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English Coursework

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English Coursework Stark Bateman sat in front of the rotting, mahogany door; its surface was now coarse and splintered, having endured years of harsh treatment from nature. She was coming. He knew She would. He could feel Her approaching, advancing, could feel the cold disturbance in the air. His skin began to erupt in goose bumps. He didn't know how close She was but he could be sure of one thing: She was coming. He was tired. His once smiling and jaunty face was drawn in a constant frown and covered in dirty sweat; his turquoise blue eyes were dull and listless; his dark hair struck out of his head haphazardly and his once small yet healthy physique was now thin and strangely dim, as if he were wasting away at the very core, a disease stretching out its tendrils from his centre, attacking the outside. His clothes hung off of him so much that they looked as if they were devouring him. His plain black t-shirt, however, clung to his upper body like a second skin. His blue jeans were stained with dirt. His eyes were trained on the door. He kept waiting for the ominous turn of the brass handle, kept waiting for Her to appear in front of him. The seconds ticked by. He waited. And waited. His thoughts whirled around in his head. Why him? What had he ever done to harm anybody? Did he deserve this? Questions, questions, questions but never any answers. ...read more.


He had written the plan and the beginning of the story by using the special Quill, as it had seemed fitting to use the source of his inspiration. He had completed these tasks by nightfall. As he had lain there, asleep, he had been tormented by dreams of death and suffering. A young girl reaching out...no...a group of the same girl calling out to him, calling for retribution, calling for atonement. Their clothes had been ragged and torn and their eyes as white as marble. Their breathing had been harsh and short; warm air had been creeping out into the frozen environment, leaving a thin trail of white smoke behind. He had awoken in a cold sweat, the last image of the dream imprinted on his mind like an instant photograph: the young girl, falling into a snow-covered street as a Victorian auto had cruised up the road and in the last moments of her life she had whispered "You will pay". Then there had been only darkness. Bateman had tried to no avail to regain his sleep and after the fruitless attempts to bring on this state (such as counting sheep and many, many warm glasses of milk) he had decided to continue with his story, despite the horrifying dream that had troubled him just one hour before. He had relaxed into his chair and had begun to write, the scratch of the Quill on paper almost hypnotic. His head had begun to the scratching in a rhythmic beat. ...read more.


"You will pay". He had run. He had run as fast as he could. He had fallen, had pushed himself up and run again. Every time his eyes moved she had been there: across the street, her eyes; in a darkened house, her eyes; behind him, her eyes and in front of him, her eyes. He had not known where he was going, all he had thought about was getting away, away from those horrible, haunted eyes. He had arrived at the oldest house he knew of: The House on Greenhead Rock. It had seemed stupid, like something out of an American horror movie, running to the aged home. But he had been in no condition to do anything but flee. He had propelled himself up the hill and smashed into the old house. He had shut the door to the abandoned crypt and sat down, huddled into a ball, awaiting certain doom, awaiting Her. *** The Quill. As soon as Bateman had escaped from his house it had begun writing. Its shadow now cast a grim shadow over the script. "Mantel ran into the old house and shut the door. He awaited the arrival of Her, a rotting ghost in a young girl's guise. He contemplated the events that had brought him to that point, until he was interrupted by the sound of metal scraping against metal." *** Bateman was shocked out of his thoughts by the sound of metal against metal. The ancient door opened and a- "-single empty white eye could be seen through the gap created. Mantel's scream echoed throughout the early morning." With the last sentence to the story written, The Quill headed the first page: Answered Prayer ...read more.

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