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How To Resurrect a Dead Man (help!)

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(Hey, guys. This is a story that I am writing for an online literary magazine, BUT I need your help. I want to know your opinion on this story. Are there any elements that I should change / remove? Feel free to go all out if you want. At the back of my mind, I feel like something is missing in the plot, but I don't know what).


How to Resurrect a Dead Man

 In the palm of Lindsey's hands laid the instructions given to her by a witch.

It was placed inside a brown envelope. Vague folds at its surface indicate that it was crumpled into a pocket, and the wax seal was too bloody to be called a fine red.

She peeled off the stain and opened the flap. There was a folded brown paper inside with rough edges. It was soft as cotton, and when she tried to straighten the message, the letter folded back on itself. It felt so fragile that even the slight movement of a finger on its surface might cause a tear. She carefully handled the sheet as if it might disintegrate into nothing.

She placed it on the table and switched on her desk lamp. The light showed the dark-green words written on the sheet. It was barely comprehensible, as if it was quickly scribbled, and the letters barely made any sense when viewed by an outsider.

However, Lindsey was prepared. She opens his desk drawer and pulls out a book. She flips through the pages and stopped when the tome showed her a picture of a cipher wheel. She then brings out a blank paper and started decoding the obscure message on the letter.

An unknown feeling past her as she wrote. It was like a part of his humanity was stripped away and that she is closer to stepping into boundaries that did not welcome living beings like her.

Yet, she continued. The feeling of regret washed over her as she looked at the gun placed at one corner of the wooden surface. Memories of flying bullets dissipated that previous notion.

After deciphering every single letter, this is what the message says:


Go to any abandoned house with at least 2 floors and a stairway. It must be located at an area far from anyone, and it should start when the new moon is visible. Once inside, nail all windows and doors leading outside. Select a room of your choosing in the first storey and chant:

I want to summon a victim of Death.

The distant chime of a grandfather clock will then follow. Do not attempt to find this ancient chronometer, nor leave the room just yet, for your ears will start to bleed to its increasing pitch, and your mind will fall into the depths of insanity, unable to escape the prison that you have created.

In the exact spot in which you stand, draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Then, with a piece of pulp paper, describe the person that you want to resurrect. Write about his or her hobbies, strengths, weaknesses, mistakes, relationships, past events, and the cause of death.

Once filled, you should head over to the top most floor of the abandoned structure. The ticks of the clock will sound, and you should be there before a minute has passed. If you fail, the stairway you took will slowly lead you downwards, and at the end lies the edge of the forgotten limbo of hell.

You will find a room that strikes your attention. Stand at the center of this space, and you must stare at the wall opposite of the doorway.

A heavy amount of silence will soon follow, but a faint sound of heavy steps will soon be heard. Who this person would be will depend on the accuracy of your person's description. Failure to comply, however, will result in your ultimate doom.


The bedroom door echoed a resounding knock after her eyes scanned the last sentence.

She reached for the pocket of her pants and grabbed a lighter. With a flick of her thumb, she ignited a flame and burned the letter into ashes. Meanwhile, the sounds from the other side grew louder as the strength of the pounds got stronger. Souls from unknown realms can be heard outside the confined space, and it is only a matter of time before the walls will shatter and reveal something macabre.

Lindsey desperately gathers all of the paper ashes and incinerated every single one of them. She did not mind the fact that her finger accidentally passed through the flame; her ears are begging for every piece of the letter to dissolve into nothingness.

The intolerable beating disappeared, as well as any remains of a strange message. Still cautious, she slowly walked across the room and opened the door. She looked left, then right. An empty house greeted her, and it scares her that there was not a single evidence of something large and morbid.

Nonetheless, everything is just as she had expected.

It is a good thing that she remembered the words of that witch she met at that night. Lindsey could still recall a word she said before leaving the conversation:


Remember; This is a ritual to those that can remember. Do not take any notes with you, for there are animals of unknown origin that would not rest until they know about these forbidden necromancy. If they ever knew of your actions, I am certain that it will be the end of you. You must only rely on your memory, because your skill to recall is what defines the end result.

Response to How To Resurrect a Dead Man (help!) 2019-06-06 23:20:05


(continue)

It was two in the morning. A cluster of stars are scattered above her head, showing her the way with its soft glow. The street lights remained dormant, leaving the darkness to freely wander the deserted street.

