Monthly Archives: October 2017

Science Fiction

The Biologist’s Daughter

After Will’s wife died, he was lost. He felt like he was drowning, and the only thing that made sense to him was his daughter. Mary was only five, but she was his world now.

It all started innocently with Mary building a Pillow Fort and inviting Daddy into “her world”. She did this sometimes when the real-world got too much and the two of them needed to escape. She built a lot of Pillow Forts in those days. This particular time she described all the incredible animals they had there from ponies to unicorns to dinosaurs. He had laughed and asked her where she had gotten all these wonderful animals?

“You made them, Daddy,” she had answered, smiling and hugging him.

He had laughed at this, but the idea had been born.

You see, this was because Will could make them.

Will was a galactic biologist specializing in cloning and DNA manipulation. And he was a very good one. He was considered top in his field. He–or, at least, his company–had repopulated full planets with native and customized plants and animals. These jobs were typically won as sub-contracts to the terra-forming process while man expanded slowly through the cosmos, planet by planet.

Many years ago, he and his wife had started a small cloning company. It had fast become a success. It had grown beyond their dreams, and–to be honest–beyond their control. Full teams worked across the galaxies on tenders won by the sales department and overseen by executives, who then reported to the Board and, ultimately, to the rest of the shareholders in the stock market.

Although Will had all the knowledge, the company did not need him anymore. The company had its own AI now. Will and his wife had built its IP with all their know-how and the company used its processes and systems with teams of scientists figuring everything else out. Although he sat in Board meetings as the Chairman, he got a distinct feeling that they did not actually want him there anymore.

At least, after losing his wife, he had the luxury of time–with a great deal of money–to look after his daughter.

And, maybe, to make her unicorns…

Mary’s innocent comments had sparked an idea. And, the idea grew in scale and grand design. It grew and grew, until one morning after breakfast, Will called the Board and resigned as Chairman. Then he called his broker and began selling his shares in the company. And, finally, he called an estate agent and explained to her what type of planet he was looking for.

It was time to make some unicorns.

***

“Mary, come in,” Will called, “Mary! Where are you? The delivery’s come and I need your help to unpack.” He did not really need her, but it was a good excuse to get her away from her animals and spend some time with her.

He shook his head and called out again. She was always outside with her animals. He turned to the starship captain, smiled and began to direct the crew where to put all the supplies. Even with all the AI, smart housing and house-bots running everything sustainably on their planet, they still needed regular supplies. Luckily, they did not want for money and, like most things in life, if you had enough money then someone was willing to do what you wanted.

“Hi Daddy, I’m here,” Mary said running inside, “I was just playing with the unicorns. The lady-unicorn has a baby, Daddy, she has a baby!”

The Captain looked surprised. Will smiled at him and turned to his daughter.

“That’s wonderful news, dear, but you should have come when I called. Don’t worry about it now. It’s all unpacked already. Just please do come next time I call for you.”

Mary hugged him, smiling, barely looked at the Captain, and ran off back into her wonderland. Outside a flock of herbivore-adapted pterodactyls flew over, their cawing howls strangely calming. It was matched by a pegasus neighing nearby and the distant bellow of a brachiosaurus. He could feel the herds of unicorns trotting out of the midday sun and into the nearby forest’s cool shade. In the distance, the shiny, golden dragons began to take to the sky from where they had been warming up on the rocks all day. Soon their majestic calls would ring out across the sky adding to the magical melody of the planet.

The planet was magical. It was their planet–their Pillow Fort from the world and they could lose themselves in it.

“Say, Captain,” Will began on impulse, “You and your crew don’t want to stay for a drink? It’s been almost a year since we moved out here, and it would be nice to have the company?”

***

“Mary, you are already here!” Will commented, surprised at his daughter standing in the docking bay and manually directing the incoming starship, “Thanks, dear, that’s very helpful.”

“No problem, Dad,” she said out of the side of her mouth, as she concentrated on the landing. Will noted that she was wearing her favorite top and he was sure he noted a touch of lipstick on her. He smiled. His little girl was growing up.

Much later that day, after a fantastic three-course meal organized by his daughter for the crew, he watched as she interrogated them about their distant planets.

The sun was becoming long as the shadows dipped into the evening. Thousands of stars and planets of the nearby galaxies appeared in the night sky as their two, personal moons rose in opposing corners. They were sitting on a patio overlooking a herd of brachiosaurus grazing as swarms of glowing fireflies flickered through the air. In the distance, a red light flared up from the mountain before extinguishing itself for the night, as one of the dragons yawned and fell asleep.

