Thursday, 30 June 2011

The Highest Dry

Ron Koppelberger
The Highest Dry
A resonant scream echoed near the base of the hill. “Heed my call oh ye who would have my soul fer yer supper!” Forcefully, the man moved upward picking his way through the stones and boulders scattered along the path.
Several days passed and the man found himself halfway there, the valley lay far below and the sea stretched away endlessly toward the horizon. He rested and listened, a voice sang in grumbles, “If yer passing my realm, yer to be my slave in blood, I’ll drain yer spirit and break yer bones, by the depth of the secret pond you’ll bath in my eyes and shadow!”
The mans expression was stone and determination he would charge the demon and climb the pinnacle at the apex of the hill.
The monster cooed, “ Yer to be here forever human, forever and a day, forever!” The man moved forward and up toward the summit. Once at the peak he surveyed the secret pond that lay in the uppermost crest of the hill.
The monster sat on its haunches, on a precipice near the center of the pond. “Come to me!” it hissed blood bubbling from its fanged maw.
The man rested and broke bread near the waters edge. “ There’s a destiny fer ye to follow.” The beast coaxed. ‘ Come to the ledge, swim over here the water is cool and life giving!” The man ignored the creatures request.
“ I’ll throw the bones of my enemy into the pond.” the man said as he dumped a sack full of bones into the small lake. The creature stood on the upraised island near the center. “Yer to fulfill the prophecy with the drink, drink of the well, drink of the water, drink of the lake man!” The man paused for a moment and turned away leaving. “I’ll not humor your command beast, for you are surrounded by the bones of those who have lost, the water is tainted by that blood!”
The creature watched the man leave, its burden eternal and it’s fate the highest dry. The temptation to drink the water forever in its consciousness. Unable to drink or cross the pond the beast accepted its fate as it waited for the well to run dry.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011

Eyes of Blood

Ron Koppelberger
Eyes of Blood
The horrors of ethereal moments borne in scarlet betrothal were evoked and initiated by the ivory wedding gown and the grooms neat attire; in contrast it was their eyes, blood red with streaks of crimson rolling down sallow sunken cheeks and drizzling onto her gown in slashes of color. The red adorned his silk white tuxedo in horrible smears.
They were barely alive by any measure, metal frameworks held them in an upright standing position before the alter, the muscles in their legs had given out weeks earlier, now they stood poised by braces in troth, side by side eternally, vowing the bond. Their hands were wired together a bridge of clasped caress signifying their love.
The priest was insane, he had drugged the couple and wired them into a parody of marriage. They still bled, nearly finished with life and they still bled. The mad priest had cut tiny incisions into their eyes and they had bled.
In the end the police came to the abandoned church the crazed priest had moved into. He had screamed, “Redemption, the marriage of demons and angels!” he had flailed his arms and ran at the officers. They resolved the priests wild mania with several shots to the chest. He collapsed and died immediately and in the aftermath they discovered the nearly dead couple, emaciated and bleeding near the alter.
Several years later the couple divorced seeing each other only once more in the following twenty years. They would nod shyly and commit to questions of health and the weather, lastly they embraced and moved on leaving the horror behind.