- Joined
- Jun 28, 2007
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This is a new departure for me on two grounds. It is the first time that I written in the first person and it is my first attempt at horror. Any thoughts and feedback would be welcome.
Have you ever thought about the reality of vampires? Ever wondered if there is any truth behind the tales and legends? No, well I do. The thoughts of them torment my dreams. In the long, dark hours of the night I will at times awake from a fitful sleep, sweat beading my brow. My ragged breathing will sound loud in the stillness of the bedroom. You see, I dream of these blood-sucking monsters. They are everywhere. The black and white visions of my nightmares flicker, like an old Bella Lugosi movie, and slowly fade. But they leave this sense of dread that I cannot escape.
When I attempt to reconstruct the nightmares I never manage to put any semblance of order to them. All I remember is that I am being hunted, constantly pursued by this unimaginable evil. Everywhere I turn for succor I am met by the pale image of an undead killer. My loved ones and friends turn into vampires. Imagine the horror of your mother appearing to you as this thing of utter vileness and wanting your lifeblood.
There is another part to the nightmares, equally disturbing and completely inexplicable. After what seems hours of stumbling through places that are both familiar and strange to me I end up in this hotel. The hotel is known to me and is a famous landmark in Dublin, but it is changed. In the other world of my subconscious the hotel is a vibrant home to a bohemian culture that existed at the turn of the century in Paris or some other great city of Europe. This is the clearest image from my nightmare and it is in color. Somehow it is like I am looking down from a height at myself. I can see my dishevelment as I stagger through the gaily clothed crowds of the lobby. I glance up at the great chandelier, and like some god looking on, I can see the despair in my own eyes.
A winding staircase leads to the upper floors of the hotel and I slowly walk up the soft carpeted steps. My senses are always heightened at this point. Fear and excitement are there equally, and my pace quickens as I approach a door at the end of one of the halls. Blackness follows, a brief nothingness and then I am once more back in the dream. It is still dark, but velvety, softness engulfs my person. It is the yielding, warmth of flesh. A woman’s voice is whispering in my ear. We are having sex, but it is strangely disconnected. There is sense of what we have done, yet I cannot remember. But I somehow know that we have plunged into the depths of depravity. Is this what the nothingness is protecting me from?
I can see nothing, only hear her voice and feel her warmth. The whispering is insistent, frightening in its intensity. “You are mine, you are mine…”
That is always the moment that I awake.
Alan closed the book and remained still, looking down at the small, leather diary. The ramblings of a madman, he reflected. A madman that was now dead
Have you ever thought about the reality of vampires? Ever wondered if there is any truth behind the tales and legends? No, well I do. The thoughts of them torment my dreams. In the long, dark hours of the night I will at times awake from a fitful sleep, sweat beading my brow. My ragged breathing will sound loud in the stillness of the bedroom. You see, I dream of these blood-sucking monsters. They are everywhere. The black and white visions of my nightmares flicker, like an old Bella Lugosi movie, and slowly fade. But they leave this sense of dread that I cannot escape.
When I attempt to reconstruct the nightmares I never manage to put any semblance of order to them. All I remember is that I am being hunted, constantly pursued by this unimaginable evil. Everywhere I turn for succor I am met by the pale image of an undead killer. My loved ones and friends turn into vampires. Imagine the horror of your mother appearing to you as this thing of utter vileness and wanting your lifeblood.
There is another part to the nightmares, equally disturbing and completely inexplicable. After what seems hours of stumbling through places that are both familiar and strange to me I end up in this hotel. The hotel is known to me and is a famous landmark in Dublin, but it is changed. In the other world of my subconscious the hotel is a vibrant home to a bohemian culture that existed at the turn of the century in Paris or some other great city of Europe. This is the clearest image from my nightmare and it is in color. Somehow it is like I am looking down from a height at myself. I can see my dishevelment as I stagger through the gaily clothed crowds of the lobby. I glance up at the great chandelier, and like some god looking on, I can see the despair in my own eyes.
A winding staircase leads to the upper floors of the hotel and I slowly walk up the soft carpeted steps. My senses are always heightened at this point. Fear and excitement are there equally, and my pace quickens as I approach a door at the end of one of the halls. Blackness follows, a brief nothingness and then I am once more back in the dream. It is still dark, but velvety, softness engulfs my person. It is the yielding, warmth of flesh. A woman’s voice is whispering in my ear. We are having sex, but it is strangely disconnected. There is sense of what we have done, yet I cannot remember. But I somehow know that we have plunged into the depths of depravity. Is this what the nothingness is protecting me from?
I can see nothing, only hear her voice and feel her warmth. The whispering is insistent, frightening in its intensity. “You are mine, you are mine…”
That is always the moment that I awake.
Alan closed the book and remained still, looking down at the small, leather diary. The ramblings of a madman, he reflected. A madman that was now dead
it would be good to see where you're going with this as the first part, the excerpt from the diary, is all right but a bit cliche. Lots of dark, brooding angst - it's not as overdone as it could be though.
