Forgotten Ones
Page 8
He released one final scream as the air was forced from his lungs, the sound of ribs cracking and blood gushing the last thing he heard.
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Destined
Heidi Ann Willits
The fire licked at my skin as my sisters and I spun around, each of us draped in white. Ethereal swirls of gossamer acted as both a physical and magical veil between two realities.
As I bounded in and out of our world I felt the darkness creep in. I looked to my family, but they were dancing, chanting, twirling in a circle light as air, but I felt drawn to the ground.
When I could dance no longer I crashed to my resting place. They didn’t stop dancing. I became one with the earth.
Sacrificial.
This was my purpose.
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Sealed Away
Michael D. Nadeau
She pressed the block, activating the door, and dust fell down around her. This tomb was older than anything they had found yet, and the dry Egyptian heat couldn’t touch her this deep.
The dark room beckoned her, its silence taunting her. She crept in and brushed the dust away from the plaque on the far wall. The ancient hieroglyphics naming the mystery man buried here as foreign. Through another arch she saw the sarcophagus, no likeness carved in bas relief.
The name etched on the lid was simple, written in Aramaic, and it shocked her to her core: Cain.
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Resurrection
Nerisha Kemraj
Marie uttered the last line of the spell, drizzling her blood onto the five-pointed star. Candle wax dripped onto Jason's jacket, lying in the pentagram’s center.
A sudden flash of light blinded her as the flame extinguished.
Adjusting to darkness Marie exhaled, elated as a figure emerged from the star's core.
It worked! The Lord of Death had returned Jason to her!
"There'll be an exchange of souls to complete the ritual," the Priestess had told her.
She was wrong, I'm still alive.
It was only when she looked inside the crib that Marie realised her baby breathed no more.
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Beware the Kelpie
David A.F. Brown
The boys spot the stallion by the water. “Touch it!” they dare.
Angus approaches the horse. Making gentle contact he traces his fingers over its coarse, black mane, commanding the beast with a steadfast glare.
He mounts its back. His friends cheer in awe, until a shrill scream erupts. “My hand is stuck!”
Angus tugs hard, but the mane snakes around his body, gripping limbs and snapping bones. As the horse returns to the deep loch, Angus’ howls turn into gurgles.
Mouths agape, the boys watch helplessly as their friend’s entrails surge to the surface in a burst of crimson.
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The Boggart
Russell Smeaton
My new house was old, nestled against an ancient forest. Naked footprints, with oh-so-long toes, soon began to appear.
The creature enjoyed stealing my morning milk delivery.
Leaving a saucer of milk one night solved the problem: no more theft, and even a tidy yard. Locals warned me, but I didn’t listen.
When I forgot to leave milk one night things descended into madness. The yard was trashed, broken glass everywhere.
I’ve escaped back in the city, where there’s safety in numbers.
This morning my car mirrors were broken, the saucer of milk untouched. I’m seriously considering leaving the country.
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Touchdown
DeBickel
The students had crouched beneath desks and tables as thunderous winds ripped the school roof off. Everyone survived the tornado, though Kenny was spouting nonsense.
“I saw monsters! They took the roof!”
His English teacher, Mr. Diaz, thought Kenny was just high again.
The students picked up things as they left, though soon a student screamed. Mr. Diaz came running as a girl pointed at a creature laying in a trashed hallway. The lower half was clearly avian, with sharp talons and wings, but the upper half …
“Mr. Diaz, that’s what Kenny saw!”
Mr. Diaz choked. “A harpy?”
Something in the Soil
Arnie May
Their greed had poisoned them.
It had led to their unquenchable want, to their revolt, and, as far as they’d believed, his death. The same soil he had fertilized and tilled they made his grave.
His unfathomably-deep sedation wore off, giving way to vengeance. He felt their presence above. Surely they were just as ungrateful, always forgetting last year’s fruitful harvest in one thought of the next.
He disturbed the hundred-year-old earth encasing his mighty limbs. Roots snapped and trees sank. How foolish of them to forget such rough treatment, he thought. He wouldn’t be quick to do the same.
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Among the Foxgloves
Elizabeth Nettleton
“You deserve this.”
I ran my finger over the blade of my dagger. She watched me, her face pale and her mouth open, spittle dripping through her teeth and onto her chin. Her hand grabbed at the air, but the stars wouldn’t save her. No, not tonight. They saw what she did to me.
“You destroyed my home.”