The house-bots brought out another round of drinks and Will quietly watched his daughter. She continued interrogating the crew about the outside world. She was almost eighteen now. Well-educated and with plenty of access to the Web, he did not think Mary did not know about the outside world. He had never hidden the outside world from her, even here on their private planet. But, she did not play with her unicorns anymore and the details she asked the crew belied a greater truth.

His daughter was growing up. He was a biologist and he knew what that meant.

***

Will checked the old starship’s vital parts and got the house-bots to refuel it. It had been almost twenty years since him and Mary had landed it on this planet, but the starship seemed in perfect working order.

He felt a lump in his throat, but he swallowed and kept checking things. The planet would survive without them just fine. It was fully terra-formed and life would continue here. Besides, it had now been many years since his wife had died and his daughter wanted to build her own life. That much was clear to him.

“Father, I’m ready.”

Will turned around and his heart missed a beat. For the briefest second, he thought his wife was standing there. His daughter was wearing an evening-dress of red silk and, made up, looked the spitting image of her mother.

Will smiled, suddenly feeling the same longing that he suspected his daughter felt. He just suspected that his longing was for something different than his daughter’s. He missed his wife, but that did not matter. She lived on in Mary.

“OK, my dear,” Will began, as Mary sat down, strapped herself in and the starship’s pre-start engines burnt up a gear, “It is time that we leave this Pillow Fort of ours. Your mother would have wanted it.”

Will reached out and grabbed his daughter’s hand. The starship began to shudder as it rose slowly into the air; its engines were heating up as the geo-nav synched with their destination. His daughter squeezed his hand and he squeezed it tightly back. The lump in his throat was there again as he looked down at their planet. Outside, it was midday and the unicorns were trotting into the cool shade of the forest as a flock of pterodactyls flew overhead cawing.

Will turned to say something to his daughter and saw her eyes sparkling with wonder and magic. The words caught in his throat. She was not looking down at the planet and their wondrous animals there. No, she was staring upwards at the stars, galaxies and planets that loomed above and far ahead of her.

Blackpool Bay, Horror & Dark Fiction

Being in the Mist

“Hopefully he dies soon. We can’t delay the tunnel anymore and there is less paperwork with a death than a disability. The tunnel must happen.”

Edward Athelard was shocked at the speaker. He just stood in the hospital with his mouth open gawking at her. His Grandmother had taken over the family business after his Grandfather had disappeared. This was before he was born. He had never seen her shed a tear and he knew she could be cold, but this was severe.

“Come on, Edward, let’s go home. There is nothing we can do here,” she turned and walked away without looking back. He instinctively trotted after her, trying to think what to say.

***

The Athelard family–or what was left of them–owned a large, profitable fishing fleet in Blackpool Bay. Edward’s Great Grandfather had started the business with a single boat and his Grandmother had grown it into a small empire with his help while his brother sat as Mayor of the town. Their parents had both died when they were young, so this was all that they had. It was all that they knew.

The tunnel was going to connect the new, shiny highway through the Old Mountains. You need to know how old the Old Mountains were to be called ‘old’, but they predated pretty much everything and wrapped around Blackpool Bay, isolating it on the coast from the rest of civilization.

Both sides of the new highway had been built. It had been agonizingly slow work cutting through the Old Mountain. Some of the construction crew had started fighting and complaining about strange things, but, eventually, those that remained had completed everything but the tunnel. The final tunnel boring needed to be done through a particularly ragged peak in the middle of the range that would connect the two halves of the highway.

Without the tunnel, there was no highway. And, without the highway, Blackpool Bay’s economy–most fish exports and everything else imports–had to either go by ship to the nearest port or take the Old Road. The journey by ship was slow and expensive while the Old Road was an exceedingly long, single-lane nightmare to the nearest town. Neither were good options, but the highway would change this.

Grandmother was right, Edward thought reluctantly, Not about Jim dying, but about the tunnel being completed. He knew the construction engineer who was lying in the hospital on life-support. It was a small town and they had all grown up together. He felt terrible that Jim had come out of the half-finished tunnel hurt. He still did not understand how it had happened and nothing Jim had said since had made sense. But, he knew he needed to make sure that it did not happen again.

After dropping Grandmother off at their family home at 2 Main Road–she was as cold and silent as ever on the drive back–Edward turned the car around and decided to head out to the construction site himself. He wanted to know what happen or, at least, try to make sure it did not happen again.

