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Posted By: Magus Nov 20, 2004 - 09:58 am

I need some help with this story. I like the concept and the ending, but am overall not pleased. I think the beginning is horrid and would like help with it. I mention it being 666 days from a certain event. I am unsatisfied with such blatent and obvious diction. I already posted a question on this site concerning what day that would have been, allowing for more subtlety.

The story is 1,507 words long. It's interesting and I wrote it for my English class as an assignment. I think I enjoy the menacing use of Mother Goose the most. Any help you could offer, especially with the beginning, would be very much appreciated. Thank you.

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The evening came in swiftly on this cold November evening. The stars came out later while the sun set earlier.

The night was still. Jack looked out of his Parlor Room’s window to see the sun go down. A powerful breeze came in from the West, pushing in dark storm clouds. It would rain this night, he was sure. He’d set his watch and warrant on it.

It had been over a year now, he realized. Yes, it had been in December of a year past. Strange, that it has been exactly 666 days since it happened, since Mrs. Robinson was murdered.

Her husband, the widower Jack Robinson, had done the deed. But it was not as if the police had evidence to arrest him. Hell, they didn’t even suspect him. He had been very clever, slipping that peanut oil into her coffee one morning. She was deathly allergic to peanuts, and he knew it. She died in less then five minutes.

And now the day is setting and the night is dawning. The widower sat down to an early dinner, bought and paid for by the insurance money left by his late wife. He read in his study for a few more hours until the clock sounded the time. It was ten o’clock at night.

Exhausted from the day’s excursions he decided to retire to bed for the evening. He got undressed and into his pajamas. He crawled in the sheets and fell asleep.

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was Eleven O’Clock. Jack Robinson awoke with a start. He sat up and inhaled heavy labored breaths. He clutched at his chest where a pain struck him suddenly.

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

But neither the night nor the air nor the world were quite. For outside of his closed door came a slow creaking, as if somebody had begun walking across the warn and ancient hall. There a heavy and hollow voice spoke in rhyme.

“Solomon Grundy, Born on Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday: This is the end Of Solomon Grundy.”

For a moment he sat there upright. He didn’t know whether to believe his ears o disbelieve them. The voice passed by now from the other side as the hall squeaked in the wake of the footfalls.

“The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown; the Lion beat the Unicorn all about the town. Some gave them white bread and some gave them brown; some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town.”

He was sure he had heard something this time. He had been driven away from drowsiness and sleep from something!

And so he listened, still as the fiend in the TellTale Heart while he waited for the old man to settle down. Nothing came; no sound or token that the intruder had left, moved or even been there at all.

“It’s just this old house,” He told himself. “It’s settling in the cold. Or it’s some owl or crow or raven in the night. ‘Tis this and nothing more.’ ”

Soft thunder thudded in the distance, but he heard it not. Only a few minutes later he leaned back in his bed and placed the covers over his chest. He soon found that sleep took hold, and he allowed it.

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was Midnight. Thunder crashed softly overhead. The pain in his chest returned with a vengeance as the widower Robinson shot bolt upright in pain. But he lingered longer, for the hall before his door squeaked and sagged as it would when one walks across it. And the voice had returned.

“I love little p ussy, her coat is so warm, and if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm. So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, But p ussy and I, Very gently will play.”

The voice was different. It was somehow more hollow and more unwholesome then before.

The body belonging to the voice stopped, right in front of his chamber door. The moment it paused was brief, but lasted an eternity. Slowly it turned and moved away once more, singing another Nursery rhyme.

“Twenty white horses upon a red hill; now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.”

Fear began taking hold Mr. Robinson. He broke out in a cold sweat and this time remained bolt upright, listening intensely to the sounds of the night.

The voice seemed to stop at the stairs, but not go down. It simply vanished. And what would a thief do pacing the hall and reciting random Nursery Rhymes for all to hear?

He waited for nearly a half-hour this time. Sleep began traitorously ebbing at him. Soon he found himself leaning against his bedpost fighting Sleep. He drifted off muttering to himself.

“ ‘Tis the wind and nothing more.’ ”

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was One O’Clock. The clock chimed the hour. Lightening clashed with it, but no rain fell. Again the pain in his chest awoke the murderer Robinson.

Once more he heard the footfalls of this hourly phantom. Again he heard the singing, always more evil and more insidious then the last.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig, home again, home again, dancing a jig; to market, to market, to buy a fat hog; home again, home again, jiggety-jog; to market, to market, to buy a plum bun, home again, home again, market is done.”

Again it stopped before the door. This time Mr. Robinson spoke.

