Autumn Falls

by A. R. Kingston

  Autumn Falls

  A.R. Kingston

  Denver, CO

  Copyright © 2021 by A.R. Kingston

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  A.R. Kingston/Keen Quill Press

  8547 E Arapahoe Rd

  Ste J-397

  Greenwood Village, CO 80112

  www.arkingston.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout by Creative Indie

  Book Cover by Disgruntled Unicorn Designs

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Autumn Falls/ AR Kingston -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-7342400-0-9

  Chapter One

  “The sinister, the terrible never deceive: the state in which they leave us is always one of enlightenment. And only this condition of vicious insight allows us a full grasp of the world, all things considered, just as a frigid melancholy grants us full possession of ourselves. We may hide from horror only in the heart of horror. –Thomas Ligotti, The Medusa

  T endrils of fog snaked across the small island, choking out the visibility in its slowly congealing mist. Stopping at the edge of a small field, a man glanced up to observe the halos of streetlamps distorting in the milky vapor. Shrugging, he stepped into the street glistening with the droplets of the evening rain. He did not need to see where he was going; he knew this island by heart, it had been his home for over thirty years. Surrounding shadows and the cackling of crows coming from the nearby woods swallowed up his thundering footsteps as he approached the spires of the wrought-iron gate separating him from his destination.

  Pushing on the rusted gate, it let out a groan and nudged open just enough for him to slip his way in through the crack. Stealing a glance at the time-worn burgundy bricks of the old hospital, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his gray wool pea coat and continued his stroll down the eroded dirt path. The sand and stone crunched beneath his boots while the cawing of crows—which sounded like laughter—echoed through the desolate space and rolled back to him like thunder.

  Stepping over the split curb onto the grass, he drifted to the vine-covered walls and crouched in the shadows. Continuing to creep along the outer edge of the building, he paused beside a dust-hazed window with thin veins of cracked glass and peeked inside. Flickering light from the white candles pooling onto the floor splashed across the glazed cream tiles, and the shadows of flames danced on the lustrous walls. There, at the far corner of the room, a woman sat in a steel basin filled to the brim with crimson blood.

  The curves of her body skated across the deep maroon surface and distort in the ripples as she scooped up the precious liquid. She brushed it across her porcelain skin, and he watched in awe as her wrinkles faded and the whites of her hair turned jet black, transforming her into the woman he had always known. He had observed this ritual for years, trying to figure out how he had never noticed her decay, but he was still no closer to finding the answer. Had he known what she was, what this island had become, he would have escaped before things turned sour, and perhaps he could have watched his child grow up instead of leaving her without a father. But, in the end, his soul was a small price to pay to ensure his family's safety.

  Turning away from the window, he backtracked to the opposite end of the building and into the old burial ground adjacent to the building. Crossing the lawn speckled with limestone bricks, he briefly glanced about at the numbers etched into their weather-sculpted surface. This was a remnant of a time when the islanders still buried the people whose lives the witch had stolen, but that was way before his time, and it was not what he came there to see. Having crossed the field of graves, he paused and inhaled the rotten egg smell of sulfur, filling his lungs with the caustic substance. Smiling to himself, he faced east and headed towards the back of the hospital to check out his handy work.

  In the ominous, heavy silence, he glances across the soggy, sun-bleached lawn to a crack splitting the ground a few steps ahead of him. Observing the black smoke seeping from the fissure to meet the bright orange moon veiled by fog, he let out a sigh. He pondered how long it would be for the entity contained inside to be set free to wreak havoc on the inhabitants of the land. Too long had the witch imprisoned the creature inside—forcing it into her service—but soon enough it would take its revenge. These were the events he set in motion twenty-five years ago when he gave it his soul freely, a soul which the woman inside the hospital planned to sacrifice all along to keep the demon bound for another quarter of a century.

  With his hands in his pockets, he continued to gaze up at the night sky with the striated clouds hiding the stars until he heard a branch snapping behind him. Letting out a snort, he shifted his attention to a small ship bobbing on the horizon, and the figure behind him let out a melancholy groan. He did not need to turn to see who was behind him, he could hear the voice resonating in his head. It was the same creature who offered him the deal years ago, sparing him from a fate far worse than death, but in the process tying him to the island permanently. Smirking, he continued to glance at the navy horizon until the robed figure came to stand beside him, probing his brain with questions.

  "So," he finally let out a sigh and peered at the man covered in a black hood beside him, "you've come to check on the crack yourself, have you?"

  The creature did not speak—it couldn't speak since it lacked a human tongue—but it let out a groan and nodded its head to let him know he was correct in his assumption. Then, it asked him a question by telepathically projecting its thoughts into his head, and the man nodded while scrunching up his lips.

  "Don't you worry, my cursed friend; I'll keep up my end of the deal. But remember, you have to promise me that nothing will happen to her, that was our agreement. And don't you go telling me I have nothing to worry about. I know the witch is plotting to lure her here like she did me all those years ago. She needs her blood to complete the ritual, or the monster breaks free and her time here is up. Not to mention, I don't want you taking her soul either, since our deal was for her to stay safe and live a long, happy life."

