Dead and Burried Pt1/3 Rating NC-17
- Author: Lady-T and Hunter
Title: Dead and Buried
Disclaimer: We didn't do anything. Blameless we are,
totally and utterly blameless. Honest.
Summary: The storm brings trouble. A strange and
slightly twisted Halloween story.
Notes: LT is lazy and doesn't like thinking of plots.
Hunter is lazy and doesn't like thinking of
adjectives. Together things sometimes actually get
done. Eventually. About 6 months late.
Dead and Buried
The yew tree looked to her like death, a smoky hulk on
the distant, fogged meadow.
It called her name, the gallow-tree, ivy-trailed noose
swinging limp and forlorn in the quiet dawn breeze.
It was dark, like a black presence sucking away the
light as it slowly spilled over the horizon, early
morning sun casting slow and hazy across the dark sky.
It would rain later.
Behind her the crowd jeered, blazing torches casting
red over their skin like fresh spilled blood.
A body to die, to join the white, spectral corpses
already hanging from broken necks in the old boughs.
They hung like grisly fruits on the yew branch,
bloated and ripe, old and withered, side by side as
the mist became grey drizzle.
She could feel the cold, saturated air seep chill
moisture through the white linen shift, sticking it to
her skin in semi-translucent wrapping.
It was cold that morning, cold and damp and grey as
they walked her to the tree and stood her on the
They tied her bare hands and feet, binding them tight
as she looked across the crowd, seeing hatred in the
eye of every woman and desire in the eye of every man.
Hidden behind walls of anger, under the black and
white of good Puritans...
She looked down at her wet, clinging shift, the shape
and colour of her naked body visible underneath.
She sneered it under her breath as the crowd booed and
A rancid egg hit her brow, thrown from the throng of
spectators, viscous, evil-smelling yolk oozing down
across one eye.
She hissed as the village laughed in unison, turning
away her face as it slithered down her neck, cold and
slimy on pale, white skin.
"You have been found guilty by this court. A witch in
league with Satan himself!"
It was proclaimed for the whole town to hear, the boos
and screams of hatred growing in pitch and fervour.
The minister, all in black, slapped hard on the cover
of his Bible, raising his voice to God and his people.
"Found guilty!" he exclaimed again. "Guilty of
bewitching this town's men! Of drawing them to you for
your own depravity!"
She looked at them with cold, dark disgust, never
flinching as they lowered the noose about her neck,
the rough weave biting against her throat.
"Found guilty!" screamed the minister, building fever
in the crowd, sweating and red despite the dawn cold.
"Guilty, evil witch, and sentenced to be strung up by
your neck until you breathe no more! Until your heart
beats with silence! Until your immortal soul is back
with Beelzebub where it belongs!"
The crowd throbbed with simmered violence, murmuring
their ascension to the minister's preaching.
"You have been looked upon and found wanting! Judged
and found impure! May you burn in Hell eternal, for
Heaven will never forgive you!"
She laughed then, slow and dark as the minister
stopped silent, a greyish pallor creeping across his
His hands clenched into fists, shaking violently
before growing suddenly weak, his Bible slipping out
of curled fingers and onto the dew-soaked grass.
The crowd grew quiet as they watched him and heard her
laughter, face growing white as he opened his mouth, a
choked gargle bubbling up between blue-tinted lips.
Hush had fallen, every eye on him, every eye on her...
He shook for a terrible, eternal second before
collapsing heavily upon the saturated earth, the woman
throwing back her head, laughing at the slowly
Anger and hatred and new-found fear, they rushed and
mixed in the crowd, a scream of vengeance driving
them, and with an almighty surge of the living the
barrel was pushed from beneath her feet.
The ivy-twined rope snapped taut, the figure bound and
helpless as she came to an abrupt end.
A moment of suffocation before her neck broke with an
audible crack, and then she hung limp...
It all fell so silent in the aftermath, the village
forming a rough circle around her corpse, watching her
swing limply from the yew tree, still the lingering
bloom of life in her cheeks.
It would fade, and she would wither. New fruit to
bloat and then rot on the boughs.
Slowly they drifted away, carrying the minister
between them until once more it was just the yew tree,
the hanging-tree and its idly swinging noose, dark in
the meadow and heavy with produce.
Black clouds had been rolling over the horizon all
day, boiling like dark, viscous soup against the
backdrop of ancient trees.
