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Sunday, October 13, 2013

And the Ocean Crashes (Part II)

I wrote the second part to my short thriller/horror piece "And the Ocean Crashes" tonight. It was easier to write the second half than I thought it would be to be honest. In any case, if you haven't read the first half, here's the link: http://jbwalkerwriting.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/and-ocean-crashes.html
   If you have then here's the conclusion. I hope that you enjoy it and I'm glad that you enjoyed the other half, if you did.


And the Ocean Crashes (Part II)

The door was a worn old thing, the dark pine chipped in places and the muddy paint flaking off, shards blowing in the light breeze that was beginning to accelerate. Yellow light escaped through the jarred door in a thin line that crossed one of his shoes. The breeze was slowly beginning to feel like a wind tunnel of force, whistling past his head in every direction, as the crash of the waves grew louder like a car bearing down on him on a busy road. He tensed his arms, placing his hands into his pocket to find his fingers caressing the warmth of his mobile phone. Without thinking he pulled it from his pocket, the fear of danger momentarily forgotten as the familiar sight greeted his eyes. The cyan pattern swirled along the smart phone’s screen like a soothing lava lamp against the dark background of a child’s bedroom. His safety dissipated as he saw the reception bar: Nothing.

His heart sank as if a chair was pulled from under his feet. He shoved the device back into his pocket, the breeze seeping through his shirt and into his bones like ice. His muscles began to twitch and his testicles began to shrink. His pupils grew like black holes as he fixed them upon the light seeping through the door; that warm, inviting light. His hand reached forward as thoughts literally grabbed the limb, the fingers twitching hesitantly in mid-air as his fearful ambivalence took hold, his train of thought derailed for a time.

He breathed in and out slowly as his hand became steady again, the fingers becoming still, lifeless. Without any further delay he pushed with all his might, as if the pine thing was a stone barrier. It swung with a short but loud creak as the wood thudded lightly against the interior of the shack, the light shining all over his body like a spotlight that had finally found him.

A man stood silhouetted before a blank wall, rats scurried around on the floor with light scratches as their claws dug into the wood. The man breathed horribly outwards as if his lungs were drowning in phlegm. The man turned around as the breeze intensified once more; sand was whipped into his face, blinding him as he lurched downwards, shielding his eyes as darkness took hold, a loud, oncoming thud clanked on the wood and just as he raised his head the man was before him: His teeth were yellowed and disgusting, his clothes even more so; soiled with months or years worth of dirt, the skin beneath blemished with a decaying pox that had pervaded the skin on his face. Buboes grouped around his lips with dried pus coating them; they looked like they’d burst all over him any moment. But the man’s hand was what took him; stretched out behind him as if in preparation for throwing a ball, the hand lurched towards his chest; the nails dirtied yet sharp and seemingly manufactured, cracked his chest with a dull thud. He screamed and gurgled as warm blood rushed towards his lips and trickled down his chin, his eyes filled with tears, blurring the inhuman face before him with its disgusting teeth smiling at him. His knees buckled as the fingers dug through him, draining his dignity as they searched for his heart that still beat faintly. He heaved as blood and vomit poured from his mouth and splattered on the floor. A second hand slipped it’s way between his legs as the thing’s teeth clasped around his neck and, just before the life slipped from his eyes and mind, a faintest crunch echoed in his head as the flame of life was extinguished.

And as the moon rises to it’s greatest height, the breeze continues to rip and tear mightily through the sea of sand across the far reaches of the archipelagos; the sand sits cold and black, while the thing drags the corpse in a bloody trail through its lazy clutches. He throws the remains into the embrace of the waters, the splash rising above the sound of the waves momentarily as the ocean crashes.     

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