This Dark Paradise- a collection of dark tales

Deep Pink Water

Molly came into this world as the bells were ringing in the hour of holy prayer. Voices carried out from midnight mass to the sky as psalms and hymns were exchanged for the salvation of souls. The sounds of howling beasts roaming outside my door echoed with the voices in church masquerading as saints. Wolves and men met in the craters of the moon to nestle among the dark side of them all.

The midwife handed me my child and whispered, "When darkness comes, turn the other way. Hide your eyes, shut them tight."

I held my new-born daughter close, touched her porcelain skin, ignoring the midwife's words. Molly opened her eyes, bore witness to the chime of midnight calling her.

For nearly fifteen years I cared for her. For a hundred years I loved her. Ashen and pale, she was an angel trapped within the grim, gray stone of our tower home. I watched her grow, from a baby to a child to nearly a woman. Her presence was the only thing of beauty in my gray-hued life.

By the candle-light I watched my midnight child stand on the water's shore, her eyes cast skyward, towards a Heaven I was unsure existed, her lips reciting poetry to the waxing moon.

Waves crashed at her feet, tides came and went rhythmically as the witching hour tried to enchant my Molly and call her near.

A lone wolf howled an ancient song of melancholy when my child clasped her fragile hands together and bowed her head to the waves as if in prayer. The coldness of autumn was upon us. Summer was but a distant memory, a wild bird fleeing the sting of October. Soon enough winter would be upon us, blanketing the world with snow and ice. I had known of too many winters, of the painful ache of December's maw when it bit down on your soul. Molly and I were made for the summer, for gentle breezes and wildflower crowns.

The hem of Molly's dress stuck to her legs when she stepped into the icy chill of the water. It fanned around her body, a pale blue silk staining the inky black liquid, as she waded in deeper. From the tower window, I watched my child give herself to the sea and I knew she would never return back to me. My fingers curled over the wall. My nails dug into the stone. What I felt was part fear, part rage.

I knew that from now on, all the prayers and all the chimes of bells would only sound to remind me that she was never truly mine in the first place. My Molly belonged to the night. My Molly belonged to the darkness. Then why give her to me in the first place? Why? Why!

Shadows welcomed her. Their long, pale hands reached for her, telling her that they had been waiting a long, long time. They pulled her into their embrace promising eternal life, and she fell into their arms weeping. Molly listened for the sound of bells chiming, ringing, singing and calling for her.

Angels have no mercy when death is nothing but a beautiful lie. Angels have no mercy for the wretched or the pure for Heaven has forsaken us all. We are left to wither and perish, fighting for salvation from monsters and Gods.

My heart ached. Under a cage of bone, it pounded madly. I was not ready to let her go. Not now, not ever! I had to run to her and save her from the shadows that desired to take her away from me. I had to save her from the cruel waves that wanted her so. I had to save her. I had to save her!

My shoes made dull thuds as I raced down the winding stairs and down the hallway. I pushed open the door and ran towards my Molly. I yelled for her to stop, called and begged for her to come back to me and leave those wretched shores.

Bats sprang from the towers, taking flight towards the starless sky. Their wings were their salvation, yet my Molly did not know how to fly.

Darkness embraced us in its velvet cloak. I cast a look up to the sky. A shard of moonlight dared to shine down upon my Molly and me, but the dark side of the moon remained hidden well.

Water reeds came to greet my girl. They coiled themselves serpentine around her legs, calling her deeper still with every gentle tug. Little fish with black eyes swam around her bare toes, their tiny tails creating little ripples by her skin.

I heard my child's heart beating, louder, louder, thudding like a feral beast, then silent as the waters turned still and red.

The waters welcomed Molly when she held her breath and stepped under, deeper and deeper until there was nothing left of her but a stabbing memory.

Take me into the deep pink water. Take me down to the shore's edge.

My Molly was gone.

I have been walking these shores for over a hundred years. I have been washing the sand with my salty tears. I have been listening for the chime of bells, listening but I hear no more. The prayers once spoken have faded. All of the psalms have been forgotten. The wolves still howl, a sorrowful, wretched sound as if they, too, are in mourning.

Take me into the deep pink water. Take me down to the shore's edge.

I have been dead these long years, I have been washing the sand with my ghostly tears.

The shadows sway outside the tower's walls, mocking me. I still cry for forgiveness, hoping somehow my Molly can forgive me. And I-

I am still lost within the craters, on the dark side, the darkest side of the moon.

Spirited away by the hands of shadows, by the call of the sea.

Molly, my Molly. She will never come back to me.