Here's a little spooky season story for you all written after having watched the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Enjoy.
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Lightning shrieked across the dark sky as a horse plodded along a cobbled street. Its large hooves shod in steel made a disturbing sucking noise with each movement of the horses legs in the filth soaked streets of the decrepit city. The person atop the horse was swathed in a long dark cloak that completely obscured their features, more so in that torrential sleet that drove coldly against the thick material of the drenched cloak. Small wisps of fog drifted from out of the shadowed hood up into the sky, black from clouds. A large and heavy chain was gathered around the shoulders of the man kept in place by a Cross of immaculate design.
The Cross seemed to glow faintly in the rain, a vaguely illuminating bluish colour. The horse suddenly came to a stop on the cobbles, seemingly of its own accord, as the person did nothing to direct its movements. The figure in the dark cloak dismounted from the large black mare in one fluid movement, almost like the falling water itself and moved silently and slowly, like some displaced spirit, through those empty and blackened avenues of a city that appeared to have long since gone to rot and decay. As the figure moved through the city a faint wailing sprung up, like a woman crying in the distance, piercing through the nearly overwhelming sound of the pounding rain. The head of the figure rose slightly, but the cowl still kept it in shadow as the person in the cloak seemed to pause and listen.
The cloaked figure changed its direction slightly and continued on, following the sound of the wailing that had grown louder and harsher, more like the screams of someone terrified beyond all reason. The person moved slowly, not seemingly in a great hurry, and paused every once and a while, just to make sure that they were on the right path. The wailing soon became unbearably loud, but the figure continued on unphased. Reaching a small clearing, and what seemed to have possibly been at one point the city square the figure stopped. Before the cloaked person, sitting in the rain, soaked through, the emaciated corpse of a woman kneeled on the ground wailing.
Her tears mixed with the rain, her hair was wild and unkempt, and she was dressed in nothing save a worn burial shawl. The creature turned its head toward the intruder on its territory, it’s eyes were fiery red, glowing in the dark and wet. It’s wail grew louder as it rose slowly to its misshapen and bloated feet. The creature reached out it’s hands as the rain seemed to pour ever harder. It took a step forward when the cross on the figures neck flared up with that bluish light.
The creature paused, it’s wailing diminished for a moment to a mournful groan as the figures head tilted up, a hand, gauntleted in a heavy piece of armour reached up from beneath the black cloak and removed the hood to reveal the soaking head of a strikingly handsome man. Deep set pure tawny yellow eyes that glowed softly, short cropped black hair, fair skin with healthy colour, and a strong set jaw and very well proportioned features, with a bit of a pointed nose, and thick immaculate eyebrows. The yellow eyes stared out at the creature daring it to come closer as he simply stood there, cross glowing still with that ethereal witch light. The creature was confused it’s wail had turned into a dirge-like cry of mad grief as it finally made up it’s mind and lunged at the man in the heavy cloak. A flash of silver was all that indicated the blade that had appeared between the man and the creature as the emaciated demon woman found itself skewered on a 3 foot long blade, to promptly be cast aside, bleeding black and putrid ichor onto the cobbles of the city street.
The creature shrieked then, in pain and confusion as it’s wound did not heal. The blade dripped the black blood of the creature steaming slightly in the rain and cold. The creature turned and lunged again with ferocious speed and intent, but was met once more by the sharp edge of the silver blade, leaving another enormous gash in its cadaverous flesh. The man's face was grim as he went about his work and circled the creature slowly, patiently, a hunter weakening his prey. The creature howled and in a repetition of the only attack pattern it knew, the creature wheeled back around on the man and rushed him again, only to meet a blade to its neck and then promptly have that same blade go through it.
The body fell a few feet from the head. As soon as the head was disconnected from the body the rain began to abate, some sun peaked through the darkened clouds. At the same time, the city seemed to lose much of it’s gloom, and though still in need of some urgent care, it did not appear half so bad as it had just moments before. The dark man sighed and picked up the head of the Weather Spirit that had been plaguing the town for months and carried it over to his saddle bags where he strapped it down nice and tightly as evidence of his victory there. He then wiped off his blade carefully on his cloak, sheathed it within, and mounted his horse while pulling his hood up once more.
The cross on his chest caught the light and gleamed slightly. In the sunlight the cloak as well as the cross seemed battered and worn, but the saddle and bags he carried were brand new and well made. There was a great mystery about this man as he rode off slowly back the way he had come, the water of his cloak, and that which had soaked the ground, slowly being absorbed and dried by the shining sun.
The End...?
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