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Tell me a bedtime story

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Once upon a time there was a family of a hardworking father and mother who were forced to read bedtime stories for their noisy and loud kids, but then one day this all changed. 


Under the hollow moon of a late spring winter landscape the father said he was due to go out to fetch some wood for the stove which internals had once again turned to cinder. His two sons however, were not satisfied and blamed the father for trying to run away from their routine bedtime stories, to which the father heaved a heavy sigh and said he would soon be back, answered solely by a huff from the two sons and the closing of the door to the cottage.


Where is that woman when you need her? He thought to himself and quickly dragged his tired self through the snowy cranberry and wild bushes that had long since taken over the once splendid garden of a woman with more time on her hands. Time... where had it gone? He wondered. Soon he would be old and his youth no longer filled with wild adolecence but with sorrow and regret at all which was missed. 


Finding himself at the gate of the yard he laid his eyes upon his goal - the little wooden shack at the end of the nicely paved road. "Stomp stomp, stomp stomp", loud and heavy his footsteps heaved up the snow, hmm? That's odd he thought. This road was supposed to be shoveled this morning, was it his imagination once more playing tricks on his mind?


"Stomp stomp, stomp stomp", the noise did not stop, but he had. He looked around him. A perfect angelic landscape that would assuredly make old realism painters envy revealed itself to him, nothing more, nothing less. The house on the little hill, the cloaked yet wonderful oak trees, the frozen lake which shallow existence had meant so much to his lonely childhood. 


Suddenly his attention was gathered at his destination - the little shack. It was... making noise? Ridiculous, the weather is perfectly still and he had made sure that the planks would atleast last for another few years the last time he was at home. His eyes fell on the gaslight that was now briskly brimming and shining a golden silhouette on the shack's solemn figure.


Suddenly his figure had started shivering, horror was creeping up inside every fiber of his being... a figure... but not that of man nor woman but of a beast - a ghastly figure, white of hue, with a face that not even the foulest lepers could compare to and with hands and feet like the briar that had enveloped the shack and what felt like his entire heart stood there, dead still. His soul and mind moved but he remained affixed to a spot not even purgatory could stand up towards.


In the dead of night a scream stopped a flowing world, a painted landscape and a wholesome family. In years following nothing was heard from the old man but jabber and nonsense - to all eyes except those that had met that night.

Edited by Weiterfechten

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