Scribbles # 50: Hell on Hallowed Ground

It was a dark and stormy night when the air was dampened and stale, when the moon hid behind the thick cloud covering, as if it did not want to appear at all.  Maybe it had heard about the black ghosts, gray ghosts, and the ecru ghosts who were stalking like eldritch, abominable phantoms through the haunted tunnels and settled into the faded glow of so many auras as they lay in wait.

The night shivered with dreaded outcries as it looked upon where the dead men laid in a heap of decomposing flesh as their souls stayed nearby with the pathetic awareness that it was merciful in the mass slaughtering since they were not cast into the sea of abyss, but lingered out of hell, onto the hallowed ground.  The banshees, with their pustules, fifty or more, their odor rancid and likened to hell hounds, watched as the black ghosts vanished and all that is left was the darker trail of the fading glow which reminded them that the night was still saturated with the other howlings and  the eery screams of other mortals. They hid in the shadows while the last minutes of night lingered on.... They listened to the 'supernatural' passing over them and felt their own blasphemous empowerment dwindling. The gray ghosts went straightway back to the abyss, while the ecru ghosts did not retreat, but they kept the vigor of haunting there, like it was hell and not, hallowed ground.

"Too late," Kadathes murmured, as he looked upon the dead as if he was looking upon the rotting sea.  He raised his head and beams of light, as swift and strong as lightening, entered the banshees, as they stayed low and creeping. And he struck them down with his one mindedness, setting up the riveting passion for all of the human souls that cried out to him seeking his help to avenge them.

His heart was pricked as he stopped in his magical, plotted tracks. It was pre-dawn and the hues of pale blue shone through the pitch black.  The air was crisp as he exhaled and the ecru ghosts could not stand the heat from his dragon'd, steeping, scorching tongue.Every evil and demonic force had been annihilated away with overwhelming resolve.   He looked around and all that was left near him were the many, grievous souls bidding him to replenish them and restore them back to life again.

He shook his head and sadly reminded them, "I cannot revive, I can only pay thee tribute by settling the score." He sighed as he looked upon the big sky making a way for him. 

  He then moved up toward the lone lodestar that shone out from the early dawning daybreaking.  And he trekked across the sky away out of the hell, onto some other hallowed ground. 

The souls then began their wailing again... watching and waiting... as their pain can still be heard so faintly,when the air is heavy, cold and damp.. a living soul might shudder as they listen to the sounds like one hundred whistles blowing from mystical long black trains far off in the distance of hell and there on hallowed ground. 
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  1. stevehayes13

    Challenge grusomely well met.

    October 29, 2009
  2. VictoriaWV

    Thanks so much Steve.. this was fun. I kept with the theme of OOOOO And didn’t stray from the assignment but after reading some others, esp. yours, the story isn’t so creative… it is just morbid. KWIM?

    October 31, 2009