Anathema

Amaya Thorne 10/06/2000

The lightning inflamed the sky in a brilliant blue light. Trapped beneath the full moon, the house stood ominously on the cliff side. It rose above the ocean in isolation; it's condemned fate sealed. The wind blasted through the surrounding trees like a siren's storm. The temperature dropped to a deadly cold, and in the distance the wolves cried in morn as the demon winds roared on. The salt of the oceans current rose in the air with its distinctive smell. The waves of the Pacific crashed on the beaches beneath the jagged edge. The setting was set for this fateful night, this night of anathema.

There at the third level window the old man looked out at the ocean. With its infinite blackness and waves of lost souls, he could hear them cry. He dipped his quill in the ink jar and finished the last entry of his journal. He wept at the knowledge that tonight would be his last. He turned his mind back to his last will and testament. How he hated leaving this house to anyone, but it needed salvation from its life of evil. He was not able to find the peace the house needed, but maybe his only living heiress could. With a graceful move he sealed the will and proceeded to lock it away in his journal, which he concealed behind the studies wall.

"God Save!" he whispered as the house began to quiver in the tempest. The lights exploded in a flash and he was cast into the darkest shadows of inferno. Tears streamed his face as he sat with dignity and waited for the hell-bound to take his tortured soul away.

Then and there she entered the room, the windows imploded with her fury. Her apparition soaked in ghostly blood, once a beautiful silver gown now torn and stained with the life force of the condemned. She raised her deathly hand to him. Her skin was pale blue, her eyes were sunk in their sockets and blood flowed from the wounds covering her once mortal body. She stepped towards him gently; the stench of rotting corpse overwhelmed him. The sight of her decaying body made his stomach churn in convulsions. In her hand, she held the blade that would take his life. He stared at her coldly and watched as she mastered the blade across his body. Each cut never felt, but blood flowed to the floor like a river, filling the room with its endlessness. She stood there looking at his blood and smiled in pleasure, anyone who enters this condemnation shall meet the same fate. Carissa!