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Mistress of the Dark (a short story)

I stand impotent and alone,
my restraints clanging out their foreboding hollow tune,
against the cold, damp, grey walls of my miserable cell.
     I tremble with terrible fright,
in the wavering light of the torches,
wondering what fate shall befall me,
in this eerily silent prison.
     To my shock and dismay, I hear a key,
grating in the lock of my cell's door.
In walks a shadowy figure,
adorned in flowing black robes of silk.
     Slowly the silent, dark figure glides toward me.
With a low hiss, my captor orders me to look up.
When my frightened eyes meet my inquisitor,
I am surprised by what I see before me.
     There before me stands a woman so pale,
yet so very beautiful,
with eyes of brilliant icy blue,
that seem to dance in the shimmering light,
her deep red lips curled into an evil smile,
as she looks me over like a piece of meat.
Her hair is long and flowing down her back
with a red ribbon wrapped round her raven locks.
     I see her long, sharp, blood red nails
as they dance before me,
her whispered words are hypnotic and smooth,
sending tremors of terror down my spine.
     Suddenly this dark mistress of doom removes a shiny golden key,
unlocks my cold shackles and with a strong grip upon my hand,
leads me stumbling and fearfully to the middle of the smokey room.
     I quake with fear as she slowly shackles my hands and feet
to the cold grey altar,
and begins to chant as she pours rich, red blood around the altar,
then quietly begins to place black candles around the bloody pentagram,
and slowly lights them, as if by magic.
     My evil mistress glides round the room lighting glowing
pots of incense,
the noxious fumes accost my confused senses.
I begin to lapse into blessed unconsciousness,
as she begins to chant in an ancient language,
that seems to be older than time.
     As the last bit of light escapes my eyes,
driving me into the deepest, darkness I have ever known,
her shiny curved knife plunges into my heart.
My soul seems to hover over my body
as if to bid me farewell, as I drift into the vast swollen river
of darkness and despair,
another victim of this evil, dark mistress of death.
Donavon Scott Vinson



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Mistress of the Dark (a short story)


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