Hi everyone.
We have an assignment for extension english due next week where we must write a 1200 word gothic shortstory/novel extract/diary entry/letter etc. I've finished my piece, a diary entry, and I'd love some feedback as the teachers can't give us any. (its a weighted assignment) Would really appreciate any constructive criticism and spelling corrections if i've still missed any. (thats a break from the norm on the internet, isn't it
)
Heres the entry:
May 26th, 1897
It was just one fortnight from our wedding. My fiancé, Anne, was more joyous than I, unsurprising, as her nature was that of naïve gentleness. She has, in complement to this, a great beauty, fair in feature as well as temperament, her blonde hair as alluring as her crystal green eyes, in which one could see themselves, clear as a mirror. As I am writing this, the moon is full, bright and illuminating, shone down upon the dewy, waving grass, a magical sight as I observed from the window. While it seems I am simply to be a bore, I do have something of substance to say, I know, in a diary!
I write to tell of the night, that upon an inspection of a manor for after the wedding, fickle forces tore apart our lives, not ever to return to whence they came. It was a grand mansion, situated in northern Yorkshire, a lovely little town, fields of flowers abundant, the streets lined with magnificent pines. The house itself was no less impressive, standing amongst great willow trees, of heights reaching 30 meters! A hill rolled down the west side, leading at the bottom into a lake of such depth, it appear black to eye, and unforeseeably I somewhat frightened myself with entertainments of mere speculations as to what lay within. I could not begin to understand what my poor Anne would of thinking be, so delicate of mind and frail of tenacity!
Well we were soon invited to enter, courtesy of our agent, Mister Deuvaux, whom I must say was Spanish to my ears. The great double mahogany doors opened up onto a foyer, and in midst sat the base of a grand staircase, the velvet-clad structure arching up to a great landing. After much mutual amazement, Deuvaux led us through the house, and though there were many spectacular rooms, none compared to the library, the heart of the house. It was upon entering the august room, lined with 10ft bookshelves, full of wondrous tomes, that we heard a sound not unlike what a shillelagh would striking timber, from down the hall!
“Whatever was that?” Anne questioned Deuvaux. “I thought you said there was no-one here, the owner deceased at 76.”
“He did die, in quite horrible circumstances I might add. It’s quite possible a gust of wind, but it sounded like an impact, not a door slamming.”
It was soon after this speculative conversation that we took it on ourselves to investigate, perhaps it was not as innocent a sound as predicted, and indeed, a most sinister circumstance was to arise…
We slowly approached the direction of the disturbance, and, buried in individual thought, the house was deathly silent. It was as we were rounding a hallway corner that we saw him, or it, standing ominously at the far of the corridor. He looked as if he had been rotting for decades, the man’s skin had an unwholesome black tint, swollen and decayed! His clothes where torn and dripping with a terrible concoction of water and blood, a right improper sight to see. Deuvaux let out a sharp gasp, and Anne a cry of horror, somewhat entwined with surprise.
“That's him, the last owner, but it’s impossible, he drowned three weeks ago in the very lake at the bottom of the hill…” Deuvaux was visibly disturbed, no wonder. A harken croak came from down the hall in reply,
“Urghh, so it is you Deuvaux, and you’ve brought along a pretty lady, how lovely.” He coughed, and a small clump of blood came with it, splatting against the floor.
It is at this point I must say I was quite afraid for Anne’s wellbeing, and if I was to believe the look on her face it is presumed she was as well! The man, if it could be called that, for no mere man could escape that lake, started towards us, long, lethargic strides that brought him surprising speed, unfitting in ones mind.
“Through here, quickly you two.” If not for Deuvaux’s quick action I would not be here to record his actions. He hustled us through a door to our side, and after Anne, I slammed it shut behind us. As lady luck befitted us, there was a lock on this door; the key in its hole, and soon this gold inlayed lock was between the man and us. On inspection of the rest of the room, it appeared we had found a bedroom.
“That certainly was close, what is that thing?” I asked.
“That’s the old owner, or at least it looks like him. I have heard stories that they tell in town, that every 100 years the spirit of the Black Lake takes a victim, drowning them in its depths. No one has lived to tell the tale, but there have been reports of hauntings for many centuries, all fixated on the same thing… A lumbering monster of the deep, risen from its resting place, preying on those who percolate into its domain.”
