mix of grays and blues, a constant fog rolled along the ground and it resembled nothing of the land of living. The land of living was yellows and greens, a mixture of colour. Down here it simply was death.
The walk took no longer than a few minutes, choosing not to use his power of control of the land to manipulate the space between the Entrance to the manor for fear of frightening her.
Once they reached the huge wooden doors of the manor, which swung open to his presence, he put her on her feet. “This will be the first time a creature of the living has been to my home, will you give me the pleasure of escorting you inside?” Offering his hand to hers. Her eyes lingering on his hand a moment, before accepting, placing her hand in his and they entered.
The floor to the entrance was made of dark marble and shone as if freshly scrubbed, walking forward they passed a curved staircase alternating steps of black and grey. Caelum led the woman to a room, it was large with four walls, each wall decorated with a different work of art that covered floor to ceiling - Caelum didn’t notice the art anymore, after all they were his brother's stories. A fire blazed in the wall opposite the doorway, two cream arabesque chairs placed before it.
He sat in one and gestured at the other “please, sit”. She sat without complaint, her eyes staring at the fire. It showed the different hues of brown that mixed in them, a mixture of chestnut and hazel.
“Why have you brought me here?” She asked, for the first time she turned to face him, searching his face for answers. Caelum saw no use in lying to her, after all she was a dead soul and would soon need to be sent on.
“Because every day I sit on that throne and I watch millions of dead people walk by, I see them scream and cry, I see them sob and beg. Yet you? I saw nothing, I saw in your eyes the death that hasn’t yet reached you, and I see it now while I speak to you. There is a numbness there that I can’t read, something I’ve never experienced before. Yet I am the God of Death, I have been around since the start of time.
I brought you here for an explanation, I want to know why that look in your eyes haunts you. But if you cannot bear to speak of it then for now I would ask for your name?”
“Evelyn. Everyone used to call me Eve, but I don’t think I like that anymore.”
“You don’t like the name you were given, why?” Caelum leaned forward, his attention completely grasped by Evelyn.
“Because I’m dead, and so is Evelyn.” She turns back to the fire, the haunting in her eyes coming back in full force.
About the Creator
Marian Clayton
Hello!
My main interests are Horror and Fantasy so if you're interested in creepy stories and fantastical worlds check out my stories!
(When I stop procrastinating and write them).
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Silencing Him
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The man's hand's shook as he held them over the flame that produced a dingy glow inside the dusty room. He knew of its abandonment from stories of his youth; the years he had spent in other boys rooms as they had told of the murders that had happened in the very spot he now stood. Utter shit, of course. But now that he was here, a grown man with no prospects, no home, and no one to hold him close at night. He couldn't help but feel himself shake more over the feeling that something was inside here with him. Before he had entered he had knocked several times, not really sure why he had done so but only because it seemed courteous if some other human had been desperate enough to seek refuge in the same hovel as he. No one had responded. So he had shouldered open the long water logged wooden door, the swelling in the frame jamming it tightly shut, until he had catapulted himself inside. His starved body had fallen with a shocking thud to the floor, dust had exploded up around him which had given the appearance of fog. He coughed violently, hoping that the noise he was making would scare off any animals that might of been hibernating here already. He heard no scurries when he himself had finished. The cabin was made of two rooms. The room he had fallen into was of a main living space, long since lived in, and a bedroom with an old double metal bedframe left inside. The mattress, too, had been left. But he was wary of even approaching it, fearful of what would be living inside. He had stolen the candle and the matches that were situated in his shabby coat pocket. Any other starving human would have opted for food, but he knew of his journey to this hovel before. And he knew that light would be the only thing he would need. He placed the candle on the wooden shelf adjacent to the glass window, its four panes smothered in gunk so thick he couldn't see the silhouette of the forest beyond. His body was overcome from coughing once more. The rattle from his chest was worrying, and he felt the splatter of blood coating his hand as he pulled it away and wiped it on the back of his tattered jeans. There was no point in worrying now. The damage had been done. He was not a bad man, he knew this, and yet he was no saint either. He had been alone for sometime, on the run from a ghost of the past and unable to rest as it chased him into this corner. His home had been taken from him months before, his love, too. The man he had loved before had taken another, brought him into their shared domain and then cruelly shared himself without thought to the man who stepped through the front door and witnessed the harmful act. They were dead now. Enraged by his lovers act he had walked into the kitchen and grabbed a knife they had used that Sunday for spearing the joint of beef. He had walked purposely into their loving arms and slit the throat of his lover's lover. The blood had gushed everywhere, and the warm spittle of it only enraged him more. How dare this filth touch me? His lover was howling, begging and pleading for forgiveness, but he was not in the mood for forgiving. He gripped him with strong hands and had stifled the life from him, realising that it was true what people said. Taking life with your own hands was the most intimate act. He had never felt this close to his lover before. He left the crime scene, ensuring that he would never end up behind bars, and ended up running for his life. The next night as he lay sleeping under a bridge befitting the myths of a troll he awoke screaming as he felt the ghostly claws of his lovers hand. They caressed his face and whispered evils in his ear. The nights since had been the same. He was being followed by the ghost, he had seen him. He had run to this cabin hearing the wails of pain of the lover he had slain, he could feel it's breath on his neck, and smell the stench of the blood of his lover's lover still ever present on the ghost's skin. His hands quivered over the candles flame not from cold but from fear. His lover was in the other room. The thudding of footsteps on the wooden flooring could be heard.
By Marian Clayton 2 years ago in Horror
TICK TOCK
11.59. Even though the glass had shattered, Lorna could still see that her watch ticked over. One minute until midnight. Her watch was the only thing she had that she could carry. The only thing to remember her parents by. A birthday present from last year, the year she turned seventeen.
By Elizabeth Butler4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Ok, intrigued...where are you going with this? I need more.
Let me know if you would like a part 2!