A Tale of Chirbury

A Tale of Chirbury

“No sooner do they reach the entrance to the church when a blast of wind, violent and from nowhere, blows out the candles. The procession stops suddenly, each of the hunch-framed bodies consumed by an ice-cold chill. One of them screams and points into the near distance. Ahead, through the swirling mist, they make out a dark shape. It is moving towards them. As it approaches, the apparition grows; and from its black mass stems a gnarled, grey hand, the outstretched fingers of which drum out an invisible beat. Worse still, deep within its shapeless body comes a cold whisper; a voice that calls each of their names in turn: Henry Edwards, Matthew Bradeley, John Thynne, Martha Thynne… the unseen tongue continuing until all twelve names have been spoken.”

9 thoughts on “A Tale of Chirbury

  1. Pingback: Awards « Mari Wells

  2. Delightfully scary. I really love the description of the fingers drumming out an invisible beat. What’s going to happen next? I hope you will continue the tale or maybe this is a short-short thing like flash fiction.

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