What The Stars Whisper

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short Halloween story of a man following the trail of a weird cat through a creepy town.
(credits to Google Images for the picture)
(credits to Blue Öyster Cult)

Submitted: October 31, 2016

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Submitted: October 31, 2016

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A A A


(
A short Halloween story of a man following the trail of a weird cat through a creepy town.
(credits to Google Images for the picture)
(credits to Blue Öyster Cult)
)
 
 
It was during the Final Bow of October. The night when all demons come out to play, and when the restless, vigorous spirits of those who are no more find a way out of their ensconced lich gates. Under the Eternal Light of the Moon at the outskirts of the pristine town, I saw the old, wizened, Undying tree. In a glistening ,shining  visual Spectrum it stood, With its crispy leaves forming a cobble of autumnal vines beneath the intricately matted patterns of the gossamers amidst the late-night Dew. In this light I could discern the Seven Sisters rise harrowingly beyond a Glorious Horizon dappled and bedaubed in the rose-pink hues of the oblique , stripling rays. They were leeringly scorning any puny peasant and vagabond roaming the squiggly paths on that frigid night. Above the woods, Merope was casting its fervent light as it was diving in the hug of Electra, and the willow trees by the creek were waving and swaying their dying leaves in an endeavor to partake in this mawkish , celestial parade.And, lost somewhere in the Vastness of the Night Sky, was the Radiant Aldebaran, forever Following, and Watching.
And on that senile tree, I saw the awkwardly familiar vagrant man tirelessly fidgeting around, in eager seeking of someone, or something, following that accursed, black cat.
Half my vision is momentarily gone. And then back at it.
 
As the yawling of the tabby spread an eerie melody all over the humid feet of the knoll, I saw its body swerving fascinatingly betwixt the abandoned alleys and the wheat fields . And the man kept chasing it. In an incessant meowing,  cat and man were playing a wretched game of chase I struggled to witness from atop the hillock. Yet the loud thud of the cat landing on an old dumpster gave me back my lost track. And as it appeared, the couple had stepped into the deserted Pumpkin Patch of late Jake Marasca, the old undertaker. His small wooden shanty was still standing , behind the scarecrow with a huge Pumpkin head which was always glancing at everyone crossing the field. And as the unquiet Tom was rushing through the orange and rowdy tinged brushwood, I witnessed the man stepping into the field , too. Very brave he must have been, to tread Where others dared not, for this doggoned scarecrow was rumored to still hold inside it the old undertaker. And on cold, misty nights,  the spirit of that once-remembered Pumpkin King , who was now lost in the whirls of Time, was known to dwell out there and seek all that which his tired soul never acquired.
Half my vision is momentarily gone. And then again, back at it.
 
More Yawling and harsh crying is now hearkened, as they enter the Ancient Wood, and get lost under the crisped, dead canopy of the  white oak trees and the Weeping Willows. The pitch black cat with its Golden, sizzling eyes is scampering past the old, poplar wood bridge, over the translucent, crystallizing waters of the River of Souls. And the man scurries himself past the forbidden banks, not daring to look at the ceaseless rivulet of misdirected fauns  and sylvans flowing underneath him, on a wild goose chase for their oblivious cadavers. Corpses, buried under the Light that Desdinova told us Never Warms. And In the far distance,  a fading chanting can be heard, whispering the tales of what the people call, " All Hallow's Eve". While the Black cat is fumbling with its whiskers, friskily waiting for the next part of the pursuit in the sesquipedalian Vines of the hillside leading to me, The words of that distant song can now be heard 
 
The witch will Rise, the Fire Shall Burn
And with Golden eyes, the Dead Will Return 
 
I now discern the tabby readily ascending the hillside, while the man turns around to see where exactly he can grab some stump or a jagged rock to climb the not so steep, but damp hillside. And as he is struggling to ascend, the cat looks at him, mockingly and scornfully, its glowering, bedazzling eyes wistfully observing. There is something indubitably pernicious about this feline's nature, yet something I cannot yet recollect. But the Vagrant reaches the side,and the cat is heading even closer to me, entering the old, rusty gates of the Graveyard, outside the Spider-Webbed , Groggy Castle.  
And half my vision goes once more, returning in the nick of time.
 
For when my eyes recuperated, I saw the cat fidgeting endlessly around the man, who was now digging his own Grave. He was crouched just by me, as he was unearthing the tomb in a state of ague and consuming anguish. And the cursed cat was cheering, meowing and Harking  under that bloody moon, in a feverish, unsettling,  and downright petrifying Salvo of wretched elation. And this damnable concatenation of horrifying transpirings  was coronated  with the Return of that distant chanting 
 
The witch will Rise, the Fire Shall Burn
And with Golden eyes, the Dead Will Return
 
In the finale of this wicked game of chase and Digging, the man eventually yanks a large wooden Stake  out of the darkness and morbidly lurid emptiness of his own grave. And the cat reluctantly jumps on him, her fur rugged and taut with zillions of newly found corrugations, as it shows its Spiky Canines . And the man, in a state of Golden , Agog oration, looks at the Moon floating in the star-spangled ether, and shatters the stake to Smithereens. But the Cat drows back and yowls in praise, when the ruins reveal a Radiant, Blindingly effulgent gold Broomstick. 
 
The witch will Rise. 
 
And the Black Cat turns into a Pulchritudinous,  Bright - Skinned Young Maiden, with Black, shiny locks ornating her stout shoulders. Her eyes are bloodshot and they hypnotize the man into a serenely satisfying Trance, in which he hands her the broomstick. And before she flies in the skies with it, she Takes her pointy hat and directs it to me,  the Jack-o-lantern atop the Grave Reading "Here Lies Jacob Wayne Marasca",with the flickering Candle behind one of my eyes.
 
The Fire Shall Burn
 
But now the flickering Candle is a Glorious Blaze capable of initiating the most revered of Conflagrations, as my crookedly carved teeth and eyes lighten up. The man, who now I know is headless and waiting for me, eventually finds his long-lost head , as he grabs me and reposes me on the severed, sinewy neck. 
The spell is complete, and the Beautiful Witch flies into the ethereal Horizon. As I look down to the shanty by the Pumpkin Patch,  I know.... I know I have returned to dwell out there,and seek all that which  my tired soul could not acquire. My Glowing , Flaming eyes shall now Guide me through the steep and damp hillside,  through the canopy of the Ancient Wood,  and past the old poplar wood bridge beyond the River of Souls,  to the Undying Tree by the Shanty. 
And as I glance past Orion's belt and further than the celestial neighborhood of Old pals Betelgeuse and Rigel, I spot Once more the Supergiant the eager Arabs deemed 'Al- Dabaran'. He shall never cease to follow the Sisters, as I shall never cease to follow whatever it was Life did not grant me. 
 
  I begin my descension, and I eventually complete the song.
 
And with Golden Eyes, the Dead Will Return
 
THE END
 


© Copyright 2017 James Kingston. All rights reserved.