Legacy

by JG Faherty

  A moment after the rock landed in the water, a second noise reached my ears.

  I stopped breathing. Another sound, farther away. A dark, menacing sound.

  The ocean isn’t quiet; even a deserted beach is filled with sounds: the shushing of waves rolling in and out, the splish-splunk of the occasional fish breaking the surface, the rattle of crab claws against stone.

  What I’d heard was none of those.

  My pulse pounded in my ears and my lungs started reminding me that it was time to breathe again, but I continued to wait.

  Five seconds.

  Ten.

  There. I heard it again. A wet grunting, like someone talking with a mouthful of water.

  “Ree-aighht.”

  I got up and walked to the edge of the water.

  The words were clearer. Closer.

  “Eee aaiighht.”

  Something moved atop the surface, twenty or so yards away. I squinted my eyes. Was that a round shape, like the top of a head? All I could see was a black silhouette against the nearly black sky.

  “What do you want?” I whispered.

  “Eeee wait.”

  We wait?

  “Wait for what? What do you want?” This time I shouted it.

  My only answer was the shush-sliding of the waves. It was all I needed; I knew the answer.

  The creatures beneath the waves were biding their time, waiting for one thing, and one thing only. Me. Only I had the power to set them free, let their evil loose upon the world. Or keep them locked away for another century.

  I considered this. Took a deep breath.

  And made my choice.

  Chapter Twelve

  Melissa was still sitting on my bed when I returned. She didn’t speak as I sat down next to her and took off my shirt.

  Leaning back against the wall, I surrendered to my selfish urges and let the being inside me come forth. Grotesque tentacles burst from my body in a spray of clear, sticky fluids; unlike my dreams, it was painless, pleasurable even, like being freed from clothing two sizes too small. The squirming appendages lashed out and wrapped themselves around Melissa, pulling her toward me in an alien embrace. She didn’t struggle; instead, she smiled and gave herself to me, her expression a mixture of rapture and victory.

  Mouthlike suckers, ringed with tiny teeth and rough tongues, tore her clothing away so that by the time the twisting coils withdrew into the earthly vessel that was my body, her hot flesh was pressed against my own cool, clammy skin.

  I held her tightly with my human hands while intumescent projections, extensions of another part of my body—a more appropriate part, under the circumstances—grew forth and penetrated her, front and back simultaneously.

  “Nyarlathotep,” she moaned, and for the first time in days, I saw an honest emotion on her face.

  Adoration.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Melissa and I woke up two days later, the morning sun cowered behind a curtain of vulgar clouds, their unpleasant appearance mirroring the world around us.

  Melissa made no comment about my appearance when we woke, nor did she shy away when I stroked one long, black nail down her arm, drawing beads of blood from her ravaged flesh. If the numerous cuts and bruises I’d left on her skin during our hours of passion hurt her, she kept silent about it.

  Since my discovery and acceptance of who I was, I hadn’t seen my family once. Now, as went downstairs, we found my parents waiting for us in the kitchen, standing on either side of the table where we’d shared so many meals.

  The same table where my brother Owen’s body now lay, carved open from neck to groin, his exposed organs steaming and fresh.

  “My son,” my mother said, the bloody cleaver still in her hand.

  I nodded, still unsure of how I should react to the sudden fealty being paid to me. Melissa nudged me with her elbow.

  “The sacrifice is for you, my love,” she whispered.

  The sight of my brother’s butchered carcass didn’t repulse me, but I also had no idea what to do with it. Then, like the time in the diner, my body reacted instinctively, knowing what it needed. My chest split open and a tentacle uncoiled. It wavered over the body for a moment, then homed in on Owen’s liver, which it plucked out with one strong tug. Wrapped around its prize, it withdrew back inside me and the bloodless wound in my chest sealed itself again.

  A warm, satisfied feeling filled me, as if I’d just finished Thanksgiving dinner.

