My HeavenA Story by Aura Inanna “You’re close now, love. How long has it been, that we’ve been hunting each other?" A short (romance-esque?) horror. I watch the painting as the painting watches me. I can hear two heartbeats in this room, where only I stand to appreciate the scenery. The leash on my left wrist pulls me away, deep breathing on my back as I leave. The chain stretched taut, attaching my wrist to some unknown captor, leading me through the halls to the abyss, forces me to move my crumbling body faster and faster. I drag the rifle behind me, the tip of its barrel scraping the wooden floor as we move ever slowly, all too fast. The rifle is a gift from a dead man; I can hardly use it. It grates along the floor, screeching like a dentist’s drill. I wouldn’t have taken this heavy thing with me if it hadn’t felt so familiar in my hands. The chain leading me down the unwelcoming hallway falls to the floor with an incredible crash, leaving me stopped in front of wide double doors. Leaning the rifle against the wall, I wiggle the doors until their rusty hinges allow them to creak open, releasing puffs of dust and terrible whines of misuse. I take the rifle up again, this time hoisting it up into my hands, holding it how I can only assume a gun is held. The rifle leads my way, the chain follows, bouncing and jingling along the floor. The flashlight on the tip of the rifle illuminates my surroundings. A message waits for me on the wall, done in a loving scrawl, red ink. “You’re close now, love. How long has it been, that we’ve been hunting each other? Five, seven days? Have you eaten, my dear? Is your head spinning? I’m waiting anxiously for you to arrive, but, please, explore this room thoroughly. Good night, my love.” TRW Deafening metal thunder rocks the floorboards, and the slamming, locking double doors vibrate the walls, sending years worth of dust down on my head. I spin around, clutching the rifle in my shaking hands, training its beam of light on the source of the noise. He was wrong; I’ve been trapped by this “love” of mine for eight days, led around by my wrist for eight days. That eight days’ worth of dragging, killing chain lays on the floor in front of me. A key glints in gold on the other end, a tag attached. One side holds a small message, “Come quickly, love,” the other a picture--a rook. I rip the tag to take the key from the chain. Unable to remove my shackle, I drag the chain along with me. I inspect the room. The ticking of a handless grandfather clock beats in my chest. I try the gold key on everything with a lock; it fits none of them. I am wandering a locked room, lost, now without a leash to be led on, the room full of “my dear”, “my love.” The rifle becomes heavier in my hands, its light dulling. I try the key on the back of the handless clock, hoping to at least stop the incessant passage of time. The door swings open, revealing the ticking pendulum. Another note is written on the bottom panel of the clock, over which the pendulum, with its heavy-handed attempt to regulate this hell-hole, swings. This note reads, in a different script than before, one jittery with fear, “We cannot make it home. The Rook Watches.” And so we cannot. An animal growls, ready to shed blood, from outside the window behind me. A loving, cold finger traces the length of my spine. I jerk in reflex, pulling the rifle into my chest and kicking the clock over. The glass walled case shatters, sending shards skittering across the floor. The door to the back lays open, spilling the weights and chains out the sides like the blood of a murdered corpse, the pendulum laying, glittering, a bent, gold heart in the clock’s chest. Treading without thought over the broken glass, I aim my rifle’s dimming light at the pendulum. Broken open like a bon-bon, a white key falls out. I grab it and make for the door. The ivory key unlocks the door and I run from the room, in the direction I was being led before my lifeline was severed. I steady the rifle as best I can in front of me, the beam of light, ever growing duller, the only thing revealing my way in the darkness. All I can feel is the heat from that cold touch on my back, the beating of my heart in my ears like another's chasing me. The chain crashes along behind me, knocking against everything, inciting everything to chase me. I meet another pair of double doors like the first, and shove the ivory key into these ones too, throwing the doors open and slamming them shut behind me, without looking to see what was inside. I hear the lock fall in these doors. Gasping for breath, I take a peek at the room I’ve dared to enter. My only light fails me. My rifle clatters to the floor, my only sense of safety lost to the blackness. I’m pathetic, left alone in this final room. Helpless, even my body mixes with the dark. I see nothing. No one’s here; I’m the only one. “It really is a pleasure to see you again, my love.” © 2014 Aura InannaAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
StatsAuthor
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