Her legs thrashed above me, kicking feebly. I flicked my wrist and she fell, a blanket of green faerie dust falling with her. My wings opened, and I pressed my dagger against her throat.
“Do you feel like picking my flowers now?”
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The Demon Star
Ann Wycoff
True magic is hatched by innocent pain, hence the Sorcerer coveted suffering without end for his carnivorous spells.
Revulsion.
Ruination.
Rebirth.
Diviners of songs exposed his moment of supreme vulnerability. Warriors seized, then bound him to a stake upon the blessed pyre.
“Kindle the sacred flame! Dance!”
A star in Gazelle’s horn burst into a coruscating blaze of bloody light, as if waiting trillions of lifetimes for this moment, and the Alkebulan night wore a hungry demon’s face.
A hideous strength.
The mob fled as one.
Uncleanliness oozed out from distant fever trees, loosening the Sorcerer’s bonds.
Vindication.
Victory.
Vengeance.
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The Spruce Bog
Bryan Dyke
The war-party halts for a moment, frozen in time, their faces shifting from focused to terrified. I try to speak, but what comes out is a noise like scraping tree boughs. The spruce clamors, and the bog revolts in my wake.
The warriors drop their tomahawks and run.
“Wen-di-go!” one screams.
Wendigo?
The name means nothing to me as they flee.
I look down to the bog and observe my reflection. A tawny body, bleached skin, clumped fur, and eyes that glow blood-red.
I do not care. I am no longer cold and tired; instead I hunger for human flesh.
An End to Suffering
Matthew A. Clarke
The battle rages around me, indifferent to my suffering. I writhe in blood-slicked ash, clutching at my mangled face.
Bristled hairs, warm and tacky, seep through my fingers, sliding from flesh that is no more than lumpy paste.
Bjorn lands hard beside me, his legs lashed to ribb
ons. A barbed arrow tip glints red through the back of his skull.
I grasp his calloused hand in one of mine, feeling my face collapse as I look up at the dark, burning heavens.
Valkyries breach the thundering clouds, and my vision begins to wane.
I whisper, "See you in Valhalla, brother."
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Gryla's Tradition
Brian Rosenberger
She hears the bells, the songs from the village, but pays little notice. She’s more intent on the purrs from Jólaköttur, her black cat, keeping one ear cocked to the insults exchanged between her lads as they hurl rotten potatoes at each other.
They grow restless.
She’s restless too as she stirs the pot. Soon it will be time to leave the cave, to lumber south. The bells continue to chime. She listens for voices of naughty children, music to her oversized ears. The voices draw closer. Gryla sips, tasting. The key ingredient was still missing, but not for long.
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Entry to Valhalla
Kase Glidewell
Thunder rumbled, a hammer struck.
A murder of crows lifted off the ground and took to the air. The blood had caked and dried on Odin’s face, as black as the feathers of his crows.
Einar stood over the broken bodies of his fallen friends, their dead eyes staring to the heavens. He shakily picked up his axe.
“I won’t join you today.” Einar said.
Odin shook his head. “Your friends already have.”
Einar wiped the blood from his face and hefted his shield up. This would be it. With a cry, he rushed towards Odin’s spear, ready to die.
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Andromeda's Fate
Faith Pierce
They bind me, strip me.
She orders it, but my hair she does herself. Grasping handfuls, shearing it away, tossing it into the ocean that crashes at my bare feet against the rocks.
Every day since the first I can remember, she has held my hair in her hands and told me I am beautiful. That day, I learned it was with envy.
They rip me apart. One trillion pieces, offered to the sky.
Later she tells the story of her enemies taking me, a tale of a daring rescue by a half-god.
I watch, trapped in my starry prison.
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Free Candy
Gabriella Balcom
Opening the door of her hut Baba Yaga stepped outside, waving a hand at her home.
Ten-year-old Andi skipped along hours later. She gasped at the cookie-shaped house covered in treats, and the “Free Candy” sign.
Sweets were everywhere inside, and she stuffed handfuls into her mouth.
Baba Yaga appeared before her, ripping off the girl's right arm and sucking the bloody end before devouring it.
Andi collapsed, screaming hysterically.
Using a long, jagged fingernail the witch beheaded her, cackling as blood spurted out. Baba Yaga gnawed straight through the child's skull and into the brain, eagerly smacking her lips.
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Friendship Repaid
Ann Wycoff
For years, my “friend” boasted of his good fortune, and sneered at my poverty.
