New Short Draft

I wrote this one this morning. It's partly inspired by the Gothic course I'm currently taking and equal parts Poe and Stevenson. Just a little experiment in doing some Gothic writing.

This is still totally a draft, but I really enjoyed writing in a new style and using different language in the prose. Needs a good polishing, but here it is anyway. Enjoy.


Draft Gothic Story/I don't have a title yet.
Tim Harvey

The sun had just disappeared over the horizon as my coach arrived at the Carpenter's Tavern in Williamsburg. Vibrant pink and orange clouds streaked the sky as in a painting, causing me to pause. The stunning majesty of this image has remained with me for many years now. I was aware however at the time, that this picturesque image would be the last thing of beauty I would see that night. Having paid the coach-driver, I took a moment to breathe in the last of the sun's magnificence, and to reflect on my precarious position in life.
I would have been only a few years shy of my thirtieth birthday on that cold, Autumn night, in the year of 17--. My early adult life was spent at sea with my older brother Edwin. We joined the Navy and sailed together as brothers should. Edwin was lost at sea during a great skirmish with a privateer galleon. They had ransacked our ship and threw Edwin overboard as they plundered our supplies. I mourned the loss of my brother at the hands of these wretched villains and swore to seek revenge, however my military contract had been terminated not long after Queen Anne's War had come to a shaky close. The treaties wouldn't hold, I assured myself, however for the last few years they had certainly tried.
Left to my own devices, I had sailed from my home of Bristol, to Africa and then to India, in search of whatever work a soldier like myself could offer. Without the guidance of Edwin I felt deeply alone in the great wide world. The work was sparse and I refused to turn to a life of thievery for money, even if it meant that I had to endure many nights out in the cold without a meal. I could never end up like the cut-throats that destroyed my family.
I adjusted the sabre on my belt as I reminisced, and wondered how I had ended up here in Virginia. I had never turned to thievery, however my travels shed a wicked light on those that had. The tales of wild men of the sea filled my head at every port. Rumours of murder and malice followed me all the way to the Caribbean and I must admit, I had difficulty sleeping many nights with a head full of nightmarish images. I dreamed of Edwin being washed away in the black depths of the ocean. On these nights I would have to stifle a scream as I woke, my body covered in warm sweat.
An elected official in a port somewhere deep in the islands offered me work tracking down and eliminating a man who had given his town a great deal of pain. Initially I declined the offer, but as he told me of the horrors that the blasted rogue had inflicted to his citizens, I began to turn. He may not be the man who murdered Edwin, but if I was to seek revenge, he sounded like a good start. Eventually I accepted this assignment and began my search for the villain who had burned half of the town and made off with the Governor's fortune. For the previous year, I had been sailing up the coast of the New World following the dreaded bastard from port to port, always one step behind him.
On that dreary Autumn night, in Williamsburg Virginia, I had him cornered. Having just hours before, spotted him disembark his sloop, I had enquired as to his whereabouts with a dock-boy.
'The Carpenter's Tavern,' was his reply and before he could ask for payment for the information I was already on my way to securing a coach. The bastard rogue went by the name of Edward Tennant, and that night I was certain he would draw his final breath. By my sword, or my pistol, Edward Tennant was surely a dead man.
I had concealed my pistol in my belt, underneath my coat. Extra wadding ensured the lead slug would not slip out of the barrel as I moved about. Edwin taught me to conceal a pistol for my own safety. Being weary of the inhabitants of the tavern, I had guessed that entering the establishment brandishing a loaded pistol was not a bright idea and I kept it only as a last resort. Tennant would die by my sabre if I could have it.

My boots made a distinct click against the wooden boards of the floor of the tavern, seemingly drawing the eye of every person inside. I'll admit that despite the cold air, my brow was dotted with sweat. While the majority of the crowd appeared to be regular colonials, I could smell Tennant's dry stench through the place.
I approached the barkeep and inquired as to any irregular activity on that night. He informed me in hushed tones that a group of sea-faring men had entered not hours before my arrival and they were causing quite a disturbance. I could hear roars of laughter and violent clinking of glasses coming from somewhere in the back of the tavern. I had never seen Tennant's face clearly, and had only witnessed him through my spyglass from great distances, however I was confident that I could pick him out of the rabble.
'Where are they?' I asked the timid barman.
'Through there,' he gestured. 'In the parlour.'
He grabbed my shoulder as I began to head towards the parlour door, 'Sir, what do you intend to do? We needn't have any trouble tonight.'
'I'll make sure they cause you no trouble,' was my reply.
'Who are you sir? If you don't mind my asking,' the barman said, his hand still firm on my shoulder.
'My name is James Wright,' I gave him his answer and looked sternly to the hand resting on my arm.
He expressed puzzlement at the look but eventually released me. 'Are you one of them?' He asked as I again began to leave.
I turned back to him and glared intently into his eyes, 'I'm not, and I never shall be.'
He offered a weak smile and stood silent. I took this to mean that I was free to do as I pleased and finally headed towards the parlour.

