The road twists each and every way, revealing small clusters of trees between the rocky outcroppings. The figure shields her eyes from the watery sunlight spilling in, rolling down the window to let out the stale air that had filled the car during the long drive. The temperature gauge read three degrees outside, but the bitter wind seemed to mock the reading. The girl pulls her jacket tighter around her body, turning away from the rolling view beyond.

Instead, she was focusing on the small town slowly crawling into view. It could scarcely be called a town even, with a few streets with dreary houses and a sad excuse for a high street. The car trundles along at a pace she could outrun, which was saying something as Heather Bennett is not the athletic type. She pulls out her father's camera, trying to search for something interesting to devour her remaining RAM. Only pathetic streets and desolate storefronts meet the lens.

Heather sighs and realizes the car is idling outside a slightly run down little cottage at the edge of the town. It has a little wooden gate rotting with age out the front, with a sign swinging in the breeze next to it. One would expect a sign like that to read Stay out! You've been warned... but it simply read Bennett Residence. So, this was her new home. Her uncle sits on the porch, arguing with the taxi driver before giving in and handing him a few notes.

She steps out of the car, pulling out the old suitcase packed with clothes that would make her seem underprepared even on the warmest summer day. Her uncle eyes her, taking in her hair so much like his brother's. Straight black, offset by her mother's warm amber eyes. A Frankenstein-like hybrid, and anyone can tell her uncle sees that. He beckons with a withered hand for her her to follow, entering the cottage with a swift hobbling walk. If one could call any type of hobbling 'swift'.

Inside is like a different world. Everything is pristine, no dishes pilling up in the sink. So unlike her home. Heather drops her bag by the door and takes a seat across from her uncle at the large dinning table, meant for more than just a lonely old man.

"I thought you'd be younger," he pauses, looking her over. "You look so much like Clarence. Poor bastard."

Heather swallows and forces a smile. "Yeah. So, Matlock is a nice town."

Her uncle snorts, holding out his hand. "Sorry, I guess we should introduce ourselves. I'm Robert, Clay's brother."

"Heather. Was… did Dad ever live here?" She shakes his hand, the calluses course against her palm.

Robert's eyes roamed the room. "Grew up in this hellhole. Left as soon as he could. No surprise there. So," her uncle sighed. "You grew up in America, right?"

"In Seattle. Dad always liked the constant clamour. Said it was nice to have a distraction from… whatever the hell he did."

"He always did keep his job under wraps, didn't he, Heather? Well, did Clay or Pam ever call you anything else. Because I can't keep calling you Heather. It's a goddam mouthfull."

"Mum called me Hattie, but Dad liked Heather. When he was around."

Robert stands up, opening a few cabinets. "Anything to eat?"

"I had lunch on the way here, but thanks anyway," Heather picks up her bags, towing them towards the room her uncle pointed to.

The walls are a claret red with white trims. There is a simple bed shoved into a corner, plains white sheets adoring it. Through the small window by the seat, the forest outside is in full view. Heather sits down on the bed, sniffing the arid smell emitting from the door on the adjacent wall. She tugs the knob and the closet opens, ancient clothes still hanging there. A few bugs crawled out in an orderly fashion, meeting their untimely demise at the heel of Heather's boot.

"Robert, I'm going to head out for a bit. Just want to explore the town."

"That'll take about a minute, but sure. Be back by dark. Trust me, girl, you don't want to know what crawls around these streets when the sun is down," Robert casts a sly smirk in her direction before letting out a defeated sigh. "I was joking. But be careful."

Heather nods, grabbing her scarf before closing the door behind her. The town was fairly close, but the cold would certaintly turn her around quickly enough. She sees the bike leaning against the fence and throws a halfhearted glance over her shoulder before wheeling it out of the yard.

It is stiff but the wheels are pumped up and it's pedals move fairly well. An adequate bike, but one in desperate need of love. The girl starts off towards the high street, stopping to snap photos when she can. The decrepit state of Matlock is not the most welcoming site, but it would make an interesting portfolio if she wanted to start one. She smiles, reaching the high street. A woman looks her way, the folds on her face creasing at the sight before she enters the store. Heather approaches with caution, leaving the bike leaning against the brick wall of the shop.

