Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Nicho's Writing Thread [Archives on Pg 47]
Since thisnotalt( pretty sure I got the spelling wrong) suggested it, I think I will create a thread just to post my stories. Ok now to find them... *Digs deep into the AMW Section to find his stories*
- 512 Replies
Your stories thread seems kinda bare,
Find the stories is like looking on a bald mans head for a hair.
I can't wait to read what you will post,
Stories of Mystery and Terror at most!
Aha! Finally found one of them.
[/b]~~Berry Pomeroy Castle~~[b]
The freezing wind swept up the dry fallen leaves, rustling them along the path as the young doctor stepped off the carriage. Tipping his top hat to the driver, he pulled his overcoat around him and walked towards the ancient looking castle. The moon was bright in the night sky.
Watching the man disappear down the stone path, the wizened old driver sighed.'May the heavens protect you in that accursed place.' he muttered, urging the horse forward.
Doctor Feraz gripped the rusty iron ring on the door. Pulling it, he heard the sound of a cracked bell ringing a solemn note deep inside castle. The great wooden door creaked as the castle steward opened it. Bowing slightly, the doctor entered into the darkness, taking off his coat and hat. His eyes adjusted to the gloomy candle lit corridor quickly.
'Thanks for coming at this time of night Doctor Feraz.' the castle steward uttered anxiously. He led the way down the damp corridor. Doctor Feraz was amazed at the place, even more so at the numerous massive portraits hanging on the wall that seemed to glance coldly at him.
'You must have an army of people just to keep Berry Pomeroy Castle clean for His Lordship Mr Harris!' Feraz exclaimed, surprised.
'I suppose the damp keeps them away at this time of year! No wonder his Lordship likes to spend the winter in France.'
'Aye. But none will stay the night and it's not the damp that keeps them away.' The castle steward answered through a mouth of rotten teeth, hastily shuffling along.
Just then, the doctor stopped abruptly. At one point, the line of portraits broke off, leaving just a damp imprint of one. As he opened his mouth to inquire about the missing picture, the castle steward tugged him along quickly.
In the castle steward's room, his wife lay on her sickbed, pale and shivering. Doctor Feraz opened his black leather bag and started to examine her...
'She'll be fine, it's just a severe case of influenza, and she's recovering already. I gave her a sleeping draught to pass the night.' Feraz said, stepping out into the chilly night. The castle door shut behind him...
The next day, Feraz again arrived at the castle. This time a country girl answered the door.
'Mr Harris is out; you'll have to wait Sir.' She squeaked timidly.
'Not a problem, I'll just stay in Lord Ruthven's library. If anything's wrong call me.'
The library was dusty; no one had entered for quite awhile. Rows and rows of shelves with books untouched for ages stood there. Weak rays of light shone in through the windows. Feraz picked up an old medical journal and lowered himself onto a dusty plum colored armchair.
As the afternoon went by, dark clouds swarmed the skies; a storm brewed, showering the castle's towers and battlements with torrents of icy rain. Thunder rocked the sky like cannon on a battlefield; lightning seemed to cross bright swords with each other. Feraz remained engrossed...
The ancient grandfather clock struck a somber note.
Startled Feraz arose from his reading and sat up. As he did so, he saw a woman gliding across the shelves. A pure white gown trailed behind her, ancient design on her dress. From her dress, he guessed it was in fashion 400 years ago.
'Excuse me madam.' He stood up. 'Nice to...' The lady ignored him, silently continuing to move towards a flight of steps at a corner. As she past one of the windows, a flash of lightning lighted up her face. Feraz gasped. Her beautiful pale face was wracked in anguish, anger, sadness. But her eyes frightened him the most. They were steel grey, no soul behind them. A dead person's eyes. A tortured being. There was a dark stain forming on the dress. Blood dripped from her mouth's corners.
She continued noiselessly, at one point passing within a few feet of the shocked doctor. Still she gave no sign of seeing him. The only sound in the room was the swishing of her dress. He felt a cold breath play across his face. A bead of sweat dripped to the floor, Feraz's mouth twitched. As the woman reached the top of the stairs, she turned around a corner and disappeared.