I threw the door of the parlour open and bellowed, 'Which of you is Edward Tennant!'
The group of at least six merciless bastards paused at my grand entrance before breaking into a roar of laughter. They were gathered around a table gambling and I was relieved to see that none appeared to bear any pistols or muskets. All of the scoundrels carried various wicked looking cutlasses and hatchets, but I was certain I could fight them off if necessary. Sailing wasn't the only trick I had learnt from a life spent at sea.
A deep voice boomed from within the rabble, 'I'm Edward Tennant, who goes there?'
I couldn't make out where the villain was sitting as the crowd were gathered tightly around the table.
'My name is James Wright,' I called. 'I'm here to put an end to your wretched days.'
The crowd grew silent and all turned to look at me, hatred in their eyes. I heard a faint whisper and the men all backed away from the table revealing the bastard himself.
I struggled to contain my shock as I realised that sitting before me at the table was my own long lost brother Edwin. His appearance had changed, he wore a full beard and his hair hang lank in his face. I had only know Edwin to be clean shaven, and to always were his hair tied back, but his eyes were unmistakable.
'Brother,' Edwin began. 'It has been too long.'
I will admit I was truly speechless. Here before me sat a ghost. A man who I had presumed was buried at the bottom of the ocean.
'Speak, James!' Edwin bellowed, causing his men, and myself to shudder.
'Edwin?' I could only murmur.
'Aye, for my sins. It is me little brother.'
I drew my sabre and pointed the tip towards his heart. This action caused his men to stir uncomfortably and reach for their own weapons.
With a gentle gesture of his weather-worn hands, Edwin commanded his men to be at ease. 'There is no need for violence brother.' Edwin remained calm despite knowing what I was capable of with the sword.
'Edwin, is it really you? You are the dastardly rogue Edward Tennant?' I stammered questions at him and he only smiled.
'Aye! Yes brother,' he replied.
'But why Edwin?'
'I thought you were lost James, I thought you were surely killed in the skirmish. With nothing to live for I chose this life.' Edwin's answer caught me off guard and I felt a sense of betrayal at his reasoning. I was able to shun the life, why could he not?
'I must kill you brother!' I cried. 'You are already dead to me!' I lunged with my sabre but was caught off guard by one of the brutish thugs. The man ripped my sword from my hand and held his arm around my throat, strangling the life out of me.
'Let him go mate!' Edwin bellowed at the man, but he was too deep in his rage to hear the order from his captain.
A hideous crack of gunpowder deafened me and I felt the man's arm go limp. I turned to see what had felled the huge man and saw a clean round hole in the centre of his forehead. The image was grotesque and I'll spare you from and description, suffice to say the man was dead.
I turned back to Edwin to see him holding a smoking pistol in his outstretched arm.
'I must still kill you Edwin! It is my duty!' I cried at my brother.
He simply smiled and replied, 'Then we must do it as brothers.'

It was agreed upon that we would wait until sunrise and by the sun's first light we would duel outside of the Carpenter's Tavern. I didn't sleep a minute that night, always fearful that another of the dastardly rogues would attempt to murder me in my sleep. I assumed that Edwin may have felt the same way when I noticed that he looked deathly tired at first light.
We each loaded our pistols and remarked that they were a matching pair we had received many years ago. The memory had been forgotten when my brother was thrown overboard. The idea never occurred to me that my pistol's twin was still active in the world. Still performing its duty.
We each took twenty paces, and upon my twentieth I spun on my heel and raised my pistol at Edwin. The fear of the moment led me to duel as if I were facing God. I fired and managed a direct hit.
I cried out in horror as I saw the hole in the centre of my brother's back. He had not turned.
I rushed over to his side and held him tightly, gently resting him on the dusty earth. I cringed as I wiped his brow and realised the sleeve of my coat was covered in gore.
Edwin looked up at me, his face smeared with blood, and whispered his final breath, 'You are a fine man James.'

My thoughts go to my brother on most nights when I can hear the wind and the waves rip around outside my cabin. After at least twenty years of regret I am writing this letter as a confession. My guilt is immense and it haunts me wherever I go. I could swear by God that I had taken twenty paces, however seeing the hole in Edwin's back has caused me doubt. If I had only taken nineteen paces then I had committed a great injustice.
Tonight I will correct my wrongs and with one pistol in my belt and one at my temple, I will return them to the sea, once and for all, never to be apart again.