The sign plastered out front was faded with age but lamps burning inside illuminate the stacks of bookshelves inside. Heather quickly flicks through her photos before reaching for the door. She hesitates when she looks at the more recent ones. Small patches of a blurred grey kept occuring. Gritting her teeth, Heather shoves the camera back into her satchel and pushes open the door.

A heater is blasting somewhere in the back, ferociosuly attacking Heather as she steps inside. The old woman is hunched over a desk. Her spine was bent and her hair was tangled in knots atop her head. She doesn't turn around as the little bell rings, only shufflinf further back into the shop.

"Excuse me-"

"I don't want to talk to the press. That bastard got himself killed, okay?" She snarls and shoots Heather a disgusted look.

"I'm not... I'm new here. I was just wondering if someone could tell me about the town. And, um, I'm sorry. For your loss." Heather takes in the books littered around the shelves, from timeless classics to the more modern titles.

"You look like a reporter. And you got that there camera, right? Kids these days have no respect. If I talk to ya, will you leave?"

"Of course, miss." Heather smiles and approaches.

"This here is Matlock. It's shithole for sure, only famous for killers and kidnappers. Ain't a single good thing in here. Aye, locals say it's cursed. Bullshit, but that's what them kids say. Boy was killed a few days ago. Dead in them Macaster Woods. Can you get the hell out now, not-reporter?"

"Uh," Heather feels the old woman's feeble grip on her jacket as she is shoved towards the door. "Miss, the curse? Is it related to the murder?"

"As I said, not-reporter. No curse. Only talk. People looking for a chance at fame. Out now, you've pestered me enough." The door slams shut in Heather's face, the heat disipatting in the autumn air.

Heather groans and looks down at her watch, shivering in the oncoming darkness. The rest of the town is quiet, only a few lights burning in the odd window. She grabs the bike, muttering as the cold blisters her ungloved fingers.

"Shit. I'm late."

Author's Note: This is a small tester for the novel I'm currently writing. The title is a placeholder because I'm completely stuck for ideas! I just wanted to get a feel for the tone of it and feedback would be greatly appreciated.

i am the red dreaded terror

that makes you cower at night

you are the white spotted fawn

who grazes in the warm sunlight

i prowl in the darkness

you are hunched in the grove

preying on the blades of grass

while i wander and rove

but despite your many flaws

and regardless of my meals

we are not all that strange

as this night reveals

i wander through the thicket

you stumble through the brush

the cocking of the firearm

a wild blur and rush

the cold silver pierces

i feel my body fall down

the branches crack then go snap

and for this you aren't renowned

but your courage is a blinding sight

even for one like me

the hunter shouts then falls still

but you do not flee

you lay your head down

as the night is waning

curl me in your sweet embrace

but my soul is fading

a gentle fawn, almost a child

but you are not that

for children tend to run and flee

and others looked and spat

i'd say you're my friend

if you'll let that be

you do not cower, you do not leave,

you just lay here with me

the air's so thin

i am soon gone

you just hold be tighter

for we both now i'll have left by dawn

so goodbye my sweet dear friend

are you there?

or are you sleeping?

troubled thoughts

to our mind come seeping

away in a blink

my worry deepens

cluttered mind

call forth your demons

dark sky gathers

above fake eden

closing in

gone is freedom

eyes flutter open

nightmare lingers

waking terror

dark shrouded figures

the woken world

we’ve seen before

tired memories

resurface once more

shivering violently

we open our eyes

hell is here

even as we rise

there are lies within

and pain without

shattered crowns

where evil sprout

bloodstained gowns

hands unclean

i loose the rook

to save the queen

behind the walls

the pawns do wait

ready to die

and seal their fate

broken thrones

they fell apart

i see the king

i pierce the heart

the game is over

the war is won

i take the crown

kingdom come

It was dark out. A whisper of the summer heat still lingered in the air. The trees, slowly falling into shades of red and orange, littered their leaves throughout the garden. I could hear the sounds of the birds, flying away into the night. The boy stood next to me, oblivious to my mumblings. In his hand was a scrap of paper, hastily scrawled letters covering the slowly yellowing note.

