A/n: Hiiiiii! :) So, after spoofing extremely dramatic/graphic/romantic/RIDICULOUS fanfiction plots in NABCF, I decided to go ahead and be a hypocrite and post this new story I've been sittin' on for a while. It's not done, and I know it's reeaaaally bad of me to post something unfinished, but I was really curious to see the reactions to this story. Be nice (well, unless you think I don't deserve it, LOL). ;P I know it's shitty, but I kinda like it. It's mah baby. ^^
WARNINGS -- gore, OCs (only fillers! no main characters or anything), arguable OOCness scariness I guess(?), goofy romance, some eventual slash (that's right :D), overall stupid corny soapoperaryness... and I think I need to stop writing right now.
Posting in the middle of the night really is never a good idea... maybe I'll do some more proofreading later and post any edits. Anyway! Without further ado, I present to you the crap fest that is "Curse of the Jellicle Moon"!
And cue prologue!
1. The Witch
It began one cold, starless night, when the Forest Witch sat by her window with a book of spells in her pale hands. Her reading glasses slipped from their perch between her dark eyes as she glanced at her carefully tended vegetable garden just outside. The sight was obscured by her reflection in the long window, so she returned to her leather-bound book.
One of her greatest concerns was vermin in her beloved garden. She had yet to encounter this crisis, as her presence was well known by the wilderness, as well as her unforgiving attitude towards trespassers. No creature dared enter her domain for fear of the black magic she was known to cast upon the animals. Earlier that very day, she had cursed a lost Dalmatian with insatiable hunger when he nearly bit her in the woods. The more the canine consumed, the emptier he became, and every hour drove him madder and madder with hunger. A simple act of fear and confusion had cost the animal his sanity, and made him yet another example of the Witch's dark power.
The ravenous Dalmatian wandered into the junkyard at the edge of the forest, not far from the Witch's cottage. Following the delectable scent of human leftovers, the canine passed through a hole in the surrounding fence and ripped through the piles and piles of litter. He buried his nose in the beautiful smell and greedily devoured whatever was edible, nearly choking on each gluttonous bite. But none of it could satisfy the ache in his stomach. Not one glorious morsel could he enjoy, but only felt the growing pain within him.
Another scent reached the Dalmatian's nostrils, a scent even tastier than the garbage. He smelled living food, the kind that squealed and wriggled when bit. At least one small animal was nearby, unconsciously drawing in the speckled dog with its intoxicating smell. The Dalmatian hazily followed the wonderful fragrance of flesh until he spotted the source.
A little black and white cat lay by himself on the hood of an old car, whispering to himself and waving his paws in a strange manner. He was so absorbed in some sort of private ritual that he did not detect the hungry canine until it lunged at him. The wretched dog's shrill barks echoed in the junkyard like Murder's own shrieking voice, saliva oozing like blood down his slack jaws of thick, jagged teeth. The cat screamed.
With the haste of one racing from death, the feline leapt from the car and dashed nimbly through the trash, the four-legged menace following close behind. Somehow the cat managed to stay just ahead of the Dalmatian, maneuvering nimbly around the obstacles of junk and dodging the great open mouth behind him. The dog chased his prey all about, right to the edge of the junkyard and the fence through which he came.
That night, two other tomcats were also awake, seeking solitude to face their private insecurities in the most remote section of the junkyard – by the metal fence. Though they did not realize it, they were not far apart, and both soon heard sharp yapping of their natural enemy in pursuit of one of their own. But they could only hear this spectacle moments before they saw it tear towards them, and the cats all simultaneously ran from the terror to the narrow hole in the fence that led to the woods.
The cats slipped through easily, but the dog, now more frantic and disoriented than earlier, at first became caught in the scratching, wiry metal. For a moment, the felines thought they might be safe, and glanced at one another anxiously. They were all very different in shape and hue. The first black and white tom was quite small, his fur patterned like a tuxedo, with bright brown eyes and a solid white face. Another was of moderate height, thin, and decked with splashes of pale yellows and browns. The third cat was bigger than the other two, both in height and width, and his coat was white with streaks of brown and black, and touches of red in the fur above his pale brow.
