Short Horror Stories

The Darkest Hour

Merry Christmas, Minions, and happy spooky reading!

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HRH

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Mary Glanvill gazed through her tears, through the blood and through the smoke.

She tilted her head of auburn hair back against the pillar she was tied to and stared up into an angry sky. Rain fell down, pattering and splashing soothingly over her cheeks.

She didn't flinch when the cold droplets struck her. The flames building upwards toward her sore and battered body would make everything else seem irrelevant, she knew.

People were burned at the stake all the time these days. She herself had witnessed an unfortunate number of public executions. When she'd been a little girl the screams of the burning had haunted her night and day.

Now here she was, about to die. Another meaningless causality in the war against Satan.

Would that Satan appeared before her now, she'd have a thing or two to say to him.

Would that God Himself deigned come down to save her from her acrid fate. Since this was at least partially the Almighty's fault.

Almighty, her arse.

Mary Glanvill had been a devout woman all her life. She'd done nothing to deserve this. She'd never committed any major sin that she could recall and the little ones she had repented for. She'd honored her parents, she'd been compassionate towards others; she stood up for what was right when she could. She didn't steal or inflict violence, rarely swore or lied. Never committed adultery. Which was more than she could say for a large number of the faces in the...audience.

Half of her village was gathered in the town square today to watch her burn.

They cheered and clamored for it; hurled bits of vegetables at her, mud and rotten fruit. They hurled unkind words. They said she would burn forever in the Underworld, as one of Satan's sluts.

Would it really be worse than living another day with these filthy hypocrites? Than living as a wretched creature of God for another shitting day?

Mary could feel the warmth of the flames on her legs now and she squirmed in discomfort. She closed her eyes as more helpless tears slipped out.

Mary had never worshipped the Devil, as she had been accused of doing.

Maybe she bloody should have.

'Please,' she sent out a little prayer, whispered from the darkest room in her soul, 'please save me. I'll give you anything, just please save me.'

There was a clap of thunder and the whole world went dark for a moment.

Mary Glanvill opened her eyes and blinked. Things were still dark. All she could see was smoke drifting close to her face, charcoal gray. The fire had gone out.

Her arms fell free as her bonds came undone.

She gasped softly, straining to see through the smoke.

Light from a cloudy Heavens slowly filtered back and she gasped again at what she saw.

Everyone who stood in the village square was now on the ground, dead. Blood ran from their noses, faces pale and frozen, as if in shock.

They hadn't thought the execution they'd gathered for would be theirs.

Mary lifted her eyes and saw a flicker of orange in the distance. The more she looked around the more of this flickering light she noticed.

The whole village was on fire around her.

"When you said you'd give me anything," said a voice, a man's voice. Mary's blue eyes fastened on the figure walking towards her out of the smoke. He was the only other person besides her that was alive in this godforsaken village. The man was wearing a long black cloak and she couldn't make out the features of his face clearly. He stopped before her funeral pyre and smiled up at her. "Did you mean it?"

Mary licked her dry lips. "You saved me?"

The man spread his arms. "You called. I answered. Did you mean it? Anything?"

Mary gazed into his eyes but for the life of her she couldn't tell what color they were. He was the most nondescript person she had ever seen. "You want my soul? Are you Satan, then?"

Another smile. "I have no name, though people try to give me many. I want nothing from you, but your hand." He extended his own up to her. "Walk with me, Mary Glanvill, walk with me into the dark and let me show you all the things you've always secretly wanted to see."

Mary reached out to take his hand, letting the stranger with no name help her down off the pile of burnt sticks that was meant to be her funeral pyre.

Not today, God, she thought. Not today.

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