MOD NOTE: Another one by my old friend:) Hope all enjoy!
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Something was creeping up Evan's leg, something insectile, something with horrid little legs that made his skin crawl. He wasn't sure what it could be, but the micro-movements of his leg hair confirmed that it was there. He knew something like this would happen; nothing good ever came from spending the day outside, but he was not about to miss the chance to see his little sister's track meet, not when he saw so little of her. Work kept him busy and made the hour drive back to his home town a tricky prospect on most days, so he was making the best of the opportunity while he had it, even if it meant braving a slightly chilly spring day. The bug was persistent, he had to give it that. Its six spindly legs tickled their way up his shin at a glacial speed, inch by inch, step by step, making him squirm in his seat. He brushed at his pant leg, hoping the pest would give up on its trek, but his relief only lasted a moment. All he managed to do was embolden his tormentor. It made Evan begin to worry about what exactly was pestering him. The cool air and lack of standing water probably ruled out a mosquito, which would otherwise be the most likely suspect. An ant also seemed likely—hopefully a black one—the red ones bite after all. The idea of something biting him made him worry even more. What if the intruder had eight legs instead of six? Oh god, it was probably a spider searching for warmth. His arachnophobia spiked. The world became dark. There was nothing but Evan and the arachnid on his leg. His pulse quickened. Nausea gripped his stomach, threatening to rip it right out of his torso. He was going to die right here, right now, and all because he was trying to be a good brother. This might seem an irrational thought to a rational person, but Evan's preternatural paranoia made it clear that the spider on his leg could only be one species—the brown recluse. Of all the spiders he could imagine attacking him, it was the one he feared the most. Black widows advertise themselves with the bright red hourglass on their bodies, but a brown recluse, well, how was he supposed to get close enough to see the fiddle on their backs? Thus all brown spiders were brown recluses to him and since many spiders were brown, that meant that the fiddle-backed monstrosities were lurking everywhere, waiting to kill him. He was so stricken by this thought, that it took him a moment to notice when the tickling sensation from his right leg moved to his left as well. There was more than one. There was an entire horde of spiders out to get him. The hair on his legs wiggled and itched as if a wave of spiders was crawling up his calves. And then he felt them on his arms, and between his legs, and all across his chest. Everywhere that Evan had body hair, the spiders took up residence.
“Oh! Oh god! Get them off! Get them off!”
Showing posts with label horror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horror. Show all posts
Thursday, September 1, 2016
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
The Spellcaster's Heiress -- Chapter 15
By Christopher Leeson
FROM DYAN'S JOURNAL
All my life I had been hearing stories about the Formoru, told in a way meant to frighten children. These bogies of nightmare were sometimes called the Dark Gods. But except for the certainty that they were dangerous and exceptionally evil, no one had described in very much detail. Going faithfully to ritual did not illuminate a child on the subject; the parish druids said not a word about these ancient ones. Yet, it was said that our gods, the Daanan, had defeated them, thereby giving their tribe its greatest victory.
Since those days that are lost to me, and which I cannot now claim as my own, I have learned much that only the high wizards and druids are permitted to know. It is the kind of knowledge that I would cheerfully forget -- if only it were safe to do so.
“What are these Dark Gods? Are they truly dead and gone?” Those were the inquiries that I once put to Cawdour when I was about seventeen.
He looked at me in an odd way. I wondered if he was taking stock of me, trying to decide whether I was ready to receive an answer to the questions that I had asked.
“The Dark Gods are ancient creatures of immense power,” he said.
“So the stories tell us. But are they true gods, or are they monsters?” I asked.
“Both. Or neither. It is a matter of definitions.”
“How would you define those terms, Sire?”
The old wizard shrugged, as if I were being irrelevant.
“Most are colossal in size,” he stated. “Their memory lingers, though they were gone from the world before Mankind walked it.”
“How can that be?”
“Because they refuse to be forgotten. They mind-touch certain mad and half-mad persons in dreamtime. From the visions reported by these mad savants, they Dark Ones continue to be worshiped by the most depraved of human cults. And not only human cults.”