Feraz straightened his tie, exited the library hurriedly and went to the castle steward. He found him in one of the billiard rooms, dusting the poolsticks.
'A party. Yes, has His Lordship been hosting a fancy dress party?' Feraz mumbled weakly, licking his dry lips.
'No sir, it's been some years since His Lordship held a party at Berry Pomeroy Castle...Are you alright doctor?'
'Then who was that lady in the old dress in the library? She looked so miserable...'
The steward turned ashen-faced, teeth chattering. He collapsed into an armchair, hands turning bone white. 'Oh my poor Isabel!' he wailed.
'Your wife? No that wasn't your wife I saw!'
The old man's eyes were washed with tears. 'I mean my wife will die. The thing you saw is the phantom of the castle. She led a sinful life in this castle 400 years ago. During the English Civil War, His Lordship's ancestor had supported the King. As the Parliament's troops attacked this castle, the woman led the enemy in. Years later, when the King returned, she was executed by His Lordship's ancestor. Her tongue was cut out for the crime of betrayal and she was burned at stake. She was doomed to wander the castle forever. Her's was the portrait that was removed and destroyed.'
'But what has this got to do with your wife?'
Old Harris brushed his tears away, looking at the young man. 'She only appears when there is a death in the castle.'
Feraz jumped to his feet, opening the door. 'But your wife is fine! She's in no danger!' he called as he rushed up the stairs, three at a time.
When he reached the bedroom door, he cleared it clumsily, stumbling to the woman's bed. He touched her icy hand. The woman lay peacefully beneath the sheets. Nothing moved in the room. But forever, Doctor Feraz swore he heard the soft rustling of a silk dress...
It was bare as a vulture's head because I was looking for them. Now it isn't haha! Dang, the bolding got screwed!
You still have two stories left. Go and *coughing* find them.
Grah! The bolding doesn't work! On the bright side, no funny symbols. Hope this bolding works. If not.... *Takes out gun*
Just highlight the text you want bold, and click the bold button.
Believe me, doing this will make everything easier to keep track of!
Oh dang, I wrote your name wrongly. Sorry! Just to try bolding, cuase I can't seem to get at it.
I see you are doing something wrong, nichodemus.
[?b] [?i] This is sample text [/b?] [/i?]
Remove the question marks and you get this -
This is sample text
I guess you have realized this by now but you only use the / symbol to close a tag.
Follow what alt said. If you want to include both italics and bold then highlight the desired text and press bold, then highlight the desired text again and press italic. Simple.
Bah, it's okay. But for future reference, I answer to alt.
Wow, these are truely amazing.
~~Guardian Angel I~~
The white snow fell on the rugged terrain, covering it like icing on a cake. Lieutenant Roche leaned on his faithful Panzer, a bottle of beer in his hand. As the bitter brown liquid swirled pleasantly in his mouth, a homemade cigarette appeared in his gloved hand. Putting it at his mouth's end, he flicked the steel lighter's cap expertly, lighting the precious cancer stick. The beer had made a ring of white froth around his lips.
The field stretched into the horizon. The golden setting sun pierced the clouds like arrows, Roche bathed in its fading orange light. Good thing he was posted here in Poland. Leningrad was so wintry that your spit froze before it hit the ground. The men there had to have whale blubber rubbed onto them before patrol, or so it was said. Roche shuddered in horror.
He picked up the helmet from the ground; it was bloodied and bent in at a single spot. A sniper bullet's hole. Inside he cursed terribly at the Soviets, filthy beasts, all of them. Whipping around, the muddied ground crunched beneath his feet. Taking a single stride, he placed the battered helmet on his friend's head, for one last time. His friend's gold watch glimmered in the sunlight, his uniform dirtied and crumpled. '**** it!' he spat out harshly in German. **** sniper.
Heinrich had been with him since childhood. Played together, gone to school together, went to the barracks together. Roche recalled the bitter-sweet memories, the pictures flashing past like the black and white grainy pictures at the old cinema. Both had survived the Great War relatively unscathed, teenagers at the time. Now twenty years on, both had answered the Fuhrer's call for soldiers. Patriotic veterans! More like practice targets for the Soviets. Roche gritted his yellow teeth loudly. No more would that quick grin light up Heinrich's face again. All that remained was a grey shell in a uniform, no spark within.
