Hello! I know it's been done before, I think it may have even been done for H/SotL before, but here's my twist at the story anyway. I personally don't think it's the best thing in the world, but I'll let you decide that for yourself.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yada yada yada, but you know this already. And Merry Christmas :)
A Silent Christmas Carol
It was thirty years ago that my father died. Thirty years this very night. Those were the last happy years of my life.
After his death, my work consumed me. Achievement and advancement were the gods who ruled over my life. After all, I had nothing more to live for; my only source of family was left dead. As dead as a doornail.
But can doornails even die? No;Such nonsense is something that would come out of the mouth of that horrible Krendler... if he ever had a mouth to speak them out of any longer.
It's a dark night tonight. The air sends shivers up my spine, raising hairs on my very neck, cutting through my heart like a sheet of ice.
Ah, my home. A small but comfortable apartment in the heart of DC, only a mile from my work and that which I serve - the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
I make my way to the door, a beige and fur jacket pulled smugly around my neck and over my long, red hair. The small number box in which permits entrance into the building is in the far off corner. As I approach, I pull of my glove. I go to punch in the code -
- but the box isn't there.
No, instead there sits the small and gentle brown eyes of my late father, his smile just the way I remember it.
I open my mouth the scream, but no sound escapes my lips.
I blink my eyes, but as they reopen, the only thing left there is the number box.
I shake my head and punch in the code - 1121. Damn those mashed potatoes, I knew I shouldn't have ate them. That's the last time I ever stop at that cafe...
I make my way up the first flight of stairs. Then the next, and the next, until I reach the fifth floor.
I slowly open the door and walk in. Placing the coat in my closet, I retire to my room. With ease, I toss on a t-shirt and stripped boxers and head to bed. Within seconds, I'm in a deep slumber.
But something awakes me. What the hell was that? It was a loud crash, and it continued to echo throughout my room. A small light glistened in a far off corner, swinging back and forth, disappearing as it moved one way, reappearing as it moved another. I squint my eyes for a closer look; It's the bell I inherited from my mother after she died.
I walk up and lift the drapes of the window, in order to shut it and stop the breeze. However, the window's not open. How very odd.
The bell rings faster and faster, clinking and clanking against it's bronze sides. I attempt to stop it by out stretching my hand, but quickly snap it back as the bell hits it, but doesn't slow at all.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps. They're slow and soft, but the sound of clanking metal echoes with them. I quickly hurry over to my bed stand and grab my gun, flipping off the safety. I hide to the side of the door.
The room grows cold and an eerie mist fills it. A foot, painted in white, enters the door way.
"Who are you?!" I scream, twisting myself to the door, gun outstretched in front of me.
But there's no need to ask that. It's obvious. The man is none other than my father.
"Clare," he says, his voice old and worried. "Don't worry, it's only me."
My body shakes, my gun slowly falling to my side in my utter shock. "But you're- you can't be-"
"Dead? I am. But, indeed, it is true that I am here. I'm a spirit now, left to roam the earth for one hundred years, carrying these chains..."
I look down, and see what he means. That's what the sound was, the clanking metal. These chains, but what are they for?
He smiles, as if knowing my thoughts. "These chains represent the sins I committed during life. I created a long and mighty chain in my own. I must warn you, Clarice, that every day your chain grows longer, and soon it will be longer than even mine."
I stare at him, taken aback by the words he has just spoken. "But me? I'm, I'm not a bad person, you weren't a ba-"
"Life isn't measured by our kindness towards others or our thoughts, but by the mistakes we make and never try to fix. By how much our hearts can love.
"You've stopped caring about people, Clare. I suppose you did that long ago. But there was still one person you always cared for, and you know who I speak of."
My eyes refuse to leave his. I do know who he means.
"You're not real!" I finally scream. "Leave me! Leave me at peace!" I say as I crash towards him, but find myself falling right through him, feeling as though I had just dived into an ice cold lake.
I stare back to him again.
"Your heart has closed, Clarice. If you don't change, you will soon be facing the same cold fate as me."
Tears have begun to fall down my face. "It isn't true! It's not!"
"You'll be visited by three spirits. They will guide you through your past, present, and the future of your soul. The first will come when the clock strikes one."
"It's not true!" I find myself screaming. "There must be some mistake!" But I'm now speaking to nothing more than an empty room.
I shake my head again. Was it all just a dream?