“Sire?”
Some believe that those which lurk at the edges worship them also.”
“Edges?” I echoed.
“The edges of human habitation, the edges of the seasons, the edges of Time and Forever, the edges of dark and light, the edges of dreaming and wakefulness. The edges of life and death. A few of these are found in our folklore -- the undead, the lycanthropes, the beings of the sea. Others have been forgotten, or, in their remoteness, have never become known.”
I blinked. I knew of such creatures from hero stories, but was the wizard implying that they were real? How could one so wise hold such an idea? For myself, belief in monsters had slipped away from me along with with childhood.
“The Dark Gods are held in abeyance by forces even greater than they are,” my foster father continued. “But this power is not immense enough to snuff them out of existence, so they abide like prisoners awaiting their release. The stars say that their day shall come again, but this is not their day. No one can prognosticate the hour when they will rise again; let us hope that it shall not be ere Mankind has withered and turned to dust.
“Is it the Daanan who hold these demons in check?”
Cawdour shrugged. “Most believe that the Formaru were routed by the gods. Others hold that their banishment came about gradually, part of the natural progression of the Cycles.”
I could not help but frown. What were the cycles that he referred to?
“According to the first theory,” Cawdour pressed, “the Dark Gods held sway in realms where our gods hold sway now. There was a great war between the gods of the natual world, led by Nudens, and the Dark Ones. It is said that nearly all of the Formoru and gods were slain.
"But the Daanan, legend tells us, held a secret. They knew the way back from the Pit of Death, and so sacrificed themselves in wild attacks, so that the enemy could be driven into the deep darkness along with them. The Daanan returned by virtue of their secret wisdom, but Death's Hall still holds the Dark Gods captive in its bowels.” He shrugged. “This tale is only a metaphor, the truth, we must assume, was something that our ancestors could not conceivably understand.
“Be that as it may, the Dark Gods are not truly dead; instead, they await the time of their release, eager for revenge against those who discomforted them.”
This was, in the main, the same story that parents had been telling their children for centuries.
Now Cawdour frowned pensively. “The second supposition holds that the Old Gods are dormant only due to the effects of cycles, the universal order to which even the mightiest of gods must yield. To understand this, look at the seasons of the earth. Just as some animals hibernate through inclement winter, so too must the Old Gods slumber so long as the prevailing cosmic cycle endures.
"These cycles are like the magical clock in the famous story, the one which made a sound to awaken its master whenever the time came for him to rise. While the Dark Gods sleep, life as we know it go on. But when they wake.....”
“When they wake, what happens?” I asked.
Cawdour drew a deep breath through grim lips. “By the time they rise, their thirst for destruction shall surely have grown as bottomless as the pit that had imprisoned them.”
I suddenly wondered if the savant was only trying to test me, to assess my canniness when told a false tale, even if by one whom I had always placed at the highest level of trust. “Wherever they presently lay,” I began carefully, trying not to sound naive, “will the world of man be left in peace for the next thousand thousand years, or should we fear?”
Again he regarded me, his glance challenging. Was it intended to admonish me -- not for my gullibility, but for my skeptical tone?
“We should fear,” he finally declared.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
The Dark Ones
FROM DYAN'S JOURNAL
All my life I had been hearing stories about the Formoru, told in a way meant to frighten children. These bogies of nightmare were sometimes called the Dark Gods. But except for the certainty that they were dangerous and exceptionally evil, no one had described in very much detail. Going faithfully to ritual did not illuminate a child on the subject; the parish druids said not a word about these ancient ones. Yet, it was said that our gods, the Daanan, had defeated them, thereby giving their tribe its greatest victory.
Since those days that are lost to me, and which I cannot now claim as my own, I have learned much that only the high wizards and druids are permitted to know. It is the kind of knowledge that I would cheerfully forget -- if only it were safe to do so.
“What are these Dark Gods? Are they truly dead and gone?” Those were the inquiries that I once put to Cawdour when I was about seventeen.
