When Bats Sleep

[HumanePain]

When Bats Sleep

The car pulled into the foggy cemetery driveway at four-thirty in the morning. The gate was locked, but the young man parked anyway, no one would be around until at least seven. He and her liked to come here, the familiar place, and familiar memories here comforted them, a stable, unchanging place in an unpredictable and disappointing world. The car stereo was playing Lacuna Coil - Humane. It was 'their' song.

The moonlight being enough, as it brightened and dimmed in the passing fog, he turned off the lights that briefly illuminated the marble crypts of the mausoleum, and they both got out. She pulled on her black leather jacket, he put on his black trench coat, as they walked to the side of the gate driveway to the pedestrian entrance, the black wrought iron gateway arch was always open. Vines had grown over the years, intertwined with the wrought iron bars, the leaves gone in the November fall season.

As the couple stepped softly on the sidewalk towards the moonlit mausoleum, a fleeting glimpse of flashing black against the gray fog, above the great structure caught her attention: a bat, artfully twisting and turning after the moths that had been disturbed by their car headlamps. Their night time visit meant death for the moths, and life for the bats. The plus and minus cancelled out any guilt she felt for triggering the ancient struggle for existence.

He put his arms around her small waist as they reached the foot of the steps, and facing her, looked at her eyes. Even now, her eyes reflected color, but now it was deep burgundy, her lips pale pastel lavender. On her fair face in the moonlight, they made her into an image of love that shone with a cold light, a goddess fit for the cemetery, a goddess that would make a man welcome death.

She put her arms inside his trench coat, and looked into his eyes, but his back was to the moonlight. Only darkness could be seen in his face, but she could feel the affection, his worship of her. His face came closer, his nose rubbing hers, in a deliberate, prolonged search for her lips. He kissed her, breathing in her scent, feeling the cold fog as he inhaled. She was breathing in too, taking in his smell, and the smell of the leaves decaying in the soil, the cold moisture in the fog, a thousand sensations at once. Her senses were overloaded, trying to listen and speak at the same time in this elementary communication between man and woman.

He pulled her closer, wanting to devour her if he could, breaking off the kiss, he kissed her cheek, then bit her neck where it met her shoulders, she gasped at the sensation. Looking up, she saw that the bat was flying towards the mausoleum,
under the great roof, and hung itself upside down, claws grasping a chipped edge inside. It stared back at her with eyes faintly reflecting green dots.

Here they were safe from the world of the living. The cemetery was the only place where there were people with no problems. Sanctuary.

The night time sky was beginning to glow: sunrise was coming. Time for bats to sleep.

[Maj.Bromley]

Lol, Nice intro, I liked it a lot

[HumanePain]

i hope this gets attached as a reply to The Major, haven't yet figured out the editor/webpage/FAQ instructions yet...psychotropic meds make it hard sometimes to tell the imagined from the real...sometimes...i think. <squint>

ANYway: thanks! especially since i haven't figured out the nettiquette here yet either. Probably gonna step on some hooves whilst i figure this all out, but i am wearing my asbestos trench coat, so if i'm lame, FLAME.

[Maj.Bromley]

Lol, its indeed a very difficult button-figure-out...

[HumanePain]

Chapter 2 – Until Death Do Us…

Another foggy, cold night at the cemetery, the fog hugging close to the ground, with inky blackness above, but tonight...Tonight was Valentine’s Day night.

A dark green Cadillac pulled into the familiar, black gated driveway. He had taken her out to dinner, and now at ten o’clock, they had come to their favorite, secluded sanctuary. The car lights shutting off, the car doors opened. He got out, wearing his black trench coat against the cold, her shining black leather jacket with her collar turned up against the moisture. This night, they held hands as they slowly walked the familiar walkway under the black iron and vine entwined archway entrance to the home of No Problems.

The fog was thick tonight, obscuring the mausoleum, but its roof could be seen above the low thick layer of gray. The bats were circling in their radar predation above the large marble and stone structure, but at ground level she could not see anything until they were within a few feet of it. As they walked closer to the crypts, tombstones came into view out of the mist, some with crosses; others had the Star of David.

