Long ago I started writing, I felt it was love at first sight, it didn’t matter that english wasn’t my native language or that I somehow found myself busy all the time. The few moments I could find to sit at my laptop and write were moments of true joy. Time passed and as I grew older I began estranging myself from those fairytale worlds I used to create. I found new passions, new goals (more mature ones as people would say) and forgot about my old dreams. One day I realised all the rush around me was too much to cope with and I needed an escape route and this is how my blog came to life. I decided I would write about anything, it didn’t matter how childish or at times immature it would sound and most certainly didn’t matter that the top best blogs out there are dealing with serious world issues or the recent celebrity gossip there is. My blog had to be mine and thats it, not chasing that magical number of thousands of views in my stats window.
So I began writing more and more and I got back to my oldest passion and for the last few months I’ve been working on a new project, it’s still small and in the process of making but I wanted you to have a sneak pick and tell me how you feel about it… 🙂
Here it is…..
The man in the cloak
It was a windy, misty night. The deep shadows of the dark had covered the village, sinking it in; only a few drops of restlessness were felt…the trees were whispering…
The darkness had taken over with the last lights on the streets being turned off. The woodlands near the village were different, grotesque like. There was something about it giving you shivers, you could almost feel an icy, deathly cold breath from the trees trying to overpower, beat you. Deep within the forest silence fell upon its inhabitants, scaring away any living creature that had failed to return home. There was no movement, not a single noise could be heard. It felt as if a musical ritual of some sort had been triggered but the notes, keys, sounds had vanished without trace.
The houses within had long ago fell asleep into a lethargic dream. Not a single ray of light glistened.
Suddenly, the road came to life and a cloaked figure emerged. It was barely visible, just a hint of movement could be felt, almost airy like. The blackness of the night was fighting to confine the new intruder, crash him, eat him up. But the figure didn’t stop, it seemed unaware of the surroundings, an inner force driving it through the sizeable nightmare it had sunken in. As the sounds of its approach got closer to the entrance into the village, the figure became more or less humane.
From the looks of it, it had to be an old man, he was walking slowly, carrying the weight of the years with him. His body was wasted by life, a high crooked back was arching from beneath that cloak. His feet were bare and bleeding, probably from the long journeys their master had undertaken in the upper lands. Deep, greedy breaths of air were scarring his lungs, betraying his old age and the long time he’d been on the road.
There was something strikingly magical about him, almost wizardly like, those type of fearless captures only the ones of Merlin had. But no, he was no wizard of the kind; a simple man drained off functions and emotions, he was seeking bed and food for the night.
The destiny had driven him into these distant lands for a reason and he had to fulfill it but first he needed to regain his powers…
Very soon he had reached the gate to the old village’s entrance and stopped to look around. His eyes were wondering prudently in the dimness of the night, searching for any sign that could betray life. But he was out of luck. Nothing had changed from the moment he made his appearance on the old farmer’s road…the same heavy silence, the same odd stillness. It was almost as if all humans had disappeared, abandoning their houses to dwell on in this mystery land, misleading wanderers like him.
For the first time this evening the man realized this village was no ordinary one, nothing about it resembled what he had seen before. It could have been the one people were forging legends about and if that was the case, he needed to find shelter immediately if he was to continue on his mission. He couldn’t risk it…not now when he was so close…
Without putting any thought into it, he reached out for the gate and knocked.
An instant terrifying echo was released in the air of the night. It had disturbed the silence so brutally that the whole sapling shivered. Pleads of cries were gathered from the trees, whilst the wind was fighting ferociously to overpower the intruding sound that had dared disturb the peace.
For an instant the fear of nobody answering to his plead of help made the man doubt his own decision to seek bed in these places. Suddenly, a heavy sound of a metal crook crashed into his ears. Slowly, very slowly, the binnacle on the gate opened. Two bright, almost glass-like eyes had emerged from behind the gate looking right at this sudden visitor.
– Who are you? What do you want at this late hour? asked a rugged, raspy voice, obviously not happy of this daring attempt to disturb his peace.
– Good evening to you, sir! My name is Silgrieve. I come from the upper lands looking for some rest and food. I’ve been wondering these roads for weeks now, trying to find a human settlement and this village is the only one I stumbled upon. I just need some rest and I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning before anyone is even awake.
A moment of silence followed. The gatekeeper was probably unsure if to let this stranger in or send him away.
Finally, a slow, harsh sound from the gate being unlocked had released the tension. The doors slid wide open and the old man blew out a sigh of relief.
“Good”, he thought to himself. “I should be safe in here for the night”.
The village itself was just as any other typical rural community one can imagine. Houses on both sides of the main road, surrounded by high, thick forests. It was clear enough they were as old as the ages. Poverty had left its mark on everything the eye could grasp. Small village homes, wrecked by storms and mold hadn’t been rebuilt in years and the roofs were on the bridge of collapsing. Here and there small torches were scattered recklessly, obviously a remainder from the ages of glory, when light used to burst proudly out of the thin crystal glass. Far in the distance there was a road sign, bent by the wind no doubt. It carried the name of this God-forgotten place: Lochdeer.
To be continued