The Curious Case of Jacob's Hallow

by Patrick Walsh

  His friend smiled and snatched the gun. “It’s been too long.”

  Luke collected some rounds and powder while Aza walked over to check on the range. Said range was eleven or so thin, bullet riddled pieces of wood nailed to the top of a shorter wall. Once Luke joined him, the two raced to see who could load their weapon faster. Luke won, and in one clean shot took the top off of the middle most target. Aza fired his own shot but missed. The two repeated, each time Luke hit his mark while Aza’s bullet went long. It had always been like this, a result of living in the city opposed to the country.

  “I suppose some things never change.” Aza looked up to the crumbling target Luke had laid into.

  “I’s sure you’ll get it onea these days” Luke looked to him reassuringly.

  Aza nodded and took aim once more. He looked to his target, the barrel, then just stood, waiting for the perfect shot. When a large gust of wind roared through, he fired, cutting right between two of the targets and burying the bullet in a tree branch.

  Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “You could always use your...well…”

  Aza shook his head. “No, I need to learn.”

  Luke watched as his friend reloaded, took aim, and missed again. “I’s don’t wanna be mean, but we only have so many bullets. Yous been trying to learn for three years an... maybe it’s just time to give it up…”

  Aza lowered the empty weapon. “If you had to learn then it's only fair that I have to.”

  While it didn’t emanate off of him like the fear, Luke could sense his friend’s feeling of defeat and shame. “Last time yous said you used them strings to cut wood at Bertrum’s.” He looked around. “I know I’s said this a dozen times, but it’s just me and you out here. If ya really think we needa start recruitin, then we need everythin we got.”

  Aza thought about it, thought of a response...but lost it to a web of uncertainty and poor excuses. Luke was right, and Aza felt safe around him. Besides, he liked using them and had been getting better at it. With one last look of assurance from his friend, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The weapon fell to the ground as his body began to turn. His left arm slowly pulled back as his feet found their place. Both eyes opened, each one glowing a bit brighter than they had before. In one quick motion he swung his whole body forwards and whipped his arm in an arc. While the motion carried out, translucent blue threads came darting from his palm. They sped up his fingers and shot clean out to the wall, cutting down all but one of their targets.

  Luke looked at Aza in awe. “By the loa that was…how long have you been able to do that?”

  Aza stumbled over his words before responding. “I... practice...from time to time.”

  “I’s been tellin you fer years to use them an you do it without me?”

  “No! It’s just not something...I don’t know…” Aza looked back to the target wall.

  “Ya can’t let ol Tom or his dad’s crowd get to ya.” Luke put his hand to his friend’s shoulder. “There’s plenty a people who know yous good, they’re just quieter.”

  “Thanks...though I guess now we’ll need more targets.”

  Luke laughed and looked to the wall himself. “I’s suppose we will.”

  The pair spent the remainder of the day knocking down more wooden planks or old can stacks. Luke fired off his rifle while Aza wielded his threads. The whole thing came to a close by looking back over their map one last time in search of any pattern they could have missed. In the end none was found, and the lantern was snuffed out. At this point the two could no longer ignore the ever darkening sky or the winds picking up speed around them. Luke hopped out and looked up to the swirly mass of angry black clouds. His gaze shifted South, seeing the cold sea winds pushing a great storm closer to their little village.

  “We better head back to the farm; looks like a storm’s rollin in.”

  Aza stepped out and looked to the foreboding sky above, then what lay out to sea. “I suppose you’re right.” He buttoned up the top of his overcoat and followed Luke back to the crevice.

  They hurried down the jagged corridor and back out to the farm. The two shook hands and parted ways, Aza sprinting down a path leading towards town while Luke hurried back to his house. Aza didn’t like the idea of being back in the scarecrow ridden field alone, but the crash of thunder reminded him that there were worse things to worry about. He ran until he was out of breath and then ran some more. The thunder and wind drowned out his footsteps as he charged back over the great bridges, the glowing streetlamps the only thing to guide him as he stumbled back to what he thought to be his neighborhood. The rain began to come down just as he felt the familiar knocker and let himself inside, slamming the door behind him.

