press 'x' to leave the title page. then you can click, use arrow keys and press space to change the pages! ^w^ I made this story in literally one hour from scratch (it was for a gothic writing english exam) and I'm pretty proud! I hope you guys like it :) I did get a little help from my sis for the idea e.g. setting and theme :P but I did the rest. I'd really appreciate some nice constructive comments and possibly a LOVE and FAVE!! lets try and get this baby top loved!!! :D peace out bubs! ~Doodle
Music: Despair and triumph by Kevin Macleod check out the (unfinished) animation guys!! btw the girl in the animation is really bad XD she doesn't look nice and she certainly doesn't look ten but ur gonna have to deal with it! :P FULL STORY BELOW (or just watch the project XD) The frigid air bit at my cheeks as I stepped into the frozen night. My eyes were stinging and a lump was caught in my throat. Where had mother gone? I’d already searched the entire house and headed into town twice but there was still no sign of her. I had also asked some of the few people that lived in the neighbourhood if they had seen her but all they said is that she’d probably return soon. I can tell you now, mother was missing for three days by then. They were wrong. Father died when I was only very small. Back then we were living the city but after he had passed (of pneumonia) we lost money and had to move here; to a dead old farm at the bottom of Rookery lane. It was rather sad to see everybody do their best to avoid the house and its occupants. There was nothing wrong with us as far as I could see but they seemed to think otherwise. We’d often see the residents stare at us as we passed, they’d even go as far as crossing the road. I’d hear the whispering behind our backs “It’s a wonder they’re still surviving” or “what made them so desperate to go there?” I suppose we were desperate, we were however not mad. Only one person greeted us as we arrived. The deranged Mrs. Mackay who always seemed to talk to the air in a muffled gibberish and wandered carelessly in circles hurried up to us. She delicately held her pet crow in her right hand and looked at us intently with her dark, sunken eyes. She had a worried expression about her and shifted her weight slowly from foot to foot. “The old yew at farm. You know it, no?” She spoke in a rich eastern European accent. “Do not go near it! Do not go near!” Her words were suddenly thrust to the centre of my thoughts. Mother and had moved here a while ago yet, despite people’s suspicions, nothing terribly out of the ordinary had happened. But now I thought hard. Maybe there was something odd? My eyes widened as I immediately feared the worst. There was only one place to hang. The yew. My saliva tasted sour and I felt abruptly short of breath. A new set of hot tears welled at the corners of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. Was she dead? I glanced back at the decrepit house with its corrugated roof and disintegrating walls. The wind chimes were rattling violently in the breeze throwing a torrent of noise into the fields. The sound echoed my thoughts of mother, her happiness shattered in an instant. Her voice would sound soft and gentle though I could hear the pain seeping through, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna by you a mocking bird” I was only little, I didn’t understand. My eyelids would simply droop and I’d be asleep in no time. Too bad she wasn’t here now. I pulled my collar closer to my neck and carried on walking. The dry, withering grass crunched underfoot. Suddenly the tree came into view and a blast of icy wind mercilessly stole the heat from my body. The wind chimes continued to rattle, I could almost hear mother too. The tree grew at the top of the hill, there was no other life surrounding it, just cracked, brown earth. The branches were bare and gnarled, twisting and swaying, casting dark shadows onto the ground below. I suddenly became aware of myself and was frightened to make any noise. Every step I took seemed to reverberate hollowly. I anticipated every step, I didn’t want to see mother hanging on the other side of the tree. I didn’t want to see the sole person that loved me cold and dead. By the time I had reached the base of the trunk I was numb all over. I could see mist gathering around my nostrils every time I breathed outward. The wind whipped my hair backwards and whistled in my ears. The wind chime should have been out of earshot though I could still hear mother singing, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna by you a mocking bird” I immediately felt drawn to the yew that loomed overhead. The black, contorted limbs swayed to and fro recklessly as if they were beckoning me. I braced myself. When I peered around the trunk and saw nothing, I felt both good and bad. She was not dead but she was still missing, or so I thought. I crumpled down into a heap, leaning against the tree, “I’m only ten! I cannot live by myself yet!” My heart was beating rapidly, pounding against my chest, my temples pulsed. I had salty tears streaming from my eyes. Mother was gone. I buried my face into my muddy knees and sobbed bitterly. I thought nothing could fix my newfound pain but then I smiled. I closed my eyes; the scent of mothers perfume silently filled my nostrils. Her long gentle limbs wrapped around my shoulders. Her calm velvety voice flooded my ears as she sung a familiar tune. A lullaby. She stroked my hair and lightly kissed me on the cheek. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word.” I could feel myself slowly sinking down, into her voice, into the ground.
