Posts : 15
Current Win Points : 1
Join date : 2013-01-19
Age : 22
Location : London Borough of Hillingdon, England.
|Subject: A Closed Mouth Tells No Tales Tue Aug 06, 2013 10:57 am|| |
The Willow Mythos (now known as We The Afflicted), an offshoot of the Slender Man Mythos, interested me, so I wrote a short story for it. Not my best, but I like it all the same.
"A closed mouth tells no tales."
Isn't that what they say? A proverb, an old saying. In my case, it's not entirely true. I can still write, if my shaking fingers allow me to grip a pen and put down on paper my story.
My name is long forgotten. I go by Epsilon - the creature that changed me has gone through five names in his abominable existence; Set, the White Emperor, the Drowned Knight, the Ghost and now the Lord of the Forest. Five names, five horrific monsters throughout history. Epsilon is the fifth Greek letter and I bear this name as a permanent reminder of my shame.
When I was only a boy, I enjoyed playing in woods and forests. I was an avid tree climber, and I loved the smell of woodlands in Summer.
Maybe I frequented the forests too much. Maybe it was that which drew me to his attention. In any case, all I remember is the forest leaves slowly turning black and withering, decaying.
The day He found me began like any other, climbing alone. My parents were following a woodland trail. I was an only child.
The next part I only remember in flashes.
My laughter as I swung between branches.
My laughter dying as the branch started moving.
My fear as it pulled me along.
My terror as I saw what it truly was.
I will tell nobody of it. I still wake from nightmares in a sweat after dreaming of it.
I would like to say that He took me away and I woke with these... Deformities. That would be a lie. I was conscious throughout the entire excruciating process.
My lips were torn open, hundreds of tiny needle sharp shards of darkness piercing them and knitting them back together before a burning heat fused them as one, melting the skin and flesh underneath.
My hair was stripped, replaced by bristles. To make me a better tracker, no doubt, yet it made the pain no better.
The worst was still to come. He turned me round and with one movement snapped my back. All I recall is screaming and wondering why I wasn't dead yet.
I felt the hot gel pour into my spine and coat my nerves. As it cooled and solidified, I felt tendrils invading my mind and whispering dark thoughts to me, talking of the glory I would win as one of my master's Altered servants. But I could only think of the pain.
Set free? Only to be called upon for His bidding. Whenever He wished someone found, I could do nothing but respond. My body bent to His will, when He willed it.
But I still had some will left, enough to escape. It was not as hard as I thought, perhaps He could sense my despair and allowed me to leave His service. He knew I would not survive long back in my old life with my changes.
He was right. I did not even try to get that life back.
He is my master whenever He wishes, so there is only one way to stop the endless, helpless killing.
I must kill one last time.
Will I die when I stab my heart? Or will I find that only black tar seeps from the wound, healing me, dooming me to serve Him for evermore?
A closed mouth tells no tales. A silenced one tells less.