  “You’re late.”

  Tired and gasping for breath, he turned to the couch and saw Gretel reading a novel and sipping tea. “I...I’m sorry, we have extra blankets if you’re fine staying. Or I can walk with you if ya want to get home.”

  She laughed. “At this time of day? Come on lad, you think so little of me as to assume I’d drag you out into the fog with those things?”

  He laughed a bit. “Just seemed like poor hospitality. Probably worth dying in the fog over. ” He pulled himself from the door as he began to breathe normally again.

  She rolled her eyes.“Ah, it aint nuthun. I expected just as much from you two.” She set her tea down and pointed to the ceiling. “He should be asleep now.”

  “Gregory give you any trouble?”

  She shrugged. “Nuthun I wasn’t able to handle meself.”

  Aza smiled and unbuttoned the front of his overcoat as he walked over to the pantry. Out came half a loaf of bread and a few dried squid shavings. He picked some of the mold off and hurried upstairs, leaving Gretel to her book. He paused when he reached Gregory’s door, unsure whether to try and knock.

  “Hello?” Aza spoke softly, unsure if his grandad could hear him, assuming he was even awake.

  He gripped the doorknob and slowly pushed it open, revealing a familiar cluttered darkness. To his surprise, Gretel had actually cleaned up some of the mess. The medicines were better organized and much of the rotten food had been thrown out. Like she said, Gregory looked to be sound asleep in his bed. Aza carefully pulled the blanket so that it covered the old man’s toes and added another one on top of that for the cold night ahead. He picked up a chair and moved it over to the bed. All the lamps were snuffed out, say for one, and he took a seat. The room was still, the only sounds came from the storm raging just outside their walls. Aza nibbled on his meal and watched his grandfather lightly snore, a peaceful look over his grizzled face. The bread and squid were slowly reduced to crumbs as he waited silently in the darkness. Just as he was about to give up for the night the old man abruptly opened his eyes. Aza stayed completely still as they swung around the room, soon falling upon him. For a moment they looked on him with a fearful rage, but then softened as they began to focus.

  “Aza?” The old man’s voice was hoarse.

  He perked up and smiled. “Yeah, it's me.”

  His eyes glazed over for a moment. “Why...” He turned his head and used his good arm to pull over the blanket.

  Aza’s smile disappeared when he saw the look on his grandfather’s face.

  Gregory looked at his left arm, and the bit of skin exposed from his nightshirt. His flesh was covered in a porous, orange fungus. It had even spread to the bed and side of the wall, pinning him down. “How long…”

  “It’s better not to know.”

  “I won’t remember if you tell me...will I?”

  Aza looked at the floor. “No.”

  “Oh…” He slowly laid back down as the utter helplessness of his situation crawled over him. His head turned the other way and he looked at his grandson. “My, how you’ve grown!” He laughed. “You have your mother’s eyes, but ya look just like your father.”

  Aza tried to match his grandad’s cheerful mood. “Thanks.” He ruffled the sides of his overcoat.


  “I remember the day he proposed to Eleen…. I told him to get off my property!” The old man gave a throaty laugh but settled down as the other memories hit him. “But he was a good man...never stopped looking for her until the day he died…”

  “What?” Aza looked at him in shock. In all the years he had spent in this house, Gregory had only spoken of his daughter once, when they visited her grave. “He was looking for...mom?”

  “No…. her….” There was a bitterness to his voice as the wave of memories reached its peak and began to retreat back into the void.

  “Who...who is she?” Aza’s voice was pleading, his ability threatening to wind around the room.

  “I….” He turned to the wall and back to Aza. “How you’ve grown...you look just like your father.” He saw the pained look on his grandson’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “It... it’s nothing. You looked away and I was afraid you might have passed out.”

  “Ha! Not this old bat.”

