Forgotten Ones
Page 2
The demons didn't scare him, nor the Queen of Hell. It was the humans that terrified him the most. They created and raised him, they brought him here to this place. Now they stood over him, eager and hungry, slicing him to call to her.
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Iä Iä Cthulhu fhtagn!
K.T. Tate
My discoveries have left me at the edge of sanity. We should’ve refused, but the museum was waiting. The ancient culture discovered was abhorrent, partaking in depraved rituals for their accursed god, their caves a maze of unimaginable artifacts.
Then the dreams came, reflecting what we’d learned. Men cavorting with squamous things, blasphemous songs calling their god up from the depths. Nightmares burned away by daylight, though their shadows remained.
But I’ve discovered a horrifying truth: That tentacled monstrosity is not their god.
He is their priest.
Which begs the question, to what does such an aberration bend its knee?
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The Nuckelavee
Drew Starling
Two soldiers were sent to the isles of Orkney. Reports of massacred livestock and children gone missing sent panic through the land, and for three days and nights they searched for the one called Nuckelavee.
On a winter morning it appeared in the fog. A skinless man on a skinless horse, a single red eye to guide it. Its vine-thin arms dragged lifelessly on the ground. Its stench so foul that the grass wilted as it approached. The Nuckelavee cackled, and croaked out these words:
“Choose one man to die.”
The men each chose each other, and the Nuckelavee obliged.
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The Mountain
Jacek Wilkos
After many days of climbing he finally reached the top of the mountain. The wind whipped his face with hundreds of icy needles. The legends were true, he found a stone with runes carved in it. He took out a dagger, made an incision on his palm and put it on the rock. Flowing blood filled the carvings of the inscription, letter by letter. He closed his eyes, praying to the gods. It’s the last hope for his people. As the last rune filled with crimson, the mountain began to tremble. It worked: the Great Old One was waking up.
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ανατροπή
Matthew A Clarke
As I sit, wondering where we went so wrong, a sudden, piercing siren assaults me.
It's a sound I have never heard before, a sound I hoped I’d never hear. I weep a solitary tear, the doors to the Pantheon swing inward.
“My King, they have breached our gates. Athena is slain.”
“Very well,” is all I can manage, as I pass Hermes.
I step outside where the cries of battle and the shriek of steel choke the air, pausing between the marble columns with lightning in my heart.
These men know not what they do.
They shall all burn.
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Mary Had a Little Lamb
Joel R. Hunt
McCready marched towards the barn as fast as his aging legs could manage, shotgun under one arm, flashlight raised in the other. He had spotted someone – something – heading inside. They had appeared almost naked, tall and lithe and bathed in moonlight, a ram’s skull covering their face.
McCready forced open the barn door, then reeled at the scene.
His animals had torn themselves apart. The floor was soaked in red. Stretched out between teeth and horns, glistening, their entrails formed the shape of a pentagram. Only his ewe, Mary, had been spared.
She lay safe in the centre, freshly pregnant.
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Robin Never Finished her Bigfoot Video
Ann Wycoff
This isn’t real!
The shaggy woman-gorilla was taller than a rearing grizzly, and heavier by far. Milk oozed from her pendulous breasts, aching to be drank from.
It’s a suit!
The anthropoid seized her.
Robin soon believed.
Yellow eyes, broad fangs, worms and rotten nuts for breath.
Shadows clawed up from the campfire into the night. Robin screamed, kicking and lashing out with superhuman strength granted by fear.
The giant ignored her efforts, cradling her new baby with huge paws, freakish compared with her wiry arms.
Joy.
Mother cooed as she lumbered away with silent footfalls into the misty forest.
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Omen Owl
Kerry E.B. Black
The Omen Owl screeches, but I’ll not answer its call.
I’ve an ancestral gold dagger, an Aztec artifact. I’ll plunge it into that feathered beast’s chest and dig out its heart. I will feel it pump in my palm, once, twice, but before the third pulse I’ll tear into it with my teeth. Its blood will congeal upon my chin; that way the fiendish fowl can’t drag me to the Underworld.
The Omen Owl swoops.
I lunge.
Its feathers brush my cheek, its talons rake my chest. Its beak cracks my ribs and extracts my heart.
It beats once, twice...
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Come Play
Gabriella Balcom
Nine-year-old Fumio heard splashing, and ran toward the Mogami River. Glimpsing children playing in the water he smiled, but his eyes widened when he neared them.
