subtletylost
Formerly fishii
I started writing a story about magic. This is what I am considering possibly for the prologue, but I'm not so sure. It needs something, but I don't know what. I know it's going to be in the story somewhere even if it's not the prologue. It's only about 900 words. I think I got the grammar right, but I don't know for certain.
~~
She jumped down from the top of the wall. It’s quiet here I wish I didn’t have to sneak in all the time.
An owl hooted from a nearby tree. She turned toward it and lowered her hood. She smiled. The owl hooted again. She waved. ‘Mrs. Owl,” she called. “Have you seen Charmel?” The owl flew out of its tree with a shaking of branches and rattling of leaves. It landed on a nearby gravestone and lifted its right wing in a gesture that pointed her farther into the old cemetery. “Thank you Mrs. Owl.” She curtsied, lifted her hood and ran off.
She ran along the main path, which was lined on each side by gravestones that only got older the farther in she went. She came to a fork in the path. She lowered her hood. Down one path she glanced and then turned to the other. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Casting out with her senses, she tried to find her friend. Down the left path a ways she sensed her friend’s familiar presence, turning to head that way she noticed something on one of the graves.
“Claw marks?” Then she felt something. A presence, unfamiliar and cold. Down the right path the presence was growing, cold and yet warm at the same time. She glanced up the left path one more time and then ran down the right path.
This is not good the deeper I go, the more ancient these stones get, and the more I feel that presence.
She hurried toward the presence and then stopped in front of a gravestone. She knelt down and brushed the cobwebs off the stone so she could read. Angella Carson 1537-1551. There was an old cast iron bell beside the grave.
Oh Angella you died so young.
Eyes blinked on the gravestone. She looked up, the eyes blinked again. She jumped back. The eyes came out of the grave followed closely by the rest of a ghostly face.
“Oh, Angella,” the mouth moved and an other worldly voice sarcastically stated, “you died so young. Ha. I was 14. I didn’t die.” The rest of a body began to materialize. When she was mostly whole, save for two fairly large holes, one in its chest and one in the abdomen, the voice spoke again. “I had a life! Everyone in my town loved me! I am the mayor’s daughter. I did not die! You see this hole?” The spectre’s hand motioned to her chest. “And this one too?” It motioned to her chest. “I did not die!” The spectre was getting angry.
She stood up. “I understand that you are angry. You are young. You are dead.”
“I was murdered!” The spectre’s yells filled the cemetery with noise.
“You lived hundreds of years ago. You were sick. That’s why you were buried with a dead ringer, that bell. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“I was murdered! The poison is in the cake! It was meant for my father! It ate me from the inside out. I was murdered! The world will pay!” The spectre let out a shriek like a banshee and disappeared.
“The world must pay?” The girl looked around. Malevolent spirits are never a good thing.
“Luna,” a voice called out.
She turned to see her friend Charmel running up to her. “Oh. Charmel it’s just you.” She glanced around, the spectre was gone but not the cold presence.
“Luna, I heard a banshee, are you okay?” Charmel stood over Luna and then leaned down to look her in the eyes.
“I am fine, but that spirit is not the only malevolent force at work here and now. Can you feel it? It’s so cold, cold yet warm. Alive and yet something is different about it, it’s not quite alive like we are. It’s scary.”
Charmel took Luna into his arms. “I sense it too. Something dangerous, something as ancient as the Earth itself. Perhaps we should go for now.”
“Charmel, I came to see you today. This evil force, it distracted. I was curious. However, now that you are here with me, I must tell you this: someone has died and they are to be buried in the Peirevo Crypt at the west end of the cemetery.”
“The Peirevo Crypt but that hasn’t been opened in 100 years. It’s decrepit.”
“I know, but it’s in his will. He is to be buried next week. The person was 107 year old Michael Peirevo, the last people to be buried in the crypt were his parents. He will be the last to be buried in the crypt. He had no children, at least none left alive. The Peirevo family is all but dead. The name exists elsewhere but they are not the same, Michael’s family line is dead.”
“Alright, I understand. I’ll get to work on making the crypt ‘livable’ for dear Michael. Luna you best leave. If you can come to dear Michael’s funeral, you’ll finally see the inside of one of the older’s crypts. In a safe way.”
Luna hugged Charmel. “I’ll be back, his funeral is on the 15th, a week from Saturday. I’ll see you then.”
“See you then Luna.”
