Author's Note:
Today's fiction is a horror story, so it takes a different tone from my previous stories. I hope you enjoy it.---
I entered the glade where stood the hangman's tree. Even the noon sun was afraid to look upon the ground here. The trees bore no leaves for a hundred feet around, and cast shadows which savored the death of light.
People like to think the murders here were justified; that those responsible for keeping us safe from murderous people are not simply murderous people hiding behind the light of rule. But it's hard to believe in the goodness of those who bring others here to die.
I sat on the dusty ground at the base of the tree, where the frayed edges of a fresh rope hung. On heavy branches nearby, ropes in various stages of decay hung, the nooses cut and bodies carried away. This glade of death disquiets people too much to spend time untying the rope when the deed is done. It takes the passion and indignation of fresh anger or raw hatred for most to enter here.
But not I.
The man most recently hanged here was the only one I've loved, the only one I will ever love. He stirred such feelings that I could bask in his presence and be sated, for the emotions he caused were so pleasing to me.
I heard a sound and turned. He stood there, or so the ghost of him did. I must admit my heart ached. A part of me wanted to stand and walk to him, to wrap him in my arms and thank him for every little thing he'd ever done. But the weight of the tree's sorrow held me down so I could not rise, even though my head felt light.
The thought was futile; my hands could not hold him, were I to try. Even my vision could scarcely hold the sight, so weak was the apparition's hold on the world. It began slowly to walk to me, and knelt beside me.
"You lied," he said in a voice so quiet, my ears barely sensed them.
"When did you ever catch me in a lie?" I asked. I could not help the smile slowly showing on my face.
"You said you loved me."
"You are the only one that was ever true of," I told him.
He sat next to me; that is to say, his legs turned to smoke and his body lowered until his eyes met mine. There was something strange about his gaze. I was not unfamiliar with the ghostly stare, so many have I seen. I tell you though, his eyes were wrong.
"You lied about me; you got me hanged."
I raised my hand to touch the chill air where his face seemed to be. I smiled softly and turned my head gently, as though for a kiss.
"My dearest love, you had changed."
"For you! I became a better man, for you!"
I grinned. I touched the rope-laden tree. I could feel the power of pain, the passion of anger, the strength of hate, humming under its bark. I tapped my finger three times on the bark. There was a spark there.
"My dear man. I loved you for the pain you caused. I loved you for the hatred you brought forth.”
I leaned forward to whisper to him, “You fed me, my dear. You have no idea who you're dealing with.”
The ghostly form put its hand on mine. A chill flowed through me. The spark from the tree grew to a tiny lightning bolt which arced from the tree, through my hand and onto his form.
He leaned in, his form to kiss me. Cold lips seemed to touch mine; electricity rushed through us and ran along my lips.
"My dear," his voice rang in my ears, "Neither do you."
The power from the tree rushed through me, that passion once again filling my body and singing me back to health. His cold lips, his icy touch dissipated and let the coldness linger on me.
When the little lightning died, I looked at my grove of death. I may have a place I sleep for the sake of appearance, but this is my true home, for this is where darkness fulfills itself.
---
Author's Note:
This feels less like a complete story and more like a scene in a book. I think I know why: I left story hanging, partly because I tried to fit too much in. However, I enjoy the story and the writing I did. And who knows, I may revisit this story in future posts.
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