***

It was late when Edward got to the tunnel entrance. All the construction warnings were proudly displayed there. A single guard was on duty to make sure that no one accidentally–or otherwise–wandered into the dangerous, gaping maw of this hole that was half-bored into the mountainside. He briefly wondered how the Old Mountain must be feeling about this, but then dismissed the thought and put on his safety gear.

He nodded at the guard at the entrance, Joey. He had been to his wedding some years back. If he remembered correctly, Joey had a kid on the way soon.

“Ah, Mr Athelard, are you sure–” Joey started, but Edward dismissed him.

“Don’t worry, Joey, I’m just going to check it out. I’ll be careful.”

“No, it’s not that, Mr Athelard,” Joey stumbled a bit over the words, looking sheepish, “It’s just that something feels wrong about things in there. Just, ah, yes, be careful.” He finished lamely.

Edward smiled and nodded, patting Joey on the shoulder as he passed him and entered the tunnel.

The atmosphere changed almost the moment he was inside the tunnel. The distant sound of the ocean fell away and he felt surrounded by a thick, old darkness. The air was damp and his heart began to beat faster.

He clicked on his headlamp and his hand-held flashlight. Their light did not pierce the darkness very far, but he could see that the walls were wet and there was a faint mist in the tunnel. The mist seemed to get thicker deeper in the tunnel. He shivered slightly, it was cold in here.

He took a deep breath and began to walk deeper into the tunnel.

***

Deep inside the tunnel, the mist was so thick that he could not see both sides at once. The mist seemed to seep out of the very rocks themselves, smothering and consuming everything around it. It even felt like it had a weight, pressing down on him.

He had reached the idle boring machine and the rock face where Jim’s accident had apparently happened. But there was nothing here? It all looked fine as far as he could see. Though, with the mist, he could not see very far.

What was that?

He was sure he had heard someone say something. He swung around and looked, but with the mist he could not be sure. He could not see much beyond a few feet in front of him. He stepped forward and suddenly he could not see either side of the tunnel, nor, in fact, the rock face and idle boring machine. He could be anywhere in this mist. He felt a lump growing in his throat and a primal urge to abandon everything and flee this nightmare.

There! There it was again! What was that?

Now he was sure he had heard something. It sounded so near to him, but he could not make out what it was. It was definitely a voice or something resembling one.

“Hello?” he called out into the mist, “Hello, who is there?” It definitely felt like something was there. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling.

The mist was getting thicker. He was sure of it. He reached out and he could not find the side of the tunnel. Had it not just been there a moment ago? He wondered if he was still in the tunnel? He suddenly realized that he was struggling to breathe. The mist fell malevolent and brooding, like a predator stalking its prey as he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath, his limbs getting shaky and his heart pounding in his chest.

And then he heard it clearly. It whispering in his ear, or was it directly in his mind? He understood it. He understood the desire. He felt the hunger. Its old, cold claws reached out and touched him, running down his spine and chilling his very blood. He felt his humanity draining out of him. He felt himself growing colder, but he could not move. He was powerless as the mist swirled around him and his eyes slid closed. He was not sure if he was dying or not? He was not sure if he cared or not, anymore.

He now knew what had to be done.

***

“Ah, Mr Athelard, are you OK?” Joey started as Edward suddenly stepped from the dark tunnel entrance, “You were gone quite a while?”

He looked coldly at his employee and nodded.

“Yes, I am fine,” he said, as he strode right past him. He had somewhere he needed to be.

A little over twenty minutes later, he stepped from his car into the hospital parking lot. It was empty, but that was not strange. It was well past midnight by now and this was a small town.

He walked straight into the hospital. There was a receptionist at the front desk, but she was fast asleep. He walked by her and down the passage to the ICU. There were no guards posted there or even a single soul that was not either dying or fast asleep.

In that hospital at midnight, he felt as alone as he had felt in the mist. It felt exactly like he was in the mist. Had he even left the mist, he wondered? Had he even left the tunnel? He dismissed such fanciful thoughts. He had a job to do.

He stood over Jim’s unconscious form lying quietly in the hospital bed. The life-support system quietly beeped away, its lights blinking on and off. Its machines pushed blood through his veins and inflated and deflated his lungs with the monotonous rhythm of life.

He reached out and touched Jim. His skin was cold and wet. It felt like the mist. He now understood. The mist had touched him too, but not in the same way.

