Anamelia a Tale before Dying Read online

  Anamelia, a Tale before Dying

  Alec Silva

  Translated by Mike Brandish

  “Anamelia, a Tale before Dying”

  Written By Alec Silva

  Copyright © 2017 Alec Silva

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Mike Brandish

  Cover Design © 2017 Samuel Cardeal, Colby Stopa

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Anamelia, a Tale before Dying

  Short Summary

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  About the symbology of Anamelia

  Your Review and Word-of-Mouth Recommendations Will Make a Difference

  Are You Looking For Other Great Reads?

  For those who have experienced the unpleasantness of life. For those who are to suffer such unpleasantness. And for me, who found inspiration to write in the soul's pain.

  Short Summary

  The idea of A Tale Before Dying It is not to bring tales of horror, nor frighten the reader. No, death is not a horrible monster that hides behind the door, or an uncontrollable beast or that vengeful fury. She is beautiful, deep and so essential to our evolution in life. And exploring its facets - and her sister's, the life - is the proposal of the collection that begins with Anamelia, A tale of fantasy, horror and drama, inspired by the most fascinating fairy tales and contemporary gothic movies.

  I cannot extend myself because the lady approaches with her scythe and the immense book already open, selecting the reader of her story. But I can assure that the story today was only possible thanks to Tim Burton, Guillermo Del Toro and Zack Snyder, directors who provided interesting films about dreams, fears, imagination, fantasy, and nightmares.

  I hope you enjoy reading and we will see each other soon when Death leaves after a new reader.

  Now, hush. The first story is about to begin...

  Alec Silva

  I have on me all the dreams of the world.

  Fernando Pessoa

  I

  The girl who wanted to escape

  Anamelia always wanted to run away.

  On cold nights, while lost in her fanciful readings, the desire to leave this boring world captivated her. Wonderful realms and magical lands fascinated her a lot, and as a child, hearing her father narrating about princesses and princes, dreamed of one day finding a portal and escape. With the death of her parents, on that gloomy winter, she closed herself in a still childish world, being welcomed by elves and fairies, wishing to review those who would never be seen alive again.

  She grew up. Yes, because every child grows.

  However, Anamelia still wanted to run away.

  In the evenings at the orphanage, when the caretaker visited her and played those games that no one should know that he did, the urge to flee was enormous. She never enjoyed, although the candy received at the end were good. And the other girls were not gentle, teasing her for her two-colored eyes or her taste for fantasy books.

  When she was adopted, she also wanted to escape.

  Not that the family that treated her so well were the reason, but that desire was too crescent. It was part of her soul the yearning for escape.

  One day, of course, Anamelia fled. Forever.

  It was such a cold night that dreams froze in the air, the slightest sigh of love was crystallized and the tears became diamond droplets. The snow covered the streets and souls, although those were happier and able to keep themselves warm.

  No one saw the girl, such a beautiful young woman, leave.

  Anamelia succeeded.

  She had finally fled.

  II

  A stone on the way

  The girl straightened her jacket as she stared at the white mixed black; the night wind rocked her straight hair, putting it on her eyes, one blue and the other black. With the backpack, she was again a little girl, her heart pounding firm, a pleasant rhythm of anxiety. Even with the crochet gloves, her fingers were frozen. The cap on her head helped to heat it though it seemed useless.

  The trees, with their branches almost leafless and covered by snow, had a hideous appearance at that hour of the night; and the distant barking of dogs was capable of causing her chills. The posts and illuminated the park, which was almost deserted, except for the young female figure passing.

  During the countless times she walked by there, Anamelia tried recording in her mind the details of the place, the banks to fountain, from trees to points that could guide her way to the woods.

  Yes, the forest.

  Legends told that the modest grove of melancholy was a place where lived some magical creatures, brought long ago by a mysterious man. Before the city was built, there was a village that worshiped nature, formed by people who had direct contact with the mystical beings. Magic emanated of every thing and person, shamelessly. And all were very happy as well.

  At one point, said the reports, there was a portal that allowed the passage to another world, a land little known by humans. And it was there that the girl wanted to go.

  Anamelia quickened her pace. Not by fear, but just not to waste so much time. Unaccustomed to so much snow or the icy wind, striding through the white land was a difficult task, however, she proved committed, even though stumbling once or twice.

  The boundary between the urban area and the woods seemed the threshold between the mundane and the sacred, the barrier dividing two different worlds. And when her foot crossed the invisible line it was like entering a flower garden.

  No snow or ice, only the colors of spring, the fruits of autumn and the joy of summer. The trees rejoiced the ultimate excitement of life, the birds sang harmoniously and butterflies of so many colors and shapes that it was impossible to name or count them, danced on the most colorful flowers. Rabbits and squirrels moved from one side to another, bouncy and mischievous. The strangest thing was that it looked like a morning and not the night of seconds ago.

