It was a cold winter’s day; the wind howling, trees rustling in the distance, the shadow of night approaching. But grief had a grip of steel on her heart and it wasn’t about to release her just yet.
It had been a week since he had died – the police and coroner couldn’t come up with an appropriate ‘Cause Of Death’. This wasn’t humanly possible, for a man to have each of his fingers twisted around, his palms split in two, his face disfigured and his body… twisted like a soaked towel. The police were unable to provide an appropriate report other than “disfigured corpse found in resident’s apartment. Cause Of Death is unknown”
But she knew, oh yes she knew, what had mutilated her lover. She knew, because she had heard tales of the horrific beast – the evil spirit – the ghoul appropriately nicknamed “EL DESFIGURAR” “THE DISFIGURED”.
“Known for mutilating victims in their sleep. By the time you realize it has you, it’ll be too late to cry for help. With the sound of creaking wood, the cracking of bones and the stench of decomposing flesh, the ice-cold hands of death gently wrap around your neck.
Once paralysed with fear, all you can do is watch in horror as your legs begin to snap backwards, your kneecaps bend inwards and your joints work like that of a flamingo. You’ll want to scream, but your throat will be laying in the palms of your hands. Your back snaps as your body twists like a wet cloth being strained, and finally, your fingers snap backwards, your palms split open, and death himself, will pity you.”
As she sat there, mourning her dead lover, she heard the creaking of wood, the sound of snapping bones and got a whiff freshly decomposing flesh. Struck with fear, she snapped around to catch a glimpse of her dead lover before her – a bloodstained smile and sad pale eyes.
For a brief moment, it felt as though a sword had pierced her heart… and then he was gone.
Fear and adrenaline now filled her veins. She had to get out: get away from the madness, but as she turned to run, the shadow of night covered the sky, blocking out the pale light of the moon. A thin layer of ice-cold mist blanketed the ground.
She heard it again – that menacing sound, echoing all around her. She needed to escape, but with no light to guide her, and a sickening feeling deep down in her stomach, she felt her way blindly through the graveyard, always stopping to listen for those menacing sounds.
She reached out one final time and felt something – it was cold, but firm, thin and… reaching out further, she felt more of them. She had made it towards the exit. Freedom was within her reach, but as she pushed against the bars, she fell to the ground. It was all in her head.
She sat down, tears flowing down her beautiful face, the tears warming up her face as the cold wind blew. Her lips dry, now moistened by her tears and layered thinly with the taste of salt. Helpless and alone, she got to her aching feet, and stumbled blindly through the dark once more.
She finally collapsed, exhausted, and stuck her head against a tombstone. Blood oozed out from her wound, but she didn’t care. She was too tired to pay any attention to the fresh wound. Then she heard it. Fear flowed through her veins. It was there. So was her newly deceased lover, who extended a mutilated hand.
She saw the smile he had on his face. Suddenly the moon lit up his face; she smelled decomposing flesh, heard the creaking of wood and the snapping of bones. She closed her eyes and within moments… she felt… nothing.
SADNESS IS OFTEN THE DEATH OF HAPPINESS.