Writting

So I wrote this story for English at the begining of the year. I thought it was royally crappy, but I just re-read it, it wasn't half bad. So I thought I'd chuck it up here. 'Some of my best' XD
In all honesty analytical essays are my best, but I doubt you all want to read those :P
I also never realised I had such malice in me :D

A WOMAN UNMASKED
Those days after my marriage were not as I expected. I imagined marriage to bring a life of being waited on, of sitting in my drawing room with my wife and children around me, but I was sorely mistaken.

I was touring in the Caribbean when I first laid eyes on her and was taken aback by the sheer beauty of this one person. I looked at her more closely as she sidled over towards me. Her gently curled dark hair was tied up, save a single curl that sat on her eyelid. She looked directly at me from under her eyelids and her full lips pulled up into a smile. Her angelic face lured me in and I made room for her beside me.
My father had sent me to the West Indies to court this woman. At first I had objected; I did not wish to marry quite so young, but then my father told me of the £30,000 the woman’s father planned to bequest upon me, and convinced me to agree. He told me he planned to give my elder brother our inheritance, but found me this woman as a replacement. Though love is desirable in marriage it is not a pre-requisite, and I was willing to be content with lust and seduction if it meant a life of wealth.
I had previously met my wife’s father, but not her mother, a happenstance I would grow regret. It was not until weeks after the wedding that I became acquainted with the dear Mrs Mason. I wished I had not. She was a boisterous woman who was wrought with madness; a woman who I feared her daughter would become. Days after the wedding my wife’s actions grew more and more peculiar, and quite frankly, she began to scare me. One evening after supper, a few days after the wedding, I sent Bertha up to our room; I decided that I wished to stay in the casino a little while longer. Sometime after eleven, I decided it was time to retire to our room and I proceeded to make my way upstairs. As I reached the door to our room I tried the handle and found it locked. I thought it odd, but thought that perhaps Bertha had locked it for safety. I knocked and called out to alert her that I was there. There came no response. I knocked again, yet still nothing. Confused, I waited there a few second, thinking perhaps she might be in the bathroom and couldn’t hear me at the door.
Suddenly, the lock clicked. The door swung open slowly but as far as I could see, Bertha was not at the door. Bewildered, I edged my way into the room, each step taking at least ten seconds. For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely fearful. My instinct told me that I ought to flee, to remove myself from the situation. ‘This is ridiculous’ I thought, it was only my wife in the room, what was there to fear? With a sudden burst of confidence I strode into the room and looked around.

I was horrified at what I found there. As I glanced around the room I did not recognise the picture of tidiness that I had left not an hour ago. To my left was an enormous window that had once been covered with lush, thick curtains. What I saw barely resembled curtains; they were a tattered mass of red velvet that had been torn crudely and severely in various places. Directly in front of me was our four-poster bed which had been completely stripped of linen, which lay in pieces around the room. The feather-down pillows and cushions that once adorned the bed were strewn across the room, all torn open with their contents pouring out all over the thick expensive carpet, creating the look of a chicken coop. Still in shock I turned to my right and jumped back at the sight of what I saw.

Crouched on the floor in a clearly defensive pose was the most peculiar creature I had laid eyes on. It was a relatively small thing, with a mass of matted hair hanging in straggles in the front and splaying over its back. In the silence of the moment I could hear a soft growl coming from its direction, and my heart beat even faster. All of a sudden it let out a piercing shriek and launched itself at me. Hitting me full in the chest, I was knocked to the ground and struggled with this creature as it tried to bite at my neck. It was not until I felt the hot flow of blood on my collar that I got a sudden rush of adrenaline and threw this creature off me and pinned it on the ground.

Momentarily safe, I suddenly remembered that Bertha must have been in the room with the creature and I whipped my head frantically around to see if she was lying wounded in the room somewhere, but it was to no avail. The creature struggled to be free of me and the growling began again so I tightened my hold while I carefully inspected each crook of the room but I still couldn’t find Bertha. Distracted by the creature that was now thrashing under my grip, I looked down and a look of horror passed over my face.

I suddenly realised where Bertha was. She was lying beneath me, struggling to be free. Her face was covered in the blood that was free-flowing from my shoulder and her teeth were bared, with her full lips pulled tight over them. I looked into her eyes, desperate to find a glimpse of the woman I married, but all I could see were the dark depths of madness.

It was in that moment that I realised my wife was mad; she possessed a wicked disease that could not be cured. My father had set me up. And for that, I never forgave him. Even as I stood over him and watched him take his last breaths I was filled with the bitter hate for that man.