by Tobias Wade
“Well, that’s odd, we haven’t had a female Swiss employee here since—” he paused. “Well, since Petra.”
“Well, maybe it was Petra? It was a little while ago!”
“No, Petra is dead—it’s—I—it’s, uhm,” he trailed off. “Sorry, no, but maybe the line got connected to someone else? Ja, oder? Doesn’t matter, I just needed to know if you still want the table!”
He didn’t explain further, and I didn’t ask.
Except I did some digging on this Petra when we were back in the village, and my leg was all bandaged up. It really wasn’t hard. The village was small, and her grisly death was the only tragedy in as long as anyone could remember. According to the story, her husband had lost his job, and subsequently his mind. He had taken their children into the woods, tied them up, and shot both of them in the head. Then he had walked up to the restaurant where Petra was working, and convinced her to come with him into the woods. Nobody knows exactly what transpired in there, but both parents were found dead, shot at close range. Both sets of fingerprints were on the gun.
Apparently the local kids are saying that sometimes you can still see him in the woods, right around sunset.
And Ike, well, Ike never told me what he saw in there.
Jazzmin Moysey-Forrestall
The Siren and the Hound
The overcast sky hung low and dreary over the English moors. The grey clouds seemed to drain the color out of the already dull landscape. The rolling hills seemed to stretch infinitely toward the horizon, making me feel even more lost. Why had my car run out of fuel here of all places? I knew I had filled the tank before I left. Maybe it had a leak? That was just my luck.
My friend, Carlos, lived alone in a substantial house on the moors. He had recently called me in a panic, telling me about something large he had seen roaming the hills at night. He had not gone into much detail, but the things he told me were enough to send a chill down my spine. I had come to the moors to visit him and quell his fears of the thing. I intended to prove that he had nothing to fear in the dark.
I recall thinking back to his words as I trudged through the thick, sucking mud. The night was fast approaching, and the sky threatened to open up and unleash a storm at any second. I tried to walk faster, but the sameness of my surroundings caused me to question every step. Was I going the right way? I had heard horror stories of travelers becoming irrevocably lost in this disorienting plane. They had walked in circles until death eventually dragged them deep into the mud, never to be seen again. I looked over my shoulder; my car was but a tiny speck of silvery white on an otherwise grey and brown horizon. I debated going back, but no, I pressed onward.
A gust of wind howled across the planes, carrying down the first drops of the deluge to come. Lightning lit up the clouds in a flash, and as if on cue, the rumble of thunder was accompanied by the roar of torrential rain hitting the mud. I was instantly soaked through with water so cold it felt like it was burning me. I fell to my knees in the quickly deepening mud, my muscles stiffening up with the sudden and horrible change of temperature. I closed my eyes for what felt like an instant, and when they reopened the world was fully dark.
I scanned my surroundings, searching for anything that wasn’t rain and darkness. Nothing, not even my car could be seen. It was as if I had fallen into another world. I stumbled to my feet, the mud trying to hold me in place. It wanted to keep me like it had so many others. It wanted me to stay with it forever, cold and lifeless in a tomb of ever-shifting clay. I had to find shelter fast, or it would have me. I took a few clumsy steps, seeking the dirt trail that I had previously followed. It was nowhere to be found. The rain had already washed away any trace of a path. I had no idea where to go.
I plodded through the ever-worsening storm, my steps growing weaker as the mud deepened around me. The world was entirely dark until I saw it. There, out of the corner of my eye, flashed a tiny pinprick of bright red light. I focused on it, taking a step in its direction. Could it be a house?
My heart skipped a beat when I saw that it was moving. It shook and bounced as if it were alive. It was moving too quickly to be a light held by a person, and too erratically to be the light of a car. The only other explanation could be a four-wheeler or an ATV? That didn’t make sense, though, who would ride one of those on a night like this? My mind returned to the words of my friend. “Glowing red eye,” he had said. That was all the convincing I needed to quicken my pace, to try to get as far away from that light as I could.