She tried to soften the silence with the sound of the car's radio, but Lindsey is already too far from any station to get a signal. She wanted to bring someone with her, but people might think that what she was doing is utter nonsense. Nonetheless, neither the presence of sound nor people can rid her of the fear that she had when she finally meets him.

Lindsey was remembering her husband as she drove through a void. The memories were all about the good times she had with him, which is why it never occurred to her why she shouted at him during that day. Did she scold because she never saw what was good in him? It must have been, she thought. When he died after a few days of ignorance, her only regret was that she never apologized.

She stepped her foot on the brakes when her eyes saw a silhouette of an abandoned house on the left side of the street. It was constructed on the middle of a desert. It was older than the route beside it. It had broken glass windows and mossy wooden walls. The porch had a missing wooden plank, leaving behind a rectangular hole that presents a dark void under the floor. Based on her perspective, shadows danced along the light of the car, making odd shapes that originate from a structure so simple. It is an old piece of architecture that might collapse with a mighty force, but for some reason regained its posture for the many years it stood there.

As told by the instructions, she first went around the house's exterior and nailed every window from the first floor. Succeeding this procedure, she went inside and nailed the openings upstairs. She was careful not to forget anything from the witch's letter.

She was imprisoned in the residence once he nailed the entrance shut. It was only her and her thoughts now.

As she chose a room to start the ritual, the silent environment enchanced the sound of her thoughts. A conversation that had two opposing sides started through Lindsey's mind.

Do you really remember Andrew?

I do, of course.

Then why are you scared?

I have a feeling that I might forget something.

So you don't remember him?

I do, but...

...you're afraid to admit something, don't you?

She chose a space that resembles a living room, but the corners were filled with cobwebs strung together, the furniture had their springs exposed from inside the cushions, and the floor boards were all dusty. The air felt cold despite the enclosed area, and the silent whistle of the wind could irritate the ear.

After a deep breath, she chanted the words:

“I want to summon a victim of death”

In an instant, the sound of a distant clock was heard from an unknown area. She wasted no time, however. Lindsey took out a piece of chalk and drew a rough circle on the hardwood floor. She put the chalk away, took out the folded paper that she had put on her pocket, and wrote the deceased in the most accurate of details. While doing so, she recounted what the envelope said regarding the characteristics to be listed on this part of the ritual.

She started by listing his hobbies.

Andrew was fond of his work. He was a person who sold household appliances, and when he was not working, he talks about the number of customers he had in the shop. If not, he talks about his profits, sales, or new products that he had in mind of selling. He rarely talks about anything else...

She then wrote his strengths.

He mostly knows how to persuade someone into doing something that he wants to do. At work, he makes sure that a customer would buy a TV for the price that he had envisioned, and the partners that he worked with would come to agreements that suit his standard. The same could also say about his family...

Lindsey hesitated when she wrote his weaknesses.

He is controlling, however, He always wants it that people does it the way he plans it. This always lead to moments wherein he disregard people's emotions. There would be temper tantrums, and times wherein he would cry because it wasn't the way he demanded. It really makes him a person who doesn't have control over his emotions...

A feeling of regret occurred in her when she wrote his mistakes.

There was a day wherein he had to close his business due to a disagreement with his coworkers. His emotions took control of him that day, and when he came home, he shouted at me and my only son. They were words that definitely did not come from any of our actions, and I wanted to tell him that it hurts. However, he is not a person that easily apologizes, and every attempt to tell him that would result to a dysfunctional family...

At one part of the letter, she listed both his relationships and past events into one single paragraph.

When he was a kid, he injured his right leg from a car crash. It was the reason why he walks with a cane, and why he was bullied and never made friends during his childhood. Then he met me...

Lindsey spent hours writing the life of his dead husband, yet the night was still young when she finally placed the pencil down and positioned the paper inside the handrawn circle. She read the written text once again to see if there is anything that needs revision. The mechanical ticks of an unseen clock started playing on the background, and she notices that she had unknowingly activated the one-minute time limit. She quickly scanned the document, and realizes that she never wrote the cause of his death.

She didn't need to stop and think, though. Everything that needs to be said was permanently planted in her mind like an anchor. She quickly placed the paper down and rushed her way upstairs.

There were only five ticks remaining as soon as she entered a room from the second floor. Lindsey breathed heavily when she stood still and looked at the crusted walls. Everything was complete and done perfectly, she thought. Was there something that was forgotten?

