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Author Topic: Little Hollen Gale || A Fiction Story  (Read 430 times)

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Offline MaelTopic starter

Little Hollen Gale || A Fiction Story
« on: August 06, 2014, 07:54:35 AM »
This was a role play/story that I completed a while back, and I figured I could post it here, to get my writing out there.
I'm fairly proud of this part as well as the next part, and I'll be sure to post the links to each in the respective threads.
This story is based around a character I had created, and serves as their back story, in two distinct parts.

Warning: this is a semi-horrific plot, with elements like cannibalism and possibly scary imagery present. It is not my intention to cause anyone discomfort and/or possible triggers.

I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did, writing it.
-Mael.



The local news broadcast crackled over the static of the radio, assaulting the silence and filling the room with a bored-sounding, echoed tone. Gone was the worry, the urgency from the tone during the weeks earlier when they were making the same sort of announcements. There was no longer any panic laced in the voice of the speakers, nothing to be irritated about when the channel shorted out for a moment – listeners afraid that they had missed important information regarding the case in such moments. The little girl was still missing, though the case was drawing to a close with no viable leads to go on. It was the middle of winter, after all, and who could expect proper humans to search through the bitter temperatures for the little girl who had… interesting quirks, and whose parents hadn’t even volunteered to head the search.

What a sad, sad story.

Sharp, blue hues gazed at the crackling box with a strong sense of curiosity and a spike of sudden violence, sick of hearing the voice, but too young to understand how the damn thing was shut off. The crackling of the in-and-out station had been haunting her, irritating her, the entire time she’d been in this strange, new place. A scrawny, desperately-thin little frame scrambled out of the musty armchair, approaching the noise-making box, a snarl leaving her lips as she reached and arm up, finding her willowy frame to still is too short to reach it. A tangled mass of fiery red locks spilled down over her shoulders, her t-shirt long dirtied and torn from her adventures. Her frail, thin legs peered out beneath equally dirtied and torn shorts – that may have once been pants – and were littered with as many freckles as the rest of her visible skin. Feet bare, they were coated with dirt and grime, scuffed and trailing footprints across the dusty, wooden floor.

Irritation mounting, a few dirt-clotted nails began to pick at the scabs that seemed to home themselves in random patches along her arms and legs. Not located in the typical ‘bump-and-bruise’ locations like the knees or elbows, these curious spots were along the wrists, her calves, and her forearms. If one would look close enough, the appearance of dirt upon and beneath her gnarly fingernails would, in fact, be revealed to be mostly dried blood. The scab successfully withdrawn from her wrist, cracked lips would instantly meet the torn flesh to suckle away at the trailing drops of blood that soon oozed from the irritated, healing skin. The young girl licked up the luscious flavor, humming as she quickly padded her way out of the noisy room and into the abandoned hallway, calmly passing the overturned coffee-table and the knocked down pictures surrounded by shattered glass panes.

The humming bounced along the walls as the little girl rounded the corner of her new home, stepping over trails of blood along the wooden floor that soon gave away to tiled floor when she entered the kitchen. Flies and gnats buzzed around her, though seemed to find interest in something else that rested, unmoving in the shadowed corner of the room. Opening the fridge, out of simple habit, she scoffed to herself in a way that could have been viewed as humorous considering her age and stature, when she discovered it to still be empty. How did parents fill it, exactly? Shaking her head, still suckling on her bleeding wrist, she slammed the door shut hard enough to shake the entire appliance. Twisting, her emaciated stomach rumbling, she padded over towards the shadowed, slumped figure, and poked it as if it would respond.

“Papa?”

Not hearing a response, the girl shrugged her limp shoulder up slightly, letting it drop before she approached the ever-familiar figure of who was once her father. She reached over, grabbing at his left hand, and she brought it to her lips. Sniffing along his flesh, each digit would glint slightly in the sunlight pouring through the dingy kitchen window. Observing, testing, flexing each knuckle… the young girl made her decision. Grabbing the ring finger, the fattiest of the five, she slipped the small limb into her mouth and began to chew. The flesh, having been old at this point, began to instantly give way beneath her sharp teeth, and slip down her throat smoothly. Savoring the taste, she chewed all visible skin and muscles from the bone, licking it clean with soft moans of appreciation for her meal. The shimmering white of the bone sparkled and glinted with her left over saliva.

