Horror Stories 2 – by Fetid SirDidy – narrated by Asclepius

[Jack T. Lamplighter 15]

 

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a couple more wonderful horror stories from Fetid SirDidy. Background music by Smartsound.

 

“Harvest Night”

A dull hum was all he heard, and what he saw was a fiery sky.


Wilhelm Santree was deaf and mute but he could still see.


The sky was painted with brush strokes of orange and red and brown. Leaves of the same color fell all around him, and he danced as they did.

Wilhelm Santree was deaf and mute but he could still see.

He saw his father’s hands, blistered and raw. He saw his mother’s apron, tattered and stained. He saw the local magistrate bray and scorn, and he saw the local boys and girls laugh and mock.

Wilhelm Santree was deaf and mute but he could still see.

He saw the tall grass swaying in the wind. He saw the shadows of the windmills walking across the ridge. He felt the House on the Hill scream as it lay still.

Wilhelm Santree was deaf and mute but he could still see.

He saw the sun dip down. He saw the darkness swallow everything around. He walked toward the House as if bound.

Wilhelm Santree was deaf and mute but he could still see.

He stood before the mold soaked door. He pressed damp wood with trembling hands. He stood on a threshold staring into an infinite dark.

Wilhelm Santree was deaf and mute but he could still see.

He froze. A voice in the void whispered, but Wilhelm could not hear because he was deaf.

He cried out. He knew it called out for them, but they could not hear because he was mute.

He watched as the local boys and girls moved past him. They entered the darkness and were never heard from again.

Wilhelm Santree was deaf and mute but he could still see.


A dull hum was all he heard, and what he saw was a fiery sky.

 

“Arrow Black”

The boy died on a Tuesday.
The arrow that pierced his skull was fletched on a Wednesday but this was of no importance to anyone other than Rolf.

Rolf stared at his breakfast. Two eggs, a slice of bread, and a glass of Ardoran orange juice.
The eggs were runny, the bread stale, and the orange juice acidic.
The same breakfast Rolf had eaten since being stationed here; 127 days and counting.

127 days.
127 nights in this god forsaken city.

Rolf sat in the guard tower, hen feathers in right hand and wood shaft in his left as he skillfully assembled his object of destruction.
In his minds eye he saw Tanya’s boy, Thomas Cumpston, and he shuddered as he imagined the light in the boy being snuffed out.

Rolf put the arrow down and clenched his hands. Closed fists, open fists, closed fists.

He dipped fingers into a small bowl of ashen paste and spread it along the shaft of the arrow he had just created.
The bolt blackened.
Rolf became darker.

The iron head of the Black Arrow glistened in the early morning light. It’s target, a young Thomas Cumpston gleefully strode across the square.

Rolf loosed the arrow and relished in the inevitability that followed; a symphony of screams.

Echoes From the Caverns

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