He reached out and turned off the alarms. He and Jim had gone to school together. They had both dated the same girl but in different grades. He turned and pulled the life-support’s plug out from the wall. He watched the flashing monitor go dead, all the light go off and everything fall silent. He had dated the girl first, but he could not remember her name anymore.

Jim’s body spasmed a couple of times and then it fell still.

Edward Athelard did not smile. Nor did he cry. In fact, he barely acknowledged what had just happened, other than to bend down and whisper in Jim’s unhearing ear:

“The tunnel must happen, Jim. It must happen, and you know why. It touched you too.”

Fantasy

Not All That Is Wicked Is Evil

It was late when she realized that he was not coming. She had been waiting for ages, and now she was truly alone. Her Prince Charming was not running away with her. She could not go back. That was not how this worked. With or without him, she was not going back to that City with all those selfish, hurtful people. Each one of them thinking that they were the main character and abusing her shamelessly. No, she would make it on her own and he would be no part of her fairytale.

She felt silly wearing her pretty little dress–he had always liked it–and changed it for her black one. There was no one to care about this all the way out here in the Forest. She thought she would wear black from now. It was more practical.

She turned and, lugging her bag, walked deeper into the wild Forest. She would make her home somewhere in there. Maybe she would make it out of gingerbread and candyfloss? Her mother had passed on the Gift to her, after all, and should she not use it for her own benefit? Rather that than waste it on those self-absorbed monsters in the City. Who knows and who cares, because she was on her own now and she would write her own fairytale.

***

While she was all alone in her house and had no neighbours for miles, there were other beings that lived around her. Over time, she got to know a few of them.

She would help the Wolf get thorns out of his paws and brush the tangle and grass out of his fur. They got on well and he would bring her rabbits and, sometimes, fowl for her pot. On the other side of the Forest, the Three Bears lived and she would from time to time visit them. They loved their tea parties. Likewise, there was a Beast that lived in his castle deeper into the Forest than her. He would sometimes come to her house or she to his dusty castle. He was actually well-read and fantastic conversationalist. She would put the pot of tea on and they would discuss the classic fairytales and how flimsy the plot hooks and one-dimensional the main characters were.

Those were good times for her. She really felt like she was amongst friends then, or, at least, amongst more genuine beings that back in the City.

But, nothing lasts forever.

Suddenly, the Wolf was murdered by a Huntsman. The Huntsman threw around many vicious accusations for why he did it. She did not believe any of them. The Major did, though, and he got off with little more than a warning. This hurt her deeply and she and the Beast had cried about it together. The Wolf had been a wonderful, wild being.

Then the Three Bears got burgled and decided to move elsewhere to where the crime was less. She did not know where there could be less crime than out here where there were no people. But, they said that after they were burgled and liberties were taken with their most intimate stuff, they no longer felt safe in their own home. Thus, they left too.

Finally, her Beast in his ancient, rundown castle broke his curse and moved back into the City. He did come for a goodbye before then, but it was awkward and it ended. He was moving back into his townhouse in the City and was going to get a job as a teacher. The lady that was now his wife insisted on this, as she was from the City.

She was alone in her Forest again.

Yes, occasionally, someone from the City wandered in. Once it was a girl in a red hood and another time it was a spoilt brother and sister exploring the woods. Once, a rather fanciful long-haired blonde girl even lived with her for a while before her own Prince Charming found her and took her back. That was fine, as she had been quite irritating and rather infatuated with her own looks. What a shallow girl, she had thought as she saw her leaving, bundles of hair wrapped around her.

None of these one-dimensional characters stuck, and she remained alone in her Forest.

***

One morning, she woke up and knew it was time for a change. She packed her bag lightly and put her black dress on. She could not find her walking stick, so she grabbed a broom to help her walk, and she left her home in the Forest. She did not even look back as she left. It was time for a big change.

Her Gift was tingling and she knew she needed to be elsewhere. Besides, the Forest was quite empty these days. The City kept encroaching on it and most of the wonderful animals had all been hunted or moved out by then.

She was going to the desert. She was heading West. That was where the City would never follow her.

While she was walking along, she ran into a rather out-of-place looking girl. The girl had a crazed expression on her face with dilated pupils–perhaps she had been nibbling the mushrooms down by the river a bit too much?–and asked where “Kansas” was.

Of course, she did not know what “Kansas” was and told the girl this. At which the spoilt little brat had giggled, thrown water in her face and run away laughing. How rude!

She was too old to chase after her and give her a spanking. So, she merely flicked an irritated little curse after her. The girl would see the world only in shades of green for quite a while now.  She wondered how that would interact with the girl’s mushroom-fuelled trip? She had a good chuckle to herself and then set off back down the road.