He squeezed her hand, she looked at him, and he was pointing silently. She followed his direction: two large tombstones in distance midway between them and the mausoleum, their graves hidden by the mist, but the tops appearing above it. But in front of the grave markers, a softly glowing green haze that became twin oblongs of light.

The twin, drifting lights elongated, and became humanoid. She was spellbound. He stared. An arm from each light reached out, and they held hands. The forms became a glowing green man and woman, in turn of the century dress, her dress large and ruffled, hair in locks that draped from her flowered hat, he in a tuxedo and top hat. They appeared to be the same age as the living couple, and just as in love, as revealed by their gazes towards each other.

The ghostly couple facing each other, and his arm around her waist and the other holding her hand high, her other hand holding a fan against his shoulder, they began to dance. They did not seem to notice the living.

As the misty fog drifted over the graves, the green glow brightened and dimmed, but the couple still danced, a slow waltz, now slowly spinning together as they started to rise above the fog.

The living man put his arm around his living female companion, and she cuddled against him, holding her jacket collar close against the mist, watching with large, deep lavender eyes. The ghostly couple, dead for over a century, were now above the mausoleum, circling each other, the bats flying through their green haze, spiraling higher, spinning, smiling, eyes locked in an eternal gaze. They rose high in the sky, perspective shrinking them until they were a bright green star that twinkled, and then went out.

The living couple walked up to the tombstones. Beloved husband and wife ‘till death do us part’. He smiled at her, and she smiled back at him. Death obviously failed.

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

It's so, so beautiful. I love this story. It's so beautiful.

[HumanePain]

Thank you!
I loved writing it. i had to rewrite it and rewrite it many times until i had it the way i wanted it. i have posted it on other sites, but it was too dark for them. You are the first reader who said it was beautiful, and most importantly to me, said you loved it. Thank you.

More stories to follow, that will be on a different thread. This one may continue too.

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

If this one continued I would love to read it. I think it's a great story. You seem to have caught my fancy too, you and cradle. I love your writings as well as his.

[HumanePain]

Chapter 3 - Femme Fatale

The cold November morning was brisk enough to keep her awake, and at the same time make her wish she was cozy in bed back home. It was these cold mornings she was glad she still had her black nylons under a black and gray plaid skirt. But gone were the boots; the more professional duties she had facing grieving customers required more modest, flat shoes, but these were still black. Bundled up, she unlocked the Funeral Home where she worked, and went inside.

Hanging her coat up in the front office, revealing a black, long sleeved top and violet and black scarf, she went to the back to check on any deliveries made last night by the Police Coroner. She would sometimes come in to find bullet riddled gang members, homeless men whose dead bodies had been found in an ally or under bridges, or drug addicts who had overdosed.

This morning there were no ‘surprises’. She had only to make arrangements for the next funeral, but first, she would make some hot tea.

Tea made, she sipped it as she went back to the storage area where the caskets were stored. Her favorite, a newer model made with an outside shell of purple acrylic layered on steel, shining with dark black and blue trim and chrome hinges, was on a prep table, with the top doors open. Inside was plush purple felt, in button and tuck sewing, looking very inviting on this cold day.

Hmmmm…it is a slow day. And this hot tea is making me sleepy. There is no business today, and the manager is back east for Thanksgiving preparations at his home. I think I’ll take a little nap…

She put the teacup down on the floor, kicked off her shoes, and climbed inside the casket.

Mmmmmm…soft and quiet. She closed her eyes and napped…

---------------------------

In the front office, the thick velvet drapes ruffled as the front door opened and closed. Blue eyes under dark eyebrows and shaggy dark hair searched as he wandered through the building, the silence raising concern for his love. Where was she? She should have been at work by now. He had stopped by to see if there had been any night time deliveries too, sometimes she would let him in to watch as she made preparations. Like any other couple, they had common interests. He decided to go into the back storage area.