"Is it-?" the yellow and brown cat began breathlessly, staring wide-eyed at the struggling Dalmatian.
The dog broke loose.
"Go!" the tall tom shouted in reply. In need of no further persuasion, the tomcats turned and sprinted towards the forest.
It may have been the residue of her destructive magic on the cursed dog that led them to her home, or perhaps it was another unnamable, supernatural pull that brought the unfortunate beings to her doorstep. But whatever the cause, whether magic or fate, the three cats came upon the Witch's gate, and leapt over it into her vegetable garden.
The Dalmatian halted, nostrils full of the wicked scent that began all his recent pain, and ran yelping from the Witch's premises. The cats, silent and shaking with fear, remained among the plants, listening for the dog. Had they known then what lay in wait for them there, they would have gladly faced the demonic canine over the excruciating ordeal in store.
"It's gone," the big white and brown tom breathed.
"Are you sure?" the medium-sized cat whispered, straining to hear the barks in the growing distance.
It was the little black and white one who first noticed the cottage, and the dim light in the window obscured by a moving shadow. "Where are we?" he wondered in a quiet voice, stepping away from a patch of lettuce he'd trod on.
The door opened, and there, framed by the candlelight within, stood the Witch of the Forest before the violators of her beautiful garden. Her age was indeterminable, her face neither wrinkled nor smooth. She wore a plain, loose white robe that reached down to her ankles, with a high collar and long sleeves. Black, perfectly straight and untangled hair fell to her shoulders, and two very large, dark eyes stared unwaveringly from her pale face.
All three cats froze at the sight. They had heard of a strange human living in the woods who tortured the animals. Yet they could not at first move away from her, or break from her still gaze.
The Witch sniffed, stiffly breathing her fury in, then out again. She slowly lifted her arm and pointed to the three creatures in her garden. "For this," she whispered sharply, in a human language the cats couldn't understand, "the demons in your souls will seize your bodies." The Witch spoke slowly and deliberately as she determined their punishment. "In the night, under the crescent moon, fear will be free to roam in your shell, and make its own shape from it. In the day, it will haunt your mind, begging to be free again, waiting for you to give in."
No bright light or grand physical show of magic accompanied the spell. There was only a strange energy, seemingly pulling and compressing the air around them, that brought unease to the cats' minds, and told them on an inner, instinctual level, that evil was creeping its way into them, crawling under their skin and pumping within their terrified hearts.
When the Witch's arm dropped suddenly to her side, the toms were released from her metaphysical hold, and each fled suddenly in unbelievable fright, over the gate, past the trees, through the gap in the fence, back to the junkyard, their home. But home brought no sense of security or comfort to the overwhelmed cats, and only exhaustion could force sleep from them. They had neither the strength nor the words to talk about the strange woman who had hissed at them so, or the hideous feelings that unintelligible speech brought them. So they parted, dazed, and eventually slept. In the morning, they each awoke with only the wonder at what a strange and horrible dream they had, and all memory of that cold dreaded night, they simply attributed to a senseless nightmare.
In truth, the nightmare had only begun.
To Be Continued...
A/n: Just a short prologue to get started. :) Btws, how was the witch lady? Tried not to make her toooo annoying as an OC. Also didn't want her to be super conventional, but still kinda wanted to call back to some old traditions of the witch in fairytales. For example, ALL witches have vegetable gardens. And live in the woods in some cottage. Lol.
So REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! They will make me ever so happy. I could do with some of that, now that I'm outta the clinic. Can you believe I almost got committed a SECOND time? ...Actually after reading this, you probably can, haha. Anyway. Writing gore and getting REVIEWS for it is part of my therapy. ;P