***

It had been many, many years now since she had built her little house in the Desert. She now lay in bed, too frail to stand up. Around her stood her Desert friends and, even, some of the surviving friends from the Forest that made the journey. The Beast came alone–his wife has left him for a Prince Charming–and the Three Bears were there too, softly crying. Morgiana, the poor little slave girl that she had helped set free from Ali Baba, and the Genie, she had also freed from his prison-lamp were there.

She was surrounded by those that loved her and she, in turn, loved back.

But, nothing lasts forever.

Her health was failing. Although those with the Gift lived longer than those without it, no one lives forever. She had already been old when she had moved to the Forest. Now she was ancient and time was running out. Goodbyes were being said through tears and soft sobbing, but she smiled back at all of them. Her life had been lost all those years ago in the City and this rag-tag bunch of outcasts and vilified beings had helped her find her way back to happiness. She owed them far more than they owed her.

She knew she did not have much time. The Gift told her that much. And, so, after the teary goodbyes, she looked around her and cast one last subtle spell.

She did not know when or how it would happen, but one day someone would tell their story. The world would know what wonderful, beautiful and complex beings they all were. They were not villains or plot devices, but complex, living souls with real, feelings and huge, loving hearts. Many of them had suffered tragedies or loss, but they kept going forward as best they could. They were as strong as they were incredible. One day, the world would see all of this. One day, the world would know all of this. One day, the world would love them all the same way that she did. One day, their story would be written.

And then, the Desert was all alone again.

Blackpool Bay, Horror & Dark Fiction, Science Fiction

Pillars in the Deep

The whole Blackpool Bay dock area smelt like fish. Old, barnacled fishing boats lined its sides as weathered men dourly stomped awkwardly around with seemingly uncertain land-legs. Fish and other slimy things were hidden away in crates and being loaded into small, unmarked vans. Even the old man behind the front desk at the seedy B&B looked a bit like a fish, bulbous eyes and scaly skin around a small, piscine mouth.

He could not wait to be under the waves. He could not wait to be away from all this offputting small-townness.

That night, in his cramped little room, he read and re-read the passages from the old, tattered diary his mother had left him. He had never known his father but he felt a bit closer to him coming here. He could not wait to get under the waves. He fell asleep like that and dreamt about large, looming dark shapes that whispered to him from the ocean’s depths.

***

The world changes the moment one slips beneath the waves. The sound, light and speed of the above world disappear. They are replaced by silence, darkness and a smooth, elegance in one’s movement that he liked to imagine astronauts experienced in outer space. He had always felt very comfortable under water.

All he could hear was his own breath as he descended below the water beside the rock. The locals did not seem to have much to say about it but the old diary spoke about “the lone rock halfway out of Blackpool’s bay”.

This was it. This was that rock.

The top of the rock was weathered and covered in barnacles and seaweed. Even a few feet down, this muck all obfuscated what he was looking for.

And then there it was!

A few feet below the water level, the rock’s form began to smooth. Its surface began to appear square. The flowing, bunched seaweed growing from it ended. And, the rock started to look more like it was a carved pillar.

He sank slowly deeper and deeper, besides the old pillar. He was now sure of this. Like the diary said, as he went deeper, the manmade nature of the pillar became more obvious. At certain points, he thought he even saw indentations like designs–swirling and fluid–that might have been designs carved into this ancient structure. They had likely been weathered away by thousands of years of the ocean pushing passed it.

Eventually, he came back up to the boat. The light and sound hit him first. He instantly missed the underwater but it was time to go back to shore. He had not gotten to the bottom of the pillar. He had not even seen the bottom yet. He could not believe that it went that deep. It was only a mile or two from shore on the edge of the bay. He made a mental note to bring extra oxygen, lighting and some flares tomorrow.

***

That night, while he hungrily ate some strange, seafood stew, the piscine innkeeper politely enquired as to what he had seen out there.

He smiled and recounted the strange pillar that lay nearly outside of the bay. He asked, rhetorically, who could have built it and why?

The innkeeper smiled–with his face, the smile looked like an octopus squeezing through a small hole–and replied that perhaps whoever had built it underwater had meant it to stay there. It almost sounded like a warning or a threat.

He had smiled and laughed at this absurd statement. Obviously, this pillar had been built ages ago on dry land and the ocean had crept inland and covered it up. This much was logical. He snorted at this absurd small-townness and continued with his meal.