That's all for now. Please review, that's what that little box is for. Tell me I suck for all I care, just review :) Ta ta
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yada yada yada, but you know this already. And Merry Christmas :)
A Silent Christmas Carol
It was thirty years ago that my father died. Thirty years this very night. Those were the last happy years of my life.
After his death, my work consumed me. Achievement and advancement were the gods who ruled over my life. After all, I had nothing more to live for; my only source of family was left dead. As dead as a doornail.
But can doornails even die? No;Such nonsense is something that would come out of the mouth of that horrible Krendler... if he ever had a mouth to speak them out of any longer.
It's a dark night tonight. The air sends shivers up my spine, raising hairs on my very neck, cutting through my heart like a sheet of ice.
Ah, my home. A small but comfortable apartment in the heart of DC, only a mile from my work and that which I serve - the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
I make my way to the door, a beige and fur jacket pulled smugly around my neck and over my long, red hair. The small number box in which permits entrance into the building is in the far off corner. As I approach, I pull of my glove. I go to punch in the code -
- but the box isn't there.
No, instead there sits the small and gentle brown eyes of my late father, his smile just the way I remember it.
I open my mouth the scream, but no sound escapes my lips.
I blink my eyes, but as they reopen, the only thing left there is the number box.
I shake my head and punch in the code - 1121. Damn those mashed potatoes, I knew I shouldn't have ate them. That's the last time I ever stop at that cafe...
I make my way up the first flight of stairs. Then the next, and the next, until I reach the fifth floor.
I slowly open the door and walk in. Placing the coat in my closet, I retire to my room. With ease, I toss on a t-shirt and stripped boxers and head to bed. Within seconds, I'm in a deep slumber.
But something awakes me. What the hell was that? It was a loud crash, and it continued to echo throughout my room. A small light glistened in a far off corner, swinging back and forth, disappearing as it moved one way, reappearing as it moved another. I squint my eyes for a closer look; It's the bell I inherited from my mother after she died.
I walk up and lift the drapes of the window, in order to shut it and stop the breeze. However, the window's not open. How very odd.
The bell rings faster and faster, clinking and clanking against it's bronze sides. I attempt to stop it by out stretching my hand, but quickly snap it back as the bell hits it, but doesn't slow at all.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps. They're slow and soft, but the sound of clanking metal echoes with them. I quickly hurry over to my bed stand and grab my gun, flipping off the safety. I hide to the side of the door.
The room grows cold and an eerie mist fills it. A foot, painted in white, enters the door way.
"Who are you?!" I scream, twisting myself to the door, gun outstretched in front of me.
But there's no need to ask that. It's obvious. The man is none other than my father.
"Clare," he says, his voice old and worried. "Don't worry, it's only me."
My body shakes, my gun slowly falling to my side in my utter shock. "But you're- you can't be-"
"Dead? I am. But, indeed, it is true that I am here. I'm a spirit now, left to roam the earth for one hundred years, carrying these chains..."
I look down, and see what he means. That's what the sound was, the clanking metal. These chains, but what are they for?
He smiles, as if knowing my thoughts. "These chains represent the sins I committed during life. I created a long and mighty chain in my own. I must warn you, Clarice, that every day your chain grows longer, and soon it will be longer than even mine."
I stare at him, taken aback by the words he has just spoken. "But me? I'm, I'm not a bad person, you weren't a ba-"
"Life isn't measured by our kindness towards others or our thoughts, but by the mistakes we make and never try to fix. By how much our hearts can love.
"You've stopped caring about people, Clare. I suppose you did that long ago. But there was still one person you always cared for, and you know who I speak of."
My eyes refuse to leave his. I do know who he means.
"You're not real!" I finally scream. "Leave me! Leave me at peace!" I say as I crash towards him, but find myself falling right through him, feeling as though I had just dived into an ice cold lake.
I stare back to him again.
"Your heart has closed, Clarice. If you don't change, you will soon be facing the same cold fate as me."
Tears have begun to fall down my face. "It isn't true! It's not!"
"You'll be visited by three spirits. They will guide you through your past, present, and the future of your soul. The first will come when the clock strikes one."
"It's not true!" I find myself screaming. "There must be some mistake!" But I'm now speaking to nothing more than an empty room.
I shake my head again. Was it all just a dream?
That's all for now. Please review, that's what that little box is for. Tell me I suck for all I care, just review :) Ta ta