The rain was deafening. I peered around through the rain, desperately searching for some shelter, I was drowning out here. The trouble was, I wasn’t in the best part of town, and in fact it was more than a little dodgy. I know this is my home turf but even I had to be careful. At least I seemed to be the only one out here on such an awful night. The rain was so powerfully loud I couldn’t hear should anyone try and creep up on me. I also couldn’t see very far with the rain so heavy and of course there were no street lights, they’d been broken long ago. The one place I knew I could safely enter was the church, so I dashed. At last I arrived, unmolested except for the rain, at the hefty decaying doors of the church. I pushed the door and it obediently opened, then I slid inside closing it surreptitiously behind me. No point in alerting others to my presence. As I turned my shoulder, my gaze was held by the magnificence of the architecture. It never fails to move me. My eyes begin by looking at the ceiling, and then they roam from side to side and finally along the walls drinking in the beauty of the stained glass windows which glowed in the candle light, finally coming to rest on the altar. I slipped into the nearest pew with the intention of saying a few prayers when I noticed him. His eyes were fixated upon me. I stared at the floor, but it was too late, because I was already aware that he wasn’t one of the priests, his clothes were all wrong and his face! It seemed lifeless. I felt so heavy. My eyes didn’t want to obey me. Neither did my legs. Too late I realised the danger! Mesmerised, I fell asleep. Gasping in terror I awoke and shot to my feet. He was gone, but where, how long had I been here and ... ... middle of paper ... ... everywhere! The cross above the altar had fallen and was half submerged in blood and the statues had blood running down their faces as if they had been injured. Lumps and clots were all over me even inside my clothes and shoes. The stench of death was all encompassing. Never had I either seen or smelt such things before. Then I saw him. In the middle of the church half swamped by the blood, he lay. I struggled to my feet and wadded with great difficulty through the coagulating blood. It was definitely him and he had a faint pulse. I dragged him by his arm outside and yelled. The gargoyles that adorned the front of the church were peering down at me. At that moment I saw movement out of the corner of my eye again, but I was startled by the claxon sound warning of a bombing raid. Then I noticed them. But this time all I could do was scream inside.
This article is a narrative. It does not aim to analyse the topic. It describes the author's experiences at the mortuary and the resulting disturbing thoughts she had.
“I remained during the rest of the night…fearing each sound as if it were…the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life” (43).
My eyes follow the jet black hands on my watch that creep more and more nigh five past six. As the big hands of the clock pass the minutes go by that guarantee relief from agony. The more that time expires, the flowers begin to wither like the hope in my heart that Hester with arriving at the cathedral due to the notice is given by the letter. The wind howls and slams into the cathedral doors giving me false hope that the women of my dreams will be walking through the door. Bending at the waist, and praying to god Hester will come to greet me I feel a breeze hit the back of my neck and reawaken from my concentration in God. As I rise from the pew, I see small women walk through the doors with a black clock and a candle whose burning wax drips down the sides, casting light that guides the way to me. Thine figure in the black cloak hands me a letter and runs away without my response.
In today’s literature there are many types of genres that people find fascinating, all the way from fantasy to non-fiction. A very interesting genre is Gothic Fiction, where many elements are used to such as violence, ghosts, monsters and many other dark and mystical elements that make up Gothic Fiction. There are many great authors who are well known for their dark gothic style such as Edgar Poe, who has written the short story “Fall of the House of Usher” and the “Black Cat,” or Horacio Quiroga who has written “Feather Pillow” and a more recent author, Ransom Riggs who has written Miss Peregrines Home for Peculiar Children. These three author’s stories all have gothic elements, such as psychological issues, death and fear that parallel one other which shows a common trend between gothic literatures.