Later that night, tossing and turning in his room, he could not stop thinking about how bizarre the innkeepers logic was. When he eventually fell asleep, his dreams were again filled with large, dark things whispering strange things to him from below the waves. One of them, in particular, rose from these dark waters and slithered up onto land towards him.

He awoke in the morning covered in sweat but he could remember no more details of what had bothered his dreams so.

***

Far below the waves, besides the smooth pillar, he cracked an underwater flare. Its red light flared out, casting a hellish, red colour in the darkness around him and the stone beside him.

He let go of the flare and watched it sink slowly further and further down. It was a long time and the red light was a small speck before he thought he saw it come to rest.

He almost felt relieved, but he mentally snorted at himself. Of course there was a bottom to this strange bay’s ocean floor. Nothing went on forever. There was always a bottom.

He had an extra oxygen tank with him, and he began to descend further. His eyes kept glancing at the red light on the ocean floor, but he was more focused on the pillar that slid by him. The deeper he got, the more detailed the designs on it became. He was starting to make out figures amidst the swirls and curves carved into the stone. The figures seemed almost-human but had fish-like faces, gills in their necks and webbed hands and feet. Some stood in strange poses while other carried forked weapons or bunches of other, smaller fish.

What an incredible civilization had produced such vivid art, he pondered as he floated deeper and deeper down. What other wonders could such a lost civilization be hiding? What could have motivated such a civilization to build such a pillar and for what purpose?

He was nearly at the flare now. He could see it resting amidst scattered stones on the ocean floor. Its hellish red light cracking against the darkness down there. It cast eerie shadows that wicked darted through the ocean floor’s crevices. He swore he saw one of these shadows actually slither away. It looked like a silvery humanoid shape for a split second before slipping out of the light and back into the darkness down there. He quickly dismissed the thought. If anything it was probably a fish or octopus or something else that had caught his eye.

The fishmen–as he now mentally called them–carved into the pillar were now clearly visible. Some of the carvings were in nearly pristine cut down here, which surprised him. They should all be equally as worn away. Surely.

Unless someone or something was preserving them down here?

He instantly dismissed this absurd thought and focussed on what was before him.

He had reached the ocean floor. Finally down there, he realized that the scattered stones were not random. They looked like the remains of an old road. This was not in his old diary. Perhaps this was one of those old Roman roads but curiosity clutched him and set off swimming down this old, lost road.

The road led straight out from the pillar at the edge of the bay into the open ocean. He had only a little bit left in his oxygen tank, so he decided that he would go until it finished before switching over to his remaining tank and heading back to the surface.

The old road led to the edge of an underwater cliff. Swimming up to it, he saw the coastal plate fall away suddenly and dramatically to reveal the true open ocean.

But, vastly more surprising, far down there at the bottom, he saw the road continue. It must be a bit less than hundred or so feet further down. It must have been miles away, but, for some reason, there was some latent light down there. It had an eerie blue-silver colour to it. And, amidst this light far down there, he saw another pillar. In fact, the old road went straight out away from the coast and the quiet little bay, and it was dotted on both sides for as far as he could see with these vast, huge pillars.

And then he saw movement.

Far down there, just above the old road and between the great pillars, there was something. It was small and silvery but it floated upright like a man would. He was sure he saw something forked in its hand, or its fin. And it was looking directly at him; directly at where he floated atop the underwater cliff.

For what felt like an eternity, he floated there looking at this thing looking at him.

Suddenly, his oxygen tank flashed a warning at him. He looked down, checking its level on his arm. It was almost finished, and so he flipped it over to his spare tank.

When he looked up, there was just the old road dotted with these huge, ancient pillars leading straight out into the ocean. Whatever thing had just been there looking him was now gone. He was alone atop that underwater cliff but it still felt like something old, dark and slimy was watching him.

***

The next morning, he was still thinking about what he might have seen below the water. He wondered if his father had ever seen something like it. There was no mention of this in his diary. The strange creature that had floated down there felt further and further away from real-life. He was starting to think that he could not have seen it correctly. It was probably his memory embellishing it.

He was sitting outside a small cafe on the docks. It was not fancy but it was in walking distance from his fishy little B&B and it served nice strong coffee. He was still not sleeping well. His dreams kept on being haunted by something that slithered out of the sea to confront him.

He sighed and slouched back in his chair. Soon he would have to leave and go back to the real world. Soon all this would be a distant memory too. He tried to forget the strange dreams and the weird sights below the waves. Rather, he looked around, trying to burn the images into his brain of the quaint Blackpool Bay docks and all its shapes and forms of life. It was strange to think that he, however distant and unknown, had a tie back to this place. He wanted to try and remember every detail.

