I am 17 and have always loved both reading and writing. J.K Rowling and Margaret Mitchell are two of my favorite authors and one day I hope to become as amazing a writer as they are.
Any kind of review is great! I just want to keep improving my writing :)
Written By: Maeghan Bielski
July 6, 2015
"Stop!" she screamed out, "stop, please!" The misty fog and sticky air clung to her sweaty skin as she tripped backwards, and her dark hair dripped with swampy and muddy water; the little child she held squirmed in her arms. As she continued to stumble backwards, a claw-like hand stretched out to grab her arm, and the long, dirt encrusted fingernails brushed her skin. She whimpered softly, the scream stuck in her throat.
"Please," she whispered, "please--" But her words choked off as she tripped over a moss-covered log and landed in a muddy pit. The child was tossed forward as she fell. She tried to scramble backwards, but her body locked in place. The owner of that claw-like hand approached her slowly, his eery silver eyes glinting in the dying sun.
"No move," it hissed, the sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Mortem coming."
The girl remained frozen in fear, her heart hammering in her ears as the monster or animal, or whatever it was, reached down to seize her arm. It growled low in its throat as its fingers closed around the girl's wrist and yanked her up. It lifted her up and placed her about fifty feet from the muddy pit. Her stomach clenched with fear and her breath came in short gasps as it slowly turned around to face her.
"P-please," she stuttered out, "I can help you with anything." Her voice grew stronger. "I am the future queen of Titanium and anything you might need, I could help you."
"Want you voice," Mortem hissed, in his fingernails-on-chalkboard voice. "You is Ella? I correct?"
The girl's eyes widened with shock, both at his request and at his knowledge of her name. "Yes, I am," she answered slowly. "You want my voice?"
"You voice is medicine," he said. "It musical, like waterfall and bird singing together."
Ella opened her mouth to ask why he wanted her voice and where he had come from. Since she waas little, she had heard stories of creatures like this that lived outside of Titanium's walls, in the Yitankum forest. They were called, chamlhynm, or the devil's spawn. Horrific tales of these chamlhynm's actions were told to young children in order to scare them into behaving. Like the hilatykya that slowly drank the souls from anyone, man or women, rich or poor, the chamlhynm were said to steal the voices of young women, in order to sustain life. Ella's head spun with the ghastly details from these tales as she stared into the creature's eery silver eyes.
Catherine Fitzgerald stood in the wings of the auditorium, her hands nervously smoothing her midnight blue dress. She had practiced over and over again, for hours on end, and performed in countless concerts and recitals, yet as she competed against the best in the United States her nerves crawled in her stomach.
Deep breaths, she told herself, deep breaths. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes briefly and walked onto the brightly lit stage. The announcer informed the three judges of the song she would be singing, and then signaled to her that it was okay to start. As the soft sounds of the piano began, Catherine relaxed, her bell-like voice filling the almost empty auditorium.
"STOP!" a voice suddenly yelled out. "STOP STOP STOP!"
Catherine blinked and stopped singing. "What?" she asked. But the three judges only looked at her quizzicly.
"Are you done?" one of them asked.
"Did you just hear that voice saying 'stop'?" Catherine asked, confusion crossing her face.
The three judges looked at one another, bewildered. As Catherine scanned the auditorium, her gaze locked with a pair of eery silver eyes in the back. The silver eyes stared back at her, unblinking and they reminded Catherine of her recurring dream. The recurring dream when a young woman, lost in the forest, was forced to give up her voice for a monster, the reacurring dream that woke Catherine up every night, drenched in a cold sweat. The three judges started to fade in front of her and Catherine began to panick. She backed up, her feet catching in the rich red folds of the curtain as she stumbled backwards. As her arms flailed wildly to catch her balance, a claw-like hand grabbed her arm. Fear jolted through her and she slowly raised her head and her amber eyes met the eery silver ones.
"Who are you?" she whispered. "I keep seeing you in my dream, stealing the voice of that girl. What are you?"
"Me is Ella," hissed the voice, like fingernails on chalkboard. "You voice is so pretty; magical. Let me have it."