I tried to run, my stiff legs becoming stuck and twisted in the muck. The mud once again embraced me in its excruciatingly cold arms. I struggled and flailed, trying to escape its grip. My heart pounded in my chest as I attempted to crawl away. Each breath I took sucked in water and debris. I coughed, only for more muck to take the place of that which I had expelled. I dragged myself up, only to see that the light had grown brighter. No, not brighter… closer.
A new panic burned through me like a wave of fire, as a flash of lightning served to confirm my fears. Lumbering towards me was a dark shape, red eye flashing as it approached. I ran like a panicked animal. My legs propelled me at a speed I had never imagined. I lost one of my shoes in the haste, but I didn’t care in the least.
Lightning lit up the sky, casting the muddy expanse in a light brighter than day, showing me the lone house that stood on a distant muddy hill. The ensuing thunder left my ears ringing.
I dared to glance over my shoulder, seeing the thing’s red eye cresting the nearest hill. I turned back, and I could just barely see a tiny golden light. The house. I looked over my shoulder again, and a flash of lightning lit up the world in blinding white light. I only saw it for a moment, but that image shall remain burned into my memory for as long as I live. The monster was at least the size of a fully grown horse, and its fur seemed to absorb all light. Its long, disturbingly red tongue dripped with tar-like saliva as it licked knife-sized silver teeth.
My feet slipped out from beneath me and I rolled down a particularly steep hill. I scrambled in the sudden mudslide, my clothes drenched in mud as thick as wet cement. I lost my remaining shoe in the battle to get to my feet, and the sudden river carried me to the bottom of the steep hill faster than I could have run. I got to my now bare feet in record time; the rain almost instantly washed the mud from my clothes as I resumed my desperate run for the house.
I didn’t look back as I ascended the hill on which the lonely manor stood. My bare feet seemed to catch every sharp rock on the hillside, but I ignored the bleeding and pressed on. The door opened and a tall figure stood in the entrance.
My blood heart stopped as I heard a deep, reverberating howl sound out. It was at the bottom of the hill. I let out an impotent cry that was drowned out by the rainstorm. I was so close. My aching legs felt as if they had been pumped full of lead, yet I refused to give up. I could feel the beast’s breath on my neck as I leaped for the open door, letting out a shriek of desperation.
The stranger slammed the door behind me as I lay sprawled out on the hardwood floor of the entry hall. I felt as if I had been hit by a bus. Every muscle in my body hurt. My vision swam as I frantically tried to catch my breath. The last thing I saw before my world faded to black was a pair of royal blue velvet shoes.
I woke up to a sweet smell, like lilac, with a faint hint of the sea. There was a woman shaking me. Her lips were moving, but it took me a moment to realize what she was saying. “Please don’t be dead…. please don’t be dead… wake up… I can’t get you to a hospital in this weather… so just wake up.” Her voice was like honey, with the slightest hint of an accent I couldn’t quite place.
I let out a groan of pain. My eyes watered as her face came into focus. I gasped slightly; she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her eyes were the dark blue of a calm evening sea. Flecks of gold and green danced across her irises like the last lights of a sunset. Those sapphire eyes held my focus as she spoke. “Are you alright?” she asked k
indly.
The pain seemed to fade away the longer I stared into those eyes. I felt as if I were sinking beneath their calm blue waters. A wave of bliss seemed to flood my body with a warm euphoria as I stared into those infinitely deep pools of wisdom. I felt ten years younger, as if I were twenty again. Those eyes were my fountain of youth, and I would gladly drown in their depths.
“Yes,” I said, not sure what else to say. I no longer felt the burn of my physical exhaustion; it was as if she had renewed my life force.
“Thank goodness.” she smiled, and her angelic voice was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I found that I wasn’t cold anymore, as her very presence seemed to warm me to the core.
I smiled stupidly at her.
“Let’s get you some dry clothes and a hot bath, lest you catch your death of cold!” she said, “I’ll make you a hot meal while you get ready, for I wouldn’t be as good a hostess if I let my guest starve!”
“Yeah,” I said, following her up the dark oak stairs to a lavish bathroom where a hot bath had been drawn. A folded set of silk men's pajamas lay on a chair beside the deep marble bathtub. I didn’t bother to question why they were there.