Then....
“Will you sponsor my nephew Petre for the Mystery?”
I was an initiate, who knew a deep secret.
“Drink!”
Petre drank.
“Nepenthe,” we chanted.
We lowered him into a waiting pithos.
“Descend into darkness.”
Virgins tossed pomegranate seeds and amaranth into the jar over him.
Horns brayed.
Initiates sealed the vessel with a leaden stopper.
Suffocate, Petre, inside your coffin jar!
The secret?
Thousands lie fermenting beneath the temple. Only masters may feast upon the delicacies contained within the pithoi.
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Origin
Holley Cornetto
The stones stood in a perfect circle. There were no fires, yet the evening breeze carried with it the scent of burning leaves. Within the sleeping earth something stirred. A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, splitting the largest stone to its core. The chanting grew louder, cries of man and creature alike mingled in the darkness. Wine was poured over the severed stone, and into the broken earth.
What once was valley is now a swelled, pregnant belly of rolling hills. Gaia will soon give birth. Oh, Mother of Titans, what monsters shall you deliver forth this time?
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Chosen
K.T. Tate
The gate opens! Outer gods, maddening and obscene, pull themselves into our reality. Chaos reigns as the sky turns unspeakable. Standing steadfast we admire its beauty.
I was just a child when I made a pact. Bloody and broken I’d cried out; that’s when the void answered. Their messenger, a pitch nightmare, still less terrifying than my abusers.
I became their key. I learned their rites, leaving ancient symbols graffitied across the world. Secret places became contaminated with their lore, the stars aligned and the world lit up. Now I stand with their obsidian envoy, watching the world burn.
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The Dullahan
Drew Starling
O’er borough and bog rides the death dealing Dullahan.
Through Kilmaine and Cork, through Galway and Tullaghan.
On a brindle-black mare clad in steel-plated mail,
Headless devourer spreading fear through the vale.
Ivory white skull grinning in elbow’s crook,
Freezes Dullahan’s prey with no more than a look.
Whip made of bone, of the spine from its victims,
Lashes folly-found men who believe they have tricked him.
Dullahan, Dullahan ride far away from this place!
Let innocent men die with honor and grace.
Dullahan, Dullahan we’ll give thee a crown,
If you spare us tonight, and strike the next town.
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Binding Agreement
Kim Plasket
“Never open an email entitled Binding Agreement, unless you want to suffer.”
Those words came back to me as I read the email. Text of the email said, “In ancient times the curse was read. I bind you to death meaning the one who reads will die."
I felt my skin boiling, blood leaking from my ears as the curse began to take effect. I knew one day I'd die, but didn’t think it would be so soon. My life was over, but I had misery to spread.
I entered several names, and my last action was to press 'Forward'.
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Blood in Sand
Alice de Sampaio
“There's a difference between lonely and lonesome. The latter is by choice, and filled with content. Believe me, I know.”
The soldier next to him shivered in fear, but Polemos didn't care. He was here to fight, not to comfort the meek.
His sword longed for blood. With every strike Polemos felt more like himself. Blood looked pretty on sand, and it never looked prettier than in the sands of Troy. Polemos charged, his war cry spearing through his opponents' bones.
He was battle.
He was despair.
He was war.
The bodies piling at his feet were a worthy sacrifice.
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The Blood
Chris Bannor
The rain fell heavy around him. Not even the thick canopy of trees could stop the water as it fell over broad shoulders covered in ritualistic glyphs. Blood dripped from his curved blade, falling into muddied
footprints as he continued on his quest.
There was nowhere they could hide. He was the ancient god of a long-forgotten people, but their blood still called to him. As the slaughter continued he heard their pleas. They would remember him once more. Outsiders would remember to fear him, and his people would love him.
Then the Blood would rise once more.
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The Water
Callum Pearce
The water goddess had returned to take us all.
The ice was melting, the seas rising. She desired me today. She whispers behind the rain, speaking to me through running taps.
"Come home.”
At the beach I lowered myself into the sand. I felt it shift and slide, moulding around me. I waited patiently for the hungry waves to claim me. She would come for everyone, but momentarily she spoke only to me.
The waves whispered welcomes and crept closer, swallowing me up. The stench of filth crept up my nostrils and coated my tongue, followed by dirty, dark saltwater.
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Under the Chapel
Joel R. Hunt
“Come in, come in. You must be exhausted!”