Ghosts of Gauntcliff: Chapter Two

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

Dorgio's Room

The priest of The Morninglord stared up at the ceiling, reflecting not so much on the unholy creature in the temple as he was on the woman who'd clearly escaped his grasp. You are a coward, my friend. And yet even as the thought occurred to him he can't credit it. How many times had he risked his life for the sake of the greater good? How many times had he plunged into danger to save a comrade while he himself was wounded? How many fell creatures of the blackness had fallen to his spear?

And yet the very thought of Eliana nearly unmanned him. How could he could he confront her without seeming like a lout? Perhaps that's how he always appeared to her, and it seemed to him he couldn't blame her for running off with the captain. But it was useless to brood; the thing was done with one way or the other. That thought did nothing to stop his brooding.

Then he sat up, the scratching noise at the window bringing him out of his self-absorption. He rolled over and groped for the boot where he kept his dagger, and drew the blade. He stumbled to his feet in near blackness and crept to the window.

[ewancummins]

Then he sat up, the scratching noise at the window bringing him out of his self-absorption. He rolled over and groped for the boot where he kept his dagger, and drew the blade. He stumbled to his feet in near blackness and crept to the window.

The window shutter hangs open just a crack. Peering out, Dorgio sees nothing more than the stars in the night sky, the blurry shapes of the nearby bushes and hills, and the distant line of the white cliffs against the black sea.

[ewancummins]

HOLD

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

The window shutter hangs open just a crack. Peering out, Dorgio sees nothing more than the stars in the night sky, the blurry shapes of the nearby bushes and hills, and the distant line of the white cliffs against the black sea.

He blinks hard, wondering what could have opened his window at this hour. He opens the window wide enough to let his head out. "Hello?" he calls out to the night air, and then, wondering if the thing is no longer outside his room, he turns and calls again to the halls. "Hello?"

[ewancummins]

He blinks hard, wondering what could have opened his window at this hour. He opens the window wide enough to let his head out. "Hello?" he calls out to the night air, and then, wondering if the thing is no longer outside his room, he turns and calls again to the halls. "Hello?"

No answer comes from outside, from the room, or even from the hall. So far as Dorgio can tell , he is quite alone.

[ewancummins]

EVERLINE'S DREAMS

A twinge of doubt creeps in to spoil the blissful innocence of Everline’s kiss with the carpenter’s boy. This moment feels right, but what about the walk in the field? She does recall walking through the potato blossoms as a little girl- but her father wasn’t with her. He couldn’t have been.
The handsome apprentice vanishes, leaving her alone in the rustling canvas drapes.

The curtains swish open to reveal the interior of a small, rustic cottage. Everything here looks real- no sign of a stage or actors. Silver moonlight shines through the open window. Through the glass pane, she sees a woman in a brown dress and white bonnet, walking in the garden.

Mother

A shadow falls across the floor ahead of her, as someone walks up behind Everline. Looking back and up, she sees a tall handsome man with chestnut hair, gazing down at her with a mild expression on his face. Father looks exactly like the portrait Mother kept, a likeness in charcoal sketched by one of her street-artist friends before Everline was born.


"Hush now; it was all just a bad dream. I never died. Uncle Max is gone; he’ll never come back to bother us. No more tears. “
Everline’s father carries her to the bed in the corner of the room. After he tucks her under the covers, he whispers, "Good night, little mouse."




He clamps his right hand over her mouth and pins her to the mattress. Everline tries to scream, but no sound escapes her muffled lips.

"She can’t hear you. It’s just the two of us now, my sweet."


As he leans in close, his face twists and shifts, taking on the appearance of a pallid, mustachioed stranger. Blisters and red marks pop up across his skin. A stink like hot iron and burned meat fills Everline’s nostrils.

“You’ve played in pleasant dreams long enough, little girl. Now it’s my turn to have some fun.”


END OF CHAPTER TWO