Her shoes! Where…

Then he saw her. She was sleeping peacefully in the casket, a hint of smile on her small mouth, lavender lipstick beckoning his male instincts. Walking up to the casket quietly, he peered down at her.

His gaze admired her closed eyelashes, the guardians of amethyst crystals that could cast a lifetime spell. Her gentle upturned nose reminded him of memories of feeling it against his cheek in passionate kisses. Her black, sleek hair, shiny and beautiful. Her face was angelic, her body laying in the casket, devilishly vulnerable, tempting him to take advantage of her pose. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, a slow, gentle kiss, a kiss that said awake my love!

She heard his command, the demand in his kiss, and returned it with a moist conformity to his own as she awoke. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders. He opened his eyes, as she opened hers. She smiled and lowered her eyelashes, the coup-de-grace that captured him and made him all hers. Heart pounding, he just had to kiss her again.

She hoped the Funeral Home never sold this casket, it was the best accessory a goth-girl could have!

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

I love it. This was great!!!! I love this part. The coffin was great. I love the details. You are great with details. I loved it!!!! I love this story. The setting, the way it's written. I lovethis story. You are doing a great job, you must continue. I would like to read more.

[HumanePain]

Thank you Crying Crimson Tears. You are too kind. May I ask:
Is your Gothic.net name derived from Siouxsie and the Banshees video "Face to Face"?
To see the video i am referring to, see:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4y6M2AeQ00
Siouxsie has crimson tears. I love this vid.
And yes, i will certainly write more chapters for "When Bats Sleep". Stay tuned!

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

Um, no. I have never seen the video until now. But I like the crimson tears she has in the video. It's cool song. I hope you write some more soon, I am always eager to read more.

[HumanePain]

OK, so this one is not exactly Gothic, but it is still lovers sharing a common, dark interest, in a dark setting. Hope you like it, but if not, i still like it anyway...

***************************************

Chapter 4 – Parking Lot

It was four AM when he and she left the Darkwave Garden Club, everyone else started leaving too. The parking lot was full of young people talking and laughing in between cars, music starting to play loudly from some of them. Headlamps here and there came on, engines roaring to life as she held his arm and snuggled close to him. They walked to his car at the far end of the lot. He stopped.

Two men were standing by the driver door of his green ‘71 Cadillac Sedan de Ville, one with spiked black hair, one with a white mohawk, both wearing black sleeveless shirts, tattoos morphing and shifting as their large biceps attempted to manipulate the delicate wire towards the door handle. A wire hanger inserted into the windows side, trying to unlock the door, they didn’t notice the couple. She squeezed his arm, and then relaxed as he silently walked around to come up behind the thieves.

Mohawk man looked up and saw her staring at them with an angry glare, her arms crossed. He smiled at her.
“Hey, I think the owner’s here, check…her…out!” Spiked hair looked up to see her stretch out her arm and point her finger at them, like a pretend gun.

“Bang.” She smiled as she flipped her thumb down on the imaginary trigger.

The distraction worked. Mohawk’s head snapped back with a CRACK as one of his front teeth went flying in a bloody spit. Spiked hair’s eyes went wide as he turned around, and as he blinked, the wire hanger was yanked out of the window. He swung at his partner’s attacker, but the Goth was too swift and ducked the punch. As Spike’s arm overshot its target, the young man wrapped the wire hanger around the thief’s neck. Eyes bulging, Spike began choking as he reached to his neck in an attempt to keep it from constricting his trachea.

But the wire hanger dragged him down to join Mohawk on the ground, both men pushing on the ground and on each other in an attempt to stand back up. She could hear a loud thud as her love’s steel toed boot kicked Spiked hair in the side of the head. THOCK! Another kick, this time to Mohawk. The men looked around in panic; they could see her laughing as her love moved swiftly around them. She was amused by the panic in the faces of tattooed, evil looking men! Both thieves got up and ran out of the parking lot, yelling, Spiked still wearing the wire hanger, Mohawk spitting blood.

