The Curious Case of Jacob's Hallow

by Patrick Walsh

  Chapter 1: Another Day

  “Ya did good lads, see you in another three days!” Shaw bellowed joyously.

  The captain received a mix of grateful smiles and bitter glares as the haggard teenagers all piled off down the gangplank. The last two days had been nothing more than exhausting labor, and countless brushes with death. His old ship having been attacked not once, but four times, each struggle nearly sinking them. Most of the young men reconsidered even coming back, their minds focused on the horrors of the days before. Yet all would return as they always did, the promise of silver impossible to turn away in such troubled times.

  The gloomy mass shambled into town and returned to their dreary houses and rundown cottages...all but one that is. A single specter remained perched behind the mast, nervously pulling at the sides of his weather worn fishing coat. The dingy brown of the thing spun a stark contrast against his pale skin and ghostly hair. His luminescent blue eyes were tired, ringed from a chronic lack of sleep. The most recent cause being the very thing he had stayed behind for. Aza had practiced the lines in his head. He knew Captain Shaw was a reasonable man… but also a stubborn one. There were no delusions that what he was asking for would all but certainly be cast down in an instant, but he had no other options. Like a hungry spider, he watched the old man stumble down onto the deck and disappear into his cabin. In no time at all, his captain emerged again with some vale berry wine, a treat he had become accustomed to as of late. As he strode up the deck, ready to look over the haul, Aza popped out from behind the mast. Shaw jumped back, nearly letting his bottle shatter against the ground.

  “Oye lad, you tryna kill me! I thought…. thought you’d all gone home…” He eyed the boy with suspicion, his body shaking a bit from the fright.

  “I am going sir...it's just that I needed to ask you something…” Aza hastily replied.

  “Well why in the Abyss did it have to wait until now?” He turned around and looked out towards the dark sea before them. The fear of what lay beneath slowly washed over him like the cold, salty water gently rocking the very ship he stood upon. “It’s nearly nightfall, the fog’s already seepin in…”

  “I know, but I couldn't ask you earlier. It’s Gregory...last week his condition began to get a lot worse. The herbs we used are running low and I need an advance. It’s only this one time and I don’t even need it all, just a few coins.” Aza met the old man's eyes, pleading with him for sympathy.

  Shaw gave a weary frown and scratched his balding head, not sure what to say. “Lad, I’ve known him for a very long time. I’ve seen what that... thing is doing to him.”

  “But he was getting better. Just before this…...he…. well...he.... We talked ...he.... he asked about you.” Aza stumbled over his words, thoughts skittering around too fast to catch.

  Shaw gave a tired frown. “I know what yer goin through lad...but you can’t keep this up forever.”

  Aza didn’t have an answer or rebuttal. All he knew was that Gregory had been there for him in his darkest hour, and it was his duty to do the same. Even if there was a chance that all his efforts were in vain, he still had to try.

  “I’ll not shed my coins for a fool's errand. You’ll have to wait three days, just like the others. If he truly be gettin better, then that shan't be an issue.” Shaw popped the cork and took a long swig from his bottle. His hand fell away as he continued up the deck, just ready for the damned day to be over.

  Aza’s tangled thoughts struggled against themselves for some convincing reply, but no words would come out. The old man’s declaration was final and immutable, just as it always was. Ideas began to wind and spin about his head as he stumbled back in defeat. Then, as if by instinct, it happened. Aza turned around and gazed at the captain, his haunting eyes unseen by the old man, but felt nonetheless.

  “Stop!” The young man’s voice unwound over the whole of the deck, ensnaring any soul within its wake. His horse tone and desperation lost on all who could hear it.

  Shaw stumbled...then halted where he was, nearly dropping the bottle again. He began to sway, as if he was confused or lost.

  Aza tensed in fear as he realized what he had just done. His tangled mind told him to just make an excuse and leave, yet he felt compelled to go on. “Please... give me the advance. Gregory needs it.” His words began pleading, just like before, but the demand itself was firm and resolute. Each sound and syllable ensnaring the man’s mind like a thousand little threads.

