Autumn Falls

by A. R. Kingston

  "And the only way we will ever know the answer to that is if we figure out what's hidden behind the 'X' on the map."

  "I hate to admit it, but you're right. Fine. You and Zack go dig up your buried treasure. I am going to put all our shit on the boat, then I will grab Iris and Kevin, and meet the two of you at Lighthouse Point by sunset."

  "How long do you think we have? I don’t want to keep anyone waiting."

  "Not long, I'm afraid." Charlotte stole another glance at the fog pooling outside, obscuring the landscape in its milky veil. "All I know is that I want to be off this island before twilight sets in and the storm gets worse."

  Agreeing to the plan, Charles grabbed the first round of bags and set off into the squall outside. As soon as he left, the rain reduced to a drizzle, as if trying to give them a false sense of hope like any good hurricane. Charlotte, however, was not the least bit fooled by it, she felt it deep inside her bones; she knew what the island knew, and it was playing games with them. An internal voice told her this was all a trick designed to make them feel safe before it struck, but she was not going to fall for it. She intended to keep her guard up until they were safely back on the mainland, and away from whatever the phantoms of Autumn Falls needed her for. Warning Iris to be careful, she followed Zack out into the rain to walk the short distance to the forest in hopes of keeping the curious eyes watching them from asking too many questions.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “He supposed that even in Hell, people got an occasional sip of water, if only so they could appreciate the full horror of unrequited thirst when it set in again.”—Stephen King, Full Dark, No Stars

  B y the time Zack and Charlotte made it into the forest, the storm had picked up again, bringing with it howling gale. Rain slashed through the trees while the branches creaked and groaned, bowing to the ground with each gust. Occasionally, lighting would light up the sky, scattering a kaleidoscope of light through the forest underbrush. The roar of thunder was always close on its heels and it shook the ground beneath their feet as they staggered along. A strange composition of odors permeated the forest, the metallic scent of steel mixed with the pungent aroma of wet dirt, but there was another fragrance in the mix—far more subtle and sweet, and altogether familiar—the scent of fresh blood. It saturated the forest floor with its sickly aroma as if the ground had lapped up gallons of it over the centuries.

  Stopping in a clearing, Charlotte glanced over her map again to catch her bearing. The mark lay just ahead, but something entirely different drew her attention. The clearing, though devoid of darkness and engulfed in fog, was entirely familiar to her. Despite never having been there before, at least not physically, she knew where she was, and the cut on her neck tingled and pulsed as the scabs broke away to allow a warm stream of blood to trickle down her skin.

  "Hey, what's wrong?"

  "I've been here before?"

  "When?"

  "In my dream, the night I woke up with the cut on my throat. Remember, I told you a crazed old woman tried to kill me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive. The creature ran that way," she pointed to her right, towards the old hospital, "and he came from the thicket of forest before me. I tripped and fell by that stump right there, and then the woman came out and attacked me. We should go check it out, the place where she was might contain some clues."

  "No. It's too dangerous. Plus, the map has us going straight, away from where you think the woman came from."

  "What if there is something there, something else that will help us shed some light on this puzzle?"

  "Then it would be on the map. Come on Cherry, we came here to see what the map was trying to show us, not explore the woods. And we did promise Chuck that we would meet him at Lighthouse Point before sunset, so that gives us roughly three hours to find what we came for and leave. Even you said you don't want to be here past twilight."

  "I guess you're right." Charlotte groaned. "Fine. We shall go where the map wants us to go."

  Walking forward another mile or so, they hit a dead end when a wall of briar stopped them in their tracks. The snarled branches were so tangled and interwoven that they had no visible way to walk through to the other side. Not even a hint of light could penetrate their defense.

  Charlotte attempted to pull the knots apart, snagging her finger on one of the many thorns. A bead of fresh blood formed on the tip of her finger, and before she had the chance to pull it away, it fell, hitting the shrubs below. As quickly as it hit, it was instantly absorbed by the plants, and the branches moved on their own. They twisted, turned, and arched upwards and to the side, forming a tunnel as they went.