  The thing beside him moaned and assured him he would keep up his end of the bargain before it retreated into the shadows and vanishing from sight. The man nodded and recalled how he exchanged his soul for the assurance that his wife and daughter would be safe, and that the witch would never lay claim to his girl’s blood. Back then, he believed he was doing the right thing, but now the twenty-five-year mark for the Feast of Shadows was fast approaching, and she'd need that blood to complete her ritual or risk being dragged off to hell where she belonged. In a few more months, he would finally be free from his obligation, he just hoped his sacrifice would not have been in vain as he could sense his daughter getting closer. Shaking his head at the work ahead of him, he turned on his heals, and walked towards the tree line, vanishing into the mist.

  Chapter Two

  “Nothing ever begins
. There is no first moment; no single word or place from which this or any story springs.” –Clive Barker, Weaveworld

  A crisp, salty breeze hit her face, tousling her auburn hair as the fog enveloped the ferry on all sides. Closing her hazel eyes, Charlotte Briggs clutched a hand around the turtleneck of her cream cable-knit sweater. Inhaling the stale, sulfur aroma, she felt oddly calm despite the circumstances of her move. It seemed as if eons passed since she'd been to New England, and this isolated, fog-locked island in Maine was far removed from the hustle and bustle of Seattle that she had become accustomed to. But the change of scenery was just what the doctor ordered, and it got her as far away from the past she was so desperate to escape.

  She thought of giving her mother in Boston a call before moving back to the East Coast, but she did not want to worry her. Eleanor Briggs had always been adamant about Charlotte staying out of Maine, claiming it was the land of the devil. She figured it would upset her mother if she knew about her making a home there, but she did plan on having a talk with her eventually. She just needed a bit more time to gather her nerves to call her. Exhaling the ocean from her lungs, she felt a small hand insert itself into the nook of her arm, and she glanced down at her son staring up at her. With his short black hair and steel-gray eyes, Kevin was looking more and more like his father each day. Seeing so much of him in their son made her heart ache. And yet, Charlotte cherished the boy, and the memories all the same.

  "What is it, baby?"

  "Are we almost there?" Kevin looked out at the congealing mist and frowned. "We've been on this thing for what feels like forever."

  "I... I think so." Charlotte strained her eyes as the veil of fog lifted a bit to reveal the worn, ivory brick lighthouse of Autumn Falls sitting eerily still on the horizon and sweeping the ocean with a pale beam of golden light. "Probably another ten minutes or so if I was to take a guess."

  "Still think this will be a good move for us?"

  "I hope so. At least I will be able to make enough money to get our own place."

  "I guess that's a plus." The boy sighed and stared at the island coming into view. "Is it always so cold here?" He shivered and tightened his navy windbreaker around himself. "It's still late August, but it already feels like mid-winter."

  "It will always be a bit colder than what you are used to, but I promise it will be warmer once we get off the ferry. It's always a lot colder on the ocean."

  "I sure hope you're right. I hate the cold." Kevin pouted and snuggled closer to her for warmth. "And I really hope Bret doesn't follow us here or try to get you back... again."

  "Me too, baby, me too."

  Cringing from the thought of her ex following her, Charlotte turned to glance back to the horizon and suppressed a shudder trying to break its way down her spine. She met Bret back in Boston seven years ago when she was just starting EMT school. Back then, she was an eighteen-year-old kid with an almost two-year-old child of her own. Having faced so many obstacles as a teenage mother, she was convinced no one would ever want her, until Bret Miller came along. He was four years older than her, more mature than anyone she encountered beforehand, and she fell for him hard. At first, he seemed like the perfect gentleman, always doting on Kevin, and bringing her flowers. Even her mother was convinced he was the one, and she encouraged Charlotte to take the plunge. Blinded by the notion of having a family, she accepted his proposal to move to the West Coast after three years of dating.

  That was when the trouble started, she reckoned, the moment they moved to Seattle. After another year of bliss together, she finally realized what a monster he was. Isolated from her friends and family, Charlotte saw a hidden side to Bret, a dark side like she'd never seen before. At first, it was the small things; keeping tabs on her at all times, not allowing her to spend time with co-workers, cutting off her contact with her lifeline in Boston, telling her what to wear, and controlling what she could spend their money on. She put up with it, tried to rationalize the change in him, but then, the abuse got worse. It started out with snide insults about her being a teenage mother, or her looks, but it quickly escalated into physical altercations. For years Charlotte covered up the bruises and pretended everything was fine until Bret did the one thing she could never forgive him for. He slapped Kevin over spilling some milk on their new counters.

  After years of tolerating the abuse, Charlotte had had enough when the well-being of her child was on the line. She had Bret arrested the same day, then she quietly packed her bags and left before he got out of jail and tried to keep her with him. Unfortunately for her, being a single mother on a paramedic salary in Seattle was near impossible, and the two of them lived out of small hotel rooms for almost a year. And, to make matters worse, Bret began stalking her. He would show up at her job, at the coffee shop she frequented, and in the hotel lobbies. Even the restraining order she got against him was doing little to keep her safe, and he focused on harassing Kevin at school by showing up unannounced and trying to take the boy with him. She thought of moving back to Boston, live with her mother for a bit and figured things out when the strange call came in.

