Originally written October 2009.
Originally published on ZU October 25, 2009. (Republished as its own thread November 1, 2009.)

Accolades: Runner-up (second place) in the October 2009 Zelda Universe Writing Contest (themed "Horror")

Audio version (9:02) (highly recommended for dramatic value!)

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Horror/Suspense. 1,050 words. 5th story written consecutively. Rated T/M (Teen/Mature) for disturbing situations.

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An EzloSpirit-Zelda Universe Original Story:

“Twelve Chimes”
Part I of II in the Midnight Sequence
By EzloSpirit


Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

Eleven chimes. Just one hour to go. Then we all die. Hunted. Become one of them.

To describe the beasts is like explaining the meaning of life. I can tell you only this: the beasts have fangs. Fangs that pierce your skin effortlessly. That’s when you join them. Become them. And there is no turning back.

You do not need to know who I am. In sixty measly minutes, you won’t care. Because you will be screaming, trying to escape me. I’m sorry. I’m oh, so sorry.

* * *

I sit beneath the tall oak tree out in front of my mansion. As I pluck a blade of grass from the ground, a cool, soft breeze rushes by me. I bring my knees in close and curl into a ball. I know the storm is coming. And I’m scared. Very scared.

When I look up, she is standing there. She is a child, about seven years of age. Yet I see wisdom and fear, even age in her dark, hazel eyes.

“Are you afraid?” she asks me. Her voice reminds me of the good and light in this dark, cruel world where all we do is wage war, kill each other, and live in perpetual fear. I nod in reply. “Give me your hand,” she instructs me. I oblige, letting her wisdom flow through me, yet not allowing it in. She pulls me to my feet. I shiver, though whether from cold, fear, or something else entirely I’ll never know.

“Why do you come to me, little girl?” I inquire. “Why do you wish to help me when you should be hiding away from the monsters? They are coming.”

“Yes, I know,” she replies, smiling. How could she? There is nothing happy, nothing worth smiling about. The beasts are coming.

She takes me to the park, and we sit down on a bench. “Why do you shiver so?” she asks. I am still unsure how she could be so concerned about me when she should be very concerned about herself. Because the beasts shall come when the clock strikes midnight, and the bell shall toll twelve times.

“I don’t know,” I say. We sit on that bench for a while. Spend our second-to-last thirty minutes alive just sitting there. Breathing. Waiting.
When we finally stand up and she bids me farewell, the clock reads quarter-to. Fifteen minutes, then we all go to hell. Or hell goes to us.

It is deserted. And why shouldn’t it be? Everyone is probably in his or her bed, cowering in fear. I don’t know why I don’t join them. Perhaps it is because the monsters under the bed or in the closet are scarier, more dangerous. But no. That can’t be it.

I bend down and pluck another blade of grass out of the ground. I twirl it around my index finger, hoping for some comfort. The oak tree above me is menacing. Just like my mansion behind me. And just like the clock. Fifteen minutes. The beasts are coming.

I lay back on the grass. The morning dew covering the grass is cold. Though it is not morning. I shiver once more. The next five minutes seem like weeks. For I know that after these five minutes, I’ll only have two more five-minute blocks of time to live. That’s when the beasts come. And I think I hear them stirring even now. Yearning to awaken and feed.

I stand up. I walk down the street. I am alone. The street lamps are out. It’s just me and the darkness. I consider killing myself so I would not become a vessel for a new beast. But no. I am too weak at heart to do that.

As I walk down the lane, I hear only the trees whispering to the calm, cool breeze. Not a cricket chirps. Not child whimpers. Just the trees. And the beasts. They whisper in their slumber. They want to be free.

Ten minutes until midnight, and I continue my silent, cautious stroll down the lane. I pass my church and consider praying for mercy and protection, but not even God could protect me from the beasts. Please, O Lord, protect me from the danger that lurks just around the corner. No.

I walk until I reach the park bench where I had sat with the child. I sit down. I look around into the darkness of night and see nothing. But it’s not like there’s anything to see anyway. Just the dark.

I ponder over the beasts. Who would be my attacker? Would it be one of my relatives? My mother was the last one before me. Last night. Her screams as the beasts grabbed her and bit her still ring in my ears. Where did the beasts come from? Stories tell of a door. And beyond that door, a world of evil sits. The door has never been seen, except by a few. It was in a valley in the mountains. People lived there. I feel very sorry for them. Oh, so sorry.

Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

The trees. They moved. The trees. They are shrinking. The trees. They are taking another form. The trees. They are the beasts. They have awakened.

One steps towards me. I gasp. I know that face. That child. I look at the empty space beside me on the bench. I look back up at the beast. I am certain. And I am content.

As the beast draws closer, I close my eyes. Was sitting with the child a dream? No. Then how is she a beast? I’ll never know. I feel oh, so sorry for myself. For the child. For you. For the world.

The beast slowly reaches down and takes gentle hold of my hand. I open my eyes. As I look into the beast’s angry yet sorrowful red eyes, I see apology and pity. Then it lifts my hand up, bares small, razor sharp fangs…and bites me on my hand.

I close my eyes, smiling. And I change. My eyes turn red and my canine teeth sharpen. And I laugh. An evil, inhuman laugh. And I’m hungry. Very hungry. Oh, so hungry.


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"Twelve Chimes" is the first in a two-part serial. The story is continued in "The First Hour."