Inktober Word: Shredded
Viola
Down the street of Empiresville, past the closely placed houses, and over the rusted metal fence, lies an old rickety house of that once belonged to the mysterious family of the Graves.
The Graves were once a proud and wealthy family made up of Mr. and Mrs. Graves and their only child, Viola Graves. While Mr. and Mrs. Graves was often out and about, boasting their riches, little Viola stayed hidden at home. Rumors spread about the child. Reasons for why Viola stayed away from the public eye spread like wildfire and were often cruel accusations.
When the rumor of the Graves family being witches floated around, suspicion and aggression began to grow towards them. Mr. and Mrs. Graves came out less and no word from Viola was voiced. The house remained silent as ever, only subtle creaks of the house settling in the night interrupted it.
One day, Mr. and Mrs. Graves had gathered the courage to emerge from their house. They’d walk down the streets with their heads hung low to avoid confrontation. Though, it was impossible to hide the striking features of the Graves. More of the villagers started to notice their presence and an outrage had erupted from the quiet town. Both Mr. and Mrs. Graves were restrained, screaming and begging, onto a large stake. The two accused burned to death, screaming drowned out in the burning flames that was starving below.
On a search for Viola, the towspeople burst into the old house to seize the little child. Floors creaked under their thick boots as shouting filled the echoing halls. They wandered in the maze of halls for hours, starvation and dehydration taking the life of many but the little of them kept pressing forward, leaving the bodies behind in their blind pursuit.
Finally, they all emerged into a small circle room. Soft but faded pastel colors dressed the walls and furniture. Love and care had been put into every detail of the room, to the placement of furniture to the handcrafted, wooden toys that scattered the floor. The light of the moon beamed down to the center of the room, highlighting a white crib with soft blankets and sheets made into it. A brown teddy bear sat in the crib with button eyes and stitched on limbs. It was a tattered and well loved bear. The ear and stomach were torn, fluffy clouds of stuffing spilled from the cracks. It’s fur faded and matted with time. A single button eye dangled down from the face by a red string.
The intruders crep closer to investigate the room. It was a child’s room, no doubt Viola’s but they were nowhere to be found. Irritation rose within the group, the air filling with tension as arguing burst out of tired mouths. A tall man tore the bear from it’s bed, slamming it down to the floor with a thud out of his own exhaustion filled fury.
A figure exploded from the corpse of the bear. It was hazy and the suffocated the group in a sudden frigid cold. This figure, without a doubt, was the spirit of Viola and they had angered them. Each intruder was driven to the brink of insanity before rushing out of the room, no doubt to their deaths. The tall man was the last one left in the room, staggering backward into the back wall. Viola approached him slowly. They grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up and outside the open window. With a final breath, the man was released without hesitation.
And the last thing he ever saw, was the face of a child, an eye hanging out of it’s socket.