It was odd for her to be alone in a room with no permission to move about. The only thing that she can do is listen to her thoughts, and it made her reconsider forgotten emotions that she felt long ago. This is especially true when she started thinking about Andrew. What will she feel when he finally returns? Will everything be back to the way it was? Would it even be for the best to revert back to the way things were?

It was then that heavy footsteps had echoed across the space. It wasn't in a constant rate, however. Each beat immediately sounded another, followed by a moment of silence. It sounds like him, she thought for sure, but something feels wrong. It was now apparent that something was forgotten amongst her feelings of regret.

She reaches her hand over a gun she placed on her back pocket. It was the same gun that was used when she understood that she had enough.

When she knew that Andrew had gone too far.

When she concluded that it was the only escape to this abusive relationship.

When she realized that the man needs to be dead.

Death tricked her into thinking that there was something wrong with the situation, but she knows now that this is for the best.

The sounds finally reached the doorway. Whether it was Andrew or not, she doesn't care anymore. It was a mistake to have come here, for she failed to remember who he was. With one turn, she pulled the trigger and shot the stranger in the shadows.


(end)

Response to How To Resurrect a Dead Man (help!) 2019-06-07 13:00:51


At 6/6/19 11:20 PM, TheVanillaLog wrote: (continue)
It was two in the morning. A cluster of stars are scattered above her head, showing her the way with its soft glow. The street lights remained dormant, leaving the darkness to freely wander the deserted street.
She tried to soften the silence with the sound of the car's radio, but Lindsey is already too far from any station to get a signal. She wanted to bring someone with her, but people might think that what she was doing is utter nonsense. Nonetheless, neither the presence of sound nor people can rid her of the fear that she had when she finally meets him.
Lindsey was remembering her husband as she drove through a void. The memories were all about the good times she had with him, which is why it never occurred to her why she shouted at him during that day. Did she scold because she never saw what was good in him? It must have been, she thought. When he died after a few days of ignorance, her only regret was that she never apologized.
She stepped her foot on the brakes when her eyes saw a silhouette of an abandoned house on the left side of the street. It was constructed on the middle of a desert. It was older than the route beside it. It had broken glass windows and mossy wooden walls. The porch had a missing wooden plank, leaving behind a rectangular hole that presents a dark void under the floor. Based on her perspective, shadows danced along the light of the car, making odd shapes that originate from a structure so simple. It is an old piece of architecture that might collapse with a mighty force, but for some reason regained its posture for the many years it stood there.
As told by the instructions, she first went around the house's exterior and nailed every window from the first floor. Succeeding this procedure, she went inside and nailed the openings upstairs. She was careful not to forget anything from the witch's letter.
She was imprisoned in the residence once he nailed the entrance shut. It was only her and her thoughts now.
As she chose a room to start the ritual, the silent environment enchanced the sound of her thoughts. A conversation that had two opposing sides started through Lindsey's mind.
Do you really remember Andrew?
I do, of course.
Then why are you scared?
I have a feeling that I might forget something.
So you don't remember him?
I do, but...
...you're afraid to admit something, don't you?
She chose a space that resembles a living room, but the corners were filled with cobwebs strung together, the furniture had their springs exposed from inside the cushions, and the floor boards were all dusty. The air felt cold despite the enclosed area, and the silent whistle of the wind could irritate the ear.
After a deep breath, she chanted the words:
“I want to summon a victim of death”
