I wrote this story back in high school as an exercise for my creative writing class. I am so proud of it though. There is a lot of symbolism in it that you should try and pick out. I will mention all of it at the end though. The Visitors by Kimberly Ann A crash startles me awake and it takes a moment for me to orient myself. I’m on the living room couch where I dosed off – I peer at the clock above the computer – two hours earlier. The TV is still on, talking to itself, but had switched from a rerun of Smallville to an old episode of Supernatural. Another bump sounds from somewhere down the hallway and I gradually sit up as to not emit a sound. Visions of what could be looming in wait pushes blood through my veins. My greatest fear is that thieves masked in foreboding clothes will come and kill me, or worse. Nonetheless, I must know, so I muster up the courage and ease off the couch. With silent steps that would make a tabby cat proud, I make my way down the hall to my parents’ bedroom, where a foreign light illuminates what was dark before I had fallen asleep. Peeking my head around the corner, my eyes drink in the unforeseen sight. A man. Or at I think it’s a man, with a head resembling that of a wooden mannequin resting between its scrawny shoulders. Not a trace of a feature graces its face or even a lone thread of hair sprouts from its head. Boney arms protract from a sage robe that downs its narrow, dwarfed demeanor. With no meat on its bones it’s obvious he would not withstand the freezing temps for very long, so he could not have come from outside. The room smells faintly of wet clay, and for the first time, I notice in its hand it holds a large mound shaped into planes and angles of a makeshift head. Course dark ropes dangle from the top in long frayed and grimy strands. The creature is sitting hunched on the bed with its nimble fingers moving over the face in a caress when a horrid shriek erupts from somewhere deep within its chest. A long, mournful wail of desire and despair. Unexpectedly, the light clicks off and the scene disappears, but when I move to turn it on again, I’m stopped by a new glow radiating from my brother’s room. I’m careful to guard my back as I maneuver to look inside. Ragged breathing and sighing come from a different man – much more grotesque than the first. A wrinkly figure washed of all color from its’ skin, contrasting sharply with his classic black tuxedo thinly layered in dirt. An unnaturally wide smile of slick black lips and gums surrounding patchy yellowing teeth takes up nearly half his face. Several distinguishing scars mark up his cheeks and deep hues of purple line underneath his eyes. The one thing, though, that I can say is truly beautiful about him is his vivid violet eyes that show the true torment he suffers from a heavy load resting on his shoulders, bending him at his waste. No doubt if it wasn’t for the weight his head would brush the ceiling. I step forward in an offering to help him with the burden, but he counters my step with one of his own. He won’t be broken with aid from anyone. From his back pocket he produces a sewing needle and dark thread. Perplexed, I observe as he slowly brings his hand up and punctures his lip, running it through until it emerges from the other one. He doesn’t stop until he’s woven them completely shut. Instinctually, I cover my own mouth in horror as crimson trickles down his face. I can almost taste the salty liquid on my tongue. The scene vanishes into black as the guest room light takes its turn. The chinking of coins hitting one another grabs my attention and I take a few small steps to stand in the doorway. Gold coins shine from every crevice of the space and crisp bills are stacked in every available spot left. There’s barely enough room for the man standing in the center of it all. I take a deep breath in through my nose and can almost smell the millions, but instead the room smells faintly of oil. Unlike the past two apparitions, this man doesn’t look out of the ordinary at all. In fact, I’d say he looks rather handsome with honey blond locks and bright jade eyes. He adorns a tailored pinstripe suit – slightly disheveled, but filled out nicely with his tall, muscular frame – and polished black shoes. His eyes glisten and tears streak his stubbly cheeks. Bending down, he picks up several gold coins, which he proceeds to drop one by one, letting the tinkling reverberate around the still room. How can he be so down-trodden? He has more than I could ever dream of. After the last coin falls, the man sighs, looking at the phone on the nightstand beside a small photo of a woman and two children: one boy and one girl. He dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a knife. The blade casts light on the ceiling as he turns it in his hand. The handle holds no intricate designs, but is an everyday steak knife. I can tell the metal weighs heavily on him as he twists it around until the tip is pricking his abdomen. With one silent look up to Heaven, he thrusts it through and blood bubbles out his mouth, running like rivers past his chin and soiling his clothes. Gurgling noises escape from his lips as he drops to the floor with a light thud. My breath catches as he breathes his last and the light fades with it. I don’t want to see anymore. What kind of torture is this? I don’t deserve it. But despite my wishes another beacon of light beckons me from my room. My feet refuse to move at first, but the sound of voices compels them forward. I shutter just at the first sight of him. A clown. Decked out in a red suit dotted with smiley faces, it does nothing to hide his ample waste and towering height. On his feet are a pair of floppy shoes and covering his nose a small, cherry-red rubber ball. A rosy paint designed a goofy smile on his face, and a crazy orangish-red wig sits atop his head. Another shutter. I hate clowns. They think they’re so funny when they’re really just lame and creepy. This one doesn’t seem to think that, though, because hidden among the paint is a frown and eyes like steel. On the ground by his feet, a girl is bound by rope to something on the wall, rendering her immobile, but it doesn’t stop the gentle sobs escaping from her lips. Out of nowhere the clown swings an ax over his head and comes down with a loud thunk. A scream penetrates the air followed by louder cries of agony over the girl’s hand that is no longer attached to the rest of her arm. “You did this to yourself!” the clown shouts, before swinging again. The other hand is gone. My stomach rolls and I have to turn away for a moment and swallow to keep the threatening bile down. When I turn back my blood starts to boil. “Stop! She doesn’t deserve this!” I yell. I want to dismember his body. The ax comes down again with a wham on the girl’s leg and I hear a dreadful crunching sound. The girl gives an unearthly shrill before falling silent. “Finally you shut up,” the clown comments before hacking away at what remains, saving the head to be disembodied last. Scarlet is scattered all over the walls and floor creating a macabre mural. The clown runs a hand through his blood matted hair and finally grins. Then he looks straight up at me and I can taste the fear in my mouth. All at once my breathing and heart stop. I back away from the doorway and down the hall. The light flicks off and I almost allow myself a breath, but my eyes adjust and that’s when I see them. All the phantoms moving toward me, arms and weapons outstretched. And that's when I suddenly realize - they are now corporeal. So now for the symbolism. I went with a Christian/Catholic theme where each of the four visitors represent one of the seven deadly sins.
The first is envy. He wants a face he cannot have. The color for envy is green, but I didn't incorporate it in this story. The second is pride. It can be seen with the weight on his shoulders and when he sews up his lips it represents that he will not ask for help. Purple is also the color for pride. The third, I'm sure you figured out, is greed. It can be seen in the coins and greed he has that consumed his life and he lost everything that was really important. Greed's color is yellow like the coins. The fourth is anger or wrath. Red is the color for anger, which we all know. Obviously, something happened with the girl to provoke his unreasonable anger to kill her. Then at the end with them becoming corporeal, it can be taken as sins that haunt our story teller or it can be seen as these sins and fault of man are really in this world and it's not just a story. NO ONE IS SAFE! haha So what did you think? Kinda creepy for Halloween?
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So this is a short horror film I made back in high school and I know it isn't entirely believable but I am proud of it. It is what inspired me to get into Cinematography as a major. |
KimI am a huge animal lover, going through college, and love to create. That's about it. Archives
August 2017
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