Eye Of The Beast

Spoopy story. Should I keep going?

Forest, Western Europe, Approximately 2000 years ago

People. They're everywhere, hanging down from the trees with thick lengths of rope wrapped around their necks. People. Some alive, most dead, some screaming incoherently, as loudly as their obstructed airways allow, some grasping desperately at the air, at the rope, trying to free themselves. People. Most are hanging limp as sacks of potatoes. Some still have their eyes open. The ones that are struggling start to slow. The quiet shrieks and screams slowly stop. Gareth watches the life leave their eyes. All the death around him, and he is powerless to stop it. He tries to move but he can't. His body is limp and completely numb. He falls backwards, crashing to the ground like a pile of stones. All sensation has completely left him. As he falls, a jagged stone cuts into his arm, but there is no feeling. Above him, ropes start to sever. One by one, each body as limp as his own, they fall.

Thud

Thud

Thud

What is this horror? What are the people in power trying to do? Trying to torture him with the deaths of tens, if not hundreds, of innocent people? Was this all because of him? Because of the things he's done? His rebellious actions?

His gut wrenches and his skin crawls. Fear, panic and anxiety, his three closest acquaintances, circle in around him. Throughout his life, they've visited him again and again. They visited when he was forced to leave safety of the Wall. They visited when his older brother; the only person whom he's ever trusted in his entire life, was murdered before his eyes. They visited when he was held at knife-point, when he was ordered to execute an innocent and defenseless young woman just because someone had accused her of performing black magic.

His life is nothing now, crushed by the suffocating obligations of the nation. And it was all because of them. Suddenly a fire ignites deep inside him, and a powerful anger starts to grow, blossoming from all his pain and hatred and suffering. It feeds on all the negativity, pouring from the essence of his very soul. He starts to feel heat in his limbs again, and suddenly, a sharp pain pierces his arm. He is still bleeding, the sharp stone still stabbed through his skin, still embedded in his flesh. He's regained feeling, but he cannot yet move. People are still falling from the trees, just not as many now; most have already fallen.

He gets up, fury blazing in his eyes. The dark energy consumes him, makes him thirst for revenge on the people who did this to him, to everyone around him. And suddenly, with the energy of a dying star inside of him, he explodes, his soul scattering into hundreds of pieces.

____________________________________________________________

Western Canada, Present Day

The door slowly creaked open, revealing a staircase leading into a room so dark it seemed to be radiating black, misty tendrils that enveloped Chris. His hands trembling, he reached into his pocket and fumbled with his flashlight, almost dropping it into who knows what below. He switched it on.

The walls were a dark shade of mahogany, the paint cracking and peeling off in areas. The ceiling was black. Cobwebs had completely dominated any free space in the corners. They were so thick and numerous that they resembled a sort of curtain, if curtains were also inhabited by thousands of spiders.

The stairs seemed to have a wooden texture, though Chris couldn't be sure through the darkness and the thick layer of dust. Cautiously, he took his first step. Even though he had stepped lightly, the noise echoed off the walls and was amplified a hundredfold, sending spiders skittering above. He kept going, each step agonizingly louder than the last, until finally he reached the bottom.