haunted

VIOLENT VIOLIN – VOX – REDUX

This is a collaboration of a story I wrote earlier this year. Thanks to Jeff Clement for bringing even more life to this haunted tale of death and release.  I hope you enjoy it 🙂

Kym Darkly

 

You can see more of Jeff’s work at https://www.youtube.com/user/AuralStimulations

 

VIOLENT VIOLIN by Kym Darkly

Three a.m. every morning. She always visited. She had to – broken and forlorn in the shadows. He could hear her creep along the dark halls: those blood-splattered corridors that she’d been dragged down by a death-cord wrapped around her neck. He could feel her pass by him, could see the candles flicker and the curtains sway back as she took her seat.

 

If only she could leave her violin alone there might be some peace, but it was the thing that still tied her to this world. He knew this, and he used it.

 

Maybe it was guilt that made him put the delicate instrument out night after night, summoning her to draw fierce catgut across rusting strings. Maybe it was his way of giving her the freedom to express: to pluck out each emotion, replaying the terror and betrayal with notes and tones that narrated her own story.

 

Perhaps he was punishing himself for what he had done by repeatedly listening to her pain. But most likely he was pretending that she was still alive, giving him a private concert at his bidding. He was delusional after all.

 

Lately the sound had been sad and eerie – the kind that could cut through a soul, already lacerated and fractured, but this early morning was different. Linn’s spirit had been growing angry. On her way in she had slammed doors and thrown chairs, even ripped a curtain from its rings, and she certainly had refused to sit. She chose to stand. It would give her music more power.

 

Her husband didn’t mind the violence. It was comforting just knowing that she was there, invisibly shackled to him and his darkness.

 

This was Linn’s last visit however. The bruises and blood were fading and the burn around her neck had lost its terrifying command. She was reclaiming herself. She had learned a lot in the spirit world. She was tired of being his ghost, of being called involuntarily to haunt him night after night. She wanted to have done with it, done with him.

 

Strongly composed, she drew the bow deliberately across the strings as she would a knife across his neck. Deep, dark and mellow quickly gave way to frenetic sawing and screeching – an abrasive violence of notes that bespoke Linn’s fury. Gone was the demure, shy victim.

 

One last drag across that old violin and she snapped. She flew at him, lashing the bow hard across his face – the force sending him off the back of his antique Hitchcock chair. She jumped after whipping and beating him until the wooden weapon broke on his cheek leaving the flesh ripped and dripping with blood.

 

The startled look in his eyes made her happy. She only wished he could see the victory in hers.

 

Crazed with the need to be free she bashed the violin over the chair, breaking it in two. She dropped to the floor, knees on either side of his trunk and jabbed the half she still held under his chin, digging the splintered wood in deep.

 

“Alright, alright,” he yelped.

 

“Release me,” she commanded, jabbing harder.

 

He couldn’t let her go.

 

She twisted the violin, breaking his skin. She pushed it hard.

“Release me, or you’re coming with me.” She hissed.

 

As shards cut through muscle and tongue, he threw his hands up in surrender.

“I promise. I’ll leave you alone.” He yelped.

 

“Beg!”

 

“Please.” he cried.

 

Linn smiled.

 

Numbing and peacefully ascending she dropped the instrument and quietly floated up off the floor, showing herself to him for the first time since her death. She was beautiful. The spell had been broken. She was free.

 

“I love you,” he said.

 

This made her happy, for the most sadistic thing she could do was to prevent him from having her.

 

She laid back on the soft air in a deep peace and floated over to the window – out and up towards the clouds…

 

©kym darkly

VIOLENT VIOLIN…

kym darkly 1

VIOLENT VIOLIN

Three a.m. every morning. She always visited. She had to – silent and forlorn in the shadows. He could hear her creep along the dark halls: those blood-splattered corridors that she’d been dragged down by a death-cord wrapped around her neck. He could feel her pass by him, could see the candles flicker and the curtains sway back as she took her seat.

If only she could leave her violin alone there might be some peace, but it was the thing that still tied her to this world. He knew this, and he used it.

Maybe it was guilt that made him put the delicate instrument out night after night, summoning her to draw fierce catgut across rusting strings. Maybe it was his way of giving her the freedom to express: to pluck out each emotion, replaying the terror and betrayal with notes and tones that narrated her own story.

Perhaps he was punishing himself for what he had done by repeatedly listening to her pain. But most likely he was pretending that she was still alive, giving him a private concert at his bidding. He was delusional after all.

Lately the sound had been sad and eerie – the kind that could cut through a soul, already lacerated and broken, but this early morning was different. Linn’s spirit had been growing angry. On her way in she had slammed doors and thrown chairs, even ripped a curtain from its rings, and she certainly had refused to sit. She chose to stand. It would give her music more power.

Her husband didn’t mind the violence. It was comforting just knowing that she was there, invisibly shackled to him and his darkness.