It was a relief, in a way. The change in the air. The rest from the memories that haunted the old house. The boy turned away, drying his eyes on the sweater that was nearly dragging on the ground. He shut the door behind him, silent excpet for the creaking of the rusty hinges. It was still a recent wound, the growing seperation between us. Festering. Left to the passage of time.

I descend the rotting steps, past the ancient tire swing until I reached the big tree. Ollie had always called it the big tree. It had seemed so large and imposing only a few months ago. Now it was no more than a twig with a few bright coloured leaves. Pathetic. How quickly everything can change. One moment, the smiling faces, the green trees. The next is an empty void filled only with hurt and suffering.

I know I should follow Ollie. I should help him, like he would always help me. But it all seems so... hopeless. Useless. A waste. Why? Why does this world take the perfect people, the ones that smile for us when we cannot, and leave the rest of us incomplete? It’s like some cruel game to toy with us, letting us suffer slowly. Like the plants slowly die. The the air slowly freezes. Like the autumn slowly takes hold.

The light shawl I have wrapped around me doesn’t keep the chill away anymore. I can see the faint glow of the moon behind the storm clouds rolling in. I don’t want to go. Not yet. I don’t want to have to face Ollie. He’ll cry if he hasn’t already. I usually let dad deal with that. He was good at calming him down. I seem to only make things worse. I have a feeling Ollie blames me, in some way, for refusing to drive out to pick up Emma.

Back from school for the weekend, Emma had perfect grades, was popular with the boys and the girls and seemed to have everything going for her. I knew inside she was as messed up as the rest of us though. The road with covered in fog that day. It was ominous. It made my gut contort painfully. That’s why I stayed home and let them go. She was their daughter and barely my sister. That summer evening I didn’t even say goodbye.

The gale picks up, halting my wandering mind. It was nearly time for dinner. I should get back inside. I see Emma at the door, still leaning on her crutches. She motions for me to come in. For some reason, she didn’t seem to hate me. Out of everyone, she should want me dead. I’m the one who killed them all afterall. I can hear Ollie scuffling around inside, no doubt looking for something to eat.

I make my way through the garden, listening to the leaves rustle below me. Back past the big tree, the tire swing and up the rotting steps that feel like they’ll give way if I make one wrong move. Emma shoves the door open, letting it swing shut before me. I sigh and walk inside. The wind follows me through the house, like a ghost wandering. Lost. Without hope. I reach the kitchen.

Ollie sits at the table, deadly still. His legs aren’t swinging and he isn’t laughing to one of dad’s jokes. He never will again. Emma winces as she sits down on one of the unstable chairs. It was the one that was missing a leg. Ollie and I had sat down together and taped a stick from the garden to it. We’d painted the chair a bright orange, now faded to a dull yellow. Like the leaves outside. Everything dies.

The draws hang open. A few bent knives and forks are scattered on the bench. Only the spoons weren’t covered in rust or mold. I open the cupboards. A few jars of homemade jam. A loaf of bread. Tinned vegetables. Canned soup. A batch of cookies I’d made that night. No one ate them. I take what I need and slam the cupboard shut. I never knew one house could give someone so much pain.

Ollie shoves a window open, sticking his head outside. He points to something. The car.

“Can we get something better to eat?”

I hear Emma pull him back inside and lock the window. I knew without looking that she hadn’t even peeked outside. Hadn’t given the car a single glimpse. If you look closely enough, it looks like some of the read leaves have blown in the cracked window. They weren’t leaves.

“No. We can eat whatever is here. I’m sure she’ll make it taste real nice.”

Their voices sound like there coming from a different room. So distant. I construct the sandwich and notice the mold on the bread. I pour the vegetables on the side of the plate. They probably won’t notice. If they do, they won’t care.