Luna ran back through the cemetery following the path. She headed back to the wall she entered from, climbed up and jumped down onto the sidewalk outside of the cemetery. She ran off down the sidewalk.
~~
She jumped down from the top of the wall. It’s quiet here I wish I didn’t have to sneak in all the time.
An owl hooted from a nearby tree. She turned toward it and lowered her hood. She smiled. The owl hooted again. She waved. ‘Mrs. Owl,” she called. “Have you seen Charmel?” The owl flew out of its tree with a shaking of branches and rattling of leaves. It landed on a nearby gravestone and lifted its right wing in a gesture that pointed her farther into the old cemetery. “Thank you Mrs. Owl.” She curtsied, lifted her hood and ran off.
She ran along the main path, which was lined on each side by gravestones that only got older the farther in she went. She came to a fork in the path. She lowered her hood. Down one path she glanced and then turned to the other. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Casting out with her senses, she tried to find her friend. Down the left path a ways she sensed her friend’s familiar presence, turning to head that way she noticed something on one of the graves.
“Claw marks?” Then she felt something. A presence, unfamiliar and cold. Down the right path the presence was growing, cold and yet warm at the same time. She glanced up the left path one more time and then ran down the right path.
This is not good the deeper I go, the more ancient these stones get, and the more I feel that presence.
She hurried toward the presence and then stopped in front of a gravestone. She knelt down and brushed the cobwebs off the stone so she could read. Angella Carson 1537-1551. There was an old cast iron bell beside the grave.
Oh Angella you died so young.
Eyes blinked on the gravestone. She looked up, the eyes blinked again. She jumped back. The eyes came out of the grave followed closely by the rest of a ghostly face.
“Oh, Angella,” the mouth moved and an other worldly voice sarcastically stated, “you died so young. Ha. I was 14. I didn’t die.” The rest of a body began to materialize. When she was mostly whole, save for two fairly large holes, one in its chest and one in the abdomen, the voice spoke again. “I had a life! Everyone in my town loved me! I am the mayor’s daughter. I did not die! You see this hole?” The spectre’s hand motioned to her chest. “And this one too?” It motioned to her chest. “I did not die!” The spectre was getting angry.
She stood up. “I understand that you are angry. You are young. You are dead.”
“I was murdered!” The spectre’s yells filled the cemetery with noise.
“You lived hundreds of years ago. You were sick. That’s why you were buried with a dead ringer, that bell. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“I was murdered! The poison is in the cake! It was meant for my father! It ate me from the inside out. I was murdered! The world will pay!” The spectre let out a shriek like a banshee and disappeared.
“The world must pay?” The girl looked around. Malevolent spirits are never a good thing.
“Luna,” a voice called out.
She turned to see her friend Charmel running up to her. “Oh. Charmel it’s just you.” She glanced around, the spectre was gone but not the cold presence.
“Luna, I heard a banshee, are you okay?” Charmel stood over Luna and then leaned down to look her in the eyes.
“I am fine, but that spirit is not the only malevolent force at work here and now. Can you feel it? It’s so cold, cold yet warm. Alive and yet something is different about it, it’s not quite alive like we are. It’s scary.”
Charmel took Luna into his arms. “I sense it too. Something dangerous, something as ancient as the Earth itself. Perhaps we should go for now.”
“Charmel, I came to see you today. This evil force, it distracted. I was curious. However, now that you are here with me, I must tell you this: someone has died and they are to be buried in the Peirevo Crypt at the west end of the cemetery.”
“The Peirevo Crypt but that hasn’t been opened in 100 years. It’s decrepit.”
“I know, but it’s in his will. He is to be buried next week. The person was 107 year old Michael Peirevo, the last people to be buried in the crypt were his parents. He will be the last to be buried in the crypt. He had no children, at least none left alive. The Peirevo family is all but dead. The name exists elsewhere but they are not the same, Michael’s family line is dead.”
“Alright, I understand. I’ll get to work on making the crypt ‘livable’ for dear Michael. Luna you best leave. If you can come to dear Michael’s funeral, you’ll finally see the inside of one of the older’s crypts. In a safe way.”
Luna hugged Charmel. “I’ll be back, his funeral is on the 15th, a week from Saturday. I’ll see you then.”
“See you then Luna.”
Luna ran back through the cemetery following the path. She headed back to the wall she entered from, climbed up and jumped down onto the sidewalk outside of the cemetery. She ran off down the sidewalk.