They had odd, yellowish-blue skin.
Although child-sized, the beings in front of him weren't human. They had monkey faces, wore turtle shells on their backs, and had liquid-filled depressions on the tops of their heads.
“Come play,” they invited, beckoning eagerly to him.
Fumio hesitated, biting his lip, but their laughter and friendly smiles reassured him as he waded into the river.
The kappa surrounded him, for after cucumbers children were their favorite food.
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Misfortune of the Nagual
Derek Dunn
The musky scent of copal resin wafted from the candle in Aapo’s hand. He followed the flame, hoping to find food.
Yum Kaax, the forest’s protector, should guide him, but it was only a myth. He’d been searching all day to no avail.
Suddenly, a deer appeared. Aapo raised his spear. The weapon pierced the animal’s hide, dropping it to the ground. He pushed through the grass to find a woman, not a deer, lying lifeless before him.
Aapo fell to his knees. The tales were true, but instead of food he’d found a Nagual, a shapeshifter of the night.
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You Sleep, I Cry
C. Marry Hulman
With a wet, gut-wrenching sound the head slowly tore from the body. Rising above the graves, entrails dragging from its neck.
Lintang crawled backward, startled at the sight of the Leyak. The single eye focused on her, the putrid stench of death wafting past. She was safe, but it had scared her all the same.
Pickaxe in hand she continued her work, the treasure foremost on her mind. The Leyak moved, but she ignored it.
Suddenly it screamed.
Mouth gaping it attacked her, sharp fangs digging into her belly.
She was supposed to be safe, Leyaks only attacked pregnant women.
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The Imp
Michael D. Nadeau
Sean was in trouble, and no one could help. Only he could feel the tiny claws digging into his skin, the acrid breath on his neck. Only he could see the shriveled creature on his shoulder, hear the whispered words it spoke to him.
He found it in the woods, caught in the undergrowth and pleading for help. Sean freed it, and it crawled up his back, perching on
his shoulder. It promised it would help him in return.
Now Sean’s boss, who had fired him, was on his knees begging.
Now slice his throat Sean! The imp whispered gleefully.
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Aphrodite A.D.
Bryan Dyke
The priests and priestesses of ivory temples sacrificed bulls to Aphrodite. They poured blood in the field and sowed the Earth with red splendor, her courtesans making love upon divans in mountainous palaces that overlooked lakes and warm vales.
Now the air smelled of burned tires and white phosphorous, the vales tainted by red fire and black ash.
Aphrodite held her beloved blade and wiped the ichor of void-things on her leg.
Shadows stirred.
You shall be a Goddess of War.
Her only regret was her foes did not bleed, and there would be no succor for the lost Earth.
The Green Children
T.J. Lea
History books say they came out of a pit in an ancient village, their skin green and their hunger for kidney beans beyond belief.
“An underground place always in twilight,” they claimed, the ringing of a bell ushering them to this world.
The books usually end there. However, one account still remains concealed from the world. The girl, now an old woman, warns of venturing into the forests after twilight.
“The green lets them hide in plain sight, their steps one with nature and their desire for food unending.” When pressed about what food, she grimaced and looked away.
“Kidneys.”
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The Blood Accord
Nick Moore
Marco’s legs shook as he crouched behind the boulder. His tormentors, shouting threats, drew closer.
Marco could not know that millenia before men had trapped something dark there, this place lost to the wilderness. Bound and cursed, and left to be forgotten.
He closed his eyes and prayed. Blood from his nose dripped down his chin and hit the dirt. Something beneath him spoke, “Blood, and a request for freedom. Speak your desire, set me free.”
Marco pointed towards the bullies and heard screams, then silence. He walked out of the forest peacefully, following giant footprints burned into the earth.
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Labyrinth
Kase Glidewell
A roar came from the darkness behind Arete as she stumbled and fell to the ground. Her knees scraped on the wet stones, the flame of her candle sputtering out. She pushed herself up and began running blindly in the dark, the cries growing closer.
There had to be a way out of the labyrinth!
Her bare feet slapped the painfully cold ground as she ran. Arete turned a corner, finding herself at a dead end. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she heard the roar right behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and turned to face the Minotaur.
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Draugr
Tor-Anders Ulven
I went fishing with my grandfather in late autumn. A sunny day, not too windy, but when the fog crept in we decided to turn around. I saw her then, on a rocky islet. A pale young girl cradling a bronze urn.
