Inspiration to even write Horros came to me in a dream. I can do better than this writing, and I will return to Mist. I thought of this as expanding it into a Mythos, ala Stephen King. Here it is. Written Before Stormwizard AND His Last Day.
Written by Brandon Markham
The only light that made it’s presence in the silent room was the small lamp that flickered on the hard desk. Earl was always afraid of the dark, and the way bills were these days, he was lucky to have that ancient lamp. But now it flickered, the bulb dying like a flame with no air, and Earl had no money to buy another bulb. Even if he did, he would not-could not anyway. Pelts of water crashed on the roof, accompanied by drums of thunder, with a show of cracking electrical whips. The weather was supposed to be horrible, and a possible flash flood might occur. Earl winced when he was blinded by a near bolt of lightning. So close? He thought to himself. Another flash came behind, and this one did not blind him, but suddenly, a man started pounding on the dirty window. A teal shirt and jeans, the man wore. Earl screamed when he saw the man’s bloodied face and missing teeth. Earl knew he was screaming for help, but found that his feet were locked in place.
The man was gone, and so was the light. The darkness spread quickly like a pandemic, consuming Earl in his own personal Hell. The breaker was outside, on the side of the one-story home. Outside…Earl told himself not to worry, that it was just in his head. Just in his head…was that man an apparition of his own imagination? Earl pushed it into the back of his mind, replacing the void with bravery that warmed his body. He used the light the dimmed outside the door as a guide, tripping over clutter in the dark. He slowly opened the door, since opening it up to fast would break it right off the hinges. When he stepped outside, he was suddenly cold and wet, and it seemed to him that the rain and winds changed direction. It seemed that they changed, aiming towards him. The door shut, but not by his hands. The door made such a deafening noise, that Earl could not hear the thunderclaps that stalked.
The man in teal and jeans was laying their, with no head. The neck was even off, as if it was chewed off the man, blooded rapidly flowing from that area.
A figure in black suddenly stood over the corpse’s body, holding a curved blade attached to a shining rod. His feet were dirtied ivory, and the cloak was tattered and pitch black, one that was almost one with the darkness. The figure’s covered head peered towards Earl, who was trying to turn the knob of the door, hitting the lock over and over. Unfortunately, the knob broke off. There is no hope for you sinner…the thunderous voice fell on Earl, making him scream and writhe on the ground in sheer terror. The figure moved elegantly towards Earl, scythe in the air. Earl writhed, the figure’s voice echoing throughout his head, when, he soon found himself no longer having a body.
The body was still writhing, despite Earl’s head not having been attached to it. The figure grabbed Earl’s head, making a trail of blood and the body gave out a hand, on it’s knees and stretching it’s arm out, like a child who wants her toy back. Now it is time for Punishment sinner…now…it is time…