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Iris Bee
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and second, a short story I wrote for class. Intended as a story a Ploverlor parent might tell their children to make them behave.
The Lazuhrek
The cold wind howled mournfully across the plains. The sun was receding below the distant tree line, and night was quickly setting upon the rolling hills of the marsh. The road cutting through the fields lay barren all along its length leading to the gates of a small little hamlet nestled cozily within the hills. Following the road, the wind blew through the buildings, chilling the stone and rustling the bits of litter clinging helplessly to the nooks and crannies of the alleyways. Windows quickly shut, and shutters slammed by hurried hands seeking to seal their domiciles from the outside world, for very soon night, the dreaded night, would be upon them.
But not everyone in the little hamlet was bustling to seal themselves away, no. One child, a lazy, disobedient little sprat of a child slept, hiding amongst a pile of rubbish behind his house, out by the old tool shed. He would go there every day to avoid detection from his parents, rather than doing his chores. The slamming of shutters, and the calling of his name startled him from his wistful slumber.
“Alan! Alan! Come in, come in this instant! It’s almost night, Alan!” his distressed mother called. Every night, it was the same thing. Alan’s parents close up their home tight, they bring in the animals, they drag in his little sister, and put her to bed at sundown, then nag him to come in and try to put him to bed as well at such an unimaginably early time as sundown. Then, once he and his sister were tucked into their beds, their parents would sit down at the foot of one of their beds and tell them the “reason” for the night time fret, and the early bed times, and Alan would just roll his eyes and blow them off, rolling over and waiting for them to leave. Once the parental figures had left, and gone about their own business, Alan would spring from his bed, still wide awake at such an hour, and jimmy open the shutters over his and his sister’s bedroom window.
“Don’t do that Al! Mom n’ Dad said the Lazuhrek will get you if you’re naughty and stay out late!” his sister would always chime in as he began crawling out onto the drain pipe. Alan would just snort and shoot her such a look that made her cover her face with the sheets.
“There ain’t no ‘Lazuhrek’ and there never was, but I’ll close the shutters back up b’fore I go if you’re such a sissy.” He would sneer at her before swinging the shutters shut once more. He would then go gallivanting around town, unimpeded by any other kids, or even adults, as they are kept themselves locked up at sunset. Alan would continue this pattern every night, returning to this bedroom window, shimmying up the drain pipe, greeted by the startled yelp of his little sister as he clattered against the shutter opening it.
Once again, predictably enough, night came upon the tiny hamlet. Windows and shutters clasped shut, the winds blew through the vacant roads and not a soul was seen under the vigilant watch of the moon high above the land. Save for one soul. Alan strolled through the chilled streets as leisurely as he has for the past several weeks. Alan cavorted down, into an alley, he kicked over a garbage bin and scattered the trash with his feet, chuckling to himself all the while. Suddenly, he froze mid kick, a half eaten fruit rolling down the alley. He whirled around, a startled look on his face.
“Is someone there?” he queried. “Hm… could have sworn I heard something… but no one else has the balls to be out here at this hour.” He shrugged and moved on.
As he emerged from the alley, once more Alan whirled around. “I definitely heard something that time… Where are you!?” he demanded, but got no response, only a faint chittering noise. “Hmph, just some dumb animal.”
It was nearly time for him to return to his bed. Alan began making his way back to his home. The chittering grew louder, but now accompanied by the sounds of claws on the cobblestone streets. Alan’s heart jumped up to his throat when he heard the claws clack right behind him. He took off into a sprint toward his home. As he hopped the fence to his back yard, he looked over his shoulder, and a look of horrified disgust pierced his face. He refused to believe it, it couldn’t have been real, all those little baby stories his parents have been feeding him and his sister were true, the large hairy figure bounding after him couldn’t be anything else. The creature gripped the fence with its mangy hair covered foot, just as a man would with his hand, and vaulted over. He made a mad dash for the tool shed, doubting his ability to climb the drain in time. He threw himself inside and slammed the door shut, barring it with an array of tools. The aging wooden frame of the shed creaked and cracked in the wind. Alan brought his face up to one of the knot-holes that permeated the wooden frame. He saw nothing.
The wooden shed rocked and creaked, loud scratching sounds etched at Alan’s ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. He grabbed a tool, anything he could find with a lengthy handle that could fit through one of the fairly small holes. He frantically looked through the holes until he could see the mangy fur of the beast and jabbed the tool through plunging it into the body of the creature, pulling it back in and trying again, but there was no longer anything there. Alan drew the tool back and peered through the hole once more. He saw nothing but the yard and his house, just a few yards away, but seemed like miles.
The shed began to rock once more, Alan frantically searched the knot-holes for any signs of the monster, but threw himself back against the pile of tools in horror. Through one of the knot-holes, the horrific mangy beast had begun, impossibly, squeezing through, it’s head and neck already in the tool shed, the skin and fur on it’s horribly eyeless head pulled back revealing rows of horrible, sharp, serrated fangs, drooling in anticipation of its next meal, the long nick ridden ears constantly fixated on Alan. He screamed.
The next day, Alan’s sister woke up and wondered why Alan didn’t wake her when he came back last night. The window was open, the curtains wafting in the cool morning breeze like tendrils, reaching out, motioning to the bed across the room. “It’s not like Alan to have left the window open…” she mused to herself. She wandered over to his bed, sleepily rubbing her eyes. “Al? What happened last night?” she sleepily said as she drew back the covers from his bed. A look of horror spread across her face as she did so “MOOOOOM! DAAAAAD!” she screamed, as she started in terror at Alan’s bloody gnawed up shoe lying in his bed.
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