  “Come, my love,” Melissa said to me. “It’s time to see your town.”

  Hand in hand, we walked out into the world I’d wrought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As we walked through town, heading toward the waterfront, I could see how New Hope had already begun to change, reacting to the corrupt energies enveloping the island, energies that emanated from me, although my ability to control them was still only in its nascent stage.

  Paint peeled from buildings that had previously gleamed clean and fresh. Lichens and mosses, colored in offensive greens and browns and ochres, created slimy coatings on the walls of many structures. Queer-looking vines, with sharp hooks and bile-yellow leaves, crept up walls and staircases. Some of the alien flora moved of its own accord, weaving back and forth like botanical cobras despite an absence of wind. Structures that just a few days before had stood tall and proud now displayed crumbling stone and bricks, and black, gaping holes occupied spaces that previously held plate-glass windows. Inside stores, clothing and other goods sat covered in mold and rot.

  The sidewalks we walked upon, like the roads we crossed, had deteriorated as well. Fissures and cracks ran in all directions, crossing each other in arcane patterns, some of which I recognized from my readings as words and symbols written in the Old Language.

  The changes weren’t limited to the town. I trod upon the broken ground in my bare feet, which had grown too large to fit comfortably into shoes. Like the rest of me, their flesh was gray and covered in spiderwebs of bulging, greenish veins. Translucent webbing filled the spaces between my toes and fingers, and all my nails had turned black and sharp. Most of my hair lay in clumps back on my bedroom floor; only scattered tufts still sprouted from my head, sticking up at odd angles. I’d glanced in the mirror before we’d left, so although I couldn’t see them now, I knew that tiny cilia ringed my mouth like miniature feelers.

  The deterioration was worse when we reached the docks. A rancid mist obscured the water, from which issued eerie bellows and croaks as the first dreadful denizens rose up from the depths, harbingers of greater horrors to come. The piers themselves seemed to have aged a hundred years since I’d seen them last; rotted wood appeared ready to crumble under the step of an unwary person, and vile slime grew in large patches. Strings of mucous-coated ocean weeds hung from beneath the piers, occasionally lashing out to snare unwholesome sea creatures. The half-digested corpses of fish peeked out from clumps of the carnivorous seaweeds.

  Abandoned fishing boats lay half-beached on the rocks below the seawall, covered in barnacles and other growths up to their rails. The door to the harbormaster’s shack hung at a sinister angle from one hinge. Something resembling a giant spider, larger than both my overgrown hands and covered in horny protuberances, had created a home for itself in the doorway, its web composed of fiercely barbed strands.

  A repugnant odor drifted in from the corrupted sea. It was the smell of impossibly faraway realms and distant plains, the stink of flesh not meant for the Earth, the contaminated morning breath of insane creatures waking from eons-long sleep.

  “How long do we have?” I asked Melissa, as we paused to watch the soiled waves leave their liver-colored foam on the rocks.

  She looked out at the rank waters, a tranquil expression on her bruised face. “This is but the beginning. The process is a slow one. Once New Hope has been made over, you’ll need to travel to the othe
r places, other cities that occupy similar places of power. Only when that phase is complete can the next steps be taken.”

  “The opening of the Gate.” In my mind, I saw the black disk of my dreams, bulging outward in anticipation. Only now I knew what lay behind it, and what its opening meant for the future of mankind.

  “Yes. It will take us many years to prepare the ceremony. Many sacrifices will have to be made, much blood gathered.”

  “And in the end?”

  She shook her head. Her hair, once sunshine bright and full of body, now hung pale and limp about her neck and shoulders. Her flesh displayed the red welts and bruises of our mating like badges of honor, some shaped like fingers, many more like circular mouths.

  “Don’t think about that. By the time you have to depart your human body, you will have lived far longer than your human lifespan. And even then, you will go on, in your true form. As a god, you’ll know no death.”

  “And what of you, Melissa? You’re only human flesh and bone. How long do you have?”

