Read Online Old World (The Green and Pleasant Land) by Oliver Kennedy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Oliver Kennedy
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a long sharpened stake. She struggled in vain as the inmates held her up and brute put the sharpened end into her mouth and started to impale her. My daughter died the moment the stake pierced her heart and carried on through. Even so her eyes were open still and her body spasmed as the stake finished its grisly work, emerging with a wet cracking sound from her lower back.
The dead thing that was me could not see how the situation could get any worse, a testament to the lack of imagination that ghosts possess. For the good doctor, I think that he'd barely begun to do his work. He gestured to his craven who started to build something on stage. As they did so he reached a hand into his pocket and brought forth something flat and soft.
He unfolded the mask and placed it onto his face, held in place by some artifice I could not glean. The dead me saw that it was a mask of skin, taken from some former victim, or a dozen former victims, sewn together and bound even in death to be a part of the mad harlequins dark machinations of misery. With the mask in place his smile was hidden, but I could see his pale green eyes gleaming from behind the sockets.
It did not take the inmates long to get the fire going. Within minutes the foul stench of burning flesh filled the room. But their purpose was not to burn the body of my angel, the stake with which they'd impaled has was used to turn her over the flames. They cooked her for some time until her beautiful silken hair was burned away, the ruins of the white smock were ash amidst the tendrils of fire, and her skin began to crackle and split.
Brute smiled as he did his work. Eventually the grey eyed vermin from upstairs took a wicked blade to the body, carving off a slice and depositing it on a ceremonial looking gold plate. They passed it around, the vultures, each taking a bite and passing it on until eventually it got back to Brute who walked with a casual air down from the stage to stand before me. “Eat” his said with venom.
The ghost inhabiting my body struggled from side to side but it was to no avail. Oily arms seized the body of Robert Locklear and held it still. “Eat” said Brute again, slowly emphasising the word as he pushed a mouthful of the cooked flesh between the lipless mouth, between the teeth until it touched against the frayed end of the tongue. I choked as it got to my throat, I choked and gagged and vomited the meat into Brutes face, he laughed and wiped the gore from his features before lifting another slab of flesh out of the bowl. “Moooore” he said pushing it towards me.
I was never made to take a second taste. Even through the last lingering moments of my death madness I was aware enough to see as Brutes head exploded, sending an ocean of brain, bone and dark thoughts washing over me and his fellow inmates. The rest of the madmen scattered and I was mesmerized by the site of Brutes body as it slowly toppled to the side. Then the hall was silent again bar the odd crackle from the fires which burned here and there set in the walls around the hall. Even the harlequin was stopped in his tracks, his green eyes searching the shadows for something.
Then came the voice, a voice filled with such benevolent power that even the sound of it banished some of the darkness, each syllable threatened to pull me back to the land of the living despite my souls desire to be free of the hall.
“Sat astride this pale horse, I could see naught but fear and desolation in the land, and not one mortal man could look me in the eyes, not one of them could tell me of a reason for what was done”.
From the balcony which ran around the hall a figure leapt to land upon the centre stage, it was a giant raven to my maddened mind, the wings of vengeance descended and now it was evil that fought for its survival. A silver barrel emerged from beneath the cloaked darkness of one of its wings, it boomed and the harlequin was thrown from the stage by the force of it, I saw him land
The dead thing that was me could not see how the situation could get any worse, a testament to the lack of imagination that ghosts possess. For the good doctor, I think that he'd barely begun to do his work. He gestured to his craven who started to build something on stage. As they did so he reached a hand into his pocket and brought forth something flat and soft.
He unfolded the mask and placed it onto his face, held in place by some artifice I could not glean. The dead me saw that it was a mask of skin, taken from some former victim, or a dozen former victims, sewn together and bound even in death to be a part of the mad harlequins dark machinations of misery. With the mask in place his smile was hidden, but I could see his pale green eyes gleaming from behind the sockets.
It did not take the inmates long to get the fire going. Within minutes the foul stench of burning flesh filled the room. But their purpose was not to burn the body of my angel, the stake with which they'd impaled has was used to turn her over the flames. They cooked her for some time until her beautiful silken hair was burned away, the ruins of the white smock were ash amidst the tendrils of fire, and her skin began to crackle and split.
Brute smiled as he did his work. Eventually the grey eyed vermin from upstairs took a wicked blade to the body, carving off a slice and depositing it on a ceremonial looking gold plate. They passed it around, the vultures, each taking a bite and passing it on until eventually it got back to Brute who walked with a casual air down from the stage to stand before me. “Eat” his said with venom.
The ghost inhabiting my body struggled from side to side but it was to no avail. Oily arms seized the body of Robert Locklear and held it still. “Eat” said Brute again, slowly emphasising the word as he pushed a mouthful of the cooked flesh between the lipless mouth, between the teeth until it touched against the frayed end of the tongue. I choked as it got to my throat, I choked and gagged and vomited the meat into Brutes face, he laughed and wiped the gore from his features before lifting another slab of flesh out of the bowl. “Moooore” he said pushing it towards me.
I was never made to take a second taste. Even through the last lingering moments of my death madness I was aware enough to see as Brutes head exploded, sending an ocean of brain, bone and dark thoughts washing over me and his fellow inmates. The rest of the madmen scattered and I was mesmerized by the site of Brutes body as it slowly toppled to the side. Then the hall was silent again bar the odd crackle from the fires which burned here and there set in the walls around the hall. Even the harlequin was stopped in his tracks, his green eyes searching the shadows for something.
Then came the voice, a voice filled with such benevolent power that even the sound of it banished some of the darkness, each syllable threatened to pull me back to the land of the living despite my souls desire to be free of the hall.
“Sat astride this pale horse, I could see naught but fear and desolation in the land, and not one mortal man could look me in the eyes, not one of them could tell me of a reason for what was done”.
From the balcony which ran around the hall a figure leapt to land upon the centre stage, it was a giant raven to my maddened mind, the wings of vengeance descended and now it was evil that fought for its survival. A silver barrel emerged from beneath the cloaked darkness of one of its wings, it boomed and the harlequin was thrown from the stage by the force of it, I saw him land
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