“Who’s there? I demand to know who you are!”

Silence greeted him. The phantom gave no response.

“WHO ARE YOU? TELL ME!”

The figure on the other side of the door turned and walked the other way down the hall.

“Girls and boys, come out to play, the moon is shining as bright as day. Leave your supper, and leave your sleep, and come with your playfellows into the street. Come with a whoop, come with a call, come with a good will or not at all. Up the ladder and down the wall, a halfpenny roll will serve us all. You find milk, and I'll find flour, and we'll have pudding in JUST ONE HOUR.”

Robinson shuddered in his bed. He knew this rhyme. It ended “in half an hour.”, not “in JUST ONE HOUR.”. This thing… phantom… whatever it was, it was planning on doing away with him at its next pass.

“ ‘By the prickling in my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.’ ” He quoted.

Was this Shakespeare, he wasn’t sure? But he thought it was. What difference did it make, if it was Shakespeare of Bradburry or King? He still had to face Mother Goose! He was dead in just one hour!

And so he waited in his bed. He dared not move or relax. He didn’t sleep or slumber, but instead waited. He waited for the inevitable return of his hourly visitor.

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was Two O’Clock. A pain struck his heart and immediately he heard the footfalls of his unmaker.

Again it sang its rhyme and told its tale. The voice was now a hideous and mocking roar. It was a menacingly cunning and macabre voice, deep-throated and fowl. And it laughed, HOW IT LAUGHED, like a hyena.

“Late last night and the night before Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers, knocking on the door. I want to go out, don't know if I can, 'cause I'm so afraid of the Tommyknocker man.”

The depraved and vile Robinson flew out of his bead. He ran towards the door, unlocked it and flung it open; determined to meet his assailant head-on.

There he was, his assailant. He looked into those deep black pitted ayes. He stared at that pale and greasy skin, bore his eyes into that menacing grimace.

It was HIM! This phantom this hourly torturer, was none other then himself; Jack Robinson!

Terrified he backed away. He backed away and his other followed.

He tripped!

Jack stumbled backwards over a volume of poetry or prose. He tried to regain his balance but it was too late!

He ran into the window, shattering it on impact! His body fell three stories before his neck broke his fall on the pavement.

Lightning clashed overhead once, twice, thrice! The rain finally began to fall.
His other smiled with grim satisfaction. He walked back down the hall and began to quietly rhyme to himself.

“Late last night and the night before Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers, knocking on the door. I want to go out, don't know if I can, 'cause I'm so afraid of the Tommyknocker man.”

[Edited to fix margins. Bmat]

Posted By: manji Nov 21, 2004 - 07:49 am

Whenever someone is hollering, DON'T PUT IT IN CAPS! One exclamation mark and you'll get the point across that he's hollering.
And personally, i've never really been frightened at reading It's HIM! in caps with an exclamation mark at the end.

Posted By: Magus Nov 21, 2004 - 07:50 am

O.K.

Like I said, I'm not happy with it. How would you suggest I change it?

Posted By: manji Nov 21, 2004 - 08:00 am

Well, i'd thought i made that clear.

“WHO ARE YOU? TELL ME!”

"Whore are you? Tell me!"

"It's HIM!"

"It's him!'

Posted By: Bmat Nov 21, 2004 - 11:57 am

I'd drop the first paragraph. Remove the parlor room's window and use other wording- looked out of the window in the parlor room, maybe, or was in the parlor room looking out the window. Do you need the word "room?" Maybe in the parlor looking out the window?

He’d set his watch and warrant on it. I don't really understand what this means. set his watch and warrant....

Instead of a year past do you mean "the" year past?

You changed tense in the same paragraph (It has been)

Her husband, the widower Jack... Unless he has the nickname the widower Jack... husband and widower don't both seem to be needed.

If you are trying to get a turn of the century (1900's) feel, then I think you wouldn't use the word Hell.

More tense changes in para 5.

He got undressed and into his pajamas. He crawled in the sheets and fell asleep. - could you combine these somehow to make it smoother to read?

The second section is especially pleasingly creepy. I wonder if the voice should be nearly whispery, if it were heavy and hollow it would seem that he would be in no doubt that he'd heard something the first time.


flew out of his bed

I agree about not using all caps. It makes it more period and creepier to not use them.

Good story, Magus!

Posted By: Magus Nov 21, 2004 - 12:13 pm

Thanks Bmat. Thanks Manji.

I edited it like you both suggested. I'm still not as happy with it as I would have liked to be, but it'll do. Somehow the concept seemed better before I wrote it. I did it for an assignment, and also in part to get that Tommknocker rhyme out of my head. I would be sitting there thinkning and saying it to myself all day. So I decided this was the best way to fix the problem.

