Backhand Stories: The Creative Writing Blog

With his head bowed, and the pit of his stomach boiling with unrest, Hector stood within the gloom of his master’s chamber.
“It is done,” Graymar’s voice echoed. “You have rid the world of the savage who killed your precious Alice. Now, it is time for other matters.”
Graymar held out a small piece of parchment, hoping it would attract his servants eyes – it didn’t, they were still fixed on the floor and far from the present.
“Hector? Please, this is of the utmost importance. The name on the parchment is of a local villager who has been in debt to me for far too long, and I-”
“It is not over, master,” Hector said through the thicket of his black beard. “There is still another,”
“Another?”
“Yes, master. The man I slew last night did not act alone.”
Graymar walked towards his servant. “You are mistaken, my friend.”
He rested a hand on the black armor of Hector’s shoulder. “I sent you to the beast who killed your daughter, and you cast him into the pits of Hell; where he belongs . . . your dear Alice is at rest now. May her soul drift-”
“My dear girl-” Hector interrupted, his voice was far more prominent than it had been all evening. “-wanted me to take her away from here. Away from the mountains of this kingdom, and to the open fields of the North.”
Graymar’s hand fell.
“She wanted me to change. To not be your deliverer of death.”
Graymar sighed. “You have avenged her! So I order you . . . Drop this matter now!”
“Someone else was there, master. Someone held my Alice as the savage tore out her heart!”
“That is folly!”
“Tell me, what would you have done if my Alice demanded you to release me?”
“Hector! How dare you! Your grief has driven you mad! You need-”
Graymar’s words were stopped as Hector removed something from his belt, and thrashed it down onto the stone floor. The impact sent echoes through the shadows of the chamber.
Graymar peered down at the item as his heart pounded. Through the flickering light of the torches mounted on the surrounding walls, he saw a hinge encrusted with earth. Graymar grew a nervous sweat as he realized where the hinge had come from – what it used to be attached to.
“Have you been digging in the dirt of the dead? That is the domain of the Lord, and it is not your place!” Graymar spat as fear trembled his words. “How dare you desecrate her grave and remove items from her casket!”
“She does not belong in that ground. Not in a graveyard embittered with the corpses I put there . . . put there by your order. It was your ring that betrayed you, master.”
Graymar stared wildly at his golden band, which was circled by a setting of tiny red stones – his knees trembled.
“The jewels on your ring,” Hector began as he inched towards him. “They left their mark on my Alice’s arm.”
Graymar was bereft of speech, and so he froze.
“Alice is not at rest, master,” Hector said whilst unsheathing his axe. “But, she will be soon . . .”
David Schembri is an Australian Horror Writer. His work has appeared in the BlackBox Anthology, released by Brimstone Press. He has also appeared in FlashSpec Volume 2, The Horror Day Anthology, The Writing Show, Ripples Magazine, Flashshot, Penpricks, MicroHorror and AntipodeanSF. David lives in Victoria with his lovely wife and children.