Rusty Jenkins sat in a rocking chair on the porch of the general store. The chair was almost as old as he was, and he was getting on up there. Nigh about eighty now
( ... )
Man this town is freaking creepy! It's bad enough they have weird creatures feeding off their townsfolk, but their ambivalence makes it even creepier. I even got the impression that a scarecrow attacking like that wasn't even out of the ordinary.
Some lines I really liked: "Farmer Brown looked down at Tate’s hands. The thick brown fingers slid across each other, like snakes crawling all over each other in a pit." This is a perfect metaphor, and entirely sums up how untrustworthy Tate has become.
"It was a fine scarf. He wondered how much it must have cost. Must have been a pretty penny. Too bad about the stains." Don't trust the scarf! The scarecrow kind of reminded me of a highway robber looking for a new piece of clothing to add to his outfit. ;)
(Notes before I start blabbering on: this is long but idk if it is too long? I just wanted to write something here finally. Also, I wrote this under strict rules i.e. emanating the style of the old gothic horror writers esp. Poe, which explains why it is... weird, and flower-y, and full of Victorian dialogue.)
The Pianist1. It is an undisputed fact that ghosts, in defiance of life, cannot play the piano
( ... )
The Pianist: Part IIpunchMarch 27 2012, 01:12:15 UTC
The attendant at the music hall was a portly man, well loved within the village for his charitable disposition, though for all his well wishing, a man of no musical talents or interests. His sole love in life was whisky, and the peace that working in the music hall allowed him to partake in this. His philosophy was one that any time spent not drinking whisky, inhaling its scent or otherwise making entertainment of the liquor was time that had been wasted. Despite his ubiquitous smile, the attendant was no ideal guard for a music hall, and would often kick out at the Steinway’s crumbling legs if he had suffered a particularly boring shift
( ... )
The Pianist: Part IIIpunchMarch 27 2012, 01:15:07 UTC
Upon his re-entry into the room - and he gasped - once again, it was empty, lifeless, save for the whitened piano in the centre. Its keys jumped and fell at the gentle touch of the unseen master, winking and blinking back the moonlight to the astounded attendant, whose own teeth gaped open in wonder. Had he maintained more of an interest in music, he may have recognised Handel’s Sarabande in D Minor. However, his ears did not know the music; his heart knew only panic as he found himself staring upon some unheard of bizarrerie that sent the wind out of his stomach. The flurrying notes pressed on, jolting into silence every now and then when a key was missing, and the music gained a haunting, howling bass because of this
( ... )
The Pianist: Part IVpunchMarch 27 2012, 01:17:41 UTC
Laying on the floor, palms spread wide and twitching in time to the moderato rhythm, the attendant’s mind became desperately enslaved. He envisioned setting the music hall aflame, watching the piano and its ghost burn to ashes. He saw crazed ghouls, spectres, whirling and humming with the music, until he slept, exhausted
( ... )
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Some lines I really liked:
"Farmer Brown looked down at Tate’s hands. The thick brown fingers slid across each other, like snakes crawling all over each other in a pit." This is a perfect metaphor, and entirely sums up how untrustworthy Tate has become.
"It was a fine scarf. He wondered how much it must have cost. Must have been a pretty penny. Too bad about the stains." Don't trust the scarf! The scarecrow kind of reminded me of a highway robber looking for a new piece of clothing to add to his outfit. ;)
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The Pianist1. It is an undisputed fact that ghosts, in defiance of life, cannot play the piano ( ... )
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