Moorgraven

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
She has lived for 300 years. Can she cheat death again and add another 100 years to her sorted history?

Submitted: May 09, 2016

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Submitted: May 09, 2016

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In the otherwise dark and utterly huge dungeon-like basement of the old Manor-house, known as Moorgraven, there is light to be seen.

Off in a far corner sits a woman wearing a red satin blouse with white wolf-tooth buttons. Her tight fitting English-riding pants are made of Crocodile skin, and of course, she wears snakeskin riding boots as well.

There is a black riding Crop too, laid somewhat precariously on the very edge of an oversized oak desk.

The desk bares the weight of --- at least --- a half dozen very large leather-bound books which look to be very old. Some are hand written. Also, there are several manuscripts, unbound, six copper scrolls, and an additional four scrolls made of parchment.

On the floor, next to the desk, is a steamer-trunk and there are skid marks on the floor next to the trunk.

The oil lamps on the desk and a side table shed light to the origin of the skid marks; they lead from the trunk to the doorway of a dark storage chamber.

The three locks that were once on the storage chamber door are missing. They are now broken and lying on the floor.

I can hear the woman cursing, in a low and mumbled voice, while thumbing through one of the books, "Where the hell is it! --- Damn, I know I had them written down on a scrap of leather.

When was that? Maybe 100, no, more like 200 years ago.

I used it last time so it must be in the Book of Serpents, --- I hope."

The woman is the Countess Dorset and everyone in this valley thinks that she is the descendant of the original family that purchased this land and built the Manor House, but they are very wrong.

She is the one who drew the plans and had the house built to her exact specifications, over 300 years ago.

The house, with its two-story tall rooms and its massive ceiling beams will last forever, just as she hopes to live forever.

Well, she can live forever as long as she can fend off death for one night, every 100 years.

When the moon is full in the month of November, she must recite and write 13 words in her own blood. She must write them using the quill of a Raven's Wing and they must be written on the skin from a bore's head.

Two minutes before midnight and two minutes after the witching hour is her time window for success, everything must be done in that time frame. And only then is she able to keep death from taking her, only then can she continue living for another hundred years.

Suddenly, I feel the presence of the Grimm Reaper, and the chill in the air grows stronger; he is near.

 

What's this? --- It appears that the Countess Dorset has misplaced her incantation, her method to continue this game of hers, this travesty of nature.

Does she belong to the Reaper, --- at last?

 

Frost permeates the air in the room as the Reaper enters and the Countess turns to face the spirit.

"Come," he exclaims while motioning with his boney fingers, "Come now!"

The dark figure moves, floating across the great expanse of this large room.

As it moves closer she seems to panic, she thumbs though another book, a scroll, and then she laughs.

"Here it is!" she snaps with a sigh of relief heard in her raspy voice. Then, again, she laughs a cackling witch of a laugh.

"I have everything right here, "she said with a crocked grin on her perfect face.”I have a clock, a patch of Bore Head Skin, a small veil of my blood, and now I have the 13 words to read from; oh yes, and the quill to (?)"

"Where in the hell is my quill?" She questions as she frantically searched the desktop.

"COME!" The Reaper beckoned again.

The Countess exclaimed, "I have three more minutes, you freak! I can still make it if I can only find my quill!"

At that point the Countess looked all around the room, floor, walls, and even the ceiling.

Suddenly, a distinct look of futility is seen in her cold, dark, eyes. She has seen the quill; it is protruding from a Rat's nest that is high up in the ceiling rafters.

"COME," the Reaper beckons, “Come Now!”

 

 

D. Thurmond / JEF  ---  05 - 07 - 2016


© Copyright 2017 D. Thurmond, aka, JEF. All rights reserved.

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