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Dead and Burried Pt1/3 Rating NC-17

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  • Kat Hunt
    Author: Lady-T and Hunter Title: Dead and Buried Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: We didn t do anything. Blameless we are, totally and utterly blameless. Honest.
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 28, 2003
      Author: Lady-T and Hunter
      Title: Dead and Buried
      Rating: NC-17
      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.
      "Little people..."
      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
      lighting sky.
      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
      forest floor.
      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
      the downpour.
      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
      her eyelids.
      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´┐Ż'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.

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