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“A Helping Hand” Story sample essay

In the story, “A Helping Hand” I am creating a Gothic tale which takes place in the mid-eighteenth century in London, England where the madman of this story takes his hostage, a young dancer by the name of Mary, who is an eighteenth century prostitute, who has something on hand, in which this Gothic creature, longs for. I intend to create a desperate and scary situation, that will leave my reading audience paralyzed with fear but unable to pull themselves away from this story. It will be a winning Gothic tale; hands down!

The hallowing winds hurled Mary’s hair into air, as she crossed the rocky road that led her to her tiny stone villa, on Fourth Street. She had danced easily for the gentlemen callers who had paid their dues, in order to watch her move across the floor with incredible grace and little clothing. She had performed this dance ritual for several months, now, and she had saved up enough money to pay her rent plus buy food, which was a rarity she had earlier missed.

She searched her bag for the golden key that would allow her to enter, and she panicked when she discovered it wasn’t in its proper place.
The wind had picked up even more strength and she could barely hold her feet on the ground as she continued to look for the key.
There was a humming in the distance, and she convinced herself that it was just another voice that the storm was offering, and as it grew louder and clearer, she froze where she stood.
She could feel him standing behind her, but she couldn’t allow herself to look. She could barely catch her breath and as she felt his hand rest on her shoulder, she closed her eyes and pretended she was back on the dance floor.

He smelled of cedar and whiskey and as he brushed his hand across the back of her neck, she spoke words that she had no idea where they emerged from. “Can I help you?” I was all she could say and she wondered if he had been a male caller who had watched her dance, earlier.
She could feel the sharp object protruding from his arm and when she was finally able to turn around; she saw that he was equipped with the prosthetic hand that he had used to touch her. Had he any feelings in his hands? He must have, since she could feel the warmth that radiated from the object.
She looked him in his face as he dangled the golden key before her. He had somehow managed to steal his way into her existence and now she had no other choice but to follow him inside the home that had earlier provided her a safe haven.

He didn’t speak but his eyes said all that she needed to know. He was there for one reason and she could feel his eyes piercing her soul as he placed the artificial hand to her chest.
“Mary, be kind!” Were the first words he spoke as she wiped a single tear from her cheeks, and removed her sweater.
“No!” His voice was strong and he had not wanted this from her, but something much more personal. There was no way she could give this to him, and as she thought about it, she would have rather that he had been a crude pervert who only wanted her body, but he was asking for more than that!
Her body tightened and she stood immobilized as he seemed to say thank you with his eyes and she suddenly wished that she hadn’t moved away from her family. They had warned her about the dangers that existed in London, England and had advised her to reconsider her move so far away from those who cared about her. But, she had been strong-willed and their words of advice hadn’t been able to convince her.
He was growing impatient and she wished that his breathing could have been gentler and as she realized there was no way of escaping, she at last reached offered her hand to him.
He had stroked it with affection. It was something that he had desired for so long and when he saw how gracefully they moved while she danced, he couldn’t bare not to have one of them, as his own.
He removed a long razor that was attached to a wooden handle and he placed his arm around her arms and chest to secure them, so they wouldn’t flop or flinch, as he removed the precious gift.

The scream was shrilling and the terror he saw in her eyes didn’t faze him. He wanted it so badly that her pain, he felt, was a small price to pay for the happiness it would bring to him. It was a gift that would enable him to give back so much more than she could ever offer with the long fingered hand.
It was after midnight when she finally awoke. The medicine he had given her had caused her to sleep as he ceased the blood flow and sutured the wound that he had given her. It would have proven more beneficial if it had caused her to sleep through the blunt trauma but that kind of pain could not be stopped by anything, including the strong tranquilizer he had shoved down her throat before the surgery. Her eyes fluttered and he seemed to move in a cloud over her, as she whispered that she needed water.

He held the vial of fluid to her lips as she took the first sip and she searched his eyes once more, trying to remember the events of the night and as she saw her hand moving toward her face, she realized it was her own.
“My unselfish love, you have given to me of yourself. You have freely offered the gracefulness of your touch that I will forever feel against my flesh. I will carry this part of your body with me forever, and I will always be thankful to you!” He had seemed appreciative as she tried to lift her limb that was wrapped in blood-stained wrapping that was lifted above her head.
She thought about her family as she wondered if she would ever see them again as she felt a shot of blood pulsate through the bandage. She had never felt pain of this severity and as she tried to raise herself to a standing position, this stranger pulled her back to the bed and stroked her face with his feminine fingers.
It was two days before she could gather the energy to walk to her small kitchen and when she did, she searched for him and in a whimpering voice she called out to him.

There was no reply as she drank a full glass of the water that she had so thirsted for. She searched each dark room and he was nowhere to be found.
She let out a tiny sigh of relief as she walked toward the front door. She would find someone who could help her; someone who could call a family member or take her to get some medical help.
Her wrist felt like fire moving through the end and she held it tightly as she ran toward safety.
The coldness of the day and the bitter rain exaggerated the pain she felt but she knew she couldn’t delay. She had to find someone who could cause this horrible pain to go away.
As she picked up speed, heading in the direction of the ancient saloon, she heard him breathing but continued on her important journey.
The saloon was full of familiar faces and as she walked across the floor she saw him gazing at her, once again.
He held his graceful hand across the table as she watched him and suddenly moved in his direction.
“Mary, you won’t tell anyone! A gift is something you don’t take back or fret over but something you offer in return for the comfort of knowing that you have helped another. Haven’t you ever heard that it is better to give than to receive?”
She was lost for words as she witness the boldness of his speech that flowed from his lips, so easily.
“Mary, I didn’t ask you for an arm or leg; just a gift for someone who was in need. All I asked for was a helping hand!”

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