Haunted Moon

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Hi folks! I haven’t posted in a while so I thought I would give you something new for Halloween – or All Hallow’s Eve, depending on where you live.

Before I give you the haunted short you might want to read Bloody Maples first. It would explain the first few lines of this short. Otherwise it can be understood as it.

One other thing before I bid you Happy Reading, By tomorrow I should have a brand new book for you to read – the year long project,  Fall From Grace.

Without further ado I give you Haunted Moon, as always Happy Reading and feel free to leave me your reviews!

As the other ghosts flew this way and that, the male ghost that spoke to Milady bowed deeply through rotting flesh and translucent skin, before disappearing in a wink. His dark hat and pants were nothing more than a shadow upon the wind.

 
As the moon rose ever higher in the sky, the man settled in front of a simple wooden door. Brimstone eyes glowed with malice as the specter of Father George misted through the flimsy barrier. Inside lay the modern incarnation of his torment. As his brimstone gaze scorched the door Father George ran a foggy hand over the cross that was embedded upon it.

 
Father Georges’ eyes burned brighter than the salt lamp next to the bed. The figure in the bed shivered under the thick, down comforter. “Awake from thy sinful rest,” Father George commanded in a whisper.

 
The figure in the bed rolled on its back to reveal the scruffy features of an lanky, unshaven man. “Who are you,” he quivered at the spectre.

 
“Do thine eyes not recognize the damnation your kin bestowed,” Father George asked quaintly.

 
“Your sins are well known,” whispered the man in the bed.

 
Father George chuckled as the wooden walls behind the bed turned into a wooden stage with nooses blowing in the wind. “I died sinless,” he whispered sinisterly.

 
As Father George’s words faded the man in the bed rose limply into the air. “What’s happening,” he whispered shakily.

 
“Perhaps you should pray,” Father George whispered vengefully as he began to move his rotten flesh covered jaw soundlessly.

 
As Father George’s jaw moved, the floating man shakily uttered, “ Our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done even in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory for ever. Amen.”

 
As the last word uttered from the floating man’s mouth, his head managed to get lodged in the noose on the wall. “Have Mercy,” the floating man pleaded as water brimmed his eyelids.

 
“Mercy,” Father George chuckled, “Your own ancestors condemned me to death without mercy though I had more faith than they. Why should I show you any,” Father George sneered as the noose began to tighten around the man’s neck.

 
“The state cleared you,” the now sweaty, white faced man puffed out as the pressure began to cut into his air supply.

 
“To white wash their own history, but never true penitence did they have,” Father George cackled.

 
As the noose dug into the soft flesh of his neck and his face began to turn red, the man gasped, “Don’t let vengeance ruin the only chance you have for God’s redemption!”

 
Father George’s pale, tattered clothes glowed sharply before he bellowed, “God! Let me tell you about God. He doesn’t care. Not in your world or mine. When you die there are only spirits that await you,” Father George finished cruelly.

 
“I don’t believe that,” the man gasped as sweat rolled down his bright red face.

 
“Believe what you will, but me and mine are the fate that await you when you die,” Father George nonchalantly informed.

 
“No,” the man denied as horror crossed his face.

 
Father nodded with a toothy, skeletal smile; all the while he was slowly tightening the noose around the man’s neck.

 
“Leave, you vile worshiper of Satan,” the man commanded as his eyes bulged.

 
Father George cackled at the audacity of the man before commenting, “He doesn’t care either.”

 
As the man’s panting became shallower and the iris’ of his eyes cloudy and blood shot, a bone white figure appeared next to Father George. The man’s eyes darted to the newcomer and begged, “What devil has come to save me?”

 
“I am no devil sir, though the men of your era would label me as such. My name is Vlad Dracul and my only duty here is to remind Father George that he can’t have your soul just yet.”

 
The man gasped as his hands reached up to his neck trying to loosen the noose.

 
Father George turned to Vlad and mournfully sighed, “You are right Milord, though that doesn’t mean I can’t leave him with a little reminder of this visit,” Father George sneered as he snapped his fingers; with nothing more than a leer Father George and Vlad disappeared into the night.

 
With that snap the man fell to his bed gasping for air; his hands around his throat and the shrill cackle of Father George’s warning in his ears. Shaking the man fell out of bed tangled in his covers. Once he managed to rise, he stumbled to his bathroom and turned the lights on. Gazing into the mirror he saw bright red rope marks burned into his skin.

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Bar Limbo

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I ran accross a Halloween writing prompt. Let’s just say that it was fun. I may have to turn the piece into something longer. I have tentatively titled the piece BAR LIMBO.

As always feel free to leave your feedback and

HAPPY READING!

BAR LIMBO

“It’s almost time,” said a transparent, portly figure in a three piece, striped suit. His hair was slicked back on his head while a dark scar provided contrast to his pasty pallor. A half-smoked cigarette hung from his mouth.

“Of course it is Mr. Capone. It happens annually,” a female in a burgundy and gold mediaeval dress dryly implied. Her hands were covered in heavy gold gloves.
“It’s All Hallow’s Eve, Countess. A rock of ages such as yourself should be walking in full munitions with the air breathers,” Capone finished with a leer.

“Mr. Capone, I will not dally amongst those plebeians,” the Countess finished imperiously.

