This is my first blog entry, still not really that sure if I like the idea of blogging or not (i'm a private person and sharing my work doesn't come easily but it'll probs get easier as I go along) hmmm well, I thought I'd put up a story from this week's writing group to start off with and see where it goes from there. I apologise in advance for the grammar and style; it may be a little crooked. It's the urban legend thing, though I put my own spin on it because I couldn't think of an urban legend lol.
A Warning to Children on this Special Night:
You may hear it tonight, for tonight is it's special night, when it walks the Old Ways in a rage, remembering the past but not the reason why. You may be lying awake, thinking of it and the tales you have heard of times long gone, or you may be sleeping and wake confused and muddled, wondering what has disturbed you. In the silence you might hear the creak of wicker and a sound like someone walking on your lawn, their feet gently crushing the grass. But I warn you do not look, I beg you do not look!
Though if you choose not to heed this advice and cannot help yourselves, for I do know that curiosity is a powerful force, you may decide to peer out into the night; to satisfy your curious spirit. You might push your covers quietly back and creep ever so quietly to your window, pulling back the curtain only a crack, only a crack mind you, and stare out into the night.
If the sky is clouded but the moon is bright you may see something, an apparition with what appears to be two long blades or pillars rising from it's head, which twitch and sway as though alive, moving with no regard for the wind's direction. You may see a flash of silver in the shadows or a slight liquid gleam that the darkness seems to run across like oil. If the moon is full though you may see a great figure, wild and furred, standing on your lawn, or lingering in the bushes, or poised among your flower beds. If you see it you might just see the gleam of silver in it's clawed hand or the long trailing bow, which is blue supposedly in the daylight, around its neck. The creak of wicker might come again and you will realise, perhaps, that it carries a wicker basket on its arm, the kind old ladies might use to carry their shopping. However if the night is stormy or the moon is new you may see nothing at all, and so you'll probably let the fabric fall and crawl wearily back to bed and fall asleep, if you saw something it will have vanished in an instant and so you might believe it was a dream, a remnant of the tales you heard in the day.
If you looked at it, it will have seen you, or sensed you. You are safe though, you are inside and it will not cross the threshold. It will have been angered by your insolence, by your presence because it stirs memories it cannot truly understand, disturbs old feelings that it finds it cannot comprehend any longer even though it knows it should. But it cannot reach you...if you were outside it would be a different matter entirely...
Tomorrow you might go out and search the lawn, or the bushes, or the flower beds, looking for indentations or tracks in the soil and grass. You may find something, a print of a paw, or a scattering of tiny golden eggs, though your mind may refuse to believe it, or you may find nothing and so laugh or shake your head at your foolishness, at your fear, and even at this warning. But I tell you now, dismiss this at your peril.