Lightening crackled high in the atmosphere,
illuminating the clouds as the first heavy drops of
rain began to fall, splattering noisily against the
Jean squinted up at the sky just visible between the
tree branches and cursed. She was going to get
Large, angry droplets began to cascade in earnest from
the unforgiving sky, a deep bass roll of thunder
vibrating through her body as Jean picked up her pace
and ran towards the distant edge of the forest.
The rain beat a staccato rhythm against the tree
canopy above her, drops rattling past the broad leaves
to splatter messily against her hair and shoulders as
she ran beneath.
There was another bright flash of lightening, the
percussive explosion of sound hot on its heels and
Jean swore again, ducking through the muddy
undergrowth towards the neatly trimmed mansion lawns.
Dirt and water had soaked her trousers almost up to
the knees and she angrily pushed through another patch
of bramble, taking a quick shortcut off the meandering
path to reach the mansion faster.
The storm looked like it went on forever in the sky,
dark and ominous and black, shimmering every now and
then with its own internal, magical light show.
She neared the edge of the woodland now, the trees
thinning out until she could see the pale stone
edifice of the mansion sitting like a beacon on the
open expanse of verdant lawn.
A thick wall of rain cut across the grass, hammering
the thin green fronds down into the mud, hazing the
outline of the building beyond, but the lighted
windows glowed welcomingly in the darkness and she
breathed a sigh of relief.
She could see Scott leaning out on the porch, just his
dark shape discernible through the rain, kicking his
feet idly as he looked over the garden. His eyes were
pinned to the forest edge, waiting for her, searching
for her shape amongst the green and black undergrowth.
She took another long stride over a viscous patch of
mud, pausing as she reached the very edge of the
woodland to wave at him before building the nerve to
step out into the sheer wall of cascading water that
separated her from the house.
Her foot had barely begun to lift from the ground when
the lightening struck.
It was an explosion of raw, ancient power, spearing to
the heart of the old, twisted Yew tree that sat guard
at the edge of the lawn.
Jean screamed as she was thrown backwards by the force
of the blast, hurled like a rag into the corner,
slithering through mud and rock and bramble before
coming to a stop, her head smashing hard against the
base of a tree.
The lightening had sizzled like hot fat, leaving a
white streak across her vision before the world
exploded into a kaleidoscope of pain. Her head
throbbed with nauseating strength and it seemed to
pulse right through her and out the other side.
Beside the lawn the ancient Yew creaked in agony,
blowing apart in a cascade of splinters, boughs
crumpling with the grind of tortured flesh as they
smashed onto the earth, the tree split savagely down
the centre. The white, naked wood seemed to gleam in
the storm light, the edges of it smouldering despite
Jean whimpered in pain and fear, clutching the
throbbing, swollen lump on the back of her head as she
clenched her eyes shut, tears escaping down her cheeks
to mingle with the rainwater.
The unforgiving rain seemed to be pouring harder
around her, soaking her to the bone but she barely
noticed. The ache in her head was too great, as if
someone was trying to open her up and force their hand
She could hear Scott's frantic calling on the edge of
her perception as he sprinted across the lawn,
skirting carefully around the shattered tree branches
that still smouldered on the grass.
He was unmindful of the drowning rain, searching
desperately through the battered underbrush that
seemed to try and choke and bind his feet, tangling in
his clothes as he struggled to find her.
From her place under the tree she whimpered and tried
to sit up, swaying unsteadily against the sick
dizziness in her head as luminous spots danced beneath
They seemed to flicker in time to the thundering pulse
of the storm, another crack of lightening illuminating
the woodland like a photographer's flash bulb.
Scott caught the movement from the corner of his eye,
his fianc�'s body laying some twenty feet from where
she had stood.
Jean...? Oh, Jesus Christ, are you alright?"
He struggled through the tangled underbrush and
slithered to his knees beside her in the mud, hugging
her tightly as she nodded.
He pulled her back for a brief inspection of her wet,
bedraggled form, her eyes still tightly shut forming a
knot between her brows.
"You hurt?" he asked with concern, reaching out to
touch her cheek.
She grimaced and tried to shake her head, thinking
better of it as it sent another wave of nauseating
pain behind her eyes.
"Just... hit my head," she ground out. "Really fucking
Scott nodded and got to his feet, taking a quick look
upwards into the descending storm, the rain plastering
his hair to his scalp.
"I'll get you inside," he said, gently scooping her up
in his arms as she winced and clutched tighter against
the bruise on her head.
She whimpered, burying her cheek against the wet
cotton of his shirt as he carried her through the
cascading rain, back towards the mansion.
Do you Yahoo!?
The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.