It was all a big bloody mistake. A mistake to let Heinrich go on patrol yesterday. The cursed sniper had spotted his
cigarette light, a perfect target that he could not miss. The regret pierced his heart like a razor-sharp sword. A tear hit the snow, dripping from his long thin nose, melting a small hole in the white. A tear of anguish, remorse, torment...If only, if only...
'Sir! HQ just transmitted a message!' a young corporal quipped, saluting Roche.
Roche snapped to attention, back to reality, professional once again. He could not look weak, not in front of his men
'Right! Let's see what bloody plans they have to get us pass that infernal minefield!'
The wide open field was one of death. For there were landmines under the soil; cruel things that would rip a tank to shrapnel immediately. Roche had seen a battalion trying to cross a minefield before. Not a pretty sight. Blood, gore, eyes and limbs everywhere. Some were blown clear from their uniforms. And the screams, never would he forget those hellish-like shrieks, the last desperate cry grasping at life. Soviets, brutal monsters, every last one of them. Wait till we conquer their beloved Motherland.
HQ's orders were simple. Camp for the night and take a detour across the mountains tomorrow, never mind how hard it will be. An idiot, that's what every last of them were. Buffoons all of them, staying in HQ planning ridiculous attacks, never giving a thought for the men.
Just as he was about to retire into the flimsy canvas tent, he saw something small and dark in the distance, approaching. It threw up large clouds of dried mud and dust. It came from the end of the minefield.
As the truck neared the edge of the ground that was filled with those dreaded Soviet Tavor mines, it turned a sharp corner, plunging straight through, like a confident diver jumping from the platform. Amazingly, it made zigzags here and there, turning ninety degrees at certain points. Roche was stunned, rooted to the ground, his cigarette dropping into the snow. The corporal next to him gulped, boots quaking uncontrollably.
Never had he in his 40 years had he seen such a sight. The driver at the wheel drove confidently, making erratic turns before finally stopping a mere meter from Roche. The engine grinded to a halt, the driver stepped out. He was a young man, a thick mane of platinum blonde hair under his hat, almost covering his bright cobalt coloured eyes. A machine pistol hung casually in his leather shoulder holster.
'Sir, these are new instructions from HQ! Their radio had some malfunction sir.' He saluted smartly, handing a tattered envelope to the still shell-shocked Roche.
'How... how...did you get pass... those...mines...' Roche managed to utter, stammering through his moustache, his commanding bark lost momentarily.
'Well Sir, this wonderful chap helped me get across. Just following his direction and lead. He was wearing a gold watch sir. Walked towards those tents when I arrived.'
Roche felt a rock drop in his stomach. His hands trembling, from awe or shock he did not know, as he pointed to Heinrich's lifeless body. 'Is that the man you saw?'
The grin faded instantly from the messenger's face, blood drained from it, his face was shallow, chalky white. 'Yes.' He swallowed abruptly. Saluting quickly, he ran to the truck, starting the engine. He crashed his gears speeding off in the opposite direction. Roche never saw him again.
The last of the evening light faded as twilight approached. Roche turned and look at the flamingo pink and gold clouds. He stood there muttering a long prayer.
The crickets chirped melodiously. The pastel pink skyline turned an inky black, devoid of clouds. A lone star shone brightly, hanging casually in the heavens. It seemed to wink mysteriously at him. As Roche turned around slowly to his Panzer; he swore that he saw a slight ghost of a smile fade across his friend's bloodied face. A guardian angel... watching over them...perhaps...
The tears flowed hot and freely this time.
All yours stories are here now!
By the way, how is work on Guardian Angel 2 going?
Its half way done my good man.
These are all very good, I must say. Your style is very interesting, you describe things quite well. I noticed that some of your adjectives and nouns are a bit clumsy sometimes, like saying "hellish-like," in which the "-like" part would be unneeded. But still, these are great. How long have you been writing?
Erm depends.. Writing compositions and essays in school since school started, so around 7. But writing stories for AG, stories like these and as a hobby? Since perhaps late January...
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