"Strange Workings"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A working of strange horror

Submitted: February 19, 2009

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Submitted: February 19, 2009



Strange Workings


The words “O death come and spare me another day, be weary of my age” rang through the dark owlet blessed sky.

These words were to comfort the agitated guests; however the two at the front seemed intrigued by the burning as if they desired the damming flames in some sub-conscious way.  The crackling of the mahogany was like an orchestra to their hearts.

The two figures were approached by a rather ordinary elderly man with spectacles far too big for his head, he then, without uttering a word handed to them two envelopes and they promptly put them in their pockets to read whenever they saw fit.

The service itself was an odd one it took place three hours before dawn yet seemed as normal as any other funeral. The turn out was vast. The congregation was huddled into four rows, however the two figures were separated by the pillars of St Augustine, and this gave the impression that in some way they were a world apart from the rest of the parishioners.

The quiet shrieks of nocturnal figures bathed the holy ground that the church was seated upon.

This produced a sinister curl of the lips of the female stranger while her male companion closed his eyes to almost soak in these sounds that were disturbing the members of the bereaved.


As the final words of the Priest rang from his lips he glanced at the two static individuals almost mesmerized by their features. He then stepped away from the altar.  The two figures, with drapes over their head, walked slowly without a passing pause of acknowledgement to the bereaved and started talking in a foreign, but soothing tongue to the congregation.

Suddenly as quickly as they had finished the Parishioners were becoming drowsy.

The vale and drapes dropped from the two strangers.

The Priest reacted by quoting parts of the Bible knowing by their sharpened teeth what these emissaries of chaos were after. It was swift yet brutal.

As the Priest fell he mumbled,

”You can take my life but my soul shall never be yours!”

Then he expired.

They walked through the self made red sea; all their victims with distinctive puncture marks on their necks.

The little Altar girl who had such a heavenly voice unknowingly beckoned these inhumane figures into this turned cavern of sacrifice, looked ageless in death yet marred by her pierced neck that was so perfect and untouched.

But methinks there is something wrong with their red works. The chapel doors are bolted from the outside, a panic of rage ensues inside of them, an awful shriek like banshees undergoing their nightly deeds.

Without cause the female temptress pulls out the letter from her cold heart with bloody fingers and is almost drawn to open it, yet she believes unlike Pandora.

Her hope has escaped. They both read it, it says;

Hello my friends the sun rises from the east of the church no part is left untouched & absent under the loving velvet ebony of darkness that you are so accustom to.

Enjoy the view.


© Copyright 2018 Danni Skerritt. All rights reserved.

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