Oh, well. The story will do for my purposes. I'll get extra credit, always a nice thing.

Thanks again for the help. This project did have benifits, I think. It got me writing stories I don't think I ever would have written on my own. Some were more dissapointing, like this one. Others exceeded my expectations, "Digger". But I think it was an overall healthy thing for me as a writer.

Posted By: Magus Nov 21, 2004 - 12:43 pm

O.K. Here is the revised story. I think it's much better. Dare I even say I am no longer ashamed of it. It's now 1642 words long. Thanks for the help!

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The night of September fifteenth was still. Jack looked out of his Parlor’s window to see the sun lazily set. A powerful breeze came in from the West, pushing in dark storm clouds. It would rain this night, he was sure.

It had been over a year now, he realized. Yes, it had been in November, the eighteenth to be exact. That was the infamous day, the day that Mrs. Robinson was murdered.

Her husband, Jack Robinson, had done it. But it was not as if the police had evidence to arrest him. They didn’t even suspect him. He had been very clever, slipping that peanut oil into her coffee one morning. She was deathly allergic to peanuts, and she died in less then five minutes.

And now the day is setting and the night is dawning. The widower sat down to an early dinner, bought and paid for by the insurance money left by his late wife. He read in his study for a few more hours until the clock sounded the time. It was ten o’clock at night.

Exhausted from the day’s excursions he decided to retire to bed for the evening. He got undressed and crawled in the sheets, falling asleep soon after.

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was Eleven O’Clock. Jack Robinson awoke with a start. He sat up and inhaled heavy labored breaths. He clutched at his chest where a pain struck him suddenly.

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

But neither the night nor the air nor the world were quite. For outside of his closed door came a slow creaking, as if somebody had begun walking across the worn and ancient hall. There a whispering voice spoke in rhyme.

“Solomon Grundy, Born on Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday: This is the end Of Solomon Grundy.”

For a moment he sat there upright. He didn’t know whether to believe his ears o disbelieve them. The voice passed by now from the other side as the hall squeaked in the wake of the footfalls. It became a little louder, a little bolder. It was a hollow echoing voice, but still very soft as it passed.

“The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown; the Lion beat the Unicorn all about the town. Some gave them white bread and some gave them brown; some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town.”

He was sure he had heard something this time. He had been driven away from drowsiness and sleep from something!

And so he listened, still as the fiend in the TellTale Heart while he waited for the old man to settle down. Nothing came; no sound or token that the intruder had left, moved or even been there at all.

“It’s just this old house,” He told himself. “It’s settling in the cold. Or it’s some owl or crow or raven in the night. ‘Tis this and nothing more.’ ”

Soft thunder thudded in the distance, but he heard it not. Only a few minutes later he leaned back in his bed and placed the covers over his chest. He soon found that sleep took hold, and he allowed it.

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was Midnight. Thunder crashed softly overhead. The pain in his chest returned with a vengeance as the widower Robinson shot bolt upright in pain. But he lingered longer, for the hall before his door squeaked and sagged as it would when one walks across it. And the voice had returned, this time louder, at a normal speaking level.

“I love little p ussy, her coat is so warm, and if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm. So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, But p ussy and I, Very gently will play.”

The voice was different. It was somehow more hollow and more unwholesome then before.

The body belonging to the voice stopped, right in front of his chamber door. The moment it paused was brief, but lasted an eternity. Slowly it turned and moved away once more, singing another Nursery rhyme. The voice became louder still as it passed.

“Twenty white horses upon a red hill; now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.”

Fear began taking hold Mr. Robinson. He broke out in a cold sweat and this time remained bolt upright, listening intensely to the sounds of the night.

The voice seemed to stop at the stairs, but not go down. It simply vanished. And what would a thief do pacing the hall and reciting random Nursery Rhymes for all to hear?

He waited for nearly a half-hour this time. Sleep began traitorously ebbing at him. Soon he found himself leaning against his bedpost fighting Sleep. He drifted off muttering to himself.

“ ‘Tis the wind and nothing more.’ ”

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was One O’Clock. The clock chimed the hour. Lightening clashed with it, but no rain fell. Again the pain in his chest awoke the murderer Robinson.

Once more he heard the footfalls of this hourly phantom. Again he heard the singing, always more evil and more insidious then the last; always louder and more horrible.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig, home again, home again, dancing a jig; to market, to market, to buy a fat hog; home again, home again, jiggety-jog; to market, to market, to buy a plum bun, home again, home again, market is done.”