Once we were all in the circle, Gabriel uttered a few words, sending our bodies to Purgatory. After a few minutes of being thrown to Purgatory, we made it. The scene just as I remembered-- bloody. I surveyed the area, checking for any witnesses. After making sure the coast was clear, I entered the tent, pulling out the syringe.
us shall you leave this earthly abode. Oh no, you will run by my side
I hid my face as I sat desperately alone in the back of the crowded church and stared through blurry eyes at the stained glass windows. Tears of fear and anguish soaked my red cheeks. Attempting to listen to the hollow words spoken with heartfelt emotion, I glanced at his picture, and my eyes became fixed on his beloved dog. Sudden flashes of sacred memories overcame me. Memories of soccer, his unforgettable smile, and our frequent exchange of playful insults, set my mind spinning. I longed only to hear his delighted voice once more. I sat for what seemed like hours in that lonely yet overcrowded church; my tears still flowed, and I still remembered.
Looking at Gothic Horror The horror genre remains very popular with cinema audiences even nowadays because the special effects today make creatures look even more terrifyingly realistic and it also means that you can film stunts or scenes like somebody turning into a werewolf for example, much more easy to film and much more effective. An example of a modern horror film that consists of very effective special effects is 'Underworld' that makes use of computer generation to make some impressive transformation scenes. The advances in technology give modern horror films an edge over classics and a modern audience expects a lot more from a horror film nowadays.
Southern Gothic Literature is a subgenre of Gothic fiction writing, which takes place in the American South. The Southern Gothic style is one of that employs the topics such as death, bizarre, violent, madness, and supernatural. These tools are used “to explore social issues and reveal the cultural character of the American South (Wikipedia).” The view of the South which is self-identified as the “national” or “American” view is basically a colonial Romance, with the rest of the nation identified with the forces of the light and the South with the forces of the darkness (Wacker 107).The authors of Southern Gothic typically use damaged characters to make their stories better, and to show deeper meanings of unpleasant Southern characteristics. These characters are diverse from society due to social, physical or mental disabilities. However, not all characteristics of the characters are bad; it is that a mixture of good and bad is found in most of the characters. Two authors who express the Southern Gothic writing style are William Faulkner, who wrote “A Rose for Emily,” and Flanner O Conner, the author of “Good Country People” and “A Good Man is Hard to Find.”
I had done some fashion work in St. Paul and I had principally gone to Chicago to shoot fashion, but I found myself doing more and more work on the south side, the poverty stricken areas where the blacks lived. That is what got me a Rosenwald Fellowship, the first one ever given in photography. At the time, Jack Delano was in Chicago and he encouraged me to come to the Farm Security Administration.
They revealed headless humans hung on chains and innumerous distorted faces. The sound of something similar to that of a disembodied spirit could be heard from all angles. I wasn't nearly as frightened as my sister, though, so I made it my sole responsibility to protect her. "We're going to make it out of here and then you won't have to come back any more." The vehicle turned yet another corner and we came to a standstill with the ancient concrete wall.
As we walked through the woods on the dark cold night in October we notice screaming of what we had thought to be the neighbor girl. We creep closer to the large mansion and climb the gates to get in the massive front yard. As me and my friends Kevin, Douglas, and randy reach the front door, we slowly creep open the front door, we hear screams and yells and very quickly leave the situation. We head back to the house for the night and decide that we will make a plan and return to the mansion tomorrow.
When I was a child I used to be frightened of entering such a place for it seemed so imposing and somewhat dangerous, especially when music was being played. One day, in order to keep a promise I had made, I saw myself forced to enter. It took me quite a while to get the courage to pass through the old oak door, but the moment I stepped in, I realized just how enchanting and breathtaking this building could be. Its fantastic architecture and exquisite frescoes reflect perfectly the unity between this earth and the unseen kingdom of angels in such a manner that one cannot say where one ends and the other begins. The way in which the church was built is also the vivid testimony of a medieval period. Although it is a place that can sometimes be cold and ask for respect it is where prayers are answered and magic is done. An overwhelming feeling of inner harmony takes over you once you enter and God seems much closer. Darkness and light are welded perfectly together creating Redemption’s house. The tower allows you to see the entire town from the smallest river to the biggest building site, offering you its mightiness.
When I reached the altar, there were two skeletons, and one human, hanging unconscious from a chain on the ceiling. The skeletons were positioned as if ready to catch them, should they fall. The human was a man, and he was clad in robes you might see in a picture of Jesus, and had some cargo pants.