“I don’t like her cooking. I want something else,” Ollie mumbles silently.

“Look. She made sandwiches. Just like mum,” Emma takes the plate from my hands.

A loud shatter rings through the house. The plate lies broken on the ground. The floorboards are cracked from the weight. Small splinters weaves lines below. Enough to see the dead leaves under the house. I look down. Blood drips down my leg, flowing into a pool of red at my feet.

"Why did you leave?" My voices echos throughout the empty house. The cracked windowpane distorts the world outside. The trees. The leaves. The red leaves. Like blood, slowly swirling through the sky. I see the car. Rusted. Broken. Like my mind. I turn to leave. The clouds have gathered together in a storm. Rain sprinkles down from above, showering me in water. No. Not water. Blood. Her blood. His blood. Their blood.

I fall to my knees. My breathing quickens. I sense them behind me. Emma. Ollie. Mum. Dad. All of them. Dead. The car crash claimed some. My hands claimed the rest. Why?

I ask myself that everyday. And it was for one reason. If you live life suffering, are you truly living? No, not to me.

Everything dies.

i have left and i have gone

swifter than the sky

do not follow, don’t come near

this my goodbye

i see you in the knotted trees

an echo of our love

if i was the fallen bird

you were the dove

i see you in the crystal lake

a mirror, shinning lie

you and i are not the same

this is my goodbye

my mind is at war, raging war

i wish we were back home

but alas i’m gone and never there

through the world i’ll roam

bitter words come to mind

when i see your face

you may think this feeling hate

but that is not the case

i love you dearly, i always have

and forever more i will

but this force so strong scares me

and so shall scare me still

i will not forget the longing desire

as much as i try

that you have sparked in me

so this is my goodbye

wait here under the fern tree grove

i hope i’ll not be long

but you just wait and wait again

just wait for my song

can you hear the sweet soft sound?

the echo in the night

that melody that follows you

until you reach the light

wait here under the copse of thorns

i shall come back soon

but you just wait and wait again

just wait under the moon

the moon, the orb, the bright white light

shinning overhead

i’m coming back, i swear, i swear

i swear i have not fled

my love, my love, where are you?

don’t walk the woods alone

there are creatures who feed on fear

and knaw you to the bone

i walk, i wait, i look for you

oh where have you gone?

are you scattered in the wind?

or now another breath of dawn?

my love, my love

this isn’t right

you are my sun

and now my night

she is my mirror

my image, my relfection

a replica of what i am

absent of cruel perfection

she follows my movements

eyes locked together

we continue our silent dance

trying to break this tether

but how can one destory the mirror

showing the cracked heart beneath

a facade of lies and deception

i have hidden in my sheath

i try to run but she does follow

always one step behind me

more of a shadow trailing

she's never setting us free

cracked shards of glass

rain down from the shelf

the image now distorted

this is my true self

sometimes the nights seem long

the day a faint and distant memory

but i've always been here next to you

relishing together in our memories

as day breaks, the night disipates

and the sun is a beacon to lead you

away from the dark tunnel of anguish

that you have inevitably passed through

what does dwelling on the wicked do

but distract us from the path we travel?

so stay true to the world you love

and the globe around us shall unravel

unravel into strings of vibrant glory

colours of the water and the trees

seep into every crevice and crack

and our hearts they do seize

the dark has no place in this world

so we'll banish it breathlessly

together, carrying one another

for that is the way of destiny

the road seems long

the nights seem dark

and hope seems distant

but fire is born from a spark

i will always be here

even if you don't see me

but keep this close to you

and know i will carry thee

stay true to yourself.

don't let the dark win.

be the beacon in the night.

minds like gears turning

oil running through veins,

a clockwork motor

keeping us in chains

a collective world, a cloud

thoughts roaming free

the horrors of humanity

i am no longer me

are we just a machine?

one idea scattered among

many material beings?

like puppets we're strung

when we break down

there is always another

a never ending cycle of rebirth

life overtaken by someone other

from this machine we enter

this world of tricks and lies

and from this machine we'll leave

and wait to rearise