z

Young Writers Society


12+ Violence

The Gilded Man

by Chaser


When I was a child, I was told never to look the Gilded Man in the eyes. If I did, I would surely scream. And the Gilded Man always made sure that silence reigned.

My mother then whapped my grandfather with a paper plate, telling him not to scare me. She bent down, brushed the hair from her eyes, and reassured me that I wouldn't have to stay for long.

I remember the roar of her car's engine as it pulled away in the drive. The soft, labored breaths of my grandfather as he turned to me, eyes wide and sorry. "Time for bed."

I walked a little behind him as he led me to my room. He had a jagged, spindly walk, his hard leather shoes punishing the wood floor. He threw out his back stomping furiously up the stairs. "It's alright," he called down to me. "Just shooing the Gilded Man from under the steps."

My room was a bright, acoustic place, with soft down pillows and a headboard with a dreamcatcher. Grandfather admitted that the dreamcatcher was just for show; he didn't really think it did anything. The hoop of string and feathers would spin soundlessly over my head at night as I tried to block out the other noise.

My grandfather kept a music box in the hallway, an old brass thing that played a classical melody through the doorways of the house. It was a sound of melancholy and rust, and was broken in such a way that there were low twinges beneath the music like a dog's whimpering. My grandfather, a veteran, was able to sleep through it. I, on the other hand, empathized with this Gilded Man.

I did try to play along, acting wide-eyed when my grandfather claimed the Gilded Man had stolen his pillow. He then held up a goose feather, as though to prove his point. "See?" he insisted, shaking the feather. "His tracks!"

By the fourth night, I was fed up. So, after I'd waited an hour or so, I shoved back the covers and crept out of the room.

The music box was on a cabinet in the hallway; I was only just tall enough to reach it. Feeling around for a switch, I eventually jammed my fingers inside it until I felt something crack. The music box shouted and stopped abruptly.

I withdrew my hand, surprised at the silence that came with it. The dark of the hallway loomed around me, a new, detached silence.

Suddenly, a noise came from my grandfather's room. It rose and fell, whistling as it went; an unmistakable snore. My grandfather had been invincible to the Gilded Man all along.

Shaking my head, I went back to my room and nestled beneath the covers. Sweet, blissful quiet all around me. The rudeness of my grandfather's snoring would have to be put up with.

I am not sure how long I slept, or whether I slept at all. But perhaps, as the dreamcatcher spun for the hundredth time, I heard the cringing whimper of the broken music box, this time as a solo.

He came into my room like a shadow, tiptoeing upside the doorframe. In the darkness, I could make out a clawed arm, wrapped in feathers. But then the feathers fell from its hand, and as they spun in the night, the Gilded Man dropped onto them and floated to the floor. He was a graceful, wingless fairy, drifting on dust.

But his movements were half-finished, irrational. He heaved upwards, then sunk, mumbling along the floorboards. He would freeze; his neck would crank counterclockwise like rusted metal, then turn back in one fluid motion.

Then I met his gaze.

My breath caught in my throat. His eyes were horrid, cavernous lenses, broken geodes that peered into his skull. They caught the light and whirled it around as he turned, an stone bedlam that never blinked.

He crept towards me, in that painful, staggered way of his. He scurried up the side of the bed and plugged his ears, trying to block on the rustle of blankets. Then, slowly, he stood up and walked on top of my chest.

I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe. The Gilded Man stared me in the face for a while, then cocked his head. The blood paled in my brain, throbbing soundlessly. The Gilded Man gave a little sigh of relief, then bent backwards, reveling in the absolute silence that stretched on and on in the night.

But then, he stopped, tightening harshly. He whipped his head around the room, searching for a sound, seething. His eyes widened as the noise settled, and he bent down, ever so slowly, to hear the beating of my heart.

A low growling began to sound from his throat, an angry whimpering. He stalked up the bed towards me, stumbling over my body, his eyes both luminous sinkholes that carved into me as my blood sped up, and so did the Gilded Man, his claws reaching for my throat.

I never had the chance to scream. My holding of breath gave out, and the world and Gilded Man turned a grateful black.

When I awoke, I walked out of my room to discover my grandfather, his throat purple where the infernal snoring had been squeezed out for good. And that was how my mother found me, at the foot of his bed, the blood on his fingernails and the scratches on my arms.

I tell you this as I have written now, within the pillowy walls of this room, and the soft, soft chains of this jacket. My grandfather met his end at the hands of the Gilded Man, for it is the Gilded Man who reigns over silence. Silence, as it shall ever be.


Note: You are not logged in, but you can still leave a comment or review. Before it shows up, a moderator will need to approve your comment (this is only a safeguard against spambots). Leave your email if you would like to be notified when your message is approved.







Is this a review?


  

Comments



User avatar
276 Reviews


Points: 16802
Reviews: 276

Donate
Mon Sep 18, 2017 9:58 pm
rosette wrote a review...