In an instant, the sound of a distant clock was heard from an unknown area. She wasted no time, however. Lindsey took out a piece of chalk and drew a rough circle on the hardwood floor. She put the chalk away, took out the folded paper that she had put on her pocket, and wrote the deceased in the most accurate of details. While doing so, she recounted what the envelope said regarding the characteristics to be listed on this part of the ritual.
She started by listing his hobbies.
Andrew was fond of his work. He was a person who sold household appliances, and when he was not working, he talks about the number of customers he had in the shop. If not, he talks about his profits, sales, or new products that he had in mind of selling. He rarely talks about anything else...
She then wrote his strengths.
He mostly knows how to persuade someone into doing something that he wants to do. At work, he makes sure that a customer would buy a TV for the price that he had envisioned, and the partners that he worked with would come to agreements that suit his standard. The same could also say about his family...
Lindsey hesitated when she wrote his weaknesses.
He is controlling, however, He always wants it that people does it the way he plans it. This always lead to moments wherein he disregard people's emotions. There would be temper tantrums, and times wherein he would cry because it wasn't the way he demanded. It really makes him a person who doesn't have control over his emotions...
A feeling of regret occurred in her when she wrote his mistakes.
There was a day wherein he had to close his business due to a disagreement with his coworkers. His emotions took control of him that day, and when he came home, he shouted at me and my only son. They were words that definitely did not come from any of our actions, and I wanted to tell him that it hurts. However, he is not a person that easily apologizes, and every attempt to tell him that would result to a dysfunctional family...
At one part of the letter, she listed both his relationships and past events into one single paragraph.
When he was a kid, he injured his right leg from a car crash. It was the reason why he walks with a cane, and why he was bullied and never made friends during his childhood. Then he met me...
Lindsey spent hours writing the life of his dead husband, yet the night was still young when she finally placed the pencil down and positioned the paper inside the handrawn circle. She read the written text once again to see if there is anything that needs revision. The mechanical ticks of an unseen clock started playing on the background, and she notices that she had unknowingly activated the one-minute time limit. She quickly scanned the document, and realizes that she never wrote the cause of his death.
She didn't need to stop and think, though. Everything that needs to be said was permanently planted in her mind like an anchor. She quickly placed the paper down and rushed her way upstairs.
There were only five ticks remaining as soon as she entered a room from the second floor. Lindsey breathed heavily when she stood still and looked at the crusted walls. Everything was complete and done perfectly, she thought. Was there something that was forgotten?
It was odd for her to be alone in a room with no permission to move about. The only thing that she can do is listen to her thoughts, and it made her reconsider forgotten emotions that she felt long ago. This is especially true when she started thinking about Andrew. What will she feel when he finally returns? Will everything be back to the way it was? Would it even be for the best to revert back to the way things were?
It was then that heavy footsteps had echoed across the space. It wasn't in a constant rate, however. Each beat immediately sounded another, followed by a moment of silence. It sounds like him, she thought for sure, but something feels wrong. It was now apparent that something was forgotten amongst her feelings of regret.
She reaches her hand over a gun she placed on her back pocket. It was the same gun that was used when she understood that she had enough.
When she knew that Andrew had gone too far.
When she concluded that it was the only escape to this abusive relationship.
When she realized that the man needs to be dead.
Death tricked her into thinking that there was something wrong with the situation, but she knows now that this is for the best.
The sounds finally reached the doorway. Whether it was Andrew or not, she doesn't care anymore. It was a mistake to have come here, for she failed to remember who he was. With one turn, she pulled the trigger and shot the stranger in the shadows.