  Shaw turned around and started to say no, but then looked confused again. It was as if every new thought were being wrapped up and pulled away…. say for one. He began frantically searching the deck as if looking for his lost reply. “I think.... you…”, he started stroking his grizzled beard as his eyes darted around the ship.

  Aza didn’t dare move; he could only watch in fear and uncertainty.

  “I eh, suppose I could throw some money yer way...” He blindly groped around his pockets until settling on a small pouch of coins. “Take this, it should be about half yer pay…”

  Aza crept forward and held out a shaking hand. “You’re very kind.”

  “I... suppose I am…”, Shaw muttered, seemingly half aware of what he was saying.

  Aza took the money, nearly snatching it out of the addled captain's hand as he scurried away and off the ship. Before he got onto the gangplank he looked back, and to his relief, Shaw appeared to be regaining his senses. But Aza didn’t stay for anything else, instead disappearing into the crawling fog. The ghostly mist nipped at his heels as he emerged on the opposite end of the docks. Dark wood met the crooked cobblestone while he continued up the winding road and into the village proper. It was around seven in the evening, when most of the peddlers and riff raff had retreated into their shabby abodes for the night. This left him alone on the street with only the fading sounds of the thrashing ocean and dying embers of stifled sunlight to greet him.

  He cursed and belittled himself as he wove around the claustrophobic maze of houses and apartments. There were already enough rumors and gossip about him and others like him; the last thing he needed to do was strain things further. Yet it seemed that with each passing day it became more and more difficult to control his abnormalities. That was the second time this month that he had slipped up in a moment of weakness. Maybe it was the lack of rest or the stress of his grandfather's illness wearing away at his focus. Perhaps it was something about the abnormality he wasn’t aware of. No matter what the cause, it would seem more practice was in order. He gave a faint smile at the thought.

  As he wound around the last of the east end, his eyes kept darting up to the threatening sky above. Shaw was right, night would fully be upon them within the hour, if even that. His pace slowed as he approached his house, but he quickly righted himself. Even as exhausted as he was, he had a job to do. Instead he picked up his pace and charged up the hill, fueled by little more than stubbornness and loyalty. A familiar path of snaking roads and twisting corridors was followed all the way up to Dusk Alley, an obscure cul du sac of small and shady shops. While most of the businesses were already locked down for the night, there was one that remained open. Despite being made of the same dark wood and sitting on the same suffocating streets as any other building, the place had an air of warmth. It sat like a single white tooth crammed in between its crooked, rotten neighbors. The place was run by one old woman brave, or perhaps daft, enough to remain open past sunset. Aza smiled as he recounted her comment to a worried customer, “Look here missy, until those rotten bastards heave their grimy carcasses onto the road, I aint closin up nuthin!” She was an old friend of the family, and for good reason.

  Aza was greeted with a loud “ding” as he b
urst into the shop. He weaved around the cramped wooden shelves, nearly knocking over a pile of old sea maps in his frantic rush. Like usual, there was only one stop to make, that being the back wall. As soon as it came into view Aza’s keen eyes scanned over all the creams and elixirs haphazardly strewn about it. He started sliding aside everything he didn’t need as he began his search. It wasn’t the green jar of eyes, it wasn’t the slimy blue gel, it wasn’t even the circular flask of red mist. It wasn’t any of these random oddities. Aza began to panic, but it was quickly alleviated by a familiar voice.

  “Oye, Aza!”

  He spun around and tilted his head, looking down one of the cluttered aisles. Old Aggie was sitting at the front desk with a small white jar in her hand, and a cocky grin on her wrinkled face. He gave a heavy sigh of relief and hurried over to her, nearly colliding with the ramshackle desk as he came to an abrupt halt.

  “Careful lad! This old girl ain't what it used to be.” She laughed, giving the wooden desk a few knocks.

  “Sorry, it's been a long day.” He quickly responded.

