The Garden of Stone

Trudging through the muddy waters of the apparent swamp I had wandered into, despair tore at my heart, as I realised the new feeling of being lost.

The solitary cry of a crow rang out overhead, the area getting darker. The place ebbed with evil. Weeds grabbed at my feet, my clothes ripping against the thorns of bushes and trees.

And then I tore through the underbrush, and my eyes widened with fascination and horror.

Before me stood a large garden, overgrown and caught in a timeless age of beauty. The sun and moon where nowhere to be found. A dense mist hung all about the place, blurring my vision. But walking on, my heart began pounding. Something was wrong.

A myriad of statues were scattered about, some sinking through the mud, others covered in a winding vice of vines. The statues were so lifelike, every detail in their faces perfectly immortalized. But none of them were happy…every face was caught in a moment of terror. What being of wickedness could have caused such a wretched place?

My heart beat faster and faster, and then my gaze fell upon the grand structure of a temple. That too was falling into disrepair.

What was this place?

Only one thing was certain. Evil lurked in this place.

As I made my way through the maze of stone, I began hearing voices, screams…whispers…

The eyes of the figures, almost as if they had once been alive and enjoyed the sweet sunlight that was absent from here, were filled with anguish and pain. This place scared me, and every sense in my body was warning me to flee. But I could not. I had to go on.

Making my way to the temple, this place was beautiful, both alive and dead.

The steps were once white marble, now covered in moss, and vines climbed their ways around the many strong pillars and dirty red roof.

An aura seemed to leak out of the place, a greater evil than that in the garden. It made me shake. The mist seemed to leak inside me; it made me feel sick to my bones.

A low breathing could be heard…it could have just been the wind. But there was none, for the discoloured drapes hanging about were as still as the dead were asleep.

 

Author's Note

02-03-2010

Unedited. Last point said (to be continued).

Looking back, I realised that I was influenced by this particular section on Medusa from a documentary series called Clash of the Gods. It had this really atmospheric scene in a misty garden filled with statues and it seemed to last forever - you know how these low-budget documentaries keep reusing material...