The Haunting of Muriel Borgnine

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Madness haunts the hunter who stumbles upon unexpected quarry....

Submitted: March 13, 2018

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Submitted: March 13, 2018

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On a cold barren windswept island far away in the somber chill of the legend-haunted North Sea, a young lady named Muriel Borgnine stood in self-absorbed solitary reflection, gazing at her target with a gleam of fierce concentration in her alert pale blue eyes. The desolate scene invoked an eerie sensation of stark isolation and hopeless melancholy, but Muriel had something on her astute mind. She brought all her formidable faculties to bear on the task at hand. She was pointing an arrow toward the heavy bank of low-hanging iron-gray clouds that were beginning to precipitate an icy mix of sleet and snow.

Her new compound bow, with a draw weight of sixty pounds, was exceptionally powerful. She arched the curvature of her strong young spine, tilting her stout shoulders back, aiming the lethal razor-sharp fixed-blade broad-head toward the bloated clouds. It felt as if she could reach out and touch the dark swirling mass. She felt the whole startling power of creation, the awesome mystery of life and death.

The cams of her bow rolled into place, relieving 80% of the strain of the pull from her shapely athletic arms. She held her breath for a moment to steady her aim at the darkest region of the underbelly of the dense cloud cover. For an instant, she thought she heard the vexing distant wail of human voices shrieking in terrified anguish. The notion was so far removed from her present location on the remote island and in the dreary inhospitable weather, that her conscious mind dismissed the ghastly intrusion without hesitation, however, her subconscious made note of the disturbing ill-omened sound.

With finely tuned skill that comes only from years of practice, Muriel released the string. Like an Atlas rocket, the tubular shaft of the perfectly balanced ultra-light aluminum arrow launched with incredible force, flying in a dizzying blur toward its target. The high-velocity projectile with its deadly razor point disappeared into the brooding gloom of the foreboding cloud.

Muriel’s mind found difficulty grasping what her disbelieving ears were telling her they heard next - the faint “clink” of metal against metal. Had the arrow struck something obscured in the swirling deeps of the threatening storm cloud? Impossible!

When the gargantuan bulk of a Boeing 777 jet airliner burst through the bloated belly of the lumbering cloud, Muriel lost her power of cognizance for an instant. Her sanity flickered on the precarious precipice of a gloaming abyss of sinister hysteria. The blunt rounded nose of the colossal aircraft was diving directly down upon her. Primal instinct took over where rational thought failed. In mindless panic, Muriel turned to run, not realizing she was racing along a converging collision course with the megalithic jet as it plunged fatally to earth.

The turbofan engines were violently over-spooling. The horrendous blaring noise was deafening. The hulking aircraft passed only a few feet over Muriel’s head. The tremendous gross tonnage of riveted metal stopped the sprinting maiden dead in her tracks. Had she taken another step, she would have been decapitated as the Triple Seven plowed into the rocky soil of the bleak island.

Muriel felt the ground vibrating madly. The whole world seemed to quake under the catastrophic booming impact. The vast wings of the titanic aircraft were savagely torn from the disintegrating fuselage. Gigantic swirling balls of red-orange flames spewing dark oily smoke erupted as the leviathan plane was ripped to shreds.

This time, the haunting screams would not be denied. Muriel distinctly heard the shrill apoplectic mania of hundreds of human voices wailing in the fiery torment of their final moment of life. It was a nightmare - an unspeakable hellish nightmare of brutal merciless carnage.

The shock of witnessing such an unbearable trauma at pointblank range overwhelmed Muriel’s sense of time. Her powers of recall were dramatically inhibited so that she only had access to a mere handful of memories of past experiences.

Muriel was suffering from intense crippling separation anxiety disorder. She fell to the cold damp ground, curling into a fetal position as the heavy dark clouds overhead continued to shroud the icy atmosphere in sleet and flurries of wildly flying snow. The devastated wreckage of the mammoth aircraft stretched out in roiling smoke and infernal flames for a full mile in front of the mentally deranged young archer.

Even though they were all dead, the doomed passengers still continued to exist in Muriel’s altered mind. Secondary explosions rocked the psychotic damsel’s throbbing skull. She could hear the haunting voices screaming in terrified anguish, crackling like a supernatural lightning bolt along the fateful path of the sharp arrow she had fired into the bloated sagging belly of the grim storm cloud.


© Copyright 2018 Sean Terrence Best. All rights reserved.

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