Terror Tales

THE SLATWOOD BOX

Beneath the moon, beneath the stars and far below the ringing bells and gargoyle grins of Notre dame. There is within the catacombs that twist and turn beneath the arch of triumph, there deep beneath the Paris streets and far below the cities lights an old slat-wood box long forgotten by all that knew except by the one that mew. She was but small in frame, a fragile thing way too thin for life. She carefully lay her patchwork fur within the confines of the little box there among the dusty bone lined walls and waited for what was to come. Life or death, which one would win she did not know for she was weak in body but strong in heart.

Her life had once been one of dreams. She had not so long ago lived within a noble house, her days spent in the arms of a loving child and his family, and her nights warm and dry upon a downed feather bed. Her food was served in crystal bowls and with all of this and love there was nothing more she need. Her life was good and filled with purpose as every life should be. Her job had been an important one and she had done it with love and pride. She would wake the house in the mornings so they could all start their day. Then she would guard the house all the day till when she would then leave through the door her family made for her and walk along the broom swept streets to meet the child from school. Then safely guide him home again. Then each and every night she would lay upon her feathered bed and watch the child to sleep. Her life was filled, her days complete and everything was grand. Then there came a day unlike another, she walked the streets as times before to meet the little child but he was not there and so faithfully she sat and waited the remainder of the day, then finally when day was gone she went home alone. She lay at home upon her feather bed and waited for the child but when she woke he still was not there.

Then there came a bustling in her house, for several days on end. People screaming, people crying, and the child was still not home. Flowers came in boxes, flowers came in bunches, all the hours of the day, then as the day came to an end they carried in and lay a little box out upon the table within the window's bay. Cautiously she crept up close, cautiously she smelled, and then she jumped up to look inside and saw the little one lying there. Gently she climbed inside the little box and lay upon the child, sweetly rubbing his face with hers to say how she loved him so. Then the mother screamed and cried get her out of there. Oh my god she screamed as they grabbed her quick and threw her out the front door onto the pavement below. She dropped her head, they blamed her she thought, for not showing him the way home, maybe she was late that day, and maybe they were right? So she left the safety of her home and walked the savage streets, no longer did they seem so clean no longer did the world seem so right. Soon weeks had passed but still the tears came each and every day. She missed the child, she missed her home, and the family that she had. She was now on her own and all alone and her life it came apart. Her life was sad and she had no purpose no love or since of responsibility. So there she lay frailty abound within the little slat-wood box there in the darkness of the catacombs. She lay there purring, dreaming of lovely times, then as she gently closed her eyes and her final breath released, there came a light within the dark that shined upon the child's face smiling as he lift her from the slat-wood box and held her tight.

End

___________________________________________________________________________________-

This book is the work of fiction, any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictionally. Other characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by David Brown

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For Information address EBDB Books – Rights department 234 Dogwood Drive SE, Calhoun, Georgia 30701

www.authordavidmbrown.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available