(end)


Fix the tenses- you keep slipping from past to present.


We are the Dragons & Spirits. We are friendly people. Best Wishes, Ice!

BBS Signature

Response to How To Resurrect a Dead Man (help!) 2019-06-07 18:25:12


At 6/7/19 01:00 PM, IceDragon64 wrote:
At 6/6/19 11:20 PM, TheVanillaLog wrote: (continue)
It was two in the morning. A cluster of stars are scattered above her head, showing her the way with its soft glow. The street lights remained dormant, leaving the darkness to freely wander the deserted street.
She tried to soften the silence with the sound of the car's radio, but Lindsey is already too far from any station to get a signal. She wanted to bring someone with her, but people might think that what she was doing is utter nonsense. Nonetheless, neither the presence of sound nor people can rid her of the fear that she had when she finally meets him.
Lindsey was remembering her husband as she drove through a void. The memories were all about the good times she had with him, which is why it never occurred to her why she shouted at him during that day. Did she scold because she never saw what was good in him? It must have been, she thought. When he died after a few days of ignorance, her only regret was that she never apologized.
She stepped her foot on the brakes when her eyes saw a silhouette of an abandoned house on the left side of the street. It was constructed on the middle of a desert. It was older than the route beside it. It had broken glass windows and mossy wooden walls. The porch had a missing wooden plank, leaving behind a rectangular hole that presents a dark void under the floor. Based on her perspective, shadows danced along the light of the car, making odd shapes that originate from a structure so simple. It is an old piece of architecture that might collapse with a mighty force, but for some reason regained its posture for the many years it stood there.
As told by the instructions, she first went around the house's exterior and nailed every window from the first floor. Succeeding this procedure, she went inside and nailed the openings upstairs. She was careful not to forget anything from the witch's letter.
She was imprisoned in the residence once he nailed the entrance shut. It was only her and her thoughts now.
As she chose a room to start the ritual, the silent environment enchanced the sound of her thoughts. A conversation that had two opposing sides started through Lindsey's mind.
Do you really remember Andrew?
I do, of course.
Then why are you scared?
I have a feeling that I might forget something.
So you don't remember him?
I do, but...
...you're afraid to admit something, don't you?
She chose a space that resembles a living room, but the corners were filled with cobwebs strung together, the furniture had their springs exposed from inside the cushions, and the floor boards were all dusty. The air felt cold despite the enclosed area, and the silent whistle of the wind could irritate the ear.
After a deep breath, she chanted the words:
“I want to summon a victim of death”
In an instant, the sound of a distant clock was heard from an unknown area. She wasted no time, however. Lindsey took out a piece of chalk and drew a rough circle on the hardwood floor. She put the chalk away, took out the folded paper that she had put on her pocket, and wrote the deceased in the most accurate of details. While doing so, she recounted what the envelope said regarding the characteristics to be listed on this part of the ritual.
She started by listing his hobbies.
Andrew was fond of his work. He was a person who sold household appliances, and when he was not working, he talks about the number of customers he had in the shop. If not, he talks about his profits, sales, or new products that he had in mind of selling. He rarely talks about anything else...
She then wrote his strengths.
He mostly knows how to persuade someone into doing something that he wants to do. At work, he makes sure that a customer would buy a TV for the price that he had envisioned, and the partners that he worked with would come to agreements that suit his standard. The same could also say about his family...
Lindsey hesitated when she wrote his weaknesses.
He is controlling, however, He always wants it that people does it the way he plans it. This always lead to moments wherein he disregard people's emotions. There would be temper tantrums, and times wherein he would cry because it wasn't the way he demanded. It really makes him a person who doesn't have control over his emotions...
A feeling of regret occurred in her when she wrote his mistakes.
There was a day wherein he had to close his business due to a disagreement with his coworkers. His emotions took control of him that day, and when he came home, he shouted at me and my only son. They were words that definitely did not come from any of our actions, and I wanted to tell him that it hurts. However, he is not a person that easily apologizes, and every attempt to tell him that would result to a dysfunctional family...
At one part of the letter, she listed both his relationships and past events into one single paragraph.
When he was a kid, he injured his right leg from a car crash. It was the reason why he walks with a cane, and why he was bullied and never made friends during his childhood. Then he met me...
Lindsey spent hours writing the life of his dead husband, yet the night was still young when she finally placed the pencil down and positioned the paper inside the handrawn circle. She read the written text once again to see if there is anything that needs revision. The mechanical ticks of an unseen clock started playing on the background, and she notices that she had unknowingly activated the one-minute time limit. She quickly scanned the document, and realizes that she never wrote the cause of his death.
She didn't need to stop and think, though. Everything that needs to be said was permanently planted in her mind like an anchor. She quickly placed the paper down and rushed her way upstairs.
There were only five ticks remaining as soon as she entered a room from the second floor. Lindsey breathed heavily when she stood still and looked at the crusted walls. Everything was complete and done perfectly, she thought. Was there something that was forgotten?
It was odd for her to be alone in a room with no permission to move about. The only thing that she can do is listen to her thoughts, and it made her reconsider forgotten emotions that she felt long ago. This is especially true when she started thinking about Andrew. What will she feel when he finally returns? Will everything be back to the way it was? Would it even be for the best to revert back to the way things were?
It was then that heavy footsteps had echoed across the space. It wasn't in a constant rate, however. Each beat immediately sounded another, followed by a moment of silence. It sounds like him, she thought for sure, but something feels wrong. It was now apparent that something was forgotten amongst her feelings of regret.
She reaches her hand over a gun she placed on her back pocket. It was the same gun that was used when she understood that she had enough.
When she knew that Andrew had gone too far.
When she concluded that it was the only escape to this abusive relationship.
When she realized that the man needs to be dead.
Death tricked her into thinking that there was something wrong with the situation, but she knows now that this is for the best.
The sounds finally reached the doorway. Whether it was Andrew or not, she doesn't care anymore. It was a mistake to have come here, for she failed to remember who he was. With one turn, she pulled the trigger and shot the stranger in the shadows.

(end)
Fix the tenses- you keep slipping from past to present.


Oh. Whoops. Thanks for pointing that out!