Have you ever noticed how such dark settings as the one you are about to see, tend to draw to it the same atmosphere? It seems almost a given that when in the presence of darkness incarnate, the foreboding evil that creeps up the spine with a loathsome and chilled sensation of dread, lures to it such qualities as a moth to the flame.
The only thing one sees before the mind's eye is the tell-tale sign of soil, freshly tilled. Dirt dug up and then replaced in a heaping mound with a height of at least seven to eight inches above the flat ground surrounding it.
This in itself would not give pause for concern, save for the visual evidence surrounding the second sight. What grass that can be seen around the borders of this earth is lacking of any evidence of a healthy green. No, instead the color has turned an unhealthy shade of brown, as if all the life had been drained out of it and the surrounding multitude of blades. If that was not enough, life itself was seemingly making an escape from the dirt, as earth worms and insects were crawling from the soil with what speed these simple life forms could muster. One would almost think that they were actually running from their homes -- or whatever was currently inhabiting it.
A soft rain started to fall from the heavens above, gracefully at first but soon what had begun as a light drizzle escalated after several long minutes into a heavier downpour. The clouds above could barely be seen in the night sky, but what the eye could detect were of a dark gray, as if the atmosphere so high above was feeling the effects of the fear and anger inhabiting this land and was venting against it on the world so far below. Perhaps it was making a feeble attempt to save and protect the dying life that was the fauna surrounding this dirt that, under the rain, was quickly pooling into a mound of mud. The filthy water ran off in a multitude of miniature rivers, carrying with it specimens of bug and filth, while the mud plastered down against itself.</color>
"Have you ever taken pause to contemplate whether or not you can taste things such as sensations? I can. Fear is perhaps my favorite. I find it invigorating, much like mortals might say about one of their caffeinated drinks such as coffee or Red Bull, I believe they call it. Fear is nourishing, with just a hint of a bitter sweetness. A slight tangy pleasantry on the tip of the tongue."
"However, darkness ... oh the exquisite taste of the darkness is one I believe I could almost feel surpassing fear as the most pleasurable. You find yourself surrounded by it with no light to illuminate your surrounding. The pressure of it closing in against you might even heighten the fear factor, if you are capable of experiencing such a base emotion. Sadly, I am not."
"Instead I lay here, simply trying to experience the pleasure of the dark confinement. I had a most disappointing experience this past week..."</color>
Brother Grimm is refusing to submit, his free hand waving around trying to keep awake, Brody locks in the move tighter and tighter, Grimm’s legs begin to buckle as his free arm slowly goes limp. Jasmine asks Brother Grimm if he submits but Grimm shakes his head. Brody isn’t letting go of the hold and Brother Grimm’s eyes roll into the back of his head leaving Jasmine no alternative but to call for the bell. Ethan lets go of the move with Brother Grimm falling limp onto the canvas as ‘The End’ beginning to play over the cheering crowd.</color>
"Not one of the moments I would be proud of in the relative eons I have spent walking this wasteland known as the mortal coil. One I would rather prefer to eject from the recesses of an everlasting memory and simply forget, but unfortunately, even I tend to be forced to play at the whims of those three hags known as the Fates."</color>
"And just how long do you intend to play at these fancy whims of yours?"</color>
"Speaking of hags..."</color>
The voice of the witch, Baba Yaga, was heard in the head of the entity, stirring it from it's self induced slumber.
"Am I to be allowed no rest from you?" Brother Grimm said with a peaceful calm, aloud for only himself to hear, but he was aware that the witch could sense his words as if she was there, right beside him. It was this very calm that would otherwise be a warning signal, as bright and obvious as a neon sign, of his anger and annoyance at being disturbed.
He continued, "All I wished for was a little time to myself. I have not been in the best of moods."
"Hunh!" The witch mused. "Ironic. Is that not the very basis of your nature?"
"That is beside the point." Grimm growled through clenched teeth.
Up above the ground, just a mere yard or so, give or take a few inches, from the wet mound, now rested a rocking chair where the ancient witch sat, gently rocking back and forth as her gnarled fingers weave the knitting needles and wool into a craft of some form. The rain continues to pelt down on everything below the clouds, but as the witch's hair and clothes grow soaked from the cold moisture, she seemed bothered not in the slightest. As a matter of fact, she seemed almost to be enjoying it.
Yet even she knew well enough not to get so close to the pile of dirt so as to expose herself to whatever darkness was seeping up through the cracks of the earth. Baba Yaga did not survive these long years by being a fool.