“It’s a Draugr,” my grandfather warned, “A drowned soul yearning for lost love.”
I misread the look in his eyes, mistaking it for fear. He died a week later, and the funeral was lovely. A childhood picture of my late grandmother graced his coffin, and I stumbled back as the realisation hit me.
It was her, the Draugr.
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The Chorus of a Siren’s Song
Jaclyn Fulscher
Captain Dillinger stepped away from his crew, leaning over the bow of his ship. His eyes were glazed and his lips parted slightly, his body swaying back and forth to the tune of the sweetest song heard by man.
Immediately she jumped out of the water, her hands cold and boney. They wrapped around his neck, ripping him from the ship. He fell into the black waters, struggling to pull away from her.
She snapped the bones in his wrist and plunged her sharp shark like teeth into his neck, watching life leave his filmy eyes.
She consumed him entirely.
The Devil and the Devil
Abiran Raveenthiran
It seemed as though walking across the room was barely manageable by this man. Could this fragile creature have accomplished the feats they say he committed?
He had one simple question that would determine the man's true self. "Tell me, human. What drove you to commit the atrocities you did?" Yama questioned the mortal.
A smirk grew on the man's face, exposing his yellowed and missing teeth. A few strands of white hair fell in front of his face, and through them two malevolent eyes burned hotter than inextinguishable Hell-fire. The malevolent gaze, so hate-filled, ceased the doubt within Yama.
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Sins of the Father
Chris Hewitt
“Help me!”
He pleaded, his voice reverberating around the ravine.
“Help me.”
She echoed mockingly, gazing down at his broken body.
The pain was unbearable.
“You did this!”
She dropped the severed rope, shaking her head.
“You did this.”
“Why?”
“Why!”
Her eyes flashed, but she had no words. Hera had seen to that, and Zeus had remained silent. He would pay for that, a distant commotion giving her captive a promise of salvation.
“Thank the gods! Help!”
Echo thrust her hands over his mouth. It was her turn to remain silent, and Zeus’ bastard son would not be found.
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Leviathan
Henry Herz
The ship was jeered, the harbour cleared,
Grimly did we sail.
Beneath the skies, across the waves
To hunt the fearsome whale.
Down dropt the breeze, the sails fell slack,
We drifted on the sea.
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
But then Leviathan came,
So perilous and strong.
He struck with his o’erpowering flukes,
And battered us south along.
We limped away with a shattered prow,
The beast pursued with furrowed brow.
It rammed us again, hunters now prey.
I gazed upon the broken deck
And saw where all the dead men lay.
Tsukumogami
Gabriella Balcom
“Dump that nasty, ancient thing.” Suki said, watching her servants toss it outside.
Her father had insisted on keeping the old table, passed down through generations, but he'd died yesterday.
“Tsukumogami!” the servants shrieked, referring to living objects becoming angry after being discarded. They dashed away.
Standing on two legs the table charged Suki, a face glaring from its underside.
She fled, screaming.
The creature pounced, stomping her body before picking it up and repeatedly slamming it to the ground.
Blood bubbled from Suki's lips.
Smashing her head flat with one leg the table retreated, strutting back into its home.
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The Mayan Who Laughed
Andrew Anderson
Camazotz stood menacingly before the bloodied figure hung upon the wall of the temple. It was Balam-Quitze — the Jaguar with the Sweet Smile — who had poisoned the waters of
the Cenote, killing hundreds of innocent villagers.
Despite the rough interrogation thus far, he was still grinning at Camazotz, silently taunting him. The priest Aapo shouted from outside, “Master Camazotz, you must be hungry. I could bring you some atole, perhaps?”
Camazotz grinned and turned back to his prisoner, his fangs glinting in the torchlight.
“No Aapo, I think I’ll be okay for now.”
The smile finally fell from Balam-Quitze’s face.
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The Acolyte
Sarah Matthews
“Jubilation be upon you, my acolyte," whispered Celaeno Mysichore. “Now touch my robes, and I shall receive you.”
The acolyte touched the white marble folds and watched in awe as obsidian tendrils spiraled outward from her touch, enveloping the carven form of her beloved patron. The darkness flowed up over Her outstretched arms, Her delicate antlers, Her predatory smile.
As the deity stepped gracefully from Her plinth, the birch trees that ringed Jubilation Grove trembled at Her splendor. Wails of praise echoed through the grove.
Celaeno Mysichore descended upon Her acolyte, and the ancient steps of The Dance began anew.
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Woodland Management