  His grandson smiled and the two talked for a little while longer, Gregory’s memory slipping until he became incoherent and nodded back off. Aza waited until he was sure his grandad was asleep for the night then crept out of the room. He snuck all the way into his own and pulled out an old blanket from the back of his closet. The whole time that simple word stayed perched in the corner of his mind, cutting down all other thoughts, “her”. He looked for her until the day he died…who...

  He returned to the lower level and tossed Gretel her blanket, before double checking that the shutters were locked.

  “Ah don’t worry laddie, I got em good.”

  “You can’t be too careful.” He looked them over one last time and then turned to the rest of the area, searching for any imperfections that might draw in the creatures.

  “Night lad!” Gretel had put her book away and was beginning to wrap herself in the large blanket, looking like a caterpillar.

  “Night. And thanks again for the help.” He took one step forwards, ready to turn in for the evening, but stopped when he heard a loud pop like the shot of a gun.

  “What was that?” Gretel looked up from her cocoon.

  Aza turned around and began unlocking the door. Before Gretel had a chance to call him daft, the thing swung open, letting rain pour in over the threshold. He looked up and saw faint purple sparks falling from the sky. Confused, he looked down the road, straining his eyes and ears to cut through the storm. In the distance, normally obscured by fog, was a figure...he was running. That’s when Aza heard it, he was screaming for help.

  Chapter 4: A Stranger Arrives

  He was running. Icy rain poured down from above as the sharp winds sliced against his body. Gretel could be heard at the doorway, shouting in fear, begging for him to come back. It didn’t please him to worry her, to risk never being able to help his grandad, to even lose his own life. Yet here he was, Luke’s words ringing in his ears, “I just don’t think we’re ready”. For so impossibly long they had built and planned, yet nothing had been done, nothing fixed, nothing changed. That all ended here, tonight.

  Aza charged down the cobblestone, dark water splashing and flowing under foot. The closer he got to the figure, the colder the air became. Not from the rain, not from the wind, but from something else. Behind the running shadow was a wall of fog, shifting and crawling towards him as if giving chase. Within the hungry mass were the creatures, still a ways off but drawing ever nearer. Yet Aza felt something else, something that elicited a cold fear beyond even them. Deep down he knew who it was, but if he admitted it to himself, he’d surely turn back. He’d give up on his dream and retreat to the safety of his home, just like everyone else. To ignore what lurked in the night for a lifetime, until one day they came for him, and then no one would be left to fight. The two nearly collided. Aza grabbed the man’s arm as he tried to push past. He in return ripped it away and fell into a pool of water. The figure immediately trashed and clawed his way back up, nothing on his mind but the fear of what pursued him.

  “What in the Abyss are you doing out here!?” Aza shouted at him through the howling winds.

  He stood back up, drenched in water and shaking to the very core. “My boat sank….they….him….” His babbling was reduced to incomprehensible stuttering.

  Aza’s mind was reeling. Boat? A flash of lightning illuminated the street. In the brief moment, he was able to make out a large bag strapped to the stranger's back...was he from the outside? With no time to ask, and only seconds before he bolted, Aza closed his eyes and gave a command. “Follow this road for as long as you can. Across the bridges you’ll hit a massive open area; run to the building with four statues!”

  Aza’s words struck like spiders, their venom flowing through the fearful traveler’s mind. Unable to resist, he nodded and began running again, now searching for this mysterious building.

  With him taken care of, Aza turned to run himself...then everything went black. It felt as if something were pressing against his very soul, an icy fear with tendrils far deeper than his own. Every muscle in his body tensed as he fell to the ground, paralyzed, barely able to think. His vision went in and out, the fog surrounding him as it continued its unyielding march through the winding streets. He could see shadows, lumbering, lurching through the fog in search of the living. Yet even beyond them was something worse, something far worse. Aza forced his mind to focus, his eyes able to stay open long enough for him to see a blue glow at the heart of the mist. He knew who it was. He pulled himself over. He tried to crawl in a desperate, pathetic attempt to save himself. Within the fog the storm seemed to fade, the sounds of wind and rain replaced with the simple sound of boots on cobblestone. A single man whose mere presence demanded an entire town cower in fear, whose army devoured the flesh of those foolish enough to stand in his way. He passed by Aza without a second thought. This writhing worm not even worth stepping on. Whatever threat he once held was gone; he was but food for the nightmares that lurked in the distance. Aza painfully lifted his neck and saw the dark figure passing by him, someone spoken of in legends, a looming force always heard of yet never seen. The Nightman.

