Hey everyone! Well, I adore writing horror, mostly anything dealing with vampires. I also RP ALOT and my characters are (can you guess?) vampires. Just wanted to post an example of my writing...feel free to critique and comment!
(this is a post from a site I frequent called everbane.com. check it out ^.~)
A scarecrow-like figure stood before the labyrinth of rosebushes, crimson oculars widened in awe at the splendor of the sight. One skeletal hand reached up to scratch at his mop of straw-blonde hair, accidentally knocking the ragged hat from atop his skull. “Whoops,” he exclaimed to himself as his six foot seven frame bent down to retrieve the moth eaten hat from the ground. Dusting off the cloth, a quite futile action indeed, he placed the weather beaten hat back atop his head before he began his journey through the roses. The path through the labyrinth was relatively easy, despite the sharp thorns hidden within the majesty of the roses. The deadly thorns scratched at his stained, weathered shirt and leather breeches; but he didn’t notice the tears. Hell, he had holes in his clothes anyway, what are a few more tears to mend?
As abruptly as the thorny maze began, it seemed to come to an end, revealing the overwhelming beauty of the Hall. Crimson tears blurred the vampire’s vision as he stumbled towards the ivorn fountain depicting the kneeling angel with torn and broken wings. A moan came to his thin, pale lips as he caressed the cold marble of the angel’s bent visage; as he dipped thing digits into the eternally flowing blood pooling around the angel’s knees. He wanted to sit beneath the fountains beauty, to pull out his sheath of yellowed parchment and phoenix feather quill and just write, write, write, about the eternal sadness and majestic presence of the angelic being trapped in marble. But, he first wished to become acquainted with the members of this Coven he had been hearing so much about in the towns and villages. Maybe he had finally found a place where he belonged? Pressing cold lips to an even colder cheek, he whispered good-bye to his lonely angel, and proceeded to the ebon doors of the Hall’s entrance. With his retreating back facing the fountain, he did not notice when forever hell ward gazing orbs lifted in the marble face; did not notice frowning lips turn into a brief smile of amusement. Both returned to normal in a blink of the proverbial eye. Just another yard decoration forever cast in stone.
The skulls intrigued him. The drooling blood dripping ceaselessly from gaping jaws was terrifying, yet hauntingly wonderful at the same time. Staring at the humanoid skulls mounted on the ebon doors, the stones within the once empty eye sockets glittering satanically at him, the vampire became entranced by the sight. He had to meet the creator of this Hall! He had to lay his orbs ‘pon the creature who had thought up this truly remarkable and beautiful haven for his kind! Dipping his right hand into one of the many pockets located in is clothing, he withdrew a rather large rock from the depths of his person. Beady eyes and a laughable, toothy grin had been drawn on a flat surface of the earthen object. The vampire looked down ‘pon the rock in his hand and smiled.
“Look, Bartholomew! We have arrived finally! Do you see the magnificence of the very structure of this unholy sanctuary?” He asked, his crimson orbs filling once more with bloody tears. He cocked his ear towards the rock, and paused as if trying to listen to some unheard sound. A frown suffocated the smile that once played in his lips and he took a sharp breath. “All right? You think that this remarkable Hall is merely ‘alright’? You fool of a rock. It is heaven!” Grumbling low under his breath, the vampire curled his left hand into a fist and knocked softly on the towering doors. A gasp fell from his throat at the sound of a hissing voice in his skull.
Sstate your name and businesss with the Hall of the Mistresss of Ssang Immortel
A cough exploded from the vampire, as he struggled to answer the voice. “M-my name is Damonik Za’kir along with my pet rock Bartholomew. We wish to j-join the Coven of S-sang Immortel..”
A long reign of silence followed, as Damonik waited patiently for some kind of response from within. After what seemed forever (merely two minutes) the vampire turned to leave. As he began his dejected decent of the stairs, he stopped as the sounds of the heavy doors opening caught his attention. Elation filled his very soul as amber light from within the Hall spilled out into the darkness of the night. With a cry of joy, he ran back up the stairs, stumbling on the very last step, and fell face first into the threshold of the Hall.