He looked at me in an odd way. I wondered if he was taking stock of me, trying to decide whether I was ready to receive an answer to the questions that I had asked.
“The Dark Gods are ancient creatures of immense power,” he said.
“So the stories tell us. But are they true gods, or are they monsters?” I asked.
“Both. Or neither. It is a matter of definitions.”
“How would you define those terms, Sire?”
The old wizard shrugged, as if I were being irrelevant.
“Most are colossal in size,” he stated. “Their memory lingers, though they were gone from the world before Mankind walked it.”
“How can that be?”
“Because they refuse to be forgotten. They mind-touch certain mad and half-mad persons in dreamtime. From the visions reported by these mad savants, they Dark Ones continue to be worshiped by the most depraved of human cults. And not only human cults.”
“Sire?”
Some believe that those which lurk at the edges worship them also.”
“Edges?” I echoed.
“The edges of human habitation, the edges of the seasons, the edges of Time and Forever, the edges of dark and light, the edges of dreaming and wakefulness. The edges of life and death. A few of these are found in our folklore -- the undead, the lycanthropes, the beings of the sea. Others have been forgotten, or, in their remoteness, have never become known.”
I blinked. I knew of such creatures from hero stories, but was the wizard implying that they were real? How could one so wise hold such an idea? For myself, belief in monsters had slipped away from me along with with childhood.
“The Dark Gods are held in abeyance by forces even greater than they are,” my foster father continued. “But this power is not immense enough to snuff them out of existence, so they abide like prisoners awaiting their release. The stars say that their day shall come again, but this is not their day. No one can prognosticate the hour when they will rise again; let us hope that it shall not be ere Mankind has withered and turned to dust.
“Is it the Daanan who hold these demons in check?”
Cawdour shrugged. “Most believe that the Formaru were routed by the gods. Others hold that their banishment came about gradually, part of the natural progression of the Cycles.”
I could not help but frown. What were the cycles that he referred to?
“According to the first theory,” Cawdour pressed, “the Dark Gods held sway in realms where our gods hold sway now. There was a great war between the gods of the natual world, led by Nudens, and the Dark Ones. It is said that nearly all of the Formoru and gods were slain.
"But the Daanan, legend tells us, held a secret. They knew the way back from the Pit of Death, and so sacrificed themselves in wild attacks, so that the enemy could be driven into the deep darkness along with them. The Daanan returned by virtue of their secret wisdom, but Death's Hall still holds the Dark Gods captive in its bowels.” He shrugged. “This tale is only a metaphor, the truth, we must assume, was something that our ancestors could not conceivably understand.
“Be that as it may, the Dark Gods are not truly dead; instead, they await the time of their release, eager for revenge against those who discomforted them.”
This was, in the main, the same story that parents had been telling their children for centuries.
Now Cawdour frowned pensively. “The second supposition holds that the Old Gods are dormant only due to the effects of cycles, the universal order to which even the mightiest of gods must yield. To understand this, look at the seasons of the earth. Just as some animals hibernate through inclement winter, so too must the Old Gods slumber so long as the prevailing cosmic cycle endures.
"These cycles are like the magical clock in the famous story, the one which made a sound to awaken its master whenever the time came for him to rise. While the Dark Gods sleep, life as we know it go on. But when they wake.....”
“When they wake, what happens?” I asked.
Cawdour drew a deep breath through grim lips. “By the time they rise, their thirst for destruction shall surely have grown as bottomless as the pit that had imprisoned them.”
I suddenly wondered if the savant was only trying to test me, to assess my canniness when told a false tale, even if by one whom I had always placed at the highest level of trust. “Wherever they presently lay,” I began carefully, trying not to sound naive, “will the world of man be left in peace for the next thousand thousand years, or should we fear?”
Again he regarded me, his glance challenging. Was it intended to admonish me -- not for my gullibility, but for my skeptical tone?
“We should fear,” he finally declared.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
The Dark Ones
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Reluctant Pin-Up by CBlack
Here's some early work by CBlack. Already, you can see his love for a healthy chest!
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