Lone Tree

This is my first movella! This is a story I wrote ages ago as part of school work. It isn't that long but I want to know how people like my style of writing, and any improvements. Its a tragic love story with a wierd twist. Please read on...


4. The Disappearences

Her mother sat at home knitting, trying to forget the look on her daughters face when she had told her about the maid job. She’ll be alright she whispered to herself over and over again. but somehow a bad feeling spread round her body, tingling at the tip of every bone. She sank into the one remaining comfy chair, pulled her cardigan round her body tighter and started to pray.


A knock. Three quick taps and two slow ones. Her mother sat bolt upright, it couldn’t be could it? Slowly and carefully she made her way over to the door. She pulled back the latch, undid the lock and heaved open the heavy wooden door. Standing before her was…”Victor, is it really you?” she couldn’t see his face it was obscured by the hat on his head. It was definitely him, but something didn’t feel right. It was him, but at the same time it wasn’t. “Victor, we thought you were dead, Victor speak to me please.” Still the figure said nothing did nothing just stood there looking at her, not showing his face. Then slowly a hand reached up from the folds of the thick cloak he was wearing. Reached up and slowly removed the hat from his head. Thick curls of brown her sprung out. But still the face was obscured by shadows.


“Victor look at me.” Her mother stood there uncertainly, what was he playing at, wasn’t he pleased that she was standing before him. The head started to move upwards from the shadows, almost reluctantly. The crimson eyes found her mothers own blue ones. A forked tongue flickered in and out of his mouth like a dart, in, out, in, out. Her mother screamed, “What have you done to my Victor.” Before the crimson eyed, fork tongued figure pounced. Pressing his mouth against the neck of her mother. The figure turned limp, the heart stopped. Slowly, Victor placed the figure onto the floor. “I’m sorry, Esmeralda, I really am sorry.” The figure picked up the limp, lifeless body, and disappeared into the darkness. No one ever new what happened to her mother, the news never even reached her; she still thought that her mother was receiving the money that was sent at a monthly basis.


It was strange, during the next year more disappearances occurred. Every person who had ever worked, for Esmeralda, disappeared, all her maids, all her mothers cooks, and dressmakers. No one ever heard or saw a thing. Every person heard the three quick knocks and two slow knocks on their door, and those crimson eyes and forked tongue were the last things they ever saw in their lives. The police were baffled, the newspapers steaming, how could 50 disappearances happen in a row without anyone noticing…

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