Heya there, Chaser, and Happy #Revmo !

This was quite a fascinating story, I have to admit, and I thought you wrote it splendidly. You were very descriptive, and used some wonderful adjectives. The story flowed along fairly well, and ended in a satisfying, though horrible, way.

I had a bit of a problem with the narrator, this child, because while this story is told from his/her eyes (I don't you clarified the gender), I couldn't necessarily make out what they thought of the grandfather. Was narrator thinking grandpa was some crazy old man with a foolish fear? Or did he/she feel sorry for him? I'm wondering about that, especially considering this last scene when the child finds his grandfather dead: I can't say I think he/she is losing it internally and bawling their eyes, for gramps is dead if they didn't act like grandfather was that well, beloved. How intimate were these two? Exactly how did the grandfather appear to this child?

I know it's not of huge importance, but I'm curious about why the child is staying with his grandfather. In the beginning, his mother kisses his cheeks, says he won't be staying there long, and is gone for four days. She just... takes off? This background doesn't have much to do with the story, but I think it'd be okay if you still mentioned it.

The Gilded Man interests me. For one thing, I'm wondering how his name came about. Gilded? But on another note, his love of silence intrigues me. The music box, or simply, the music, is designed to keep Gilded Man away - and it does. Then, the child has this thought that grandpa is invincible to the creature, anyway, due to his loud snoring. So, basically, wherever noise is, Gilded Man runs in the opposite direction. BUT. When Gilded Man hears the heartbeat of this kid, he does not flee in search of silence, but instead... attempts to kill him?! I feel like I'm missing something crucial from this story. I honestly don't see how this kid doesn't die; instead he "awoke" - here's where I thought this had all been a dream - and finds a dead grandpa - never mind on that last thought.
I feel extremely stupid asking this but what happened?!
I honestly don't get it. Grandfather could not have come and rescued him, because he was in his bed with a purple throat when discovered - but why would Gilded Man suddenly become bored whilst strangling the kid and run off to kill grandpa? And besides, the grandpa was invincible due to that snoring.
So. I am confused.

Apologies if I missed the obvious - I haven't been feeling so bright today - but this was a very well-written story, and baffling though it was for me, I enjoyed reading it.
Thanks for sharing!
~rosette




User avatar
117 Reviews


Points: 481
Reviews: 117

Donate
Sun Sep 17, 2017 7:33 pm
Featherstone wrote a review...



Hello, Fea here to review!

So first, I must say, you did a wonderful job with your descriptions! The story itself was short yet intriguing; it was thoroughly enjoyable.

"The blood paled in my brain, throbbing soundlessly." So, I understand what you're saying here, but it took me a minute to figure it out and it kind of jerked me out of the story. Perhaps "The blood rushed from my brain..." or even taking 'brain' out of it entirely and say "I paled as the blood rushed from my face, leaving me white as a sheet" or something to that affect.

I feel like the word 'whimper' is used too many times in description of the sound of the music box. Maybe find some synonyms? You use 'whimper' again to describe the Gilded Man's growling; again, maybe find a synonym. It feels overused.

I had a hard time telling the size of the Gilded Man. Maybe add something in that clarifies?

Other than that, nice job! :D

~ Feather

This review courtesy of
Image




User avatar
561 Reviews


Points: 31500
Reviews: 561

Donate
Sun Sep 17, 2017 6:38 pm
Atticus wrote a review...



Hey there! MJ back to continue clearing out the Green Room :)

It was a sound of melancholy and rust,
I think this would sound better if you said "It sounded of melancholy and rust".

The blood paled in my brain,
I don't know how well 'paled' works here. It doesn't make much sense as a verb here, and I can't think of a better word at the moment, so I would think of some other way to express your point.

and the soft, soft chains of this jacket
The soft chains of this jacket? What jacket? And how can chains be soft?

Also, I would suggest that you put this work as 16 or 18+, because of the horror and graphicness of this, just as a courtesy thing for the younger children on YWS.

The beginning sentence of this, "I was told never to look the Gilded Man in the eyes", didn't tie in with the rest of the story. I would say "I was told that there was a Gilded Man who lived under the stairs and would come to my room and kill me if I turned off the music box in the hallway". Something like that would tie into the story better, at least in my opinion.

I also feel that the grandfather would have emphasized more how important it was to not turn the music box off if it would lead to one of their deaths come morning time, as I got the impression he understood how important it was. This could be just a miscommunication or a misread on my part, but that's how I took it, and it seemed almost careless.

Overall, this was a pretty good horror story with an admittedly cliche plot, but still a nice touch for the music box. It was chilling, and although it was short, I enjoyed the nice movement of your writing style that kept it moving along and didn't get hung up on any small details. There are a few ways you could improve this, as always, but hopefully my review was helpful, and if not, let me know and I'll try to improve it so that I am helpful!

Best wishes,
MJ





We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
— Ernest Hemingway