  She smiled, showing teeth already growing pointed and sharp. “I am more than that, thanks to you. I will be with you to the end, and give you many offspring.”

  I reached out my hand. My fingers elongated, and tiny suckers formed on their pale undersides. I pulled her close.

  Amidst the corruption and death, I began the process of populating my new world.

  About the Author

  JG Faherty is a Bram Stoker Award® and ITW Thriller Award nominee and the author of five novels, seven novellas, and more than fifty short stories. He writes adult and YA horror/sci-fi/fantasy, and his works range from quiet, dark suspense to over-the-top comic gruesomeness. He enjoys urban exploring, photography, classic B-movies, good wine, and pumpkin beer. As a child, his favorite playground was a 17th-century cemetery, which many people feel explains a lot. His personal motto is “Photobombing people since 1979!”

  You can follow him at www.twitter.com/jgfaherty, www.facebook.com/jgfaherty, http://about.me/jgfaherty, and www.jgfaherty.com

  Look for these titles by JG Faherty

  Now Available:

  Castle by the Sea

  Thief of Souls

  Fatal Consequences

  Coming Soon:

  Cult of the Black Jaguar

  How did they get here? Will they ever get out?

  Castle by the Sea

  © 2014 JG Faherty

  Jason and Erika are having a wonderful time at the Halloween carnival...until their swan boat in the Tunnel of Love capsizes amid heavy waves and blaring, maniacal laughter. When they come to they are no longer in a carnival in Ohio, but standing at the edge of a sea in a raging storm. In the distance, atop a high, barren hill, looms an enormous castle.

  Instead of answers, Jason and Erika find only more impossibilities within the stone walls. The lavish rooms are lit only by torches and fireplaces, the decorations and furniture are a century out of date, and the mysterious host claims to not own one of those newfangled telephone inventions. Outside, in the storm and the dense mist, lurk strange, threatening figures. Inside, another couple seeking refuge think it must all be a nightmare. Perhaps it is. Or perhaps it’s something much, much worse.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Castle by the Sea:

  The carnival appeared without warning, as it has always done and always will. This time it was the residents of Cannonsville, Oklahoma, who woke up on October 30 to find a Halloween carnival set up just outside town. Signs proclaiming Carnival of Fear—One Night Only! covered telephone poles, windshields and fence posts everywhere, as if magic elves had spent the entire night doing PR work.

  By noon, there wasn’t a man, woman or child in Cannonsville who hadn’t made plans to attend the festivities that evening.

  After all, how often did a Halloween carnival come to town?

  The setting sun was no more than a crescent of fiery orange atop the horizon when a tall, skeletally thin man in a multicolored suit entered the Tunnel of Love through a back door. A black stovepipe hat with a sunflower tucked into the band perched jauntily atop the bald dome of his head. Worm-pale lips stretched from one side of his moon-white face to the other in a hideous smile as he stroked a bony hand across the animal-shaped boats waiting for riders.

  He stopped at one, a graceful white swan with two seats. “Perfect,” he whispered, and the swan nodded in agreement, its eyes glowing red for just a moment.

  The Proprietor’s impossible smile grew even wider, the ends of it rising past the bottoms of his ears.

  “Ah, what fun Jason and Erika shall have tonight. What fun, what fun indeed.”

  Flashes of white arced across the night sky, leaving red afterimages in Jason Phillips’s vision. In the lightning’s wake, thunder crashed with bone-jarring intensity, as if the world were floating inside a celestial kettledrum. Jason gripped Erika’s hand and helped her struggle up the steep slope. Each step was an adventure; the freezing, drenching rain had turned the narrow path into a deadly torrent of mud and water that threatened to wash them away at the first careless moment.

  Jason tried to keep his mind on finding the right footholds and handholds in the brief bursts of light provided by the aerial pyrotechnics, but his thoughts kept returning to the reality—or unreality, he thought—of their situation. The suddenness of their displacement from the carnival, and the ferocity of the storm they’d found themselves in, had prevented them from discussing what had happened, but he knew they’d have to face the facts sooner or later.

