At the very terminus of the wheat field, stands a tall mansion with a majestic clock tower standing above it. The clock tower is its outpost. It is the mansion's last and most trusted companion. And the man that is held captive by the Clock Tower wi...
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by Joseph Bedford Duncan
Once upon a November night, a crow from the farthest depths of the forest landed on the edge of a departed tree; it's delicate and antiquated twigs, manifesting that of its hapless demise. The crow calls to one of his mates, in hopes of having company, but his fellow crows were nowhere to be found. Thus, he remained alone, crying out for salvation. He struggles to stay still as the wind truculently crashes against him.
The dense clouds separate to reveal the eye of the empyrean. There it sat on its throne, illuminating the impoverished countryside with all its glory.
At the very terminus of the wheat field, stood a tall mansion with a majestic clock tower standing above it. The clock tower was its outpost. It was the mansion's last and most trusted companion.
Below the clock tower was a tall window that stood boldly afore the eye. Obnubilating behind the window was an upright ebony piano alongside it a fine rosewood stool that sat tranquilly in the dark. The scene was impeccably serene.
It wasn't until I had opened the chamber door that the serenity had died. Suddenly, the cry of a perfidious night dweller echoed from the horizon! The vile creature flew in the chamber, soaring frantically as the thunder clashed triumphantly. Then came forth its descent onto the old grandfather. And there it was, standing on the top of the tower. Its blood red gaze was horrendous. Red was the color of its eyes. The devil's color. It pierced my mortal coil all the way down to my very soul. However, I could not help but notice that eye of the empyrean staring down at me as if it were ignominious of my existence. Alas, I could no longer repent; my sins were no longer forgivable.
I could not succumb to my one and only true God; therefore, I disregarded His presence. Instead I fixated on my new God: music. The moment emanated from when my fingers touched the first notes; the first melody was born. The rest were anon yet to follow, but this was only the beginning. Melancholy became its atmosphere and its guide. It was the vital instrument that maintained the orchestra.
Upon reaching the highest note, a clash of vicious thunder roared from above the mountains. Perturbed by the vile sounds, the grotesque night dweller flew away from the old Grandfather, soaring frantically once more. I gazed up at the frantic creature as it made its final descent onto the edge of the piano. The old Grandfather chimed and its pendulum swung. The hour hand struck two. The creature hooted as it turned its eyes to mine. Now it was time for my blissful slumber.
I arose powerless and weary. I seized a lantern from the night stand and lit it. Ambulating across the corridor, nostalgic portraits began to emerge from the astronomical abyss, past recollections that I could not conceive were now reanimated. Revitalized to haunt me once more. The worst was yet to come. Further down the hall, the ostensibly fine and furnished wallpaper started to dramatically peel away. Portraits dangled and glass frames shattered. Unfamiliar portraits manifesting demon macabre and the voices those who stand watch. But there was one voice that called to me; its phantom cry echoed across the hall. Signs emerged from the walls, admonishing me of my impending doom. I wanted to be sure, because only words can veil the true meaning of such horrors. The designations brought me more proximate to it. I was now further and further into the abyss. I can feel them now. I can feel it! I can feel it coursing through my veins! I can feel the ebony silk wrapping itself around me. It was all too extravagant to resist. I could do nothing, but succumb to its malevolent presence. Could this be my final hour? Is this the end? I shut my eyes in disbelief. It was time for me to meet my maker.
It wasn't until then that salvation had answered. Ah, is that what it all culminates to? Hoisting the lantern above my head, two sets of doors appeared afore me. Forthwith came a dreadful cry from beyond. I turned to discern afore its source. Then silence prevailed unexpectedly. All I could do was postulate that it was an enigmatic delusion. I turned back to face the set of doors and attempted to open the one on the right. Alas, it did not have a knob. I turned back to visually examine the door on the left. A splendid doorknob specially designed for me. Every immaculate detail gloriously illuminated. Every arch and core resembled that of an exquisite ruby, one that sparkled at every angle and dimension. Each dimension had different calibers of light reflecting upon each and every one of them. But if you look in the right angles, you'll descry a pentagram being composed. What could this mean? What horrors lay ahead? Who or what is lurking in the halls? Quivering, I could not help, but succumb to temptation.
I held the knob firmly, carefully twisting it and cautiously opening the door. The door creaked intensely, then an instant and unfamiliar martyr appeared afore me. What seemed to be a fossil was instead a relic that has been forsook for a millennia. The canopy veils the relic from its trespassers. Light fog filled the room with despair; the inevitability of it all crawling upon my skin. Yes, this was so; the lamentable culmination of her adversity to entropy itself. There she was, desolate in the comfort of her own deathbed. She was already gone, but the remaining flesh was opulent in soul. Kneeling afore her bedside, I held her still warm hand, gazing upon her blank visage. The trauma did not sanction to weep and mourn, but to accept the foreordained. How I wished she was still here alongside me, to express her final words and hear my farewell, but she was far, far away from here. Perhaps she is in an infinitely better place, but the thought is fleeting in the face of the deepening chasm in my heart. All I know is that I still remain, and that I at this weakening hour have never felt further from home.