Still, she had her curiosity, and the simple pleasure of asking questions for the sake of knowledge. She looked down at the knitting in her hands, and while she continued her restful 'hobby', she asked in a whisper, but one heard by that which she addressed.
"I admit to being curious." Stated she. "I would think you would have had enough of confinement after so many centuries locked away. Why do so to yourself this time?"
"You mean besides to get away from inquisitive witches?"
"Yes." The corner of her lips twitched. "Besides that. I should think you would be doing something to celebrate your recent victory."
Grimm replied from deep below, "That was weeks ago."
"And yet the memory lingers on." Baba Yaga stated. "Time passes but history does not change. It was a victory never the less. For meaningless gold representing something akin to prestige."
"I am well aware of the status symbol I have achieved." Grimm stated with barely muted sarcasm. "Thank you."
Baba Yaga chuckled, "Think nothing of it. Though I should think one such as yourself would be above dwelling in the past over something so tedious as a single loss. It is not as though you actually gave in to the fool and submitted."
"I would have sooner died." Grimm's voice stated within the recesses of her mind. "If I were [I[capable[/I] of dying, that is."
"I was going to say." Baba Yaga smiled as her eyes rose from her knitting to the tilled earth, if only for a brief moment as she continued to rock away in her chair, each movement soothing her aged soul. If she had a soul, but who was to know? or tell.
She went on, "So kindly finish this brooding period you have going and focus instead on the fact the prestige you so recently earned will be luring fresh, new souls to your shadows. Do you not already have one such encounter to prepare for?"
"Indeed." Came the voice to her mind. "Two candidates, yet only the one seems to even deserve the opportunity."
"Ahh." Baba Yaga agreed with a delighted sigh of content. "Yes, our dear Goth. I wonder what was behind the thought of placing him in this contest against you? Two of such similar nature opposing for a single goal."
Grimm answered her, "Perhaps Steve Ramone did something to offend one of the higher powers in SCW."
"That does make sense." Baba Yaga agreed.
"It is the only thing that makes sense out of this whole situation." Grimm said with quiet menace. "But still, it does give me a sense of calm to know I will soon be testing myself against not an inferior, but as near an equal as I am capable of having."
"And the other one?"
"An insignificant worm is what I can best say to describe him. Imagine! Going into an event of such magnitude as we have and he practically glosses over the fact that I am the champion to be dethroned in favor of fawning over Goth. If he is so enthused about combating Goth, then perhaps I will simply stand back and watch the show. Enjoy myself while Goth dismembers the fool and leaves him for dead. It should be a simple enough task for my partner."
"To hear Steve Ramone put it," Baba Yaga stated. "...Goth is your former partner."
"An amusing oversight on his part, but an oversight that can easily be corrected. Whether I stand back and watch the carnage, or join Goth in taking Steve Ramone's fragile body apart piece by piece, in the end it will be the same. Goth and myself left alone to test the other to our fullest capabilities. Survival of the fittest."
"You have survived since the dawn of time." The witch pointed out.
"A fact my good 'friend' Goth would do well to remember."
"So," The witch stated, glancing up as a light flashed across her gray eyes. "Are you finished with your brooding now?"
"Why does this concern you?" Grimm asked.
She answered with a smile, "Because I believe the opportunity for you to have some amusement is fast approaching."
And just like that, as quick as the wind, Baba Yaga was gone, along with her rocking chair and knitting. All evidence of her being there swiftly removed as a sleek, blue car pulled up just behind the row of trees lined against the gate that led deeper into the old cemetery.
"I swear to God." Then young teenage girl mumbled. "I must be insane to have let you pick the place!"
"Hey, you said you wanted to try some place freaky!" Her boyfriend laughed. "You can't get much more freaky than this!"
"Yeah but a cemetery!?" The girl said in disbelief, although it did not stop her from going along with it. "That's not freaky. It's just plain sick!"
"Relax." Her date assured her. "We won't even get wet. Well, I won't at least."
"Charming."
"See?" he pointed ahead through the bare trees. "There's an old mausoleum. We can have some fun in there and nobody will know."
"Except the dead people." The girl joked. "We are disrespecting them, after all."
"What are they going to do?" The boy joked. "Climb out of their graves and stop our fun?"
It was the last thing heard when they crossed over the mound of soaked earth, and a pale hand erupted forth and grabbed the teenage boy by the ankle...</size>
