Tower and Town, November 2017 (view the full edition)EyesThe night loomed like a vulture over a carcass. Heavy, dark and endless, while the fire danced like a feather on the wind. I walked along the duck boards. They creaked and moaned like the bones of a weary cart horse under my frozen feet. I smelt the familiar aroma of smoke on the breeze and coughed as the charred taste invaded my mouth. As I felt my hands begin to shake in my pockets, I turned back towards the dancing flames. They climbed high into the night sky, licking the air with fiery forked tongues. In the fire I saw some sort of gargoyle, perhaps something that had once sat proudly on the stair banisters of a grand house, grinning away while the skirts of grand ladies cascaded down the stairs. Whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it made good firewood. Its devilish face was blackened by the fire, but its eyes glower, red like burning embers. It was so unnatural, so very grotesque and horrid in the way it looked, in the evil it made me feel inside. But somehow, this flaming gargoyle of the night carried with it a certain touch of beauty, like the silhouette of a dead tree. It carried with it great power, that little gargoyle, and I stared at it profoundly until I could not bear to look at its sly face any longer. I reached out to take it, to thrust it deep into the fire where I couldn’t see it, but before I even got close, the heat from the roaring fire burnt my dirtied hand. Large red welts started to form across my palm; it was unlike any burn I’d ever had before. My pale skin had blistered and begun to peel so quickly, like sunburn. I plunged my hand into a nearby bucket that overflowed with rainwater; I let out a sigh as the pain subsided, and the icy water numbed my hand. I turned back to the gargoyle and watched as it crumbled away into smouldering ash, its body falling apart, piece by piece. But those two terrible eyes still remained, burning as hot and as strong as ever. Behind my closed eyelids I still saw them. Still glowing in the dark, dark night. I sought sanctuary, hoping to find it if I did ever manage to drift off, but even under sleep’s gentle hold, the gargoyle found me. He invaded my dreams, turning deep slumber into restless sleep. I dreamt I was dead. Lying out in no man’s land, eyes wide open, mouth aghast in a permanent, silent scream. But my eyes were not my eyes. They were the eyes of the gargoyle. Red, glowing, hot, and the skin around those terrible eyes was burned and blistered like my hand. I woke with a start to see the fire dying. Just mottled embers glowing faintly orange, like a summer sunset. I reached out to grab what I thought was more fire wood, but instead, it was another gargoyle. And this one had a sickening grin forever carved into his face, as if achieving my insanity had created some personal victory. Like it had won. I threw it; I threw it far. I watched it sail on into no man’s land, where the craters and dead men were cloaked by the night. Hopefully it landed face down in some shell hole somewhere, or in a dank puddle. Maybe that could put out the fire in its terrible, terrible eyes. Emily Coplestone |