  The woman on the phone claimed the small island town of Autumn Falls was looking for a daytime paramedic to take over an open position, and according to her LinkedIn profile, she fit the bill. It was all well and good, and Charlotte was happy to take the job, except for one slight problem—she didn't have a LinkedIn profile—at least, she didn't think she did. Still, the lady on the other end was very insistent, going so far as to tell her about the job, and the town she would be living in.

  Autumn Falls was a small island between the coast of Main and Nova Scotia, and the only way to get to it was to grab a two-hour ferry ride from Cutler. It was an old, historic town, full of intrigue, not to mention it was extremely safe and had great schools. The woman on the phone told Charlotte that she would be paid her normal Seattle salary, plus moving expenses, and be provided with a hotel room until she found a place of her own. To sweeten the deal, she also informed her that she'd only deal with an occasional emergency here and there as the island was one of the safest places in the United States. The offer sounded almost too good to be true, but it was exactly what she needed to return closer to home and get away from the man making her life miserable. Accepting the job on the spot, Charlotte and Kevin packed up and were on the next flight out to Bangor, where a bus took them to the ferry terminal.

  Now, well on their way to the secluded island encased in mist, Charlotte grasped her hands around the slick rail of the ferry and leaned over to look at the dark blue, foam-crested waters below. She was watching her crooked reflection bob in the waves when the sudden, low moan of the foghorn signaled they were getting close to shore. Looking up, she watched the clouds part to reveal a lush island blanketed with trees which were turning gold, orange, and maroon. Boats and small private docks covered the pristine harbor while on the island itself, through the foliage, specks of Victorian and Colonial homes came into view, greeting their new visitors. Unable to figure out why, Charlotte's skin got covered in gooseflesh, and she wanted to turn around and run.

  With no escape possible, she watched as the boat pulled up to a red weather-beaten shack decorated in frayed fishing nets and colorful buoys. White picnic tables sitting beneath wind-torn umbrellas lined the pallid dock. On a dusty, plate-glass window cracked gold letters declared the building to be a general store and boat rental. Slinging her black trauma bag over her left shoulder, Charlotte grabbed hold of her roller suitcase and nudged her son, who snatched his faded black duffel bag off the metal bench just as the ferry jolted to a stop. The rest of the passengers shuffled off the boat in unison, with Charlotte and Kevin trailing behind them.

  Standing on the pier as people floated around them, Charlotte glanced about and noticed six crows sitting motionless on the piling, staring at her with their black glass eyes. A feeling of dread crept up inside her as the dark statues turned their heads to study her. Her head was screaming at her to run, but she held t
ight and continued to look for the person who was supposed to be picking her up. Spotting a man with graying hair standing at the end of the dock holding a sign, Charlotte stepped forward causing the birds to take off in a sea of iridescent blue and green feathers melting into the sky. Jumping back with a yelp, she pressed a hand on her chest to steal her beating heart and turned to study the man who had gotten closer. He squinted his brown eyes, chiseling canyons into his spotted face as he pressed a hand against his forehead and lifted the white cardboard with her name written neatly in bold, black letters.

  "Hello." Charlotte waved and approached the stranger with Kevin in tow. "I'm Charlotte Briggs."

  "Pleasure to meet you, miss. I'm Cyrus. And..." he glanced down at the boy while furrowing his brow, "who might this young man be?"

  "I'm Kevin, her son."

  "A bit young to have a child this old, aren't you?"

  "I..." Charlotte paused and rubbed her free shoulder while glancing down at her feet, "I had him when I was sixteen."

  "I see." Cyrus shook his head with a soured expression. "Well, no matter, Autumn Falls is a great place for kids to grow up, with it being so safe and all. I'll be shuttling you, and your fellow co-workers around until you are all settled, and you can ask me anything you want about the island. The other two arrived earlier today and are already settled at the hotel. You will meet them tomorrow." Glancing at the bags by their feet, he lifted his eyebrow and leaned to glance behind Charlotte. "Is this all the luggage you have?"

  "Yes." She chuckled. "I'm afraid we don't own much. It made the move easier."

  "Very well then," Cyrus grabbed hold of the roller suitcase and waved his arm, "follow me."

  Taking hold of Kevin's hand, Charlotte followed her guide to a green, roofless Jeep Wrangler waiting nearby. Leaning over the large spare tire in the back, Cyrus wedged their bags behind the rear seat. Lifting the boy up to sit in the back, he motioned to Charlotte with his head, and she got up front to sit beside him. Smiling at her, he revved the engine to life and started off down the paved road, which was smooth as glass. At first, Charlotte said nothing, but as a brick building on a hill came into view, her curiosity took over, and she turned to stare at her driver.