Spirit Walls
Title: Spirit Walls
Fandom: Open/ original
Characters: Open
Words: 337
Rating,Warnings: 15 - dark themes
Spoilers: None
AN: This Halloween fic was originally written to be slightly AU for a Primeval character, but it didn’t quite suit him. It’s also got a bit of the Captain Jack to it, but, basically I couldn’t decide who this suited best or if was just OC. So, if you fancy, have a read and decide for yourself who the tormented soul is…
AN2: Huge thanks to czarina_kitty for looking at this so quickly.
AN3: Huge, shining disclaimer: this is not based on any actual spiritual or belief system, it’s all a figment of my imagination. If anything other than the most basic of history bares any relation to anything real, it’s pure coincidence as I know nothing. What I’m attempting to say is, absolutely no offence meant.
It was the night he dreaded.
Halloween was a joke to most people; a Hallmark holiday without the cards. Plastic pumpkins, face-painted vampires, sexy demons and ghastly ghouls.
But to him it wasn’t a joke. The Celts were right. All Hallow’s Eve marked the division of the light half from the dark half. It was the night when the veil between the living world and the spirit world thinned and bent. And it was the night that allowed the souls of the dead to revisit the living.
Few believe, and fewer still can see the spirits as they enter the world, swarming around those who had loved them, wronged them. Killed them.
The spirits are pulled by one’s own memories. Those spirits who’s traces haunt our waking thoughts and dreams are the ones drawn to us when the walls fall down. And for those who’s blood flows true, runs strong with the life and the history Celts, the night could hold promise or terror.
Those lucky enough to have thoughts only of love, and dreams so sweet the dreamer wakes with only smiles, look forward to the night. They can take comfort in the visits from the spectres of those they loved and shared their lives with. They find solace in the visions that dance in front of them, the breaths that ghost their faces, the voices that whisper in their ears.
But for those who’s nightmares force them awake with screams and sweat-soaked flesh, the night is one of sadness and fear. Those he has sent to their deaths, those he has slain himself. Always in the name of another, always for someone else’s ideals, but all at his hands. And they are the spirits who come for him. They are the souls who ensure his torment, swarming on him, screaming into his face, tearing at his heart.
He picks up the bottle of Scotch and drains it, knowing it will do nothing to dull the pain. Tonight is just one more horror he must endure.
Fandom: Open/ original
Characters: Open
Words: 337
Rating,Warnings: 15 - dark themes
Spoilers: None
AN: This Halloween fic was originally written to be slightly AU for a Primeval character, but it didn’t quite suit him. It’s also got a bit of the Captain Jack to it, but, basically I couldn’t decide who this suited best or if was just OC. So, if you fancy, have a read and decide for yourself who the tormented soul is…
AN2: Huge thanks to czarina_kitty for looking at this so quickly.
AN3: Huge, shining disclaimer: this is not based on any actual spiritual or belief system, it’s all a figment of my imagination. If anything other than the most basic of history bares any relation to anything real, it’s pure coincidence as I know nothing. What I’m attempting to say is, absolutely no offence meant.
It was the night he dreaded.
Halloween was a joke to most people; a Hallmark holiday without the cards. Plastic pumpkins, face-painted vampires, sexy demons and ghastly ghouls.
But to him it wasn’t a joke. The Celts were right. All Hallow’s Eve marked the division of the light half from the dark half. It was the night when the veil between the living world and the spirit world thinned and bent. And it was the night that allowed the souls of the dead to revisit the living.
Few believe, and fewer still can see the spirits as they enter the world, swarming around those who had loved them, wronged them. Killed them.
The spirits are pulled by one’s own memories. Those spirits who’s traces haunt our waking thoughts and dreams are the ones drawn to us when the walls fall down. And for those who’s blood flows true, runs strong with the life and the history Celts, the night could hold promise or terror.
Those lucky enough to have thoughts only of love, and dreams so sweet the dreamer wakes with only smiles, look forward to the night. They can take comfort in the visits from the spectres of those they loved and shared their lives with. They find solace in the visions that dance in front of them, the breaths that ghost their faces, the voices that whisper in their ears.
But for those who’s nightmares force them awake with screams and sweat-soaked flesh, the night is one of sadness and fear. Those he has sent to their deaths, those he has slain himself. Always in the name of another, always for someone else’s ideals, but all at his hands. And they are the spirits who come for him. They are the souls who ensure his torment, swarming on him, screaming into his face, tearing at his heart.
He picks up the bottle of Scotch and drains it, knowing it will do nothing to dull the pain. Tonight is just one more horror he must endure.