Meal finished, growing bored, she dropped the heavy arm to the dead body’s side, and scampered off to have another adventure. A new glint reflected in the sunlight, a soft tinkling sound echoing through the open kitchen as Papa’s golden wedding band slipped from his newly stripped finger, rolling across the tile only to slow near the base of the sink. It fell onto its side, casting a little, circular shadow upon the tile that was decorated with little fragments of flesh and pearls of blood.

Offline MaelTopic starter

Re: Little Hollen Gale || A Fiction Story
« Reply #1 on: August 06, 2014, 07:57:03 AM »
The search team sat there, in a quiet office, feeling defeated. How could they find a little girl everyone believed to be dead? One who had been missing for two months with no sign, no witnesses. She’d been kidnapped by her own father, pulled from her home after he’d gone insane… killed her mother. Granted, everyone was thinking the same thing at the time: the mother was insane, as well. Both parents would have to be insane to spawn a child as strange as Hollen Gale. A child who picked at her own flesh, drank the blood that pooled from the wounds… ate the bits of flesh she tore away, as if she preferred the flavor to typical children’s meals. Because of her avid aversion to normalcy, the young child always had appeared emaciated; her parents had stopped taking her to the doctor, had stopped trying to cure their child’s habits. It was a sad story… but those who had been searching for the girl were losing faith and hope in their expedition. There was no way the girl had survived the recent snowstorm… if she’d even remained alive with her father’s assumed agenda.

Papa had brought a gun.

It was cold and white outside. It was beautiful, but the car had been driving too fast. Papa was crying, holding onto his beaded necklace, muttering things to someone who wasn’t there. Who was he talking to? The girl in the back, pondering these things as she watched her Papa fall apart, remained silent. Papa hadn’t given her winter clothes, though it was so desperately cold outside. Snow was everywhere, blinding the car and her Papa, but he was still going. Her little knuckles were white as she grasped onto the car seat beneath her, blue eyes so open and trusting, yet filled with a sort of unbalanced nature. Papa’s eyes met hers in the rear-view mirror; he was so troubled. What was wrong with his little girl, his little red-haired angel? What kind of devil, what kind of demon had possessed her to have a craving for human flesh so young? It was their entire fault – they had no reason to be parents. They were cursed; their entire family had to be cursed. To protect the future possible generations… this had to happen. Hollen could not live, her mother and his wife could not live… and neither could he. No one could live on, knowing what was about to happen.


“Why is she doing that, Martin? Is she…?” The parents stared on in horror as their toddler began to lick her own blood off of her flesh. They had adopted this little girl in hopes that they would have been able to give her a better life – to give her a home where she was cared for, not starved, not neglected… she’d been a beautiful little girl with flushed cheeks and a beautiful smile when they’d first seen her. They had not expected this, not at all. Their daughter was eating flesh. Her own flesh, for that matter! “My God,” Martin said, his eyes widening as he clutched at his rosary, beginning to fondle and caress the beads as he echoed the prayers in his head with earnest. His wife beside him began to cry, shaking her head, and she fled the scene from the horror of their young girl now chewing on her forearm, intent on tasting her own skin in her mouth. He stood there in stunned silence, abhorred at the atrocious scene before him. What had they done to anger God in such a way that they deserved this thrust upon them? They’d lived by prayer, by the good book, and by the laws. They were a religious couple who attended church each Sunday and who simply hadn’t been blessed with the ability to have children…

Maybe this was the reason why, all along.