  Once the briar stopped moving and forming the path, a gust of hot, stale wind rushed out from the other end, carrying on it the stench of boiled blood and burned flesh. Gagging, Charlotte covered her mouth and moved inward, looking forward to getting out of the icy rain which had soaked through her clothing and chilled her to the bone.

  Trailing closely behind her, Zack looked up to study the mouth of the wood cave they found themselves in. The branches were firmly interlaced, and not a single drop of rain fell on their heads while they walked. The only sounds enshrouding them where the thundering echo of their feet crushing the dead leaves beneath.

  Their trek was short, and they walked out into a small patch of forest with a fresh mound of dirt at the center. Behind it stood a crumbling, weather-worn, and moss-covered cross with a shovel stuck in the dirt beside it. Pulling the map from her pocket, Charlotte glanced over at where the 'X' was and realized it wasn't a letter, after all, it was a red cross, and someone left the shovel on the grave for them to dig.

  "So," Zack looked at the grave marker, "what do we do now?"

  "We dig."

  "Are you serious? You really want us to dig up a grave?"

  "Someone does, and daylight is wasting." Charlotte grabbed hold of the shovel and plunged it into the loose dirt, moving the soil to one side. "The faster we dig this up, the faster we can go home."

  "Fine, move, I can dig a lot faster than you."

  Handing the shovel to Zack, she stepped off the grave and watched as he shoveled away the dirt. An odd silence shrouded them. Not even the crows had dared to be out for the last few days, and the sound of rain was muffled by the canopy of the trees above. The hairs on her arms pricked and her skin tingled. She sensed someone in the tree line, watching them, but no matter how hard she squinted her eyes to see through the gloom, she could find no one there, at least not as far as she could see.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “And for a moment it seemed to me as if I also were buried in a vast grave full of unspeakable secrets.” — Joseph Conrad

  T he grave was anything but shallow, and Zack ended up digging for well over an hour before the dull clang of metal against wood made him stop. Tossing the shovel up by Charlotte's feet, he stepped aside and allowed her space to hop down. Brushing the dirt off the ancient pine coffin, they found a single name crudely etched into the wood: Clarence Thornbern. Exchanging glances, they pulled on the rotted boards which peeled away with ease and the pungent scent of fresh dirt and death filled their nostrils. Looking at the remains beneath them, they gasped in unison at the sight of a human skull intermixed with the remains of a four-toed hoofed animal. Kneeling by the skeletal remains, Charlotte studied them over with a scrutinizing gaze. She knew little about animal anatomy, but she could tell both heads had been severed around the fourth vertebrae.

  "What do you make of this, Cherry?" Zack knelt beside her, picking up the human skull. "Why is this mixed in with animal remains?"

  "I'm guessing this is the pigman's skull and the remains of the unfortunate pig which gave him his face. I wish I could tell you more, but I don't know too much about forensic anthropology. I can only tell you the skull belonged to someone of Caucasian descent and that the animal definitely looks of porcine origin."

  "Fair enough, why do you suppose he led us here, to his grave?"
<
br />   "I don't know, I'm not even sure he was the one to guide us here. But, if it was him, I think there is something here he wants us to find."

  Bushing away the dirt with the back of her hand, Charlotte glanced around the dark black soil, hoping something would jump out at her. At first, the only thing she saw were the cream bones, picked clean by the worms squirming around beneath them, glaring up at her from the gloom. She was beginning to give up hope, thinking the remains were the only thing he meant for her to find when a steamy gust of black smoke came from out of nowhere and swirled the soil by the animal skeleton. With the dust and the vapor-filled wind settling, she spotted something poking its way from between the ribs. A small, torn black-leather corner of a notebook almost blended in with the soil, but it was visible enough to see.

