a quiet disturbed

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
a small voice finds a young friend in a graveyard.

Submitted: November 16, 2016

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Submitted: November 16, 2016

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A Quiet Disturbed

 

Swirls of mist rose up from the ground, hovering gently above it, caressing it and checking its substance.  A stir breathed into it and moved it in swirls and undulations, soft glows emanating within its depths like bodies swimming and riding the currents.  Diffused faces looked around, disoriented, seemingly lost and confused.  The glows shifted in varied hues and shades of colors within the deepening churning mists, soft muted colors from gentle pastels to demure shades so dim as to be barely perceptible.  Occasionally, small sparks of light emerged as if a few tiny stars were trapped within and trying to escape.

 

The soft curtain of silence that was night became slightly severed with low unsettled whispers.  At first, it was but a couple, then it began to multiply, urgent, confused, questioning.  It sent ripples through the night air, awakening more spirits to join and bringing disquiet into this place of quiet sleep. 

 

A small voice cleared the murmurs of the others, a soft voice, but clear as a crystal bell.  “What has happened?  I slept, I dreamt, all was complete, I was divine.  I was alone and now there are many.  It was quiet, now it is disturbed.  There are so many!  How came I to be in not the place I should?”

 

The shimmer behind the voice looked about.  Their voices underlying the silence like the hum of a far off machine that is just within the hearing range and can’t be dismissed.  They permeated the air and sent ripples through it that made nerves ache.

 

The sky began to lighten as the morning sun slowly crept upward.  The unease grew within the voices, their movements quickening and the disturbance in the air rising.  Their glows began to fade as the light grew till all that remained was the mist and the murmurs of the disturbed air. 

 

Day crested and the gates were opened.  Soon, a group of people made a slow, ritual way inward, their eyes downcast, their purpose focused.  They found the assigned spot and began to take their places, waiting patiently for the last stragglers.  Some shifted uncomfortably for a time while others looked around them and still others simply stood in contemplative silence. 

 

They began.  And the disturbed mists felt them and made their way over.  They watched as the mists slipped in and about their feet as they began to speak.  The mist rose and thickened, and as it rose, they felt a weight that was beyond the weight of this day, a weight that was beyond theirs, and yet felt like it should be, descend upon them and envelop them.  As each took their turns to speak what they had come to say, they found other words issuing forth in the midst of their own, words that came from their mouths that were not theirs.  Their sorrows made more bare, amplified, as they felt the anguish of the displaced.

 

A small girl stood off at the end of the group, holding tightly to her mother’s hand.  She smiled as she looked to her side and saw the shimmer that was the small voice and they reached out to each other.  The girl looked up at her mother and tugged gently on her arm to tell her.  The mother leaned down and the girl told her of the shimmer that could no longer dream and the mists that had been forced out and had no home any more.  And the mother heard it and believed that the weight of the day had been too much for the girl and tried to console her and tell her it was but her imagination playing tricks upon her.  The girl sobbed and nodded, but never let go of the shimmer that held her hand.

 

As the last words were being spoken, the shimmer began to quiver and tightened her grip on the girl’s hand.  She tugged gently, imploring the girl to follow and wrapped the girl in the urgency and desperation that had become her.  Gently, the girl let her hand slip from her mother’s grip and let the shimmer wrap around her, cloaking her from the watchful eyes about.  They went to a quiet hill with an ancient tree upon it, stretching its limbs to protect the whole hill.  They sat under the tree as the shimmer told her story of her dreams disturbed and how she woke to find her place had become no place and of the others who once had a home and a place to rest and now had nowhere and were lost. 

 

The voices of the party echoed across the area, frantic and imploring.  They watched as they wandered around the area under the hill and sat silent, the great limbs of the tree hiding them from their seekers.  The shimmer held tight to the girl, begging her to stay there so she would not be alone in this strange open place.  The girl nodded and sobbed, for the shimmer’s sorrows as much as the fear of what the party would do to her once she was found.

 

As the party searched, the mists followed, circling the members of the group and wailing out at them.  Their wails sparked fears in the party and they looked to the sky for the storm they believed to be approaching. The search grew more frantic and harried and the people darted in every direction, fear gripping at them like a stalker.

 

The mother came up around the back of the hill and that’s where she found them.  The mists converged on her as she fell to her knees at what was before her and wept.  The others came rushing and looked with horror with her at the jumbled wreckage of the discarded.  It was like peering into a dragon’s cave.  The remains were tossed in piles and strewn across the ground like discarded refuse.  Remnants and shards dotted solitary areas.  Eyeless holes peered out at them and skeletal hands reached out as if for help.  They shouted and made calls and soon there were very many more.  Many needed to untangle and make sense of the chaotic tangle of all these remains.  Many needed to help piece each back together and make whole again, many to find answers and demand a reckoning.

 

A small lone form was the first to be put back in its place, gently lifted and given a new warm place to lie with soft cushions all around.  As she was laid reverently onto the cushions, the young one with the laughter of a thousand bells and stars shining in her eyes, the girl felt the shimmer begin to release its grip and felt a gentle brush against her cheek.  The shimmer settled in and once again dreamt and once again was divine.

 

Persephone July 25, 2009

 


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