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Post by professorbleak on Sept 8, 2009 19:14:48 GMT -5
Sorry it took so long...I just closed on a new house and have been busy as hell.
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SamhainGirl
Necro-Maniac
Cute but psycho. Things even out.
Posts: 54
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Post by SamhainGirl on Oct 15, 2009 22:05:16 GMT -5
A little odd, I admit..and probably not flowy and such..but a story nontheless...
There's a legend that has been passed down from generations, sifting it's way into the lives of all who have lived in the small town of Porter, Massachusetts. Those who hear it are forever changed, wondering if the lost souls of the marked are haunting them still. Wondering if the old tree really stood in the ancient woods. This is that legend...
Submitted for the approval of The Midnight Horror Show, I present to you The Legend of the Lost Love.
It was a cool autumn day in the New England town, and Prudence Miller was in love. The year was 1690, and it was difficult for her to keep her feelings from public view. The elders of the village were always talking about humility and religion. There was also a lot of talk about the Devil, but Prudence pushed all those thoughts aside as she ran from her small wooden home. She was seventeen and nothing could stop her. Most girls in the village that were her age were already betrothed, or at least in the process. How was it that she was still alone? But not for long, because she had found love.
Every day Prudence would walk through the fields that rested to the west of her home. She and her mother lived four miles from the village and there weren't many others that lived nearby. On the other side of the field was a forest, cold, dark and wonderful. She loved to wander through the woods, touching the trees, and spinning from one to the next, sometimes singing a song to herself. She had to be careful, though. If anyone saw her, they would say she was overtaken by the Devil, and she would be taken to trial. She wound her way through the trees and overgrown ferns, stepping on fallen leaves and breathing deeply of their aroma. Finally she stopped. She was there.
The tree was nothing short of spectacular, with long branches reachin for the heavens, and strong roots seeming to grasp for hell. How, she wondered, could this strangeness be allowed to happen? Surely it was a picture of what life was. Heaven above, hell below, and people in living in awe and fear of both nestled in between. The old oak had a notch where three large branches shot out from the massive trunk. This was where she placed her letters.
Ah, the letters. Sometimes they were happy, sometimes sad and dark. The oppressed feeling of the village, the sermons on hell and the devil, and now the undercurrents of talk of witches. All this plagued her thoughts and she wrote it down, delivering it to this tree almost daily. Sometimes, the letters would be gone when she returned and other times they would sit exactly as she had placed them. And on very special days, there would be a reply. The letters she received in return were always wonderful. Written on crimson paper with a lovely hand, encouraging her and telling her that she was never alone. She found comfort and solace in them, and always pondered on the author.
Prudence was very sure it was a he. How could it not be? He spoke of her dark auburn hair, the green hue of her eyes and the fairness of her skin. Her heart skipped everytime she saw the bright scarlet color peeking out from her tree. Their tree. She must think of it as their tree now, because today, the letter she received was beyond belief.
He was professing his love for her. This unnamed and unseen man was asking her to be his bride. All she had to do was leave a reply with a "yes" or "no." If she answered yes, she would meet him the following day when the sun was about to set. If not, she would never hear from him again. Her answer was on her lips before she had even finished the reading the note.
"YES!!" she screamed through the trees, which resulted in a squaking threesome of crows lifting from their branches and flying away. She didn't care. Nothing could harm her now. She quickly scrawled her answer on a fresh slip of paper and placed it in the tree, making sure it could not be blown away. She hurried home, almost floating on air as she danced through the wilderness, not caring who saw or heard. She, Prudence Miller, was finally wanted.
The next day Prudence anxiously awaited sunset, and when it was close, she started her journey. She had told nobody of her intentions. This was her decision, and nobody could stop her. The townspeople were full of nonsense these days anyway. Spirits and familiars and witches. How could they think the Devil might be in Porter?
When she neared the tree, she saw him, standing next to that lovely oak, smiling as she approached and holding a deep red rose. She was filled with love and happiness as she leapt into his arms. He was perfect and she could not understand why she had never met him. He asked her again if she would be his, and when she said yes again, his smiled widened. Prudence, however, did not see the way his eyes narrowed.
He told her his name was Lucius, and that this was a very special tree. The Devil's tree. A portal where marked souls were collected, and he was the hunter. It was her time he told her. He would not be denied her soul. She had promised it to him when she declared her love. The tears flowed from her eyes as Lucius took her hands, pressing the rose into them, drawing blood with the thorns. He kissed her, and drew her soul from her body. When the last wisp of innocence was drawn from her lips, she fell, dead on the cold October ground, the rose clutched in her lifeless hands. Her soul was dragged to hell, surrounded by thousands of souls that had be taken before her, crying in agony and dispair.
The following day, a search was started by the missing girl's mother. They found her, lying beneath that tree and returned her body to the village cemetery. She was buried in an extravagant grave, with a wider marker than was normally used in the village, and with a stone tablet covering her body. After the burial, her mother placed the rose that had been found with her body ontop of the stone, where her left hand lay beneath. As soon as she released the stem, and the dried blood touched the stone, the tablet split into three pieces. Prudence's broken heart and soul would never be healed.
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Post by Fray on Oct 21, 2009 22:13:28 GMT -5
Very interesting take on the pic! I liked it. Anyone else want to give it a go?
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Post by Monster Mark on Oct 1, 2010 20:36:12 GMT -5
Ill see if I can actually post a pic and we need to get this thing rolling again! <a href="http://s158.photobucket.com/albums/t117/mr_halloween24_7/?action=view¤t=brokentv.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i158.photobucket.com/albums/t117/mr_halloween24_7/brokentv.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a> i158.photobucket.com/albums/t117/mr_halloween24_7/brokentv.jpg
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Post by Monster Mark on Oct 1, 2010 20:36:41 GMT -5
Awesome, neither of them worked. fuck.
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Post by Fray on Oct 2, 2010 1:25:05 GMT -5
Thanks for trying, Mark. I guess I can be the jerk and cut ahead of the line by posting a pic myself. In the spirit of October, let's see what people can do with this: OK, folks. Get crackin' and see what you can come up with. You have one week to finish your story and post it here.
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