Post by Zesha on Aug 11, 2016 13:26:50 GMT
Prompt: The Sword in the Ceiling
By: Brian A. Klems
After a long, hard day of work, you return home—the only problem is, your front door is wide open, all your lights are on and there's a sword stuck in the ceiling. The rest of your house looks normal, but you also notice several holes dug in your backyard. What's going on?
By: Brian A. Klems
After a long, hard day of work, you return home—the only problem is, your front door is wide open, all your lights are on and there's a sword stuck in the ceiling. The rest of your house looks normal, but you also notice several holes dug in your backyard. What's going on?
It had been a long, hard day at the hospital. Mr. Holliday was vomiting up blood again. Mrs. Earp peed herself five times. Anything that could have gone wrong seemed to. So by the time I pulled up in my driveway and parked my yellow Dodge Neon, I was exhausted.
I staggered out of the Neon and stumbled up the pavement to my front door. Finding my keys seemed to take forever, and I fumbled with them for a good five minutes before I found the right key, even though there were only six keys on my keychain. When I opened the door, however, something didn’t feel right. And then I saw it.
There was a sword in the ceiling.
The rest of the room looked fine. Nothing was out of place, nothing overturned. The only thing wrong was a long blade sticking halfway into my ceiling and probably puncturing the floor in the room above.
Cautiously, I approached the sword. I didn’t feel any of the weariness in my bones now, I was wired and awake. The sword came out surprisingly easily, as if it had been stuck in butter, and it landed with a loud clank on the floor with me still holding onto the hilt.
I gazed at it, tracing the celtic knot along the blade. There were more knots on the hilt, making it rise and fall slightly from the leather it was bound in. But what was I to do with a sword? I didn’t know, but I decided if I was going to stay up, I might as well get a snack and headed into my small kitchen. I set the blade on the table and turned toward the refrigerator when I noticed something outside my window.
Illuminated by my back porch light was the sight of at least a dozen holes in my backyard. I felt my stomach drop and I snatched up the sword, gripping it tightly in both hands as I made my way out into the yard. Each hole could accommodate a six-foot man standing up, at least, and that made my legs wobble enough to almost make me collapse. I steeled myself as best I could and then began peeking into the holes.
After about the sixth, I found a coffin. And it was open. I could feel all the blood drain out of my face and I bolted, sword in hand, back into the house. I ran smack into something solid the moment I threw open the door, and fell backwards, the sword thumping beside me as it landed on the wooden porch.
Looking up, I noticed a beautiful woman in medieval-looking garb, like that of a knight. She couldn’t have been much older than 30, around the same age as I was. But what disturbed me about her were the long, pointed fangs that poked out over her full lips. My mouth dropped open and I tried forming words, but nothing came.
“My sword,” she stated, pointing at it beside me. Dazed, I stood and picked it up, handing it out to her as if I were presenting it to her as a gift. She lifted it from my hands almost like it was her child.
“Thank you, mortal.” With that, she turned toward my front door, her hips swinging as she made her way.
“That’s it?” I heard myself ask, “No punishment for stealing your stuff?”
The woman paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a devilish grin before spinning around and rushing me, pinning me against the kitchen wall as she whispered into my ear, “You want to be punished, hm?”
“No, no, no--”
“Of course you do,” she laughed, a sultry sound. “Otherwise you would have kept your mouth shut. Very well, then. I grant you the Dark Gift.”
I felt her lips at my neck, and those pointy teeth rubbing against the skin. Then she sunk them into me, draining blood from the artery there rapidly. I could feel myself growing weaker, slowly sinking to the floor.
By the time I was on my knees she had pulled back and used one of her fangs to tear her wrist open, which she offered to me. I stared at it blankly, making her press it to my lips and tilt my head back to let the drops of blood run down my throat. Once the first one hit my stomach I latched onto her wrist and suckled greedily.
“That’s enough now,” she purred, pushing me away. “What is your name, my daughter?”
“Allison.”
“Well, Allison, I’m Niamh. But you can call me Mother.”
That's it for mine! Feel free to write your own, I'd love to read what the rest of you come up with!