  “Heh, I set aside the coral root for ya near over a week ago. Would have given it to ya sooner if yeh had the manners to tell an old family friend hello once in a wolf’s moon.”

  “It’s been a long month.” Aza replied wearily.

  “Aye, has been for us all, no thanks to that no good Barnabee. I tell ya, all he and his cronies do is tax tax tax, and what do we get in return, nuthin! If those cowards ignore another attack there’ll be a riot, I tell ya.”

  Aza just nodded and counted out coins.

  “Bah, you know I hate it when people do that, think I can’t tell when they aint listenin. Ya damneded kids, head always in the clouds while city hall loots us here on the streets!”

  He gave a small chuckle under his breath. “Politics can wait until morning.”

  Agnis looked out one of the windows and saw the tendrils of fog wrapping themselves around the buildings. “Eye, I suppose so…” She scraped up the coins and deposited them into the register.

  “You could always run.”

  It was Aggie’s turn to laugh as she finished wrapping and bagging the medicine. “It’s all rigged, wouldn’t make a damn difference.” Her eyes lingered on the register as a memory slithered past, but was thrown aside just as quick. “Enough about me, ya have what fun you can at Bertram's mill tomorrow.”

  “Believe it or not I have the day off.” Aza carefully pulled up the bag and headed for the door.

  “Ha, an here I thought you were plannin to work yourself into a grave!”

  “Money waits for no one laddies!” He replied, mimicking her voice.

  The old woman snickered and gave a friendly wave as he hurried out of the store, the bell ringing on the way out. “Ya better be havin that bag back to me by the week’s end mister money maker.”

  He only snickered in return as the door rattled shut behind him.

  The night sky was clear, but the fog had already made its journey up the coastline, ensnaring the town in a phantasmal mist. The only sounds were Aza’s boots splashing about as he charged down the slimy cobblestone. One by one the street lamps around him slowly came to life. Fungal tentacles shifted ever so slightly around their towering poles as the spheres at their peaks turned from a pale white to a striking, luminescent yellow. The light didn’t do much to clear the sinister mist but gave Aza his bearings. It wasn’t the creatures from the sea that frightened him the most on nights like this, but the suffocating stillness, the lights surrounding him like a thousand looming eyes.

  He had a difficult time feeling his way through the fog but knew his way home by heart. Like most of the other houses, it was tall and thin. The wood an odd grey-blue and its frame ever so slightly crooked. He palmed the doors, feeling for the familiar knocker. It was made by his grandma many years ago, intended to be a squid, but ended up a pile of tangled threads. Said tangle of brass adorned their otherwise shabby door and served as an ever useful marker in the foggy haze. As soon as he felt it, the keys were swept out and the heavy door came open. Despite being home, his work was far from finished. First, the bag was delicately set on the fireplace, then he immediately began the nightly lockdown. The door was wood but heavily reinforced with iron, the windows glass but framed by thick wooden shutters. He sped around the house closing every exit, latch, and deadbolt. When that task had been done, he set to work on making a fire. The wood, like most other things in town, was damp, but a few matches and some patience were enough to overcome it. Once he was content with the crackling blaze, he did one last check of the floor, before collapsing onto the dingy couch in the middle of the living area.

  Aza closed his eyes and relaxed his sore muscles, letting the heat of the nearby fireplace warm his bones. Tomorrow was his day off, the first in a long while, and he had to make the most of it. Maybe he would take some of the extra money and buy some milk. He had the rest of the ingredients for a cake and his 18th birthday was only a few days away. He tried to think of the last time he had had a proper birthday. Sure, grandpa tried each year, but all he could do at this point was try. On several occasions Aza had even lied to him, speaking of cake and celebrations that never were. There was no use in making the old man waste his strength on something so trivial. Aza quickly threw the thoughts from his mind and changed his focus to the room around him.