Her bed was in the cupboard in the upstairs bathroom. It was a small, dark space that was comfortable once she’d found the mothball ridden blankets and pillows in the bedroom and dragged them into her small, makeshift bunk. There was no one who would find her there, not even the nightmares, she was sure of it. She curled into a ball, her back facing the wall behind her while her torso hugged her knees. Blue eyes peered towards the slightly cracked door of the cabinet, cracked to let in a little bit of the moonlight from the window above the sink. She could see the door to the bathroom, the entrance from there, and it made her a little more relaxed. The creature surely wouldn’t find her in here; no one would. No one would haunt her dreams tonight and no creature would come to see her… Papa was gone, her stomach rumbled to remind her so, and for a moment she itched one of her many scabs.

Then… a creaking alerted her and she froze, blue eyes wide on the crack of the cabinet door.

Something was there. Something was coming.

Offline MaelTopic starter

Re: Little Hollen Gale || A Fiction Story
« Reply #2 on: August 06, 2014, 07:58:25 AM »
Papa had pointed the gun at her, speaking quietly about demons and devils, sin and horrible things… about how he and Momma hadn’t deserved this fate and that God was punishing them. Little blue eyes simply stared at him over the barrel of the gun, lacking fear of his conviction. They were merely wide, almost curious, and a little confused. What had she done wrong? What was Papa pointing a gun at her for? Hollen understood – she knew what a gun was, since she had seen and touched one in her younger years. She’d seen them on the television and knew what they were meant to do. To maim… to kill. Was Papa going to kill her? A spike of fear and adrenaline coursed through her veins and her heartbeat thundered in her ears; what would it be like, to die? Her higher level of acuity and intelligence showed through, in that moment, as she looked towards the end of the gun in her face before looking back towards her father. His words instantly stopped and his face turned pale as he realized that she knew what he was going to do to her. “No. You cannot know! How can you, you’re just a child?! God, why are you punishing me in this way?!” he was crying. Papa’s tears were dripping down his hooked nose, onto his coat, onto the ground. Suddenly, it made Hollen realize she was thirsty. Very, very thirsty. When was the last time she’d had a drink? Her father mumbled, questioning his faith, while Hollen stood there – rail thin and comprehensive beyond her years – wondering about where she was going to be able to find some water.

“Papa… I’m thirsty,” she muttered to him, only to hear bitter laughter that was more guttural noise than anything else. She had never heard Papa laugh like that. It was like his hope was gone, completely destroyed. Maybe his God hadn’t answered him? That had to be frustrating. Canting her head lightly to the side, her red hair spilled forth over her shoulders and her little feet rocked back and forth. Maybe she should’ve waited until he was done talking with God? She hadn’t heard any answer, though, so she figured it would’ve been okay to ask. Papa never liked to be interrupted – he’d told Momma so, many, many times. That always made Papa so angry… had she made Papa angry by interrupting his conversation with himself? Hollen never understood who Papa and Momma talked to in the quiet hours of the night when they’d believed her to be sleeping, or in that stuffy place crowded with people once or twice a week – depending on how many ‘sins’ had happened in the house. The idea of religion was lost on such a young, tainted mind. Fingers twitching at her sides, she looked towards Papa as he began to angrily shout at God, questioning his decisions and waving the gun in her direction. Did he not know how to use it? Why would he have something dangerous if he didn’t know how it worked? Blinking, she dismissed the thought – he’d used it on Momma, after all. He definitely knew how to use it.


Scurrying back into her cabinet, she clutched at her knees, feeling herself trembling. Hollen was a child who’d been faced with multiple, terrifying situations in her younger years. Nothing had truly scared her before, not until the first time she’d met this creature. She knew, the first time she’d seen it, that it wasmeant for her to fear it. It embodied the entire emotion of fear, and more. It was intimidating, knowing that fear could hold such a power over someone – she comprehended that fear could be a very manipulative emotion, something that could control those like Papa and Momma, who felt like they could never fear before, until struck with a situation or a child that they simply didn’t understand. And despite her fear, Hollen felt… fascinated by the creature that had appeared to her occasionally throughout her time in this strange house. Often, it brought her food, fresh kills that were bleeding and delicious. It seemed to know exactly what she liked, while at the same time, it made her eat fruits and other things that tasted a lot like vegetables… but the fear of disappointing this creature was far greater than her disgust of some simple food. Still – her fear outweighed all other, possible emotions, and caused the frail figure to tremble in the dark corner of her safe place… slowly making her to realize, as the creature approached, that it was no longer her safe place.