  The girl perked up, wondering if she had already gone through the portal, but not seeing elves, fairies, gnomes, pixies, satyrs, nymphs or unicorns, nothing to reveal that magical land mentioned in the stories and legends. With the exception of daytime light and colors scattered like watercolor, there was nothing extraordinary.

  A little disappointed, Anamelia sat on a rock, almost crying.

  Poor girl! Discouraged too quickly, frustrated with the result of waiting over eleven years!

  "Chance would be asking too much to come out of me?", asked a hoarse voice, so low that it seemed a whisper from under the stone which the girl was sitting.

  Standing in a leap, the girl looked around for the owner of the voice. No animals around; just her and the stone.

  "Who said that?"

  "I, duh!"

  Yes, who spoke was exactly the stone!

  "Excuse me, I think”, was what Anamelia could say at that time.

  "Not as much care as before, but today is my birthday. And I would not want to serve as a seat in such an important date, you know?"

  "And since when stones have birthdays?"

  "Who said I am a rock, young lady?"

  The girl raised her left eyebrow, quite confused.

  "Before I became this immovable object, I was a scholar highlighted by the most acclaimed king of all kingdoms", continued the creature in the form of stone, with that husky and sustained tone. “I’ve spent my early years in profou
nd study, hoping to understand not only the world but also the universe. Therefore, I have become as wise as the highest monk of the mountains. Those were good times, believe me. However my excessive wisdom caused the envy of a witch who cursed me to no longer move or speak, becoming a rock. And here I am since."

  "But if you cannot talk, how I'm hearing your voice?”, indicated the young one, as observant as able to accept the strange fact that a large stone was speaking.

  “You actually hear my shallower thoughts. And that makes you special because only the chosen to release me can hear what I think on the surface."

  And so Anamelia became the chosen one.

  III

  The odd couple of the cemetery

  The chosen, depending on the nature of history in which it is involved, it may be the prince facing dragons and tyrants to save a princess cloistered in a tower; or the peasant destined to be king.

  "I am chosen to release him?!", startled the young heterochromatic eyed girl, staring at the immovable object that dialogued with her.

  "Yes, exactly."

  "And how could I do that?"

  "There is need to perform seven tasks. Each will collect an item that will help a ritual for me to reach freedom. And it's up to you to pick them up for me."

  Anamelia did not like that after she wasn't sure of what the stone could want. And it was a very cold night with snowstorm threat. However, there was a longing in her dreamer's heart.

  "I promise to take you with me to my world”, said the speaking object, so abruptly that for very little the girl did not have a heart attack.

  "Oh really?!"

  The joy of that promise was very radiant. Filled the soul of the young orphan of hope and dreams always present. Images of a waterfall with the water fairies or long walks alongside the elves, so many things went in her imaginative mind. Moreover, everything was just acceptance of the seven tasks to help a scholar metamorphosed into stone.

  "What is the first task?”, she asked, eager to start and end as soon as possible.

  "Well, let's see”, began the stone, with that typical insensitivity of all the minerals. “There is a cemetery not far from this park. There live two hideous creatures, the ghouls. They are monsters that feed on dead bodies of those who were saints in life because they envy them for the virtues practiced. If a living finds them, they also devour him; however, if a person offers to comb their hair or trim them or being nursed by the female, they give a unique favor as a form of gratitude. Do this: cut and comb the male hair and suck dry breasts of the female, which will tell you about her stillborn offspring! After this, they will inquire how they can repay your kindness. Ask for a few tears of the maiden who died for love a few years ago, and dwell on it, even if they point that the eyes of the deceased have withered and been eaten by worms! When they notice that you know what you want, they will give what was asked.”

  Anamelia regretted having accepted accomplishing the tasks. The first one already seemed truly disgusting and dangerous. What not imagine of the following, if given the initial success? There was still time to give up, but the desire to go to a magical world was much more fascinating than to stay in that so cold and miserable.

  Although hesitant and nauseated, the girl went to the cemetery.

  Back in the park, leaving behind the woods, she felt the cold air of the night again. She adjusted her coat; then immediately took the excess hair from her face. And she walked.

  The city was plunged into a deep sleep, which would be absolute if not for the bats and owls here and there, fighting bravely the winter cold. Or the watchmen who were lost amid the shadows aware that they roamed the streets without fear.

  The majestic gate of the cemetery seemed another threshold between two worlds. In fact, it really was; however, as soon as Anamelia squeezed through by a gap, she did not face the spring colors she saw in Grove Melancholy, but the gloomy aspect of death. Gravestones and tombs seemed to have veins and arteries, pulsing one blood or a red tone or another darker, almost black; the snow was stained by red and black trails, ranging from one tomb to another, most of which was half-open, with some gnawed bones around. It was cooler there, and the rotting smell was unbearable.