He unlocked and opened the front passenger door. She walked around the car, hips swaying in her shiny black pleated skirt, chrome rivets in her low slung belt sparkling in the parking lot lamps, and got into the Cadillac.
“Thanks. You are such a gentleman, when you are not being a viscous, cruel vigilante.” She smiled looking straight ahead.

The front driver door opened and he got inside, closing his door.
“Yeah, well you looked like you were having fun too babe. Mean cruel babe!”
He leaned over and kissed her.
“What a pair we make.” She whispered with lowered eyes.

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

That's cute. I loved your descriptions of the fighting and such. The details you used were awesome. I really like what you wrote. The ending was really cute.

[HumanePain]

Chapter 5 – Her Hand Given

The long winter night had begun with snow softly drifting down, without ceasing, building up drifts around the old Victorian house. The fresh powder did not allow for any sound, quiet dominated everything outside, leaving one to hear only heartbeats and memories of sound as in a distant dream.

Inside the old estate, the six foot fireplace made the only sound as large oak logs crackled their fiery end, sending sparks up the chimney, like a hellish rain in reverse.

The warm light flickered long shadows from the fireplace grating across the heavy, felt sofa, Royal Purple turning black in the dim firelight. Against one arm of the elegant couch, he lay back, his nose buried in the shining black hair of his love as he held her on his lap. Both were staring at the flames, eyes like tiny mirrors gleaming orange, her arm around his broad shoulders, her petite feminine hand twisting a thick lock of his dark hair.
Even in the death of winter, she smelled of roses. But now and then his nostrils would catch a breath of smoke and ash from the fire. The smell of life, and of the end of what was alive clashed in his emotions. The union of opposites had always attracted him. When most of their friends would cavort in the springtime, their most romantic memories were in the colder time of year.

“More wine love?” She asked, feigning a move to reach for the bottle. He kissed the inside crook of her elbow as she stretched her arm out in front of him. The arm stayed, turning the inside towards his face in a plea for more affection.

“I am intoxicated already.” He whispered, ignoring the offered elbow, face resuming its search through her hair for her neck. As his nose divided her hair and touched her white skin the feeling caused her to grab and pull his hair in reflex, now he was facing the ceiling. She turned around on his lap smiling with lowered eyelashes.

“You’re giving me goose bumps sir.”

“And you are a pain in the neck.” he laughed to the ceiling. She relaxed her grip. Holding his head up again, he stuck his tongue out at her. She laughed.

“You shouldn’t do that in front of my father you know, it’s very disrespectful.” She turned around to look at the portrait of her father and mother hanging above the fireplace.

The old man had black hair with white sideburns that were cut in chop fashion, turning upward to a handlebar moustache. His face was serious, dark eyes commanding respect or else. Her mother was a slightly wrinkled version of her daughter, but with all white hair that was more of a platinum blonde than the white of old age. Her small mouth wasn’t smiling, but her blue eyes were, below gentle eyebrows that conveyed an outward, accepting personality to balance her husbands. A woman any man, young or old would find very attractive.

“Well, he never liked me anyway.” He shrugged.

“If he didn’t like you, he never would have let you live.” She laughed again.

“Then I would have died to have you.” He wasn’t smiling, but looking at her with blue eyes under shaggy brows with sincerity. She placed her hand lovingly on the side of his face, and leaned forward, her lips opening slightly, and pressed them to his. Returning the kiss he had been hunting all evening, he wrapped his strong arms around her to say now I have you, you are mine!

A loud thud! broke their attention, nothing else but a dangerous sound could have made them take their lips from each other. She turned around to look behind her, and he leaned to his right to look around her.

A flaming log had rolled off the top of the pile in the huge fireplace, tipped over the grating, and rolled past the stone hearth floor, spewing sparks and ash, and stopped on the wood floor of the parlor. A mouse, disturbed by the vibration, scurried from its hole by the bookshelf next to the hearth, and ran across the floor, at first towards the burning log, then sensing danger, ran away from it and hid under the sofa.