I peeled off my drenched and muddy clothes, discarding them in a pile on the floor. The water was perfect, blissfully hot and scented with something like lavender. I sank into the water, my eyes slipping shut. Once I had finished scrubbing off the mud that still clung to my body, I toweled off with one of the decadently plush towels that rested near the tub. I dressed in the pajamas and went back downstairs.
I couldn’t help but notice that the floor of the hall and stairs was now entirely free of mud. My host must have mopped it up. The entire place had a bright, new feel to it, despite the house’s apparent age. I caught a whiff of something cooking, and my stomach growled. I had not realized just how hungry I was until then. Whatever it was had a rich, savory aroma, like perfectly prepared meat.
The kitchen door stood open, spilling a warm orange light into the hall. When I entered, I saw my hostess stirring a pot of some aromatic stew on the stove. My mouth watered; I could practically taste the sweet and savory meat.
The lady turned, smiling warmly. Her eyes twinkled like stars, she was so beautiful. “Hungry?” she asked. I could feel the warmth in her voice, warmth which spread throughout my entire body, bringing with it a sort of sleepy bliss that I had never felt before.
“Oh yes,” I said, my vocabulary seemingly reduced to the most basic of words in the presence of this woman.
For the first time, I noticed her attire. Why was she wearing a leather apron? Weren’t those for butchers? How did she keep her pristine white shirt so clean? Her black jeans looked to be brand new. How was her hair so perfect? I felt some of the euphoria leave as I asked these questions. She stiffened as if she were reading my thoughts.
“Why don’t you go wait for your food in the dining room for me?” she asked sweetly. Her voice swept all doubt away like a wave. What had I been thinking about? “Nothing but my beauty darling,” her voice whispered in my mind, “You know you love me, don’t you pet?”
“Yes!” I cried. I needed to please her; it was my reason for living. She smiled, making me giddy with sheer joy.
I found my way to the elegant dining hall. The room was exquisite, its high ceiling held up by grand pillars. The long table appeared to have been carved of a single piece of marble. Intricate patterns were carved on the legs and sides of the massive stone table. These patterns were accented with gold and silver. I sat in one of the comfortable dining chairs and looked closely at the carvings. They were bizarre to say the least. One of the broad legs depicted a sailor being pulled underwater by a mermaid that looked oddly like my hostess. Above her flew birds with human faces, which looked as if they were singing. The carvings were so detailed that I could almost see the sleepy joy on the man’s face as he was dragged beneath the waves.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I almost jumped out of my seat. The lady was standing directly behind me. “It is an old family heirloom, crafted by the best sculptors in the ancient lands to appease my ancestors.” She pointed to a portrait on the wall, “That is my great grandmother,” she said with a smile.
The painting was magnificent. It depicted a beautiful woman standing in front of the sea. The lady had a warm smile and kind eyes, but something seemed off about her. Were her teeth really that sharp?
“You must be famished!” my hostess said suddenly, drawing my attention away from the picture. She held out a plate of rice topped with hot stew and a glass of deep red wine. “Eat up, you need your strength,” she said as she left the room.
The stew was the most incredible thing I had ever tasted. The meat was tender and succulent. The vegetables seemed fresh, despite how late in the year it was. The whole dish was sublime, and it was paired perfectly with the deep red wine. The whole meal left me feeling more satisfied than I had ever been.
“You must be tired dear,” my strange hostess said as she walked through the door to the dining room, “Allow me to show you to your bed for the night.”
I followed her like a lamb to the slaughter. She was my world. The woman leads me to a lavish guest room. I fell asleep quickly on the silken sheets of the king-sized bed.
I dreamed of a great ship. I sat upon the bow and stared out at the seemingly infinite sea around me. The inky black water was as still as glass, not a breath of wind blew across its eerily tranquil surface. The water perfectly reflected the night sky above; I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars. The utter stillness felt wrong as if my very existence in this silent dreamscape were disturbing something ancient and powerful. The feeling was so profoundly unsettling that the sound of my pulse began to sound disgusting and wrong. I felt as if I had no right to disturb that silence, and that by doing so I was committing an unforgivable and heinous act.