  The evening had started so innocently. A romantic night at the carnival—they’d intended to see the sights, go on a few rides, maybe grab a candy apple or a corn dog and then head back to Jason’s apartment for a very different—but much more enjoyable!—kind of ride. Erika hadn’t stopped smiling and Jason, loath to ruin what was turning out to be an amazing time, had gone on ride after ride with her, each one more exhilarating than the last, despite the hour getting later.

  Then they’d decided to try the Tunnel of Love. Ordinarily, Jason would have objected—after all, it cost three bucks a ticket and all you did was float in some smelly water for five minutes. However, he recognized it as a chance to make a romantic gesture, something he probably didn’t do enough of. So he’d paid the six dollars and they’d let the rough-looking carny with the ragged scar on his face help them into their swan-shaped boat.

  Hidden speakers delivered the soft strains of “Muskrat Love”—the perfect corny love song for a corny ride—as the boat slipped away from the dock, taking its place in line behind the other swans. Jason pictured the other riders, some, like him, demonstrating they did have a romantic soft spot. Others trying to recapture their youth. Teenagers looking to perhaps get a little further than usual, cop a feel of a soft, young breast or experience the thrill of that first kiss.

  Smiling to himself, he wished them all good luck and hoped that thirty years from now it would be he and Erika reliving their younger days, clasping wrinkled hands and saying how much they still loved each other.

  He put his arm around Erika. She snuggled up against him, and in that moment everything was perfect. The music was no longer trite, the water didn’t smell like a mud puddle, and the cheap murals on the walls became as picturesque as a summer garden.

  Perfect.

  And then the entire world went to hell.

  The moment their boat slid into the pitch-black tunnel, the previously calm waters turned rough. Erika had cried out and grabbed on to him as the boat dipped and rose with stomach-churning intensity. Foul water splashed over them, soaking their clothes. Insane laughter burst from the loudspeakers, drowning out the soft melodies with painful intensity. Jason shouted for someone to stop the ride, but the only response was more laughter. The waves grew stronger and stronger until they thought the boat might overturn.

  And then it did.

  The worl
d tumbled around Jason for an instant before his face hit the water and he went under. He tried to push off from the bottom but his hands and feet touched nothing. Another wave hit, spinning him over and around at the same time until he was so disoriented he couldn’t think. Water filled his nose and ran down his throat into his lungs, forcing him into uncontrollable coughs that quickly led to choking when he was unable to find the surface.

  There was a moment where he felt pure terror, knowing he was about to drown in a stupid carnival ride.

  Then, in the next instant, he found himself kneeling in waist-deep water, Erika on her hands and knees beside him, a horrific storm battering them with rain and wind. Flashes of lightning lit the sky like a giant lamp turning on and off, and he caught sight of land only a few yards away.

  “C’mon!” he’d shouted, grabbing Erika’s hand. Tumbling and falling in the pounding surf, Jason had led Erika to a beach made mostly of black stones and giant hunks of rock.

  That was when they saw the lights at the top of a long hill. Confused and disoriented, Jason had instinctively headed for them.

  Erika screamed, pulling Jason’s attention back to the here and now. She’d fallen again, her hand slipping from his. He wiped water from his face in a futile attempt to see better; the heavy rain hid everything behind a curtain of gray.

  Jason stumbled back down the path until he found Erika clinging to a rock with both hands as a miniature river swirled over her. He said a silent prayer of thanks that she was still with him. More than once during their climb he’d seen strange shadowy shapes moving through the rain, their forms rendered indistinct by the storm. Each time, the dim figures had faded back into the wall of rain and mist that blanketed the unfamiliar landscape, disappearing before he could get a good look at them. Even when they weren’t visible, the feeling of being watched remained.