Pushing his love towards the unoccupied side of the sofa, he jumped up and grabbing the tongs from the fire tools, picked up the heavy log, and dripping sparks, placed it at the foot of the fire. He stomped out the sparks that were burning into the floor planks.

She got up, and fetched the fire broom, and began sweeping the ashes from the floor towards the hearth. Still using the tongs, he moved the pile into a more stable arrangement. He put away the tongs.

“Look” she pointed at where she had swept.

There, in the wooden floor, a charred, but familiar pattern. Letters:
LESSING

The couple looked at each other.

She brushed away more of the ash. The burnt letters were fully revealed:
BLESSING

Another glance at each other, then, they both looked up at the portrait of her parents.
The portrait was the same. But now the couple felt as if they were being…watched.
She stood close to him and put her arms around him, and he held her.

Looking at her father, he said
“Thank you…sir.”

[HumanePain]

Ok, I am guessing from the overwhelming silence that I got too cheesy with this one...

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

OH NO!!!!!!! I am so sorry I didn't read this sooner!!!!! I loved this so, so much. This was beautiful. My God, the way you write. Your metaphors and wow. You just hit me with those words. I love it.

[HumanePain]

(Garsh!) Thank you once again my charming dear reader. You're encouragement does wonders for my writing, really it does!

If I may be so bold as to suggest that you please give me your opinion of "East Meets West: The Dark Lord". This one is a first for me: I am trying to write a dark story withOUT romance in it, which goes against my natural inclination. (I'm an incurable romantic.) Instead I am trying to use more cliffs (suspense) and drama, with a touch of mystery.

Thanks again for your kind words, but I wish to stress: please do not hold back any constructive criticism as well, I need that too in order to grow as a writer. I promiseI won't get mad or cry.

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

It's hard to criticize my friend when there is clearly nothing I can criticize on.

[ASHESOFX]

wow.

^V^ hi everybody....^v^

back to the top. the first story...the first part
it gave me goosepimples...in a good way...in a drunken-nostalgia-is that my lost soul mate retelling our story-kind of way...

my stomach feels post roller coaster ride...

i'm hooked...

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

You need to continue this story, this is my favorite out of all your stories.

PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE CONTINUE THIS STORY!!!!!

Please

[HumanePain]

request in process...

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

YAY!!!!! This makes me very excited.

[HumanePain]

Chapter 6 – Christening

The mausoleum stood in silence as it dominated the darkness, second only to the moon floating high above. Higher than the translucent clouds, wisps that could blur but not block its glow, the ancient satellite appeared to be moving fast, taking credit from the drifting clouds.

The graveyard’s only population lay in eternal peace, as if they were in submission to the mighty crypts rule. The only signs of life were the bats. They were fluttering in their nightly chaotic flight of twist and turn, using tiny fangs to devour the moths, the closest thing to angels in this darkness.

Now the ranks of the living were being increased, still outnumbered by the dead, but the living can do much. Headlamp beams lit up the mausoleum, as they approached. It had been over a year since the old Cadillac had last driven up the old and cracked driveway.

The car shut off, the driver got out, then he went around the front of the car to the other side, but it wasn’t to open his passenger’s door. She had opened hers already and was opening the rear passenger door. As he watched, she stooped into the back seat and then she pulled back out, an infant child in her arms, wrapped in black wool. He closed the door.

The child, beholding the moon from its mother’s arms, stared in silence unbecoming for such a young child, but not this one. Moonlight reflecting in silver eyes, this one had strong instincts and intelligence, but still with a protective innocence.

The family walked up the old familiar walkway, and under the vine covered archway, old wrought iron still black, the cancer of rust only now beginning to spot the black here and there after a hundred years. The archway had seen this before: new life, coming to pay respects to life that had passed, and to see where time will eventually command it to rest.

Inside the cemetery, the child now noticed the bats circling overhead; new memories were being hardwired for life as familiar, memories that will even register as comforting in maturity someday.

They walked to the family tomb, to where her parents and her grandparents lay. He pulled out a rusty skeleton key, a century old. Inserting it into the crypt door lock, he opened it with force, cracking a quarter century of rust. Squeaking, the old crypt door opened with metallic protest.

