October Blog Chain – Halloween Horror Stories

• Posted on 6th October 2011
• in Writing
• by Cath

---

This post is part of the October2011 Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s challenge is to compose a dark story with Lovecraftian words. I may have gone a little overboard with the Lovecraftian words.

++++

As a young man, I was less than I am now, and tempted by those bad ways I was drawn to the life of a wrecker. Now before you judge me, know this. I never did set a light, or profit from the misfortune of others. That night, that unfortunate night, was my first and last in that wretched career.

Even at that tender age, I knew some things had a danger to them. But being young and being naive about the nature of this earth, I paid it no mind. Oh what a piteous beast I was, arrogant, with not a thought to the fortunes of others, but caring only of my own. I was in love, you see, with a lass called Sally whose parents thought me too lowly for their daughter to wed.

This loathesome night not even a sliver of moon lit our way. My companion hung a lamp in front of us, stomping his cane on the ground to test if it was sound and mumbling to himself as wallowed in his decrepitude. ‘We are late’ he muttered, striking his cane in front of him. ‘We will miss the lighting and the night will be done before we cross this accursed moor.’ I was tempted to ask him what was the hurry, but the wind was biting and my coat was poor and the cold clawed at my bones and made my teeth chatter and, if truth be told, I was afeard of what he might say.<!–more–>

It was not for a while that I realized we were heading not down, but up. A narrow path wound precariously along the cliff tops, above the vicious cliffs. The sea roared below us over needle-pointed rocks and a foetid smell crept up from below. ‘We must hurry’ the old man said ‘or we will miss the lighting’. He hustled further ahead of me, stooped like a hermit and wrapped his lamp in his thick oilskin cloak. I hurried to keep up, careful not to stumble on the rugged path.

We arrived at a point, not on the shore as I expected, but above. On a cliff which looked down to a small cove. The sea roared below us over needle pointed rocks. We were on the headland, beyond the wrecker’s cove and across the cliffs, on the opposite headland, a flicker of light burned.

‘It is lit.’

Those words put a chill in my bone that was not caused by wind or weather or water. There was a quality to his voice, a raw, hideous glee as he watched the light. He stood, perfectly still, for just a moment, seemingly closing his eyes and sucking in the noisome air. Then he started talking in a wordless language, a chant, which wrapped itself around me and held me fast. I could not move.

My arms clamped by my side, and my feet would not move. I tried to work my muscles, to wrench them into action. But the more I tried the tighter the ropes of that chant bound me, until I could no longer breathe. I dropped to my knees, and then to the ground, writhing like a snake as the charmer howled his curse.

In an instant I was aware of everything. The light, and the cliffs, and the wreckers in the cove below. I could see the ship off the shore, struggling in the winds. And then I was above it all, soaring on the wind — I was the wind — blowing the ship, and whipping the sails, and shepherding it towards those terrible rocks. And I could hear the cries of the captain and the first mate, pointing towards the light and shouting of safe harbor. And I willed them to stop, to turn away, but they would not listen.

Then, all of a sudden, I was back in my body with air gulping into my lungs. My companion was howling, but it was not that rhythmic howl that had me writhing like a snake. It was cacodaemoniacal, torn from his very soul.

The light had gone out.

He turned to me. ‘Your fault,’ he hissed ‘your fault. The wreckage requires a sacrifice. You were weak, lacking. Insufficient. Your fault.’

He struck out at me with his cane, but the move caught him wrong footed. His rotten foot twisted under him and he fell, driven by his swing, backwards over the cliff.

I crawled to the edge, but it was too dark to see. Instead I imagined the fall, imagined the twisted body speared on the rocks below. I crawled backwards, as far away from the edge as my nerves would carry my exhausted body and collapsed, weeping.

I stayed there all night, until the sun illuminated the world once more. When my legs would carry me, I ran home without looking back and did not visit that place ever again.

I waited for the news, but it did not come. No ships were wrecked that night, and no people were found missing. Knowing they were safe, I fled to the city and worked in the docks, dedicating my life to ensuring the ships stayed in good repair and safe from the wrecker’s lights. Many years later I heard a sailor tell the story, a myth of the sea, he said, of a demon who took the form of an old man. Legend tells that he drew ships to the shore with the sacrifice of a virgin boy. I know not why he would make that mistake, but every day when I wake I thank the Lord for the young lass who was my salvation and who is now my wife.

++++++
Check out this month’s other bloggers, all of whom have posted or will post their own responses:
Ralph Pines
Cath
Diana Rajchel
Alynza
lufftocraft
robeiae
pyrosama

dolores haze
leahzero
AbielleRose
pezie
MysteryRiter
JSSchley
Inkstrokes
Alpha Echo
Proach

AuburnAssassin
spacejock2
Madelein.Eirwen
AlishaS