  The towering entity strode through the fog slowly and stiffly, his left arm held straight out like a corpse in rigor mortis. In his hand was a lantern crafted from something old and evil, it's blue light searching through the ghastly mist for his missing target. Wisps of its malevolent light snaking out through the shadows to guide the horde. His right eye gave off an identical glow, the rest of his face covered by scarves and wrappings, his greasy hair just barely contained under a black tricorn hat. The overcoat he wore was buttoned with pins of human bone; his boots stained with human blood. To Aza it was as if he was looking upon death himself.

  As the grim figure passed by, the great pressure seemed to follow, its tendrils pulling their barbs from Aza as the blue light faded away. It was not until the sinister lantern had fully vanished, and the fog truly overtaken him, that the dark energy ceased. Feeling began to return. He tried to pull himself up, rolling onto his back, only to be slammed down by two pale hands. Two more clamped against his wrists, crushing them against the wet stone. He thrashed and struggled as another set of mismatching limbs locked around his neck. Aza could only stare up at the hunched figure looming over him, its misshapen form covered in cloth stolen from the dead. He couldn’t see its head or body, only its many arms unfolding like that of a giant spider. Each one a different length and width, as if pieced together from those it had murdered. He tried everything he could but the monster’s grip was unyielding. He couldn’t breathe. Luke was right, they weren’t ready. They weren’t heros. He was going to die here, alone, letting everyone down. Who would care for Gregory? Would Luke make the same mistake? So much flashed through his mind as his vision became blurry. All his mistakes, his failures, all he would never do swirled around him as he slowly faded away.

  Then, as if sent by the loa, a brilliant flash of red broke through the fog. A loud, inhuman scream, shrill enough to
pierce the walls of every home around them, followed suit. A thick, rancid slime rained down on him as the four arms broke away from their ghastly owner, severed by one masterful strike. As it reared back, the flash of crimson struck it again, sending the squealing monstrosity reeling back into the mist. Aza was yanked up from the ground and set face to face by a man in grey, his mouth and nose covered by a bandanna. He was dressed like the Nightman only he wore a strange, winding hat and his coat was unbuttoned, revealing a belt of vials and blades.

  “Run ya daft bastard!”

  The words washed over him, imbuing Aza with new energy as he broke away and charged up the road. He looked back and saw the outline of the man as he descended into the mist, more shrieks of pain from the beast following suit. Remembering the horror that lay up ahead, Aza took a hard right and squeezed between two houses. Shadows danced in the fog as he weaved his way through narrow alleys and the smallest crevices between homes. He was still shaking, his breath heavy, and mind reeling. His brain told him to go home, but his body knew better. He couldn’t draw them to his house, and then...there was the stranger. Thoughts and fears spun their webs through his mind as he broke through the fog and crossed the great bridges. The sound of his boots on the road were once again drown out by the storm crashing down on the city.

  Towering orbs wrapped in tendrils greeted him as he arrived in the town square; the once busy marketplace now as cold and lifeless as the grave. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the sky and revealed someone hiding at the center of the square. While normally covered in cords and tarps during the day, the dark spiral at the heart of the town stood on full display. It was thought to be the broken remains of some strange pillar from long ago. Its base was made from the same dark stone as the lighthouse, while its body resembled a spiraling tendril of violet glass. The stranger was hulled up within the spiral, likely not knowing where else to go. When he saw Aza running towards him, he prepared to bolt, but another flash revealed who his new pursuer was. His eyes and hair were glowing like the body of a jellyfish, giving him an unnatural yet recognizable silhouette in the darkness.