This was Linn’s last visit however. The bruises and blood were fading and the burn around her neck had lost its terrifying command. She was reclaiming herself. She had learned a lot in the spirit world. She was tired of being his ghost, of being called involuntarily to haunt him night after night. She wanted to have done with it, with him.

Strongly composed, she drew the bow deliberately across the strings as she would a knife across his neck. Deep, dark and mellow quickly gave way to frenetic sawing and screeching – an abrasive violence of notes that bespoke Linn’s fury. Gone was the demure, shy victim.

One last drag across that old violin and she snapped. She flew at him, lashing the bow hard across his face – the force sending him off the back of his antique Hitchcock chair. She jumped after whipping and beating him until the wooden weapon broke on his cheek leaving flesh ripped and dripping with blood.

The startled look in his eyes made her happy. She only wished he could see the victory in hers. Crazed with the need to be free she bashed the violin over the chair, breaking it in two. She dropped to the floor, knees on either side of his trunk and jabbed the half she still held under his chin, digging the splintered wood in deep.
“Alright, alright,” he yelped.
“Release me,” she commanded, jabbing harder.
He couldn’t let her go.
She twisted the violin, breaking his skin. She pushed it hard.
“Release me, or you’re coming with me.” She hissed.
As shards cut through muscle and tongue, he threw his hands up in surrender.
“I promise. I’ll leave you alone.” He yelped.
“Beg!”
“Please.” he started to cry.

Linn smiled.

Numbing and peacefully ascending she dropped the instrument and quietly floated up off the floor, showing herself to him for the first time since her death. She was beautiful. The spell had been broken. She was free.

“I love you,” he said.

This made her happy, for the most sadistic thing she could do was to prevent him from having her.

She laid back on the soft air in a deep peace and floated over to the window – out and up towards the clouds…

©kym darkly

FANTOM…

image

 

It had come again in the middle of the night, undulating under the sheets like a flat fish might swim at the bottom of the ocean.

Petrified, Bobby jumped out of bed. He watched the creature, with its wave-like motion, slink under the covers heading down to where his feet would always be, the place where it would wriggle before slipping off and away.

In his mind he thought he would catch it and maybe even cook it, if it was a fish, although his mother had said that ghosts couldn’t be eaten or cooked.

You’re not escaping this time, Bobby thought, ripping the sheet right off in an attempt to expose the mystery. But he didn’t see anything. It was invisible as ghosts tended to be.

Bobby got closer, bravely holding out his hand in the terrified hopes that he might touch it. He padded around until finally his delicate fingers landed on top of the slippery creature. Bobby yelped, but kept his hand there on the invisible eeewy fish, desperate to make sense of this thing that haunted him night after night.

The wires from his head sent out crazed signals to computers and machines that measured his brain for activity. Suddenly the sleep lab was full of personnel, but Bobby was oblivious. He was trying to hold onto the cold ghoul that kept escaping his grasp.

Suddenly angered, Bobby grew violent. He threw the sheet back on the thing to see where it was and grabbed his heavy Bible to kill it with. Slam, Slam!

“Ughh, it’s already dead,” said Dr. Rupert from behind the lab’s glass. Doesn’t he get it?

“No, he doesn’t get it. He’s just a kid,” said Rebecca – his striking sidekick.

“I know darling, but we need a kid who can catch one, so we can study it,” replied Rupert.

Bobby’s vital signs were in trouble. The beeps jolted them back to the computer screens.

“Its attacking him. This always happens,” Rebecca said, “Just stop it right now! We dont want to lose him.”

Ignoring her, Dr. Rupert gave a go-ahead signal with his hand through the glass.

The crew did what they were instructed to: sprayed the phantom with a new liquid that had been developed by the brilliant grad student: Rebecca McCauley.

This new variation worked and the crew grew excited as they could finally see a true ghost, albeit a vicious orange jelly that had planted its entire sticky being over Bobby’s face and torso.

Their own faces turned to horror quickly as they witnessed it sucking his brains, blood, tongue and other tissue out of his eyes, ears and mouth with a vicious pumping cycle, ultimately sending out a huge splat of blood back up at the glass of the lab.

 A flat line, and the ghost released its obliterated victim. There was no more live tissue to refuel its dependency needs and so it slipped back into invisibility and disappeared before it could be captured.

Dr. Rupert sighed – annoyance. “Call the parents, our condolences, he went mad, congenital defect and we couldn’t save him.”

“You fucking do it. I’m done,” Rebecca snapped. On her way out she slammed the door, torn over why she still loved this cold-hearted man…

In the blood splattered lab, Dr. Rupert reconsidered. “I’m not sure that’s a ghost…”

© kym darkly

Haunted…

Time Lapse Photography By Chris Barnes https://twitter.com/oddharmonix

Even the clouds were running, sleek across the dying sky. What was coming so fast and dark that made birds slip into silence and trees shake madly, as if to relieve them from their roots? What was this fear that clawed through his body paralyzing and freezing him to the spot? He’d been here before – terrified. A haunted mind can’t run. it has nowhere to go…

© kym darkly