The cabinet door opened fractionally, and claws scraped along the floor’s surface as Hollen’s senses were assaulted with a variety of semi-familiar things: the smell of flesh, hearing guttural and indistinguishable sounds paired with deep breathing, and seeing a twisted and emaciated frame that would often haunt her through the nights she managed to get some sleep. And for some reason, she knew and was aware that this creature served that purpose – it was meant to be feared, to be a creature of legend and one of haunting imagery. Hearing a familiar call, a demand, Hollen stiffened in her hiding place. The creature was impatient, and quick to anger. Thunk. Blue eyes instantly zoned in on what had caused the sound, no longer seeing the extended front limbs of the creature… but seeing a shining red apple, glistening in the moonlight that poured forth from above the sink she was homed beneath. Her mouth watered and her slim stomach rumbled. Without thinking of what would be waiting for her, she scrambled forward and out into the moonlight, crouching there as her fingers brought the succulent fruit to her lips and her teeth quickly destroyed the perfect skin surrounding the juicy innards.

The creature watched all the while.

Offline MaelTopic starter

Re: Little Hollen Gale || A Fiction Story
« Reply #3 on: August 06, 2014, 08:00:24 AM »
The creature smelled like burning, like fire. It was strange – it had never smelled like fire before. There was an odd scent mixed in, however, mingling with the scent of firewood and decaying material. The smell of burning flesh was a recognizable one, even for those who had never smelled it before. It was simply one of those strange smells that, when finally taken through the senses, that people could assume the origin of it. Despite her curious nature, the small redhead kept her gaze down and focused on the succulent apple, little fingernails digging into the red flesh of it eagerly while her teeth tore away at the morsel. The creature’s eyes – dark like the night with a white gleam that often shimmered over them – were set on the back of Hollen’s head, watching with an uncanny sense of patience. One could almost say that the gaze was admiring. And claiming. The creature had, obviously, claimed the little girl for herself, caring for her and making sure that she understood where she was now. Despite how it appeared, the creature never hid itself from the little girl. Hollen would never be able to forget what this creature looked like, especially with it frequently haunting her dreams.

It had appeared to her on the second night.

Not physically, no, but right there in the corner of her mind, in the background of her dreams… there was this creature. She was on a swing, swinging back and forth, going higher and higher, but she knew it was there. She was watching herself, and she could see it behind her, hiding in the trees. The moon was reflecting on it, and the sun was shining on her. It was warm against her skin, making her hair look like a flame. The creature was hiding, though the moon showed it. There were patches of uneven fur, scars and marks, and she could see the ribs pressing against taut skin. Back legs were buckled against the ground, and extremely long frontal limbs were balancing its tall body and keeping it upright. Antlers, tangled with vines and cobwebs, rested upon its head – but the face was all wrong. It looked like a dog, with its white teeth pressing down over its bottom lip, black nose wriggling towards her scent and taking her in. Those eyes… the misted white gaze never left the redhead, never left her alone.


At first, it was just a presence there in her mind, in the back of her continuously repetitive dream. Then, slowly, it became more pronounced, and soon began to take more of a role on in her dreams. The darkness would soon overcome the day, darkening the entire dream into a nightmare. Nightmares of guns, loud noises, fire, screams. Nightmares of people frantically praying to a God that Hollen never believed in, chanting voices, and torture. Yet, the young child never felt in danger. The creature always stood at her side, as if opening her eyes to the world she was missing and protecting her from what it was revealing. Nothing ever harmed her; Hollen was always aware that she was in a nightmare. It was a very strange sensation and reaction that she had, whenever the creature joined her. She had no control, but at the same time, she knew she would never be harmed, no matter what her dream was about. The creature would keep her safe, despite how nightmarish it looked itself.