Inside the tomb, a marble bench was waiting, atop a tiled floor. On either side were the crypts containing the family remains. The mother placed the child on the marble bench, then stepped back to stand with the child’s father and waited, arms around each other.

A stained glass window above the marble bench allowed some color to shine from the full moon outside. The moon beams were red, blue and green, and passing over the child, reflected the same off the white marble tiled floor. The child waved its arms at nothing in particular, but its eyes were glancing about at the moonbeams.

The child’s mother and father watched the floor tiles, looking at the pattern of gray rivulets through the white marble, looking where the moonbeams struck the floor, looking and watching. There was only quiet, even the child was silent, although still moving its arms. Then suddenly, the arms stopped, and the child turned its head toward the window and stared, freezing as millions of years of instinct were triggered.

The mother and father looked at the window when they saw the child become still, but could not see anything but the stained glass. But the child was watching something, and now its gaze was slowly turning towards the moonbeams angling to the floor. The mother watched in fascination as her child’s eyes slowly rotated to follow…something invisible.

Then they could see rising from the tiles where the moonbeams struck, a fountain of dim yellow light, which began to sparkle and shimmer in a million tiny little points of light as it erupted from the floor. It began to coalesce into a tall form, a round topped pillar of glowing yellow-gold, the shimmering becoming solid until at last, they could see a human form: a tall, bearded old man, in a hooded cloak, an apparition that was facing the living parents, who upon seeing the ghost, smiled and pointed toward their child on the bench.

Cloak dragging on the floor, and moving without footsteps, the ghost approached the child who was still watching in silence. Then, as if in greeting, the baby cooed.

The child’s father, not raised in tradition as his wife was, began to have second thoughts. Catching his wife by surprise, he moved towards his baby daughter to come between the ghost and her.

“LEAVE US!” Roared the apparition at the child’s father, it face instantly enlarging from an old wrinkled man to a large green skull! Fanged teeth opened wide in threatening command, a skeletal hand reached from the cloak and grabbed the young father by the neck. Lifting him up off the floor, it threw him across the small inner chamber to smack against the crypt doors and crumple to the cold tile floor.

“NO!” cried the young mother, rushing to her husband, and shielding his head in her arms and bosom. He was alive, and conscious, but stunned. She looked up at and watched as the skull’s eye sockets briefly flashed red light that faded to darkness, and then it morphed back into the face of the bearded old man. The ghost turned again back to the child, who throughout all of this had remained silent.

The ghost lifted the child, and as it was held up, the child began to shimmer and sparkle in a dim yellow light, becoming almost transparent. The old man then walked into the nearest crypt.

The father raised his head, and saw his wife raise a finger to her lips in a command of silence. Then they both looked at the crypt where the old man disappeared with their daughter. A glowing ellipse appeared on the face of the crypt, and the old man and child reappeared, then he drifted across the chamber to the other side of the mausoleum and disappeared into the crypts on that side.

Again, there was a spell of silence and darkness. The couple stood up, the father having regained his senses, and realizing what was happening, became calm, his wife holding him tightly this time to make sure he did not panic again.

Then the ghost reappeared out of the crypt walls again, child in its arms. The old man stared at the couple, as if in rebuke, then turned and set the child back on the marble bench. The child transformed from golden shimmering light back into a human child once again, but with new wonder in its eyes, and… a smile.

The old man, looking at the couple, began to fluctuate and waver, sparkles becoming larger as he disintegrated, then he descended into the tile floor where the moonbeams reflected. Then there was nothing but the moonbeams, the couple, the child, and the dead.

The mother picked up her daughter, and with the young father behind them, left the mausoleum. He turned and made sure the door was locked, put the key back in his pocket, then looking back for a moment, stopped.

He whispered apologies, and then followed his family back to the car.

[Crying_Crimson_Tears]

I love this part. I love how you make it seem so traditional. I just love the details. It's a great story. Please continue soon.