The Monster of the Moor

Frank and Mabel bought a new manor house out on the creepy moor. What could go wrong?

A heavy fog had settled upon the plains, filling every low slope and valley. The moon was hidden behind a shifting, oily film of cloud, obscured from sight. The wild animals of the moor hid themselves in hollow logs and thick bushes, whimpering, the damp air clinging to their fur, chilling and relentless.

            Mabel let go of the window drape. “Thank God we’re inside tonight,” she said to her husband, Frank. “It’s like the setting of a horror movie out there. I swear that I can almost hear the moor animals whimpering.”

            Frank took a long sip of decaffeinated coffee. Bits of brown liquid dripped from his moustache as he pulled the cup away.

            “Indeed,” he said, glad he was there to grace the home with his immeasurable wisdom.

            His wife took a seat next to him on the sofa and pulled out her knitting needles.

            “I don’t know about this, Frank,” she said. “I know we wanted to move to the country, but when an old man with a tinfoil hat runs up to you in the grocery store and offers a manor out on the remote moor for an unreasonably cheap price, shouldn’t you have at least asked his name before purchasing?”

            Frank coughed indignantly. “Hrmpph. Nonsense. Nonsense, just like that mysterious gypsy woman’s vague warning about angry spirits and vengeance. This house is wonderful, roomy, furnished, fully staffed with several creepy butlers, and full of opportunity.”

            “I don’t know, Frank,” she muttered, looking down at her half-finished sweater.

            Suddenly there was a loud, irregular, unnatural banging at the door.

            “I’ll get it,” Mabel offered, setting aside her needles, but her husband grabbed her and stood up, terror etched on his face.

            “No!” he hissed, starting to back up towards the staircase. “Not this! Not again! It’s found me!”

            Whatever was at the door pounded on it again. Mabel backed away, terrified and confused. “What? Who? Frank, who’s found you?”

            Frank grabbed her roughly and stared at her with white eyes.

            “The plot!”

            The front door burst into fragments of wood, splinters flying everywhere, like a bomb had gone off. Both Mabel and Frank were knocked back, shielding their eyes and faces from the debris. When they dared to look, they saw it.

            The plot was a twisted, three-footed monster that kept shifting in and out of focus. This affront to nature, this damned slice of creation had long ago given up whatever originality and compelling nature it may once have had. Now it was a dead shell of everything decent in the world, with bits of other, better stories, twisted and decaying, falling from the abomination with each step. It was too complex for the human mind to understand. It could only elicit one emotion from those who bore witness to it: revulsion. Rolling eyes wandering around the hallway before fixing upon Mabel and Frank. It lurched at an uneven pace towards them, wandering left, teetering right, ravenous and incomprehensible.

            Frank pulled his wife, petrified with fear, to the staircase.

            “RUN!”

            They dashed upstairs, hearing the plot’s mad huffing and howling and the shattering of objects as it tried to follow. Neither tried to look back. They ran and ran until they entered the guest room at the far end of the house. Frank and Mabel hid in the closet and shut the door.

            “Don’t think we’re safe yet,” he told her. “That thing is slow-paced, but relentless.”

            “What should we do?” she asked. “Should we make a break for the car?”

            Frank shook his head in the darkness. “No, no, it’s too smart for that. But…”

            “But what?”

            “It does seem highly predictable. Perhaps, if we cause a diversion, we could outsmart it.”

            They crept down the hallway and peered from the top of the staircase, where the plot was still sniffing around the front door. It was waiting for them.

            “Look!” Frank shouted, pointing towards the kitchen. “That estranged son is desperately trying to connect with his work-focused father!”

            The plot swung towards the kitchen, drool running from its razor-sharp teeth.

            Frank and Mabel made a break for it.

            Even halfway down the stairs, they could hear the beast changing direction to charge at them. The world seemed to slow down. Every step, every heartbeat, took an eternity to pass. Mabel only remembered rushing through the hole where the front door had stood, the thick fog pressing against her face, the form of their car, the sound of Frank desperately reaching out with the keys…

            She felt the creature seize her by the leg and yank her backwards.

            “Run, Frank! Run! Keep going! I.. love…”

            She was enveloped by the plot, as it thickened around her, smothering and devouring her.

            The last sound she heard was the engine of the car starting up and running away.

            He had made it.

Reviews

[Cherrie Palmer]

great story perfect for a campfire

[Delmar Cooper]

That was a hoot! Loved it when the plot thickened around her.

[Jophiel]

I love the creativity you put into the idea of personifying the plot itself. The imagery was beautiful, the plot (paradoxically) original, and the story was short enough to read quickly while still engaging those who read it.