“Hey Al! You gonna peek in on the bone bags next week,” a pale figure wearing board shorts and a bright floral print shirt shouted from across the hazy room.

Al Capone smirked as he replied, “Yeah. Gotta make sure the girl hasn’t turned into a clothesline. Make sure the entire family is taken care.”

The countess next to Al sniffed daintily, as though she smelled something rotten. “You don’t like Old Donn, do ya Milady?”

The countess sniffed disdainfully before replying, “Mr. Capone, I barely tolerate you. As for Mr. Beach, let us say that a mead brewer has no place in this society,” the countess finished with a dark curl to her lips.

“You do realize that before Old Donn joined us he had a fortune to rival yours. Besides where would you go to get your Bloody Tiki’s,” Al asked the countess snidely.

“I suppose he does have his uses,” the Countess consented.

“You’re a real dame, you know that,” Al sarcastically replied.

The Countess rolled her eyes. “Mr. Capone I am the Countess Bathory and you will treat me with the respect due my rank,” she commanded sharply.

“Loosen ya girdle. You ain’t alive anymore Countess.

“That air breathin’ family of yours might be, but you ain’t. You don’t have rank in this world,” Al harshly informed.

Countess Bathory took a deep breath as her dark eyes blazed, “Mr. Capone that is one insult too far. You will apologize or face someone who has greater power in our world than you could ever dream of have when last you felt the sunshine on your pasty skin,” she threatened.

“Ya girdle’s too tight,” Al sneered.

Countess Bathory trembled at this outrage. When she opened her pale lips another voice spoke, “Mr. Capone. We’ve had this conversation before. You are not to upset those of us who are of a different view than you. I would hate to be forced to take action for this so close to All Hallow’s Eve.”

The person who spoke paler by ten shades than the Countess although he was just as transparent. On his head was a bejeweled and fur crown over long dark hair. His features were narrow and he radiated cold.

“Impaler Lord, nice of you to join us,” Al greeted with a wince.

“We had an agreement, Mr. Capone,” the Impaler Lord softly intimated as his eyes glowed red from the low light in the bar.

“Impaler Lord, the dame was sneering down her nose at Old Donn. She enjoys his product as much as the rest of us,” Al reasoned.

The Impaler Lord curled his lips at Al, “I sincerely doubt that the Countess said a harsh word towards the brewer, Mr. Capone. Even if she had, you are not the one to call a superior on their actions. This is the way things have been since we ghosts started crossing the barriers,” the Impaler Lord softly thundered.
Al scrunched his portly features in vexation. Without saying another word Al faded from view leaving a red glow behind.

“Pitiful man,” Countess Bathory whispered disdainfully while the Impaler Lord chuckled.

“True Countess. But he did make a valid point,” the Impaler Lord pointedly stated.

“What, pray tell, was that,” Countess Bathory sniffed.

“Twill be All Hallow’s Eve soon. You have fresh blood you should check on,” he quietly stated.

The Countess quietly shook her noble head as she answered, “They have forgotten my name and blood. Never did they try to regain what was taken. ‘Tis best to leave them to their own devices on this holiday.”

“Here you are Countess,” a cheery voice announced as he walked up to the table that both renowned figures had taken after Al left the bar.

Old Donn had left his place at the bar and neatly placed a bloody drink in front of the her on an embroidered silk napkin. Donn placed the same drink in front of the Impaler Lord.

The Countess nodded her in thanks as Donn walked away. “Our world is depressing Countess. We only get one time a year to cross freely. You should take advantage of it,” the Impaler Lord tried again.

“Milord, in your lifetime you were a well known prince of men. You ruled effectively and while circumstances decreed that times were harsh you are not remembered as a man who ended hunger for a time. All you are thought of today is as a ruthless tyrant who craved blood as Vlad Dracul, Prince of Transylvania.

“Me, they call the Blood Countess. None of them know of the plagues and famine I faced, instead they know me on trumped up charges of torture and murder.

“What have they given us to go back to,” Countess Bathory demanded as she grabbed her drink.

“So much hatred and you don’t even raise your voice. What intrigues are you plotting Countess,” Vlad enquired.

“Intrigues, Milord? I have no considerations for the world of flesh and bone,” she quietly stated.

“Seeing the sights of the Old World doesn’t interest you,” Vlad tried again.

“Nay. The sweet winds of my youth left me long ago,” Countess Bathory confirmed.

“Countess, we both come from a darker age where intrigues were easier to hide,” Vlad insinuated.

Countess Bathory pursed her lips as she thought. Letting out a ghostly breath she replied, “The church in Annaberg is holding a masquerade is to be held on the night of All Hallow’s Eve. In my youth it was lovely this time of year, surely it still must be,” the Countess answered wistfully.

“Indeed,” Vlad asked with a raised eyebrow.

The Countess confirmed with a nod of her head.

Vlad’s red eyes glowed brightly as he queried, “Would you be in need of an escort for such an occasion?”

Countess Bathory coyly smiled at the ancient prince as she bowed her head and said, “‘Twould be a shame for me to attend the event unaccompanied.”

“In that case will you allow myself to escort you to the masquerade under the glow of the moon?”

Countess Bathory nodded her head regally as she sipped from her drink.

Vlad raised his glass and toasted, “To All Hallow’s Eve, Milady. An evening sure to filled with dancing under a carpet of stars enhanced only by the beauty of a moonlit path.”