The fear Hollen felt was more present because the creature wanted it to be, especially when it came around in person. The young girl didn’t know if that was something the creature could control… or not. However, it didn’t matter – the creature brought food, and that was what mattered. She finished the apple, sucking the core dry and chewing the last bits she could from the flesh. Then, she licked her fingers, one at a time, for no drop of the precious taste would go to waste. Licking her lips clean, blue hues finally lifted to take a look at the creature from her nightmares; the creature that had shown up after the incident and shortly after Papa had really begun to decay…showing up when the snow began to fall and the search had long been called off.


“Papa-“

“Don’t you talk to me! This is all your fault!”

Instantly, her mouth snapped shut and her young eyes widened, staring at the man who’d called himself her Papa for a few years now. Her little hands trembled and, out of nervous habit, she raised her left hand to her mouth. Chewing, she began to rip open a scabbing mark that was resting near her palm. She licked the blood forming, pooling, and she began to gnaw at the skin. Her Papa began to curse more, screaming at the sky, making the young one flinch and begin to tremble, chewing harder at her own flesh. Truthfully, it was not her fault that this habit had formed. Her past life had been rather unbearable – but no one even thought of it that way. She merely kept quiet, continuing with her habits, while her parents had gone slowly insane. Her father, standing before her now, was mumbling and screaming, waving his gun around. Then, he went quiet, suddenly. Her eyes flicked up, her actions stopping and freezing as she saw him pointing the gun in her direction. Papa was going to kill her. Tears welled up in her eyes, seeing some falling from his own and splashing onto the jacket he was wearing. He said something, something she didn’t understand the meaning of – “May God have mercy on your soul.”

Then a shot.

Then Papa fell, a bullet hole having ripped through his left temple and splattered his brains along the wall behind him. His body slumped, crumpling to the ground in front of Hollen. She stared, shocked, and stared for about an hour. Finally, she moved, stumbling forward to grab the gun that had fallen to the floor. She snatched it up with one bleeding hand, holding the gun away from her body as if it held a disease. She carried it to the side door in the kitchen, and she threw the gun outside, into a pile of snow.

That gun wouldn’t be harming anyone, anymore.

But gunshots would forever strike fear into her young heart.

Offline MaelTopic starter

Re: Little Hollen Gale || A Fiction Story
« Reply #4 on: August 06, 2014, 08:04:07 AM »
It was a strange experience, living in the middle of nowhere, for season after season with this creature caring for her. Sometimes, she would go days without seeing it – it would occasionally stop by, sitting in the shadows, and never interact, or sometimes they would play and Hollen would tell it stories. The monster seemed to love bedtime stories and would always grow restless. Every night, though, Hollen knew that it would be around… a subtle reminder and guardian in unexpected places in her dreams. She didn’t know if that meant it was physically there, near her body where she was sleeping, but she knew that it would be impossible to find out. Hollen grew while she resided in the cabin, eating whatever the creature managed to provide her with until she was able to find items for her own sustenance. Foraging was never complicated; finding fruits and vegetables, the occasional animal getting caught in one of her make-shift traps… simple, easy tasks. The only edible thing that she was provided was flesh – the one thing she truly craved and the one thing she wasn’t skilled enough to get herself.

The monster always waited, waited until she was practically mad with wanting and insane with desire to eat human flesh, to provide her with a body. Hollen never seemed to turn to eating her own flesh, seeing as it was a nervous habit and it always seemed to make the creature angry. Her self-inflicted wounds seemed to fade with time while her willowy body slowly began to grow in height and skill over passing time. The house became her playground, her shelter from storms she didn’t want to run in, and a warm place in the cold seasons. In the summer, it was a place of shadows and shade, though sometimes she felt the need to abandon it with the heat it seemed to let in and hold. Those nights, she knew that the monster was upset with her, but she simply didn’t seem to care. The monster knew that the only true place she was safe was in the house – not in the top of a tree somewhere, catching the breeze and able to be seen if someone were to go by in passing. Hollen couldn’t help but become restless when kept inside constantly; the creature never understood that. Hollen tried to explain it, tried to get the caregiver to understand that she couldn’t be kept inside all of the time and the reason it didn’t understand was because it was out all of the time. There was no reasoning with the beast, and Hollen knew that her efforts were pointless whenever she was ushered back into the safety of her shelter.

