Imagine Tales

The creature appeared from behind the statue, pulling itself across the woodland floor on its front, the snapping of small twigs and the rustling of leaves accompanying a malignant deep and dank dragging sound. Occasional slopping of fleshy tentacles against the floor drummed a morbid beat as the thing dragged itself towards me. I was frozen to the spot with what I assumed at first was fear, but it was fascination, as I looked at the black entity with all its tentacle limbs and, from what I could see, useless legs, its body engorged and too heavy for such frail limbs. The fear soon set in, however, but I still could not stop looking at the creature. From the corner of my eye I saw something move, and I finally ripped my gaze from the horror before me only to find something much worse. Leaning against the stone was a mutilated body of a young child, a boy. Even though bone and muscle was exposed across his ribcage and entrails spilled out, he still moved. His arm with exposed bone was raised towards me. His face was mostly missing, his single lip beneath a collapsed nose was uttering words, words I could not hear or understand. But two words rang through my mind again and again.

“Help us…”

I tore my sight from the view of this dying child only to see his sister, for now I knew these were the children who went missing all those years ago. Too many years for them to be still young and if like this all that time, still alive. The little girl was curled up in her brother’s arms as if in some last attempt to protect herself from the horror. Her back and legs were stripped bare of flesh and muscle, her feet missing, stumps grinding against the dirt as her legs twitched, no longer under her control. I looked back at the monster that still crawled towards me, it was barely a few feet away now. It raised some of its upper tentacles, exposing a dark orifice, surrounded by teeth, rows of teeth, each small but razor sharp. I could smell the fetid breath of the creature as I stood over it, a wave of nausea hit me and I fell backwards, my balance ruined by the overwhelming stench of decay and death. A root completed the motion and I found myself hitting the floor and the breath knocked from me. I gasped for air and it took a moment for me to regain my senses. I was alone. The horror had gone, as had the disturbing sight of the children.

The statue still glowed with eerie strength in the night, its luminance falling short of me. I turned on all fours to pick myself up and suddenly, as my head passed into the unnatural light, the creature that should not be upon this earth leapt at me, its tentacles reaching out towards my face. I raised my arm to shield my head as I heard an unearthly scream being released from my own throat. A wet, heavy and sluggish tentacle landed on my bare skin. I screamed again, this time in pain as the fluids burned into my skin and I could smell my own flesh beginning to dissolve. I pulled back from the appendage and the light, as the monster tried to reach for me once more before fading into nothing. As I looked over at the statue, the children faded also. I don’t know how long I sat there, could have been hours, minutes, or just a few seconds. It was enough for the events of this evening to play over and over again in my mind. The glow from the statue I dared not go near showing me another place, not of man’s domain, but only a light particle away. I ran home, stumbling into bushes, trees and shallow holes. I reached the wall with a breath of relief and stormed through the gate, slamming it shut. I slowed now, catching my breath and began my way back to the house, the thorns of rose bushes bothering me little. I did not sleep that night or for many nights to come.

I returned to London the following day, exhausted but needing to be away from that place. My arm healed over the following weeks, but left scaring of a strange nature and it still stings after bad dreams, even now. I only returned to the house to board it up, staying at the pub overnight. The locals could see in my eyes that I had seen something in those woods, but I never told anyone. They still talked of strange things in the woods, supernatural, hauntings and curses, but I could not enjoy those tales like I once did, now that I know what is in those woods, what is in the light. I never sold the estate, I just let it drift into a forgotten realm of my life. I will not take my family there, I will not let them inherit it, I will not sell to another unfortunate soul. Whilst I am alive, I shall leave it well alone and after my death, it will be in the hands of the lawyers.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

As I stepped into the woods, I could a sense a significant drop in the light and temperature alike. Even though the air had been still just a moment ago, a chill wind blew through the trees. My skin prickled like a wave across my whole body, causing me to shiver. To my mind it had felt like somebody passing by, rather than a natural wind of which logic dictated. I looked into the woods and then through the gateway behind me, no leaf or branch stirred. The sense of foreboding I had felt back at the folly had returned and brought along friends. I decided that with the failing light I should only enter the woods so far as to be still within sight of the wall behind me. I knew this was a decision based on my own nerves, rather than risking the chance of becoming lost in the woods. Continuing in my triumph of common sense over unsubstantiated fears, I walked deeper into the forest. It always amazed me how, with a change in the light, nature could go from beautiful to terrifying. The unknown of the dark and twisted shapes, suggesting evil creatures lurking, waiting, hunting and finally feasting in ways beyond human perception. But still I carried on, occasionally turning back to look at the wall still faintly showing in the dying sunset. I did not expected to see much, but faintly in the distance I could see a clearing in the forest, an open patch where light gave it a ghostly appearance. Something stood in the centre, about three feet tall and bright amongst the dark edges of the clearing. I tried to make out the object, but was unable to in the rapidly fading light. I turned my head towards home but could not see the wall, more as result of the arriving night than my distance from it. I viewed my surroundings and located one particular unique tree twined with its nearest neighbour to become one. I decided that as long as I head for this tree from the clearing, I would easily be able to navigate myself back to the wall, and with that I continued onwards.

