Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
Talia By Emma Scullion
She looked down at her hands, bloody, bleeding, battered, a severed forefinger dangling by a nerve and a vein. She was used to feeling nothing, feeling so numb that she would routinely cut her own arm just to feel something, anything, even if it ultimately caused her to fall deeper into the chasm of despair of which she was so accustomed. Talia Grant could not recall a time in her life when she had felt ‘normal’, not that she would know what that was anyway! For all she knew everyone did these things behind closed doors!
A groan escaped her victims mouth, for a moment she was worried that she had not finished the job properly and the severed finger had been in vain. This one had been a fighter, hadn’t wanted to accept his fate. Talia knew that this was how the Master had intended this mortal to die, she had seen it in her dreams: where to find him and how to lure him back. She let out a shrill shriek of laughter, recalling the horrified look on Samuel Carmichael’s face when he realised that this was the end of his road. Observing his body in its final spasm, she admired her work; one perfectly executed slice to Samuels neck, severing the jugular and he was done. He had fought hard, turning the knife on Talia, forcing her to grab it back by the blade, accounting for the mess her poor hands were in right now!
Three sharp knocks penetrated the air, it was the Masters henchman, arriving to ‘clean up’ as they called it. She looked through the peephole to be sure before opening the door. A small man stood before her, dressed entirely in black. He pulled behind him a wheeled suitcase and without speaking, ushered Talia to vacate the room.
Rummaging in her bedroom dresser for her surgical kit, Talia cleaned her injured hands in a wash basin in the corner of the room, then set to work sewing up her damaged finger, working with skill, making short work of the wound. Hearing another three sharp knocks, she knew this was her cue to re-enter the living room.
The room was perfectly clean, leaving no sign that Mr Carmichael had ever been there at all, A small green bottle sat in the centre of the dining table, Talia smiled contentedly as she read the hand-written label: “DRINK ME!”. Her Master was pleased. Talia uncorked the bottle, bringing it to her lips, drinking heavily; the tinny taste of warm blood was perfection, her eyes closed as she sank into oblivion.
Doctor Natalia Grant awoke with a start, her phone alarm blaring. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa again! Going to the bathroom cabinet she reached for her pills, damn she’d missed yesterday, she didn’t worry too much, convinced she wasn’t half as crazy as they made out! After showering, and feeding her cat, Natalia headed to work, she had a tough shift ahead at the hospital.
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