First short story written when I was in my Twilight phase at 13. I can’t decide if this is too painful to read, the epitome of middle school Allie and thus hilarious, or both?
If reality faded and left only the void, he would be there. There is nothing in Corbin that is not darkness; his midnight eyes and raven hair contain more blackness than the abyss. He consumes completely, filling every inch of the soul with primordial power, transforming it into a vessel.
It was late November when we met, in a musty antique shop in the middle of nowhere. My car had broken down, sputtering to a stop on a dirt road. I walked for a mile in the frigid twilight, looking for civilization in the wild.
Then I saw the shop, that dilapidated one room building boasting “Rarities and Artifacts of Splendid Kinds” in peeling paint. Inside, past the ceiling-high shelves of strange and wondrous antiques, he was there. The sole employee and proprietor of that decrepit shop, he was brushing the spine of an ancient book.
Jet-black hair crowned his head and his ruggedly muscled body was dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans. But those eyes… I looked into them and felt my whole body suffocating; they penetrated my soul. The pure ebony of onyx, I was mesmerized by them. His pale lips parted as he spoke in a voice as dark as his eyes. “What brings you here?”
From that moment on, I was captured.
Time slipped by that night. We got halfway to my car before his tongue plunged into my mouth, our hands roving each other’s body. The wild abandon, the orange sickle moon, our steaming nighttime silhouettes entwined in the soft meadow grass, exchanging body heat to conquer the frigid air. I fell asleep cradled in his lap as he sang a haunting lullaby, stroking my hair. Closing my eyes, his towering shadow, cast by the eerie glow of the Blood Moon, was imprinted on my mind.
I woke up entangled in my sheets, clothed in only a nightgown. My car was perfectly fixed and parked behind my parent’s van.
It was as if Corbin had been a dream.
I pined away for months, recalling his wicked passion, the all-consuming fervor with which he kissed me. The months went by, winter faded, and I revisited the antique shop countless times.
It was abandoned, as if it had never been occupied. I entered it to find the shelves filled with decaying antiques, which had been pristine a few months earlier. Upon further visits, I noticed something strange; antiques that had been dusty and coated with grime would turn up polished the next day. The books were attended to the most, and when June came the whole shelf was full of shining tomes. The orangish moon was once again a crescent; reminiscent of the night I had met Corbin. My parents believed I was at my best friend’s house for a sleepover, but in reality I was on the dusty floor of the antique shop. Wrapped in a sleeping bag, I lay awake and stared at the cobwebbed ceiling, listening to the mindless buzz of insects. A wind picked up and I heard raindrops patter on the cheap tin roof, growing to a cacophony of noise as the storm worsened. Lightning flashed across the sky through the grimy window and I shuddered as thunder roared, half-expecting a ghostly apparition to appear at the door.
Then, over the feral noise, I heard a tapping. My heart beat rampantly and I broke out into a sweat. The tapping continued, growing quicker and more threatening. Mustering all my courage, I rose, trembling, and walked past the large shelves to the window.
A monstrous, gigantic crow with beady red eyes was banging its beak against the glass pane. It cawed at the sight of me, flapping humongous wings and hopping over to the door on sickly-curved talons. I screamed, “Get away!” and ran to lock the door, realizing it had no lock.
The infernal raven clasped the doorknob in its beak, twisting its neck an unnatural 360 degrees to open it. I blanched, shivering with trepidity and unable to move. It cawed as it entered, standing a foot in front of me, six feet tall. I felt hot breath coming out of its nostrils and shuddered as scarlet eyes pierced mine.
It spoke in a dark, grating voice, like the void had been torn open. “YOU CANNOT BE HERE! LEAVE NOW, LEST YOU BE PULLED INTO MY WORLD.”
“You- Corbin?” I stammered incredulously.
The raven’s feather’s bristled. “YOU WERE SUPOSSED TO HAVE FORGOTTEN, THOUGHT I WAS A DREAM…”
“No, impossible!” I shrieked, clutching my head and collapsing to the ground. This monster, this hellwinged bird, was the man I loved.
Just as soon as my knees hit the floor, I felt strong arms catch me. Landing in a pile of downy feathers, I looked up, aghast to find Corbin’s wickedly beautiful face gazing at mine. Pools of darkness, his eyes were blacker than the stormy night. “Corbin…” I said softly, shocked by the colossal raven wings that jutted from his back.
“You must leave here at once, my love, I cannot explain. This is a dangerous place for the likes of you.” In an instant he swept me off the floor, cradling me in his arms and racing out the door. He ran for miles whilst I remained speechless; still in shock. This dark angel of nightmares was Corbin.
He stopped, leaning down to kiss me gently. I instantly became drowsy although I fought sleep with all my might.
“You will find me when the time is right…” he whispered tenderly.
I woke up in my room once more, alone and scared.
The days crept by and I refused to return to the antique shop of horrors and the terribly wonderful man. Finally, gnawing curiosity forced me to drive my beat-up Jeep to that accursed place once more.
Nothing was there, just an empty field.
June came and went, and in the hot summer weeks of July I felt a strange calling to drive. There was nowhere in particular I wanted to go; just wherever my wanderlust led me. One muggy Sunday I couldn’t resist. I hopped into my Jeep, pushed on the gas pedal, and sped off onto the country back roads. I drove for hours, watching pastures turn to meadows, meadows to forest.
I came to a glistening lake that shone with the setting sun.
He was there.
Corbin wore a flowing burgundy cloak, and black feathers adorned his hair. A silver circlet rested on his brow and he carried a polished oak staff. He lay languidly on the bank, basking in the fading sunlight.
He told me his true nature, the Raven, Hermes, Gabriel. He was the Messenger and Trickster, the sun-stealer of Native American lore, half tied to this world and the spiritual one. His powers permeated all life and eased the passage of death to the Spiritworld. His store contained his few precious possessions, he explained. It served as a haven from the warring, argumentative, grand yet petty pantheon in the Spiritworld. Yet they had taken it away from him, punishment for loving a mortal girl; their one and only taboo.
“That is why I never returned- I would have gotten you killed, my love.”
“But that night, why did you come?”
“I sensed your presence and tried in desperation to scare you away. That is why I summoned a storm and appeared as a beast. But the sight of you- I could not stand it…”
“A simple ‘You’re in grave danger and it’s time to run away now’ would have worked just as well,” I said, laughing.
“But I could not reveal my presence to you.”
“Oh,” I said, dark realization blooming in my chest. “But, Corbin, you did in the end…”
“Which is why I have been exiled.”
“Corbin! That’s horrible, you can’t be, you’re-
“With you. And that is the only place I want to be. With my queen for eternity.”
With that our lips met, and my happy fate was sealed with a fallen angel.