This is where I publish a short story of mine to thank all of you for registering on my webpage and supporting The Blood Prophecy Series. Some of the short stories will be horror and some won't.
Hope you enjoy this month's horror story, Captives in the Garden. A story of how horror is all about the perspective of the beholder.
Hope you enjoy the stories as much as I do writing them.
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Some of the short stories will be horror and some won't.
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READER DISCRETION ADVISED, this may not be suitable for all audiences.
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CAPTIVES IN THE GARDEN
To whom it may concern,
We all had no choice but to stay huddled together tightly, soil binding us in place; there was no way to escape. The nights get cold in the early spring, and the days were getting longer as the hot sun progressed into summer. When the rain came, it would give us all some reprieve from the heat, even though rain storms were growing less and less as the season passed. Once the rains stop the bugs come, crawling all over us with no way to defend ourselves against them. As brutal as the conditions were, we did get water, and fed regularly. When the bugs got bad the hosing down with the slimy liquid came, making us all gag, but did get rid of the bugs. Keeping us as healthy as possible seemed to be the twisted goal of the captors who enslaved us. Just as we began to truly thrive, the next and worst torture commenced. The ground would shake when the giant beast came with her megalodon shears, sharp enough to shred through flesh with no resistance. The world would grow dark as the beast blocked out the sun, a great mountain hovering above us.
Rosemary suffered the least of these random dismemberments, I assumed it was due to her rather slow recovery. The terror of listening to her scream made me shiver. There was never any knowing which one of us would be next until the insidious deed was carried out. Just waiting for that hideous sound of the sharp, metal blade as it slices through our flesh is pure torcher. At times during an attack small pieces of our friend's flesh come raining down over us that became entangled around our legs with no way to remove it. These remains stayed lodged there for many sunrises before finally shriveling up into an unrecognizable heap. There was some solace in that it wouldn’t take long for the sticky sweet, pungent smell of rotting parts to dissipate, making these events slightly more bearable to endure.
Basil seemed to get the worst of these attacks. The beast would slice him and his brothers down just as they had all begun recovering from the last attack. Their screams were even worse than Rosemary’s. Sadly, it was their own fault for recovering so quickly making them prime again for another attack. The evil beast would carry bundles of our flesh away to a place I don’t know. What I do know is the pieces are never seen again.
Poor Sage, they let her heal for long periods before she’s attacked again. In some ways, this is worse since the beast would cut longer pieces from her body. She was much too proud to scream. But she could not stop from weeping a mournful cry that would break even the most hardened of hearts. Yet the beast has no heart as it continued with no regard to the horrible screaming that echoed for miles in the late afternoon breeze.
I still don’t know the name of the Italian family off to my right. They keep to themselves even at this proximity, but they too scream as loudly as the rest of us. Their fate was as bad as Sage’s; they were always attacked at the same time as Basil. Again, I believe it is due to how fast they recover. Being the tallest of all of us I have the highest perspective. I get to witness all the monstrous behavior done below me to everyone. Basil can’t see Rosemary from her line of vision. The same applied to Rosemary seeing Basil, giving them some relief from the carnage. I didn’t get that luxury, although I’m healing much slower since my last attack. I had started to feel weary of the constant cycle of misery.
A deep fear coursed through my veins that I would not survive the next attack. There was so little left of me already. Waiting and wondering is all I can do as the summer comes to an end, and the inevitable will arrive. At least the suffering will finally be over. If you’re reading this then I must be gone already. It’s not a bad thing, after all, I did manage to leave a few seeds behind. Knowing the next generation will keep our bloodline alive. Perhaps the treatment of our kind will improve in the future. I can only hope.
Third, terracotta pot from the left on the patio, two pots down from parsley, and chive.