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2006-01-18 Burning Inside: wow bravo I like the set up, its really good 2006-01-18 Mister Saint: ^_^! I hope I got the right kind of fear that you were looking for. o.o 2006-01-18 Burning Inside: yes it was mostly, I wasn't really expecting to have fear based on like almost dieing and all of that during the story, but it still did what i asked[Mister Saint]: 79.Contest Entries.Sociop
Rating: 0.00 Uploaded by: Created: 2006-01-17 11:02:36Keywords:
"My name, my name is Ingot. I-I-I come, I come from... where... Tellin-Sur. My parents... my father... he was so greedy. He was, so, so... greedy that he named... named me for a coin..."
The ramblings of a particularly frail-looking blonde woman lifted gently upwards upon the mountain breeze, its whimpering tone dispersing within the ever-present mists that blanketed this old temple. Tumbling over the precipice outside of her father's castle had jarred her brain, knocked the memory cleanly out of her mind. It hadn't been her fault, exactly; she had only meant to shove him over. Her father Diamus had not fared as well as she, but... things didn't go like she had hoped. Like the greedy bastard that he was, Diamus had snatched the edge of Ingot's skirt, his big fist dragging the vengeful daughter down with him, down into the stinking abyss of her family's centuries-old mausoleum at the base of the cliff.
Ingot listened to her voice bouncing madly along the hollow walls of this house of the dead, trying to let its withering fade distract her from the fact that her left leg was probably broken. Tried to let it take her mind off of her father's corpse hanging high above, caught on a sharp outcropping of rock that caused him to dangle precariously, swaying back and forth. Locals had always said that Diamus had sold his soul to a demon to earn his fortune... for a fleeting second, Ingot thought that she could see his legs moving, struggling to get free. Or had it been the wind, pushing his limp form against its perch?
"I am, I am Ingot," the wild-eyed blonde reminded herself again, as she began to drag herself along the pitted stone of the mausoleum floor. The sunset winds howled along the towering walls of the structure, whistling, a high keening that played havoc with the wounded girl inside. "Gods, please," she whispered, "have mercy, please get me out of this place." The keening rose, strengthened as if in response, and in a dawning moment of terror she realized that she had become a murderess. No god would look down upon her with pity, only the caught-open eyes of Diamus stared down upon her, watching every move she made. The stairwell at the end of the passage seemed so far away, but Ingot pulled herself on, hand over hand, willing herself to not look into those eyes. "You sold your soul," she muttered, "a demon dwells in you. I cannot look! I cannot look..."
But as the keening sheared away her resolve, her eyes darted back and forth, again and again, stealing glimpses at the macabre half-smile upon Diamus's dead face. The wind roared all around, mists blanketed the enigmatic sky, but still she struggled on. "Hand over hand, hand..."
Ingot froze where she lay, eyes glazing over from the pain in her body. She fancied that the wind's howl was not the wind's, but the devils of the night calling for her father's immortal soul. But the howl changed. The keening died, but that whistle, that infernal whistle, remained. Calling for her. Screaming for her.
"Ingot," it seemed to say, "Ingot, killer, Ingot."
"No, no! I'm not like him! I won't have you!" The vindictive daughter spun, wrenching her leg in the movement and screaming out, a wail of pure fear more than of pain. The mists obscured Diamus's body, but she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was watching, laughing at her pain, laughing at the way she scrabbled over stone to escape her own stupidity. "Shut up! Shut up!" Her hands rose to her ears, covering them, but the howling whistle rang still in her mind, shrieking like a doomed banshee over every conscious thought she could manage.
"Ingot, killer, Ingot."
Panic choked her lungs, murdered her senses. The mists suffocated her, stole her breath, and still the wind howled its vile allegation.
"Ingot, Ingot..."
"No, shut up! Shut up shut up...! I killed him, I did, but you will never have me!" The terrified woman thrashed at the mists around her, arms beating against something solid, legs kicking against the devils that had gotten her. Their hands clasped around her arms, dragging her up, their breath hot on the back of her neck, fangs bared, hellfire all around...
"Ingot, Ingot...! Ingot, stop fighting me, girl! Eric, hold her down!"
Eric, son of Diamus, pushed down against his sister's insane strength with all of his might, but her nails dug deep, and her screams tore at his eardrums until he felt he would rather strike her unconscious than hold her. He turned his head to his uncle Marcus, who had come along with him to investigate the wailing cries coming up from behind the old castle.
"What is she talking about, killed him?" asked the farm boy of his uncle. Marcus's attention, though, belonged to a sharp outcropping of rock jutting out from the wall several yards down. The broken tip of the rock lay splintered at the bottom of the precipice. The body of Diamus lay with it, eyes wide, mouth partly open in a raving madman's grin.
"Ingot... what have you done...?"