The old, barnacled fishing boat lined the harbour. Crates filled with fish and other things from the deep were being offloaded most of the boats. Small vans zoomed around the docks, being loaded up with these crates.

And then there were the people:

Weather, old barnacled men stomped around the docks. Many of them looked decidedly uncomfortable walking on land. He chuckled to himself as he imagined them as the relatives of the strange fishmen he had seen carved onto the pillars in the deep. But then the more he thought about it, the more he looked, and the more fish-like the people around him looked. Wrinkled, dried out fish that kept returning to their home waters each morning on their boats. He started looking around for gills in their necks, and many indeed had tattoos there. Maybe that is how they hide them, he pondered, his heart starting to beat faster in his chest. One, two, no, a handful–no every single one of these people had these strangely, round heads with large eyes just a little too far apart, much like a fish’s eyes. Perhaps, he began to think to his horror, perhaps the innkeeper is right and that pillars were built below the waves in the first place. Perhaps they were built a civilization of fishmen who later crawled out from beneath the waves and now hide in plain sight…?

“Hey, you want another coffee or anything, sir?” a voice interrupted his strange musings. He almost jumped out of his chair but regained his composure quickly.

He looked to his side and saw the waitress. She was a small, squid-like girl with long, curly hair much like tentacles wrapped around her bulbous head. He found himself checking her neck for gills but she was wearing an old, red scarf there.

“Uh, no thanks,” he replied, “Just the bill thanks. I have to go home,” and then, to his surprise, he volunteered something unnecessary, “It’s inland. I’m going inland.”

The waitress nodded and smiled at him before turning and slithering back to get the bill for him. He distinctly felt like he a small, defenseless fish floating around dark rocks where tentacles could whip out any moment. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he made a mental note to never come back here, diary or no diary.

General Fiction, Horror & Dark Fiction

The Mouth in the Wall

“Psst! Hey!  Sweet, little child, if you give me that loaf of bread you’re holding, then I’ll give you a chocolate cake,” a small voice suddenly whispered into his ear.

He jumped up from where he had been crouching. Turning around, he saw a small mouth in the wall he had just been leaning against. The mouth was hidden behind a trashcan in the far side of the alleyway shadows between the back-end of a bar and a brothel. His stomach growled. He had just stolen this loaf of bread and slipped into the alleyway to eat it. He had not eaten for days. And then the little mouth spoke again.

“Come on, sweet child, I promise,” annunciating its words carefully as if it were trying to be cast as a gentleman, “Give little-old-me the loaf and I’ll give you a whole chocolate cake.”

The little boy did not know why he did it. Perhaps it was pity. Maybe it was the lure of chocolate cake. For whatever reason, he reached out his hand with the loaf of bread on it. Almost like it sensed his intentions, the Mouth in the Wall opened wide and a viciously-pink tongue shot out, scooping the loaf into its maw. The bread disappeared into it, followed by brief chewing and a satisfied belch afterward.

“Thank you, my boy,” the Mouth in the Wall said, some of its charm slipping, “and here is your chocolate cake.”

The Mouth in the Wall opened up–the boy was sure that it was just a little bigger than it had been moments ago?–and a stunning, dripping chocolate cake came out carried by its viciously-pink tongue.

While he stuffed his mouth with fistfuls of the decadent chocolate cake, the boy’s mind raced with the potential here. His eyes gleamed and his desires expanded. The Mouth in the Wall grinned quietly in the background.

***

The boy fenced off the alleyway after he had bought the two adjacent buildings–the bar and the brothel–that formed it. Later he bought the whole neighbourhood. And, eventually, he built a palace over it all. The alleyway remained there, though. It even remained fenced off despite being in the palace’s great dungeons.

By now he was a young man, though. He paid the builders with gold and jewels like he paid for everything else. Princesses would court him from all the kingdoms while princes would try to work out the source of his wealth. He had thousands of slaves from the furthest reaches of the world and would hold great balls with the finest musicians and wine flowing like rivers in his crystal halls. Great art hung on his walls and statues were carved of him.

Rumours whispered of great vaults full of treasure deep in his dungeons. Some thieves even broke into these dungeons once, but all they found was the remains of the old city with two intact buildings–a bar and a brothel–and a fenced-off, shadowy alleyway.

