Standing on the Threshold

[mutt]

Title: Standing on the threshold, a cold night
Critique welcome
Suitable for all audiences
A little info to fallow after the end

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I approached the manor at the indicated hour
The walls rose high, the windows shutters did protect
And cast my eyes upon the door that was large and heavy
as I did there began a creaking that echoed through the air
I took one step forward and paused to ponder the door
Standing on the threshold, feeling the coolness of the night
But it was not the biting sting of winter that made me shiver
Standing in the great entry hall stood a colleen* of exception
her radiance casting a softness that paled the candle she held
She bid me entrance with a motion of that candle flame
So I moved toward her, my apprehension fading in the soft
until I was at ease enough bow my head and tip my hat
“I am glad you travel quickly, professor” she confessed
Her voice was measured and sweet, almost musical
not at all the voice attributed to the hurried letters I’d received
“Sherron, I presume? After reading your letters I knew
that any wasted time would be time you may not have”
I told stepping in, the great doors closing behind me
not ringing out with a great slam but rather with a light click
very contrary to expected, but fitting of the manor’s maiden
who spoke again in turn “It’s the most dreadful thing,
she stays awake at night, my daughter, staring at the sky
telling me of the great power of the moon. I thought she mad
but I was pressed to contact you given your newest publication
On Cults and such madness, I thought maybe you could try
Convince her to see reason, to fight through the cultist brainwashing
you upon which you wrote, to force back into God’s light
I would ask that you please fallow me up to her room
And I would ask that you please hurry once more”
And then the light moved, and I stayed within it’s radiant
for the darkness was eager to envelope me at first chance
We rose the winding staircase to a landing where moonlight
cast a shadow upon the floor through a large stained window
a deep burgundy crescent upon the light ashwood floors
whose shape would be altered by my shadow as I passed
There standing aside a doorway the maiden motioned me forward
I pressed my hand against the oaken door, it’s polished grain
reflecting the soft candlelight that vanished as the room began
On the wall was cast the shadow of a human figure
though the creature blocking the light was too hard to see
So I took the candle being offered to me and stepped further inside
I lifted the candle up letting the light fall about the room
a much harsher light in my my now trembling hand
landed upon the figure, the creature, the poor creature
who’s shadow cast by the silver moonlight now revealed
Her hair was gray, face a leather hide though no expression wore
her chest did not rise nor fall and from her back scarlet drippings
staining the once white blouse forever, the rosary dangled from her hand
I knew all this too late, the closing door blew forth a dreadful wind
which ate the saving candle’s flame and darkness which feared fire
now had nothing preventing it from settling on my pale skin
my vision gone but still my touch remained for with the darkness
brought a most terrible cold, a cold that remained even after
the searing heat that bloomed from the maidens touch
the heat that enclosed around my fragile neck, the cold
air that my lungs would never again receive constricted
the movements that I would want to make until
I feel nothing, and only faintly hear the hallow sound
as the rest of me falls against the wooden floor

---

*Colleen- In Ireland, Colleen is slang for a girl

Extra

I really wanted this to feel disjointed, or in a more direct description, somewhat wrong. There is no context, as little is explained as possible while still having a story and the layout is just plane odd (an effect that had more to do with margins than flow) I had hoped that it would feel more.. mad.. that way. Who knows? Written in one 2 hour sitting with no plans (the only thing I knew from the beginning was that the narrator was going to die)

Fun stuff:
- Cheron (Sherron) is, in Greek mythology, the Ferryman to the Underworld.
-We get the term Lunatics (and many a werewolf myth) from the idea that people who worshiped the moon were disturbed. This is largely due to religious persecution, but even in the middle ages people noticed that in general, the full moon brought out the crazy in people.
-Ash would make a horrible wooden floor, it dents easily and has no natural stain resistance. It is however a very common tree in Europe, especially Ireland where it grows in large groves and is therefore easy to come by.

[xunpredictablel]

Okay, this was brilliant. Truly. You achieved exactly what you set out to achieve - a sense of madness and finality. I knew something would go wrong from the very beginning - when you said that the door clicked rather than slamming - that typically symbolizes an end or some sense of closure because of the rather melancholic sound a click makes - and the fact that such a noise simply invokes such feelings . This was brilliant usage of noise - regardless of whether or not you intended it to have such an effect .

The only thing that throws me off is the lack of punctuation . Before, when I was a bit younger , I never thought punctuation was necessary, but it truly is. Periods are a sense of finality , as well . I can understand that it would break up the thoughts, and that the thoughts are supposed to flow like water like they do in your head, but sometimes a period here and there can assist an audience in reading your piece. Truly, it was difficult at times to track what you were saying because the sentences would mash together and I would have to catch myself to tell myself where the end of the thought was .

It was very well done and your usage of symbolism and allusions was intriguing and so good . It was awesome to learn where the word lunatic came from , and the other things you put at the bottom. The end was beautiful - horrifying and clean , an easy murder but it leaves the reader wanting more . What incentive did she have for killing him? It could be true that she had none , but her frantic letters and focus on him seems to say otherwise. It could be because his writing had offended her , which is what I thought. The sense of confusion at the end is good, though, it left me wondering and interested .

Let me just say that I'd love to read some more poetry from you. The few poems you've submitted have piqued my interest greatly. <3

[xunpredictablel]

By the way - a truly inspiring work. It left me with that lingering feeling of muse right out of my grasp .

[mutt]

Well, thank you kindly.

As for punctuation, that was really one of the things I wrestled with. Sadly enough, I ounce gave a lesson on Grammar and Punctuation to my computer class (after the fourth or fifth essay turned in that turned the English language into meaningless puke.) This work, though, that I wrote... I could not think of a way to punctuate it. I really didn't read many poems, save Poe and Frost, and they break more rules of writing than they fallow. If you don't mind, where would I add punctuation that wouldn't interrupt with the flow?