A distant ripple caught my eye. I felt nauseous with dread. No no no. This was disastrous. I had woken it up. It was coming for me. I began to cry with utter terror. A primal fear gripped me; my every instinct told me to stop my racing heart. I needed to be still. Everything depended on my complete stillness. It was watching me. It knew I was here.
Something pale rose from the still water in the distance. It was tiny, just a dot in the sea of night, but it frightened me more than anything I had ever experienced. It shot back beneath the waves, making a tiny splash that sounded like cannon fire in the silence. A bright red light crested the horizon, making the stars above bleed together into the crimson light of some terrible dawn. A cold, slimy hand rested on my shoulder, and I screamed, the sound tearing apart the stillness and drawing the gaze of the red light. I realized then that it was not the sun, but some great eye. As I felt my sanity beginning to shred and bleed into the red of the world around me, I shut my eyes and surrendered to the madness.
The world went silent, and all I could hear was the thundering of my heart. I dared to open my eyes, seeing the stranger looking down at me with concern etched into her lovely features. I looked down at myself, embarrassed. I was drenched in sweat, and I had kicked all of the fine bed covers to the floor. I felt my cheeks grow hot. I didn’t want her to see me like this.
“It’s all right,” she said smoothly, her voice sympathetic, “We all have nightmares.”
Though her face was etched with sympathy for my situation, I briefly saw something else glitter behind her eyes. It was a malicious sort of humor. It writhed behind the mask of concern, like a snake hiding in a bouquet of flowers. As quickly as I had seen it, it was gone. My hostess lead me downstairs, where she had prepared me a full breakfast, though that look had already planted the tiniest seed of suspicion in my mind. I was only then beginning to question the strange effect the woman had on me.
“The phone lines are down due to the storm,” she told me after I had finished eating, “I do not have a cell phone, so I shall go into town and call someone to come and fetch you.” She paused, smiling at me, “I
would much rather have you stay here, I hate to leave the house unattended.” She met my eyes, “I hope this will not be a problem for you.” Beneath her kind tone there lurked a firmness that told me that if I protested, she would be far less kind in the future. So no, I would not have a problem with this.
I gave her Carlos’s home phone number so that she could call him. Something deep down told me she wouldn’t, but my conscious mind firmly told me that I was just being paranoid. It made me feel horrible for doubting this kind woman’s word. It shamed me for being suspicious and ungrateful after all my hostess had done for me.
I watched her jet black car drive away over the muddy hills from the library window. Seeing her leave made me feel even more isolated than ever. I felt like I was back on the ship, trapped in the middle of a silent black sea, without hope of escape or rescue.
I spent the day exploring the great house. The mansion seemed endless, with countless rooms branching off from every hall. It was beautiful and impossible all at the same time. It instilled in me a sense of great awe and a lingering dread that clung to my mouth like a bitter aftertaste.
At around noon I decided to take a shower. The memories of the dream made me feel dirty as if it had coated me in cold chicken grease. I found my way back to the first bathroom I had visited. Somehow, despite the alien nature of the house, this bathroom, in particular, felt familiar and comfortable. The bathroom had a separate steam shower. I had never used one before, so I looked forward to trying it. I got in and turned on the steam and water. The shower fogged up quickly, and the hot water and steam washed away the cold, slimy feeling that the nightmare had left me with.
I got out and wiped the condensation from the mirror, staring into the eyes of my reflection. Something caught my attention, chilling me to the bone. There, on the shoulder that the cold thing had touched in my dream was a dark, bluish handprint. It was faint but clear. I could see that where the thing had touched me, it had left a mark the same color as its abhorrent flesh. I felt suddenly nauseous. That thing had been real. I barely made it to the toilet before hot bile surged up my throat. I looked down to see that the vomit was the color of ink, and reflective. It looked as if I had vomited crude oil. It smelled and tasted like seawater. Disgusted and confused, I flushed it.