Departure To Arrakis

The forest had gone.... and the Witch looked much younger. Audette opened her eyes and had found herself upon a brow of white lilies. The shape of the shrouded old woman seemed changed. Having turned around, and opened her mantle to the tearing gusts, Meliza revealed to the young lady two streams of shinging blackness and smooth white flesh. Audette stopped in her tracks.

The blazing light was shining in my face and a slight breeze blew through the arched windows. I spotted an open chest in the attic, whilst spring cleaning. The outside rim of the box was covered in dust and cobbled webs; the hinge was rusty, making a creak noise against the ghost-quiet room. Rummaging my hand around the chest there was a scratchy-substance digging against my fingers. As the sun faded from my sight I lifted up the mysterious object. It was an old rustic book; I flipped through the delicate pages, every touch made a crinkling

The mouldy, rotting, brown house stood in front of Emily, only fear keeping her feet planted to the ground. Moaning and creaking noises being projected from the house. The grass was damp from the evening fog and every time she took a step the mud squelched. The bottom step squeaked as she applied pressure with her foot, she let out a sigh of relief as the old structure hadn’t swallowed her up. The door, slightly off colour from the rest of the house, loomed over her like a giant as he reached for the brass door handle. A shiver ran through her body like an electric current, the musty smell of a house that had been long abandoned filled Emily’s nose. It was dim and uninviting. The furniture dusty and old, looking as if it would crumble to dust if she was to touch it. Mould ate away at

I looked over to the alarm clock and saw a bright red 1:06 AM. The door creaked slowly and a dark figure entered the room. The silhouette walked closer to me, heels clicking on the vinyl floor. A sinister smile spread across her rotting face.

Just as they were making their way toward the shack out comes the witch. They carefully make their way up to her and not taking their eyes off of her. Not only was she a witch but a beautiful one, like no one they had ever seen. She

I had not been asleep long when I…awoke with a start…I could see a figure standing next to the couch looking down at me. The woman was dressed in a long, flowing, dark green gown, holding a round tin with a candle in it…Her face was dark and very square, and a green turban was wrapped around her head, concealing her ear.

That violent, crazy act was the last act of childhood. For as I gazed at the immobile face with the sad, weary eyes, I gazed upon a kind of reality which is hidden to childhood, The witch was no longer a witch but only a broken old woman who had dared to create beauty in the midst of ugliness and sterility. She had been born in squalor and lived in it all her life.”

“ She is about 20 years old and that's about it, she is very quiet.”

However, as the narrator prepares to visit the bazaar, a shift takes place. His light begins to turn to darkness as reality sinks in. While waiting for his uncle to come home so he can leave himself, the narrator looks over at the “dark house” where the girl lives. He then stands there merely visualizing the “lamplight at the curved neck”. There is darkness at

Inside the small house it was pitch black and completely silent. So dark, in fact, that one could not see their own hand in front of their face. The deeper into the house, the darker it became. Now into the family room and up the stairs.A distinct sound of scratching emanated from the door at the end of the hall. Inside, the room seemed to belong to a young girl, but only because the little girl nestled in bed deemed it so.

As she stands at the entrance debating weather to go down or to see if the light will flicker off on its own she’s reminded by the tales her brother used to tell of the women who strives in the dark, cold basement. Gently she starts to ascend the steep, concrete, dusty stairs, feeling her way on the rough, stone walls to the light. Getting further and further away from the warm. bright hall the hair on the back of her neck stands, as the loud click of the door echoes behind her.

There was no warning, shower of sparks, flash of light or puff of smoke. I just blinked and was gone. One second I was sitting on my bed and the next I'm standing on top of a strange stone wall. How and why I wasn't sure, but before I had time to figure it out, a witch appeared out of nowhere and leaned on her battered broomstick, alone in the dark. Her black pointed hat and long cape cast an eerie silver silhouette on the narrow cobblestone street. She swiftly searched the shadows and spotted another witch who was waddling along a ways off. Cackling wildly, she zigzagged across the sky and hovered beside her.

It was a constant thing, a breathing creature at the foot of her bed. The long pole at the corner, all leads and lines, a crooked spider web. It was the brightest thing in the room, taunting as the florescent light shined off of it. The sink was next, and the bins. Around the perimeter were outlets, a chair, a window at the corner, and Daddy sat on the edge of the bed. In the middle was another, in the bed, with the creature at her feet.

“No she was small like two fried eggs,” and he moved his hands onto to his chest to indicate breasts.

The floorboard in the hallway creaked again. Emma flew off the bed and dashed for cover behind the silk dressing screen. Her heart pounded. Sweat trickled down the side of her face. Trembling, she peeked around the edge of the screen and watched as a tall figure entered the room. When he stepped into the light of the fireplace, her hand flew to her mouth to silence the gasp. It could not be him. He would never poison her mother. Would