That made sense I thought, the unfortunate drowning of the old man validated the myth somewhat. Anne spoke, a whisper rising to a cry; “So what are we now to do? We can not let it reach us, oh horror, think of what it may do!”
“Yes my dear, we will get out, away from this house and away from the lake.” My consolation did little to her nerves; undoubtedly she must be worried for herself, and not without reason. Deuvaux was still standing assuredly when a smash came upon the door, and I could hear the latch begin to splinter like a log does in a mill. “My gentleman Deuvaux, you’ve been here often, be there a way out of here that doesn't involve the door?”
Deuvaux, as we found, did know a way out, a passageway built by the original lord in the 16th century to escape in the case of emergency. The entrance was hidden under the bed, a crude trapdoor made of wrought iron and moss. The tunnel itself was no less pleasant, and Anne hesitated, most likely think of her dress, though another crack on the door convinced her that what the terror from the deep wanted was more valuable. A ladder led down into blackness, and I must say, it was mildly terrifying to climb down, not knowing what was at the bottom.
Rather fortunately, there was room enough in the passageway below to stand, and soon we were feeling our way along the wall, and at every instant I was praying not to run my hand into something vile. It was quite a walk through the repugnant passageway, and by my passing at the time I thought we must have been some distance away from the manor. It turned out, however, that we were still on the property when a picayune beam of light greeted us from the distance. As we moved towards it, another ladder came into view. “Here, we’ve come to the exit, this should lead us up to the surface.” Deuvaux began to climb, “There’s a trapdoor on this end as well, let me see if I the strength to have it open.”
He did have the strength, it turned out, and we all clambered up out of the gloom, blinded by the sunlight, even repressed by the clouds as it was. Looking around I saw we were by the Black Lake, it now between us and the house. The gate to the property was a mere 200 feet away, and as we started toward it, the old man crawled its way up out of the lake behind us! Splashing and writhing it came for us, and overly encouraged by this point, we followed Deuvaux at a sprint.
Now, as you are reading this, you know that I survived to write it down, and I will tell you to calm your mind that Anne and Mister Deuvaux also made it out. I do not know what has become of the creature that pursued us that day, only that it followed us no further than outside the property, and for that, we were grateful.
- Harvey
Thanks all.
We have an assignment for extension english due next week where we must write a 1200 word gothic shortstory/novel extract/diary entry/letter etc. I've finished my piece, a diary entry, and I'd love some feedback as the teachers can't give us any. (its a weighted assignment) Would really appreciate any constructive criticism and spelling corrections if i've still missed any. (thats a break from the norm on the internet, isn't it
)Heres the entry:
May 26th, 1897
It was just one fortnight from our wedding. My fiancé, Anne, was more joyous than I, unsurprising, as her nature was that of naïve gentleness. She has, in complement to this, a great beauty, fair in feature as well as temperament, her blonde hair as alluring as her crystal green eyes, in which one could see themselves, clear as a mirror. As I am writing this, the moon is full, bright and illuminating, shone down upon the dewy, waving grass, a magical sight as I observed from the window. While it seems I am simply to be a bore, I do have something of substance to say, I know, in a diary!
I write to tell of the night, that upon an inspection of a manor for after the wedding, fickle forces tore apart our lives, not ever to return to whence they came. It was a grand mansion, situated in northern Yorkshire, a lovely little town, fields of flowers abundant, the streets lined with magnificent pines. The house itself was no less impressive, standing amongst great willow trees, of heights reaching 30 meters! A hill rolled down the west side, leading at the bottom into a lake of such depth, it appear black to eye, and unforeseeably I somewhat frightened myself with entertainments of mere speculations as to what lay within. I could not begin to understand what my poor Anne would of thinking be, so delicate of mind and frail of tenacity!
Well we were soon invited to enter, courtesy of our agent, Mister Deuvaux, whom I must say was Spanish to my ears. The great double mahogany doors opened up onto a foyer, and in midst sat the base of a grand staircase, the velvet-clad structure arching up to a great landing. After much mutual amazement, Deuvaux led us through the house, and though there were many spectacular rooms, none compared to the library, the heart of the house. It was upon entering the august room, lined with 10ft bookshelves, full of wondrous tomes, that we heard a sound not unlike what a shillelagh would striking timber, from down the hall!
“Whatever was that?” Anne questioned Deuvaux. “I thought you said there was no-one here, the owner deceased at 76.”
