Un-URN-ed Attention
Haly serves up a heaping helping of modern gothic horror to celebrate the Day of the Dead!
Fiction Friday
I don’t know where the ending to this story came from. I mean, I do, clearly. When you read it, you will, too. But. When I sat down to write it, this was not where I intended it to end. Still, here we are, and I can’t say that I’m sorry. This is exactly the sort of story that my mother would have loved. She’d die all over again if she could read it.
I did, however, tell my husband that I’m an asshole for letting this ending stand. As I cackled with horrified glee.
Just know, I love you all. 💜
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The Urn
The whispers coming from the urn on the mantlepiece were driving Elise mad. They followed her throughout the house and into sleep, tripping her dreams over the edge into surreal portraits of the same recurring nightmare in different hues of blood and shadow.
In those dreams, she could understand the susurrations of dread surmise. In her waking, she could not remember the skill of interpretation and was thus duly haunted by the unceasing chatter of Hel’s chorus. It was the sweet, seeking song of a siren, thick and cloying like boiled sap. It clogged her ears and clung to her every thought and breath.
She couldn’t escape.
For years, she struggled against the voices; denied them, ignored them, explained them. The whispers only grew more consistent, more insistent. They beckoned. They demanded. They imposed.
Now she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace. From her bedroom, she’d dragged the extra-large sheepskin rug. A soft blanket of rich black hung about her shoulders in the fashion of a cloak. The skull and crossbones designs embossed into its thick pile lent her the unexpected look of some underworld priestess. Her inner feelings were nothing less.
Strong thighs clutched at the urn’s shapely body while her hands gripped and strained against the tightly sealed lid. With the slow scream of dry metal, the threaded lid turned. Tight. Stiff. Then with more ease until it was loose atop the jar.
Elise lifted the lid free and set it aside.
An icy chill fixed over her skin, despite the blazing fire before her and the warm blanket draped over her. Relief and dread raced for control of her. In one moment, she realized that the whispering had stopped. Her ears strained for the familiar sound but found it nowhere. The crackle of the fire. The beat of her heart. Her own ragged breathing.
And over her shoulder, the aching moan of a ghostly voice. “We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty…”
Coming This Week:
Saturday: Quick Six: Weather Related
Sunday: New Week, New Theme: World-building 101: Ocean vs. River (redux)
Manic Monday: World-building 101
Twisted Tuesday: World-building 101
#Worldbuilding Wednesday: A new edition of Ask the Bard! And…. a return to Twitch? Signs point to yes.
Thursday: Feature Thursday: World-building Interview with Strixxline!
#FictionFriday: I don’t know…but it’ll be fiction!
Nice twist!
Literally laughed out loud. LOVED the story. On our usual summer dog walk along the creek, one time I happened to look down one of the paths, and sitting on a rock right next to the creek was an urn. Clearly abandoned as no one was nearby. I took a picture but didn't investigate further... just in case...