Again it stopped before the door. This time Mr. Robinson spoke.

“Who’s there? I demand to know who you are!”

Silence greeted him. The phantom gave no response.

“Who are you? Tell me!”

The figure on the other side of the door turned and walked the other way down the hall. Now the voice grew and boomed. It echoed so loud that Robinson was sure the neighbors would hear it. Surely they would! How could they not?

“Girls and boys, come out to play, the moon is shining as bright as day. Leave your supper, and leave your sleep, and come with your playfellows into the street. Come with a whoop, come with a call, come with a good will or not at all. Up the ladder and down the wall, a halfpenny roll will serve us all. You find milk, and I'll find flour, and we'll have pudding in JUST ONE HOUR.”

Robinson shuddered in his bed. He knew this rhyme. It ended “in half an hour.”, not “in JUST ONE HOUR.”. This thing… phantom… whatever it was, it was planning on doing away with him at its next pass.

“ ‘By the prickling in my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.’ ” He quoted.

Was this Shakespeare, he wasn’t sure? But he thought it was. What difference did it make, if it was Shakespeare of Bradburry or King? He still had to face Mother Goose! He was dead in just one hour!

And so he waited in his bed. He dared not move or relax. He didn’t sleep or slumber, but instead waited. He waited for the inevitable return of his hourly visitor.

* * * *

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep.

It was Two O’Clock. A pain struck his heart and immediately he heard the footfalls of his unmaker.

Again it sang its rhyme and told its tale. The voice was now a hideous and mocking roar. It was a menacingly cunning and macabre voice, deep-throated and fowl. And it laughed, HOW IT LAUGHED; like a hyena! Robinson covered his ears in fear that they would burst.

“Late last night and the night before Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers, knocking on the door. I want to go out, don't know if I can, 'cause I'm so afraid of the Tommyknocker man.”

The depraved and vile Robinson flew out of his bead. He ran towards the door, unlocked it and flung it open; determined to meet his assailant head-on. Nobody would kill him in his bed!

There he was, his assailant. He looked into those deep black pitted ayes. He stared at that pale and greasy skin, bore his eyes into that menacing grimace.

It was him! The hawk nose, the dead-black of his eyes, the pearly white’s sharp as fangs; it was him! This phantom this hourly torturer, was none other then himself; Jack Robinson!

Terrified he backed away. He backed away and his other followed. His double began chanting menacingly.

“Our mother was the P ussy Cat, our father was the Owl, and so we're partly little beasts, and partly little fowl,”

He tripped!

“The brothers of our family have feathers and they hoot, while all the sisters dress in fur and have long tails to boot,”

Jack stumbled backwards over a volume of poetry or prose. He tried to regain his balance but it was too late!

“Our mother died long years ago. She was a lovely cat, her tail was 5 feet long, and gray with stripes, but what of that?”

He ran into the window, shattering it on impact! His body fell three stories before his neck broke his fall on the pavement.

Lightning clashed overhead once, twice, thrice! The rain finally began to fall.

His other smiled with grim satisfaction. He walked back down the hall and began to quietly rhyme to himself.

“Late last night and the night before Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers, knocking on the door. I want to go out, don't know if I can, 'cause I'm so afraid of the Tommyknocker man.”

[edited to fix margins. The way around the problem is to put spaces between each symbol, then the site will know to move to the next line. Bmat]

Posted By: Bmat Nov 21, 2004 - 01:43 pm

Parlor shouldn't be capitalized.

I'm not sure you'd say the day is setting.
It's the sun that sets. (?)

crawled between the sheets?


Give it a final careful proofread to catch a few other places.

I liked it before and like it better now.

Posted By: Magus Nov 21, 2004 - 02:46 pm

Thanks. I appreciate you critiquing it, expecially twice. I'll make those last few corrections.

Posted By: Neurolanis Nov 22, 2004 - 08:08 am

Firstly let me say, this is very well written. And I am not just saying this because we have talked so much on this site, Magus. I wouldn't care if Jessica Simpson wrote this, it's good.
The beginning seems wonderful, it's the ending that bothers me: It just seems to lose its melodic flow, or style of structure at the end somehow. I don't know if this is because you lost confidence at the end, or if you rushed through it, or what. I'm not exactly sure what to suggest to correct it, as I'm not exactly sure why it doesn't feel right..

Here's two points anyway:

Or it’s some owl or crow or raven in the night. ‘Tis this and nothing more.