“He did die, in quite horrible circumstances I might add. It’s quite possible a gust of wind, but it sounded like an impact, not a door slamming.”
It was soon after this speculative conversation that we took it on ourselves to investigate, perhaps it was not as innocent a sound as predicted, and indeed, a most sinister circumstance was to arise…
We slowly approached the direction of the disturbance, and, buried in individual thought, the house was deathly silent. It was as we were rounding a hallway corner that we saw him, or it, standing ominously at the far of the corridor. He looked as if he had been rotting for decades, the man’s skin had an unwholesome black tint, swollen and decayed! His clothes where torn and dripping with a terrible concoction of water and blood, a right improper sight to see. Deuvaux let out a sharp gasp, and Anne a cry of horror, somewhat entwined with surprise.
“That's him, the last owner, but it’s impossible, he drowned three weeks ago in the very lake at the bottom of the hill…” Deuvaux was visibly disturbed, no wonder. A harken croak came from down the hall in reply,
“Urghh, so it is you Deuvaux, and you’ve brought along a pretty lady, how lovely.” He coughed, and a small clump of blood came with it, splatting against the floor.
It is at this point I must say I was quite afraid for Anne’s wellbeing, and if I was to believe the look on her face it is presumed she was as well! The man, if it could be called that, for no mere man could escape that lake, started towards us, long, lethargic strides that brought him surprising speed, unfitting in ones mind.
“Through here, quickly you two.” If not for Deuvaux’s quick action I would not be here to record his actions. He hustled us through a door to our side, and after Anne, I slammed it shut behind us. As lady luck befitted us, there was a lock on this door; the key in its hole, and soon this gold inlayed lock was between the man and us. On inspection of the rest of the room, it appeared we had found a bedroom.
“That certainly was close, what is that thing?” I asked.
“That’s the old owner, or at least it looks like him. I have heard stories that they tell in town, that every 100 years the spirit of the Black Lake takes a victim, drowning them in its depths. No one has lived to tell the tale, but there have been reports of hauntings for many centuries, all fixated on the same thing… A lumbering monster of the deep, risen from its resting place, preying on those who percolate into its domain.”
That made sense I thought, the unfortunate drowning of the old man validated the myth somewhat. Anne spoke, a whisper rising to a cry; “So what are we now to do? We can not let it reach us, oh horror, think of what it may do!”
“Yes my dear, we will get out, away from this house and away from the lake.” My consolation did little to her nerves; undoubtedly she must be worried for herself, and not without reason. Deuvaux was still standing assuredly when a smash came upon the door, and I could hear the latch begin to splinter like a log does in a mill. “My gentleman Deuvaux, you’ve been here often, be there a way out of here that doesn't involve the door?”
Deuvaux, as we found, did know a way out, a passageway built by the original lord in the 16th century to escape in the case of emergency. The entrance was hidden under the bed, a crude trapdoor made of wrought iron and moss. The tunnel itself was no less pleasant, and Anne hesitated, most likely think of her dress, though another crack on the door convinced her that what the terror from the deep wanted was more valuable. A ladder led down into blackness, and I must say, it was mildly terrifying to climb down, not knowing what was at the bottom.
Rather fortunately, there was room enough in the passageway below to stand, and soon we were feeling our way along the wall, and at every instant I was praying not to run my hand into something vile. It was quite a walk through the repugnant passageway, and by my passing at the time I thought we must have been some distance away from the manor. It turned out, however, that we were still on the property when a picayune beam of light greeted us from the distance. As we moved towards it, another ladder came into view. “Here, we’ve come to the exit, this should lead us up to the surface.” Deuvaux began to climb, “There’s a trapdoor on this end as well, let me see if I the strength to have it open.”
He did have the strength, it turned out, and we all clambered up out of the gloom, blinded by the sunlight, even repressed by the clouds as it was. Looking around I saw we were by the Black Lake, it now between us and the house. The gate to the property was a mere 200 feet away, and as we started toward it, the old man crawled its way up out of the lake behind us! Splashing and writhing it came for us, and overly encouraged by this point, we followed Deuvaux at a sprint.
Now, as you are reading this, you know that I survived to write it down, and I will tell you to calm your mind that Anne and Mister Deuvaux also made it out. I do not know what has become of the creature that pursued us that day, only that it followed us no further than outside the property, and for that, we were grateful.
- Harvey
Thanks all.