  Sweeping aside the remaining dirt and gingerly moving the bones aside, she pried the small book from its hiding spot and studied its cover. It was old, at least several centuries, with the edges and corners worn down and peeling to the casing beneath, but she could tell it hadn't lived in the grave long as the leather was well-preserved, and the cream pages, though worn and water-stained still had eligible writing on the inside. Flipping through the delicate parchment, she saw some ink had blotted and smudged away, but there were still pages with well-preserved writing which told a remarkable story. Getting Zack's attention, she began to read the tale out loud as he hung on her every word.

  June 6, 1628

  Today my family and I boarded the Sophie Schreur, bound for the new world. Like many, my parents fled England to worship freely, and in the last couple of years, they have decided to make the journey across the ocean to this new promised land we were told so much about. We are the first wave to leave Holland in search of a better life, and look forward to establishing our own colony in a land which will be our own. I was told the journey would take close to two months, and we should arrive at our new home sometime in August. I shall survive the journey just fine, but I worry about my younger sister as she is frail and may not live long enough to see this new world we seek. Still, I hope we all make it to the promised land in one piece and that this land is everything we hope it to be and more.

  July 14, 1628

  Five weeks into our journey, and we have discovered a witch amongst our ranks, one who goes by the name of Geertruyd Abeel. The elders have discovered her one night deviating in the blood of the rats that are so prominent upon the ship, talking to the devil himself no less. Some of the passengers wanted to throw her off the ship, but everyone knows witches float, and there is no way we can burn her while on the ship. So, we decided we would throw her in the brig instead, and burn her at the stake once we set foot on solid ground. She didn't seem phased by her sentence, she simply smiled and said she would have her revenge. Since then, all she does is sit on the floor of her cell, brushing her long, ebony locks while she sings to the devil. Even now, three days later, she sings her unholy melody, filling the ship with her siren song, driving us all insane, and probably putting a curse on us as I write.

  July 25, 1628

  Yesterday I glimpsed at the witch with her bewitching eyes and a seductive smile. I caught her rubbing blood on her face, making the fine lines in the corners of her eyes vanish. She attempted to lure me in and have me open her cage, but I refused and ran away. Her melodic laughter followed me all night, and she haunted my dreams since. I wish I could say they are only dreams, but they feel like so much more, they are as real as if she is in there with me and I fear what she has in store for me.

  August 8, 1628

  We hit some foul weather last night, a raging storm descended upon us like the wrath of God, smashing rouge waves against the hull of our ship, rocking it violently from side to side. The captain did his best to maintain course, but we hit a cluster of jagged rocks in the fog and the ship took on water. Someone spotted land close to where the ship was going down, and we filled the smaller boats with as much of our things as we could and headed for shore. We left the witch to sink with the ship. I have little knowledge of witches, but I doubt they can drown given their pact with the devil, but at the very least she is locked up for all eternity...

  We have managed to make camp on this strange bit of land we found ourselves on. No one knows if we reached the new world or not, but we intend to make a decent life here regardless.

  August 10, 1628

  I glimpsed a strange creature lingering in the woods last night, and I believe it to be a demon of some kind. It was the size of an adult man, perhaps a bit taller with a hairless head which appeared almost swollen. It was lanky, with sickeningly elongated arms with long fingers tipped by sharp claws. I sensed him long before I saw him, and I could have sworn the thing called my name from the woods before I woke. Once I opened my eyes, I spotted him, crouching in the tree line, looking at me with his glowing amber eyes, like those of a deranged house cat. He was naked, with translucent, ashen skin, to the point where I could almost see his ribs. He had no nose, just a sleek spot where it ought to be, and a gaping hole for a mouth filled with pointy fangs. He called my name once more in his shrill voice, and he told me to leave the island for we didn't belong there, it was his home. I did not respond to him, and after a moment, he tilted his head at me, and then slinked back into the woods, walking on his arms and legs like some animal.