This monster was more of a parent to her than Momma and Papa had ever been.


Her unasked questions were answered on a late night, while she was listening to the noise box that was creaking messages and haunting tunes through the living room. She was sitting, perched in a large chair that was near the dwindling fire, and listening to the box like she had for a few nights in a row now, finding comfort in the sound instead of irritation. The creature was always a good company, but it was unable to converse with her like a human would – she yearned for the contact of someone who was like her. Shifting, she was growing tired of the boring stories and talking voices as night crept into the room through the partially opened windows. Legs dangling over the edge of the armrest, her arms cast shadows along the walls as she tried to entertain herself. Then, a deep voice resonated throughout the room, catching her attention and causing her to sit up in her seat and cross her legs. Blue eyes, sharp and knowing, met the crackling box as she began to listen to ‘The Haunting Tales of Twilight Hours’. It was an older radio show, one meant to be played for daring teenagers and parents after little children had long been put to sleep. They often sent chills up Hollen’s spine and made her feel alive. She had no need to fear nightmares – the monster always kept her dreams in check, kept her safe from even the most frightening images her subconscious could conjure.

Tonight’s story was captivating, a tale about a Native American culture and their strong beliefs in those things superstitious. Their stories had always fascinated Hollen, especially when she learned of the Gods they prayed to and what they seemed to believe in. Momma and Papa would have laughed at those beliefs or scorned the peoples who believed them. To them, there had been one true God… a God that had not answered in their times of need, nor had he saved Papa. To Hollen… these Native Americans beliefs were more practical that Momma and Papa’s. Spine straightening, the thin girl’s shirt shifted above her naval and the legs of her pants tugged up more towards her knees. Never once did she worry about them becoming too tight around her waist or anywhere on her body; it was merely the length that was proving to be a problem, the more she grew. The voice coming from the box was luring her in with promises of a story – a superstition – that could haunt even the most resilient mind (whatever that meant).

Then, she felt a cold sense of understanding beginning to wash over her. The man in the box talked to her, spoke directly to her with this story, when he began to talk of people who ate flesh. Apparently, that was an abomination, especially to these people. The act of eating flesh was only the action of those most evil or corrupt – or who had been stuck in desperate situations. A memory threatened to rear its ugly head in her subconscious, but her fascination with the story was too hard-pressed to let her attention be captured by anything else. As she listened, a sudden shock-wave was sent through her entire being as she listened to the man describe a creature, one that haunted nightmares of those who had consumed flesh – one who only seemed to further the craving, cause the people to be outcasts and others to stray from their company. This creature was evil and could possess other humans, causing them to crave flesh and become cannibals even when they were not possessed, making them outsiders and victims for the creature’s evil bidding. A cold chill set into Hollen’s bones as she realized why this creature was so familiar… and she sensed the presence of her own, haunting monster slipping into the room behind her when it was finally given a name. It wasn’t just a monster, a creature, any longer. Hollen knew what her guardian was… it had a name.

Wendigo.



That's the completion of part one!
I'll be sure to post a link here for part two as soon as I have it posted up.
Thank-you for taking the time out of your day in order to read this little blip of my writing.
I appreciate it very much.
-Mael.

Offline MaelTopic starter

Re: Little Hollen Gale || A Fiction Story
« Reply #5 on: August 06, 2014, 08:38:45 AM »
Here is the link to Part II, the final 'chapter' of this little story of mine.
Red & White: A Rite of Passage.