Bygones
Moonchild
She was running, but her feet felt like they were trudging through quicksand, and she was going nowhere fast. The world around her was crumbling and the world beneath her was melting. Blood dripped down her cheeks, staining them like acid and tasting of venom. She peered behind her, but there was nothing. Nothing but blackness. What was she trying to get away from? Is it possible that she had forgotten because she had been running for so long? She comes to a halt, gathering her breath and watching the darkness of the world close in on her. Her name could be heard murmured, a cold, wicked, raspy voice that shook her spirit. She rises up to flee again, but when she looks down, she sees that her feet are chained to cinder blocks, and she is now submerged in a dark river of midnight. Water floods her lungs as she cries. She is not alone, there is a shadow in the water. Yes, she can see it. A face. A writhing, maggot-infested face. It lurches towards her, grabbing her, shaking her.
"You did this to me! You did this to me!" It screeches. “Sister, why have you forsaken me?”
Before she can respond, he vanishes in a cloud of soot and crimson, and she slowly begins to lose consciousness as she feels she is being carried to the other side.
Ida had stirred herself awake, or so she thought. Even the deepest, heaviest sleepers would be startled awake by the wailing coming from downstairs. Another nightmare. More disturbed, more real than the last. This had been going on for many nights.
She scoots down the side of the bed, peeling herself off her cold, sweat-soaked linens. "Brother...if this is you plaguing me from beyond the grave...Have mercy." She murmurs, her face buried in her hands. She can see pieces of dried blood jammed between her fingernails when she opens her eyes. Where did that come from? Perhaps it was the pig roast the night before? After all, the beast bled gallons. Yes, that was it.
She gets dressed and gathers her belongings, tallying her bottles and pills to make sure they were all there as they had spilled all over the floorboards when she passed out while clutching them in her hands. Walking past the room's window, she looks out to see the storm, which is almost as bad as it was the night before when they had stumbled across this place for the night. Then down the stairs, she goes, glancing towards the room down the hall from hers where Mike had most likely slept. He was an early riser so she was sure he was out and about doing something already.
She discovered the cause of the squealing to be the tenant's children butchering another piglet in the kitchen, not the children themselves.
“Good morning.” She remarks groggily, passing by the table where the tenant's wife was plucking a dead chicken. “Breakfast?”
“Mhm. Do you think youse two will be here long enough to join us?” She inquires.
"No, no. Mrs. Jones, I believe you have provided us with sufficient hospitality. We should be on our way. Speaking of which, have you seen my partner around?"
“I’m not sure I have. Perhaps out in the stables? He sure does have a knack for handling steer, I tell you, reminds me of Mr. Jones back in his day.”
“Yeah, he’s a cowpoke, that one.”
"You did this to me! You did this to me!" It screeches. “Sister, why have you forsaken me?”
Before she can respond, he vanishes in a cloud of soot and crimson, and she slowly begins to lose consciousness as she feels she is being carried to the other side.
-x-
Ida had stirred herself awake, or so she thought. Even the deepest, heaviest sleepers would be startled awake by the wailing coming from downstairs. Another nightmare. More disturbed, more real than the last. This had been going on for many nights.
She scoots down the side of the bed, peeling herself off her cold, sweat-soaked linens. "Brother...if this is you plaguing me from beyond the grave...Have mercy." She murmurs, her face buried in her hands. She can see pieces of dried blood jammed between her fingernails when she opens her eyes. Where did that come from? Perhaps it was the pig roast the night before? After all, the beast bled gallons. Yes, that was it.
She gets dressed and gathers her belongings, tallying her bottles and pills to make sure they were all there as they had spilled all over the floorboards when she passed out while clutching them in her hands. Walking past the room's window, she looks out to see the storm, which is almost as bad as it was the night before when they had stumbled across this place for the night. Then down the stairs, she goes, glancing towards the room down the hall from hers where Mike had most likely slept. He was an early riser so she was sure he was out and about doing something already.
She discovered the cause of the squealing to be the tenant's children butchering another piglet in the kitchen, not the children themselves.
“Good morning.” She remarks groggily, passing by the table where the tenant's wife was plucking a dead chicken. “Breakfast?”
“Mhm. Do you think youse two will be here long enough to join us?” She inquires.
"No, no. Mrs. Jones, I believe you have provided us with sufficient hospitality. We should be on our way. Speaking of which, have you seen my partner around?"
“I’m not sure I have. Perhaps out in the stables? He sure does have a knack for handling steer, I tell you, reminds me of Mr. Jones back in his day.”
“Yeah, he’s a cowpoke, that one.”