I'm looking for anyone who'd be willing to critique a short story that I wrote. I was going for a creepy mysterious feel for it, and was wondering if I achived that. I left the ending open, for 've been thinking about continuing the story…. I'm not sure about it though, as I am working on several different stories already.
I can read it
I can read it
Great! I hope that you enjoy it! Please don't be afraid to be brutal, yet also nice.
Shadow Storm
The fog crawled through the town, wrapping it in it’s arms. Amidst the fog stood a single figure, whose features could not be seen. All that could be made out of the figure was that it apparently wore a shroud, and wielded a long ax. The figure seemed to stand at a height of 6’9”, and had the silhouette of a man. The man and the fog walked through the cold, dark town. The air was silent and still; not a single citizen was out. The windows in the small reddish-brown brick buildings were shuttered and dark.
The man continued to traipse through the town. He paused. As he does the fog stops rolling into the town. The mysterious figure looks around, listening to something that only he could hear. The man shifts his grip on the axis handle, and approaches a dilapidated house with a dark blue door. As a dog would follow it’s master, the brume (another word for fog) follows the man. As the man takes the steps up to the house he yet again readjusts his grip on the ax, and with a mighty stroke strikes the door.
The man repeats this process. As the door is now splintered into shards of wood he enters the house. As he infiltrates the building the fog encircles the home. Inside, the man methodically searches from room to room. The air inside the house is full of dust. Webs clutch the edges of the ceiling and walls. Dust hugs whatever it can get a grasp on. As the man walks he disrupts the quiet with squeals from the floor.
Kicking in a door, the man smiles to reveal that he has glistening pointed razor sharp teeth, for he has just found what he came for. Kneeling in the farthest corner of the room sits a woman, huddled with her family as if for warmth.
“Mommy, I'm scared,” says one of her children, a beautiful young girl with raven hair bearing a red stripe down the left. The girl vainly attempts to nuzzle closer than already possible.
“Shh, Delnis, everything is going to be alright,” the young girl's mother said. Like her daughter, the woman had brilliantly bright blue eyes, but had curly dark red hair instead. She looks up at the newcomer. “Don't you dare harm my children!”
The man continues to smile. He raises his ax as if to strike. Dawn pulls her children closer to her. Her son, a dark brown eyed rascal with strikingly white hair, grasps onto Dawn and Delnis.
“Please don't hurt them mister. They're all that I have left; we're all that she has left!”
“Be quiet Delnir!” Dawn demands. With the reflexes of that of a cheetah, the man lunges at the three, grabs Dawn, and pulls her from the grip of her family. Dawn tries valiantly to free herself from the grasp of the man in vain. She had tried to stab the man with a knife that she had concealed on her person. Enraged, the cloaked figure throws Dawn to the ground.
Adjusting his grip on the ax, he swings at Dawn, leaving a deep crimson gash in her porcelain flesh. Her blood oozes from the wound as a fountain. The man swings again, chopping off one of her hands. The more blood that flows, the happier the man becomes. Dawn slips in her own blood. Using this to his advantage, the hooded man swiftly decapitates her.
The children watch in horror as their mother, the strongest person they know, is easily defeated by the hands of this stranger. They weep for her in silent terror and agony as the stranger hacks their beloved mother to bits and pieces, spraying them with her blood with each sickening thwack of his ax.
The man, evidently finished with his deed, goes to grab Dawn’s severed head. As he does this Delnir rises up, and attempts to slice the stranger with the very knife that Dawn had used. The man, out of instinct, waves his arm and forces Delnir to carve a gash into his own face. Once done taking care of the brave, foolish boy, the man retrieves Dawn’s head, and walks out of the room and building. He leaves the once quiet town just as he came, and as he departs the town the mist follows him, enveloping him in it’s cold, damp, shroud.
Back in the house, Delnis carefully goes to her brothers side. She cradles his head in her lap, and uses a torn segment of her own clothing to stop the bleeding. Little does either of them know that losing their mother wasn’t the end of their problems, but only the beginning.