  Walking cautiously, the girl was looking at every nook and cranny with fear, after all, unaware of the appearance of the creatures who dedicated their lives to defile the rest of the ones who were saints when alive. Also feared being devoured. Nevertheless, she was courageous between so much blood and exposed decomposed bodies; never shown fear of dying, having only one concern of not feeling pain.

  She had just gone through a beautiful and sumptuous mausoleum, after a quick contemplation of the Gothic architecture, when faced with two grotesque figures perched on a corpse. They were slender creatures with a skin of green and blue, provided with a putrid appearance, with scarce bristle thick and black; both skinny, wearing clothes torn and rotted, so worn that it was impossible to determine which the male was and which was female of the two. The hairiest dragged a minor deceased, who was further away; should be a child no older than five or six years; put it close to his huge foot with long fingers, which then stepped on the skull and crushed it as is done with a nut.

  Anamelia could not stray away her bicolor look, witnessing albeit with great horror, the couple of ghouls taste the brain of the deceased infant. Under a ghostly moonlight, the monsters were like the beasts of the African desert, with their terrible cackles, while tearing the womb of their dying prey. Neither humans nor animals, they were links between any attempt of rationality and primitive savagery.

  One sniffed the air with its slightly elongated snout, raising a pair of short, wide ears, hidden before under the crinkly and gray hair. It growled like a dog, looking with yellowed eyes the only living presence in that death and rebirth enclosure. It did not take long to locate the youngster paralyzed by fear, with cold sweat and trembling body.

  Howling deranged, the ghoul ran on all fours against the intruder, surrounding it until the arrival of the companion, who examined her for long seconds.

  This close to her, Anamelia could see more details. The lean head, almost cadaverous, was funneled, like a dog, but the eyes and ears resembled those of a cat; they had yellow and sharp teeth, carrion breath and tongue like a wolf. The male, taller and hairier, was bare-chested, displaying scars and some protruding bones; and the female, despite the torn blouse, made visible breasts withered and drooping.

  Thinking shrewdly, knowing that those beasts would kill her if she did not act soon, the chosen young one shouted:

  "I came here to take care of you!”

  It was nothing special, but it did both stop and consider, in a bipedal posture and equally horrible; they looked confused until the girl withdrew from the backpack a pair of scissors and a comb. Smiling in a dreadful manner, the male ghoul sat down, clapping his hands of thin fingers and long head, grunting like a fool. And so Anamelia began cutting off his thick hair, having a little trouble because of the hardness of the hair; to conclude, she combed it all, which would allow the monster to see better and not have to brush away all the time the mane from his eyes.

  The female also sat, playing one of the dry breasts, but without her husband's euphoria. It was with great control over the urge to vomit that the girl lay in the lap of the hideous creature and suckled. Incredibly, something sprang from the hardened nipple, and it was as sweet as honey in a creamy consistency like yogurt. If before she wanted to vomit, now she wanted only to cherish those skinny arms and enjoy the maternal affection offered by someone as worthy of mercy for her deplorable state of existence. She remembered the years long left behind when she had a family, time that sprang much nostalgia.

  "I always wanted a girl like you, child", came a melodic voice, which should be the ghoul that suckled her, “but God deprives the aberrations of such a blessing, and all my offspring are always born dead. My husband knows how bitter are the hours that linger the cemeteries, devouring all those who curse us; it is our fate
for blaspheming towards the holy men who abhorred incest brothers. Yes, my dear, my flesh is the same to my husband, for we are born of the same womb and the same night. The love dragging us from one tomb to another is greater than the brother's, and we consume it in fornication, killing our parents when they threatened to punish us severely. Our biggest crime was killing for love who lovingly created us. In addition, my uterus dried. Never my offspring lives to see the world or gnaw with us the bones that horrify us, to roam the eternal night of the curse we bear. Ww bury our children born lifeless for the worms to devour as we devour those who the alive in spirit and reason bury. Nevertheless, you helped us as few do. Therefore, under the burden of guilt we carry, we are obliged to grant a request as gratitude for your attention, by trimming the tresses of my husband and sucking the pasty milk my baneful offspring never would suckle. Ask something and we'll do it!”

  Anamelia rose, wiping the milk on her lips with the sleeve of her coat.

  "I want the tears of a maiden who died many years ago!”, she asked with conviction.

  "Do you know what you ask for?", asked the male, very seriously. “Know the magnitude of the power of such tears?"

  “I know I need these tears, but I'm unaware of its power."

  The horrendous couple gasped, noting that the young woman knew nothing about the importance of what she demanded. It was clear that it was not for her, after all, she wanted was something as profane as violating graves and devouring corpses.

  “Tears of the ones deceased for love are Strong ingredients for many rituals”, spoke the female ghoul, tearing her left shoulder with her pointy blackened nails. “When we find some in a newly dead, we keep them in flasks to drink in the new moon in the hope that some of them gives us a living offspring.”

  She nuzzled the wound calmly without showing pain.