Today on Drabble
Wednesday I serve up some creepy tales…
Puppet
The carved wooden face
held a pitiful expression, its eyeless sockets staring, as it swung from its
strings suspended from the ceiling of the puppeteer’s workroom. Its hand curled
around the weathered head of another puppet, almost cradling the manmade
cranium. The other puppet’s body lay smashed it pieces, twisted in the workshop
vice.
On the window sill a
music box played, the tinny notes drifting across the gloom and dust of the
shop. Under the sound of the music, a tiny voice whispered. “I’m sorry Poppa. I
couldn’t save you. But I will try my best to avenge you.”
The Ferryman
The teal water carried
the stillness of death, and the turbid air draped itself through the dingy sky.
It was always thus; his surroundings never changed. His gaunt hand brushed across
the olive wood of his pole before it dipped into the water, breaking the
surface. The echo of this act sounded like thunder.
A peace settled into his
bones, as his boat moved gently towards the shore. He loved this time alone. He
glimpsed a figure; there would be work tonight. His passenger boarded with a
coin and he turned the boat back, sailing another soul to their fate.
The Circus on the Hill
On certain cimmerian nights,
when the stars align, a circus comes to a long forgotten hill. Faint music
heralds its arrival, the treble trill of the calliope, mixed with mellow fiddles.
The tune is familiar, yet ancient, comforting, but daunting.
Radiance follows, a warm amber
glow that bathes the hill. It pulls the gaze, and you see the tents, all
crimson stripes and buff canvas, flags and banners, and silhouettes milling all
around. Then you hear laughter, the soft chime of bells, and the voices. Oh, those voices.
Sweetly they beckon, call
your name, but whatever you do, don’t
listen.
No comments:
Post a Comment