The thieves slipped out emptyhanded, but their tale did little to quench the rumours that swirled around. The fact remained that he did bring forth chests full of gold, silver and jewels. The fact remained that lavish balls were thrown in his sparkling palace and guests of grace from all the kingdoms attended. The fact remained that all this kept happening and kept getting bigger and grander.

Other than his life of leisure and great indulgence, once every fortnight at midnight, he would take a number of slaves with him down into the dungeon. No one but the slaves noticed this, but no one else was watching at this time. At first, it was only one slave, but then it became two and then three. Each fortnight was one more trip with one more slave.

None of the slaves ever came back up. Only he ever returned, looking more tired than before. His eyes that had once gleamed were starting to go dull and cold. His face was getting gaunt and strained like he was feeding a hunger that could never be satisfied.

But he kept going down into the fenced-off alleyway in his dungeon, and the great balls kept being thrown in his palace overhead. The treasures kept flowing from his vaults to pay for all of this indulgence and nothing else seemed to matter, for the time.

***

“Gimme the fucking kid,” leered the slobbering Mouth in the Wall at the boy. The Mouth had gotten a lot bigger and cruder now. The boy too had changed and was now a man that was much older, married and had a daughter, “Gimme the goddam yummy and I’ll give you a fucking golden river of goddam jewels!”

The Mouth in the Wall had long since given up being nice, or, even any semblance of manners. It demanded its meals now. And, even though its gifts were much bigger, so was its appetite. It shrieked at him, slobber splattering everywhere and its viciously-pink tongue flicking out like a snake’s.

Oh, how that mouth’s screams haunted his nightmares. But, he had spent too much and, even with all his wealth, he had gotten into debt and needed this gold. He needed the Mouth in the Wall and he really, really needed some more gold to survive.

“Come on! You gotta gimme her to munch!” the leering Mouth in the Wall screamed at him, licking its lips gruesomely, “You can have all the shiny you want, but I will only eat her! Only her!”

He begged the vile Mouth in the Wall. He pleaded with it. He fell down onto his knees and sobbed before it, howling to the fates about this unfairness and injustice. But the Mouth in the Wall did not care. It only hungered for more. It only wanted to eat one single thing. And feeding it was the only way he would get what he needed…

Eventually, he got up, dried his tears and straightened his shirt. He walked out of the alleyway, closing the fence’s gate behind him with a large padlock. The key hung around his neck. The Mouth in the Wall was screaming behind him for her. He knew he would hear those screams in his sleep that night, if he fell asleep. He felt numb, but he kept reminding himself that he had no choice. The world was not fair. The Mouth in the Wall demanded it. Without feeding it what it wanted, he would lose everything.

He hoped his wife–the Queen–would not miss their daughter too much.

***

One day, long after the Queen had disappeared, the King went down to the dungeons and did not return. At first, the palace carried on running itself as slaves and servant went about their tasks. But, eventually, the absence of the master was noted. And about that time, the coffers ran out, the debts came knocking at the door and the bankers moved in while the staff moved out.

When the estate was liquidated, a progressive man bought the palace. He intended to knock it down with a view to building something more modern in its place. He had grand ambitions and great plans. He was going to conquere this world, and maybe the next one too.

Beforehand, though, he took a quiet stroll through its airy chambers. Like everyone else, he too had heard the stories of this place. Great frescos adorned its walls as chandeliers lit its countless chambers. Metals and crystal sparkled everywhere in luminous beauty. But, curious to a fault, the progressive man made his way down into the dungeon.

And there he found the fenced-off, shadowy alleyway, its padlocked gate slightly ajar.

He did not know why, but he felt like he had found something he should not have. Being a progressive man, though, he disregarded this thought and stepped into the alleyway. Nothing should fear him in this place. He owned everything he could see here.

But, there was nothing there. It was an empty little alleyway between two rundown buildings.

He blinked and looked around. No, there was something here. A small, yellowed note lay on the ground. Picking it up, he read it out loud, its words echoing strangely in that alleyway in the empty palace’s dungeon:

“This is my final trade. I can give no more than myself to quench–for once and all!–its cursed hunger. It has haunted me for decades, but, eventually, I have realized that if you feed it, it only gets bigger. Remember that. Don’t feed it.”

“Psst! Hey! Sir, gentleman,” a small voice piped up behind the progressive man, causing to jump in fright, dropping the note and turning around–there was a small little mouth in the alleyway’s one wall, “Dear Sir, I wonder if I could trouble you for a loaf of bread? I’ll give you something in return? What do you want?”