I loved reading it, word by word, until I reached the "nothing more" bit, and saw it again repeated. Too obviously Poe, me thinks. If I were you I'd change this to, say, "'tis just some crow or raven cawing in the night, for nothing unknown attains my sight" or something.

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep

This should not be used more than once, by my opinion. I'd cut it out after the first time if I were you.

Girls and boys, come out to play, the moon is shining as bright as day. Leave your supper, and leave your sleep, and come with your playfellows into the street. Come with a whoop, come with a call, come with a good will or not at all. Up the ladder and down the wall, a halfpenny roll will serve us all. You find milk, and I'll find flour, and we'll have pudding in JUST ONE HOUR

This is perfect by my opinion. Please don't edit it!

Posted By: Neurolanis Nov 22, 2004 - 08:08 am

If you have any questions just ask.

Posted By: Magus Nov 23, 2004 - 02:09 pm

O.K., I'll look back into it. My teacher, God knows why, chose to give me until next Monday for this, despite having it ready to turn in yesterday and being due today.

In that one passsge I was alluding to "The Raven". But if you think it detracts from the story then I could change it.

I thought about using that paragraph as a transition between sections. But, in retrospect, it does seem a little over done. I will look into changing it.

I'm glad you l;iked it. I gave this to my friend to critique and he said he liked it. He actually said it's the best thing I've written, and he's read every story I have yet written. I wouldn't go to the best I've done, I have two or three I prefer, but I must say that it has turned out satisfactory. Thanks for reading through it.

Posted By: Bmat Nov 23, 2004 - 02:45 pm

The allusion to the Raven hit me over the head, too, but I figured it was your choice.

I don't necessarily agree about the repetition of whatever phrase you decide on though. Repetition can make it seem ominous, threatening, unstoppable. If you don't want to repeat the same phrase exactly, maybe a delicate variation. For example, in the example that Neuro gave, the first time as written, the second time either the same or

The night was dark. The air was still. The world was asleep, asleep.

Or: The night was dark, dark. The air was still. The world was asleep

Something like that- to underline the threat aspect.

Posted By: Magus Nov 23, 2004 - 02:49 pm

I understand. I'll implement that idea, of slight variation, in the story.

Thanks, Bmat.

Posted By: Tobias Nov 23, 2004 - 06:39 pm

One thing I noticed in both versions was that you suffered from a proliferation of exclamation marks at the end. Personally I think that to use them detracts from the impact of a story, and in that last part of terrible retribution it really makes the whole thing sound cheesy. A simple period would do perfectly well, and underline the inevitability of Jack's fate.

Apart from that, I thought it was quite brilliant. It had a wonderful atmosphere, especially the way the nursery rhymes were used in a spooky manner. Very original.

Posted By: Bmat Nov 24, 2004 - 03:18 am

I thought I'd better clarify, Magus. I think it is fine to repeat the phrase if you want to. I like it.

However if you decide that you don't want to repeat the same phrase, then my previous suggestion holds.

Posted By: Magus Nov 24, 2004 - 11:18 am

O.K., thanks Tobias and thanks Bmat. I'll take both suggestions into consideration.

Posted By: Berry Nov 25, 2004 - 04:36 am

Hi Magus, I did like the story but found it maybe a little too reminicent of The Raven, I know you wrtie for the classromm sometimes so i am not sure if that's what you were supposed to be doing. I really liles the use or nursery rhymes, it added a nice sinister feel. It felt to me like you were trying to induce fear and creepiness in the reader and this was done to a small degree but in a very childrens story way.
For an example 'Soft thunder in the distance' This was a descriptive which helped set the mood for more creepiness you coud elaborate and let yourself go a bit. I would agree that capitals do not really set the mood as well as allowing the reader thier own reaction to the surprise. Maybe describing his face as he saw hinself rather than the 'it was HIM'. Overall I did like it but I do sometimes wonder about YOUR voice. It sometimes gets lost in the style of others.

Posted By: Magus Nov 25, 2004 - 05:43 am

I thought that I did describe his face more in the revision. I'll go back and check it, and probably add more to it. I will get rid of those asllusions to "The Raven". In hindsight they don't seem to add anything to the story, just take the readers to another. IN the revision I did get rid of the capitals, however.

Thanks for your input, Berry. I appreciate it. Happy Thanksgiving!

Posted By: Sooty Nov 27, 2004 - 02:24 pm

Everyone had great suggestions. I loved the story Magus. Well done!

SOoTy

Posted By: Magus Nov 28, 2004 - 10:14 am

Thanks. I'm glad you liked it. I'll find out what my English teacher thinks when I turn it in tomarrow.