  September 5 ,1628

  I have seen the creature many more times since our first encounter. Every night he tells me to leave before he vanishes into the woods, but I dare not tell anyone else what I have been seeing. One day, I followed him inside the trees, but instead of the demon, I found the witch hiding in a clearing, living in a small hut she constructed out of branches and leaves. She looked old and ragged, but I recognized the hairy mole on her chin, it was the woman who tried to seduce me in my dreams. I tried to run, but she spotted me and grabbed hold of me, dragging me into her hut, binding me while she figured out what to do with me... she stole a pig from the settlement, my father's prized pig, and beheaded the both of us while muttering a spell, combining our bodies to make me a servant to do her bidding. But I was stronger, I was not going to serve the witch, no matter what she did to me, so I ran from her when she undid my ropes, hiding in a grove of trees. She seemed unable to follow me, so I snuck out during the day and buried my remains, and that of the swine in the very spot, creating a makeshift grave for us. Every day I hear my family looking for me, my sister calls my name, begging me to come home, but I cannot show my face to them, I can't let them see what that witch has done...

  September 10, 1628

  Today will be forever known as the Feast of Shadows on this cursed rock. An unholy holiday created by the witch and the devil when she slaughtered three of the villagers, including my mother to seal the monster of this land away under our feet, somewhere between earth and hell. From what I was able to learn, this creature I had been seeing was an ancient guardian of this land, sprung from the soul of a magic man who spent his time eating wayward souls, and he had been trying to warn me of things to come. After the slaughter, the witch unleashed a storm on the land, wiping away the structures, and killing half the livestock. The surviving settlers have gathered their remaining boats and braved the storm to depart this place. I am not sure if any of them survived, but I pray they found a safe haven away from this place.

  September 10, 1653

  It's been twenty-five years since the Feast of Shadows, twenty-five years of my cursed existence, and I am amazed I still remember how to write. Lately, there has been no point in keeping a diary as all I do is spy on the witch and wait for a chance to exact revenge. Today, however marks a special, yet somber occasion which caused me to pick up the quill again. The last time I wrote, I thought none of the settlers made it to the shores of the promised land, but it appears some survived. Three lads who were fishing nearby penetrated the fog and landed on this island. Exploring the place, they stayed too long and made camp until morning, remarking how strange it was they found the place as if the w
aves themselves carried them here. The witch waited until night fell, and struck to fulfill the deal she made with the devil to keep the guardian asleep. After all these years she is nothing more than an ugly, frail thing feeding on animal blood to survive. Yet, despite lacking in strength, she lulled the boys over to her alter with her song where she performed the same ritual she had when we first came to this land. The blood and souls of the boys—who were apparently our descendants—were enough to keep the devil happy and the creature locked up. From within his prison, the guardian talks to me in my dreams. He is getting restless, waiting to be set free so he can destroy the witch, and I am compelled to help him.

  October 31, 1699

  … There was a British vessel that landed on these shores a few years back, after it too suffered an accident much like the Sophie Schreur. These unsuspecting folks made settlement here despite my warnings. They have built a pleasant town, including the lighthouse which now keeps ships from hitting the rocks in the dense fog. They call this place Autumn Falls, and they are oblivious to the danger lurking in the woods, hidden in a strange clearing away from town. The witch, however, is delighted to have people here. She lurks and plots, thirsting for blood to restore her beauty.

  November 5, 1872

  I have found something strange over the last few years, some settlers seem to be getting possessed by the witch and turning into monsters. To the human eye they appear to look normal, as no one seems to notice their grotesque appearance. To me, they appear pale and sickly, with hollow eyes as black as coal and claws made for shredding flesh. They resemble creatures similar to the guardian slumbering beneath, except they live to service the hag until she no longer has any use for them. I have witnessed them turn on their fellow men, charming them into committing horrible acts of violence upon themselves, and those who are family. I have watched one man stick a sickle in his eye, while another one bashed his wife's head in with a rock, and even the lighthouse keeper leaped to his death upon the jagged rocks from the tower he was taking care of. Curious, I followed the witch around and watched her drain the bodies of the dead, so she could bathe in their blood, restoring her youth and vigor. Once she was beautiful, she joined the town after she caused another ship to crash upon the rocks, pretending to be a survivor and charming the men to believe her.