Nov. 29th, 2011 10:08 pm
thulcandran: (Default)
I don't know. My friend said something about this, the idea stuck. I... I should probably be on meds again.

The house sat alone on the edge of the village. Though it appeared cozy from a distance, up close it was too quiet. No smoke rose from the chimney, no light shone from the windows; the steps were unshoveled, the hedges untrimmed. You might say 'desolate,' but no one said anything about the house anymore.

[Two Years Prior]

The caution tape stood a stark contrast, neon yellow and sharp black against the picturesque snowy landscape. It wasn't nearly as unsettling, strung around the cottage like a sinister garland, as what they had found inside. Days like this made it hard to be a cop, even in such a quiet village.

All three pillows were drenched in blood. All three doors swung open, hinges rusted to hold them that way, wood swelled oddly towards the bottom.

The house was dead silent; there was an oppressive chill in the air, all around, despite the smell of woodsmoke from the stove, which had apparently been burning all night.

There was a puddle in front of it, strewn with some lumps of dark coal and flint, a red ribbon, probably from someone's mittens, and a limp and bedraggled carrot.

The case went cold before Christmas was over.

[Twelve Hours Prior]

'Twas a night cold and wintry, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The door creaked in the night, but no one was awake to notice. It swung shut quiet, like footsteps on newfallen snow.

[Four Hours Prior]

Footsteps, errant and reckless on the snow, leading in and out and in and out again. Mittens astrew on the Welcome mat, bright and colorful.

Laughter, cheering, jeering, and a ringing triangle to end the day, leaving but one round and perfect silhouette alone on the open field.


thulcandran: (Default)

May 2013



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