  He looked around the small, cluttered living space, his gaze falling upon an old stack of books. The pile was one of many, but this one had a cracked clay cup at the very top that Aza had meant to get rid of over a week ago. He sat up and held out his left arm, gently drawing it into the path of the cup. His eyes then darted around the room, searching over the towering books and piled boxes. He didn’t know who or what he was supposed to find, but a habit is a habit. His fingers then began shifting and bending, a series of thin blue threads forming between them. They were like spider’s silk if it were made of lantern light, yet seemed to weave about on their own like the tentacles of a squid. From there he let his imagination take over; the discarded cup became a sinister monster while the threads transformed into a powerful musket. He closed one eye and took aim, a familiar warmth crawling up his hand. Immediately, the tangle of light shot out and into the cup, shattering it upon impact. They pierced straight through, slicing against a few boxes behind them before limply falling to the ground. He set his hand back down and the glowing threads dissipated into nothingness, a cocky smile appearing over their creator’s face. He had gotten pretty good with them these last few years, though he had yet to use them for more than assistance with labor.

  Satisfied with the shot, he flopped back down and began forming them again within his eager fingertips. Unlike before, he kept them bound between his hands, weaving them as a spider does its thread. After all this time he still had no idea what they were. He knew others had them, but none dared speak of it. They felt so warm and natural, like an extension of himself, yet fleeting. Maybe if everyone had them, they wouldn’t be so afraid. Once again he had to pull his mind back to positivity and think of things he could do tomorrow. Yet despite his best efforts, he was beyond exhausted. His hands slowed as his eyelids became heavy, the strings beginning to fade away as sleep drew him closer into its soothing embrace.

  “They’re here! By the loa, they’re here!” The manic screams seemed to rock the entire house.

  Aza jumped at the sound and his strings missed their target. Four of the thrashing tendrils flew out and sliced into the tea table, nearly cutting all the way through. He had little time to care. Instead, he just let the remaining strings dissipate as he rolled off the couch and dashed up the crooked stairs.

  At the end of a stubby hallway above, was Gregory’s room. Aza tore open the door and rushed inside. The old man’s bed was at the far right corner, directly below a locked window. The rest of the room was buried in a cluttered mess of moldy books and failed remedies. Aza’s eyes darted around the darkness and landed by the side of his grandpa’s bed. The small d
ining cart he used had been thrown over, the food rotting on the floor. There were also a number of other odds and ends that had been tossed or shattered now littering the ground. Gregory himself was thrashing around in bed, his one good arm grasping for anything around him to grab onto. Panicking, Aza ran over to the dresser and grabbed a small purple jar, the same as the one he had bought, only far emptier. He poured the last of its contents into a bowl of red gel and began mixing.

  “Who are you!? You get away now you hear me!” The old man looked to his grandson with wild, hate filled eyes.

  “It’s me, Edwards, you’ve been poisoned.” Aza tried his best to sound convincing, but his unraveling thoughts were focused on the medicine.

  “They...Edwards...how did we get here?” He turned his head in all directions, only able to see a room from years long since passed.

  Aza hurried over to him with the bubbling mixture. “Drink this and you’ll be back out in no time.”

  Gregory eyed it suspiciously but drank it up. He threw the empty glass to the ground and glared up at Aza. “You liar, I’ll kill you!”

  The young man took a step back as his grandpa impotently grabbed at him, unable to get up. Like usual he began to wear himself out, and when compounded with the medication, it was enough to lull him back to sleep. Aza stood by his bedside and waited for a while in case it wasn’t enough; it was never enough these days. For so long it had just been a downward spiral; then he began to get better. For the first time in a long time Aza had hope. Then things got bad, far more than they ever had been. His delusions got more vivid and ultimately more violent. Now it was something of a gamble. He would have to ask the caretaker what the old man had been like the last few days. Deep down the answer was known, but he held out hope nonetheless. While his mind worried and wandered, the seconds turned to minutes and minutes to nearly an hour. Finally content that the remedy had worked, he slowly turned around and slid over to the door like a ghost in the shadows.