I tripped on numerous roots as I made my way, my eyes unable to pick out the ground as they tried to adjust between the light in the clearing and the darkness of the woods. As I stumbled closer, the light in the clearing seem to solidify, and I could see that the sky above it was black with arrival of countless stars. A sight that always amazed me each time I returned from London and all its manmade luminescence. The sun had finally set and the night had arrived. I continued onwards but suddenly stopped with the realisation that the clearing was still lit and I was sure the moon could not be having such an effect so early in the night. I knew my knowledge of the skies was limited to that of most folk, and tried to assume it was the moon in all her mystic glory. Now almost creeping, I moved closer to the open space, the strange object I saw from afar coming into view. If I did not know better, I would have sworn that the object gave off an unnatural glow, not like that of a light bulb, but more as if the light was sourced around it, an aura that illuminated the immediate surroundings. The trees that edged the clearing stood tall and looming, the under-lighting creating shadows like tortured faces set into the chaotic patterns of the bark. I had to suppress a laugh when the old man in the pub described the trees that surrounded the statue, but now I shivered in fearful awe, remembering his words. As my eyes fell upon the object, triggered by the memory of the tale, I could see it was a statue made of stone. I crept closer, daring not to leave the darkness that surrounded me and enter the clearing. Once settled behind the front line of monstrous guardian trees, I stared at the stone. It was certainly not of a natural shape, but it looked more organic than the chisel work of man, more like it had grown, like the trees that looked down upon it with terrifying gazes.

Part of me wanted to flee this place, head home, back to the safety of my house, but I could not take my eyes off the statue, with each passing moment gleaning more of its detail. It was certainly no recognisable creature, maybe because the elements have taken their toll upon this rock over the centuries. It seemed roughly humanoid, thin spindly legs supporting a grossly inflated body. This was where all humanoid similarities ended, however, and I could not discern a head, but something like a mouth, circular and ringed in regular circles of raised stonework like fearsome teeth, was placed in what one would assume was its chest. The rest of the upper body was lumpy with numerous tentacle-like limbs, a few raised skywards in a circular lean. It was a horrific sight to behold, never had I imagined something like this could exist in flesh or stone. I hated the object and instantly decided contract be damned, I would not have this in my grounds! The moment of self-righteous anger suppressed any previous emotions of uncertainty and fear, and I stood up, stepping forward with my hand against one of the giant trees for support. The light struck me and for a moment I felt faint. Something changed around me and suddenly I was not alone. My rage was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

It was the early 1900s and the house belonged to a family, a father, mother and three young children. The winter had been harsh and they lost the youngest child to whooping cough. The mother had taken the loss badly and was not showing any signs of ending her mourning for the child. Many of her duties as a mother have now fallen to the servants, as the husband was kept in London by his work. The servants believed he did not want to return home, his love for the family damaged by the loss and his wife’s darkening presence. As the following winter approached and the first snows fell, there was little sign of improvement in the family, and the children became more and more isolated from their parents. Despite warnings from the servants not to wonder beyond the wall, brother and sister went into the woods after a scolding from the maid for disturbing their mother’s rest. It was many hours before the maid called for them, as the evening meal was to be served soon, but her call was not answered. A search by the servants was quickly brought about, the house, the gardens and the woods, both larger and more wild than today. No sign of the children was found as the last of the daylight disappeared, and all that could be done was to send word to their father in London and to rally help for first light. The children were never found, only sign that they had even been in the woods was the young girl’s toy, a rag doll given to her by her mother. The loss of the children broke the family, the mother took her own life within a few months and the father was found drowned in the Thames a year later. The events had fuelled local talk for many a year after, with elaborations on the suffering and deaths of the parents. But no man, woman or child ever embellished the fate of the children, for it was only one fact that convinced them all of what happened to them. The girl had always carried that doll, battered and worn, as it was her favourite and rarely left her side. It was found by an old statue in the oldest part of the woods, where a circle of trees stood like tall, wooden entities true to whom the statue embodied. Over the years, with nature taking its toll upon the stone, time had distorted its true representation in the minds of men and women alike. Some said it was a pagan witch who feasted upon the flesh of children when the great trees where just saplings, others said it was older than even her. But all knew it was something to be feared and respected. The old ways still had their part to play.

…

My eyes slowly become accustomed to the darkness inside the folly, and I then noticed an engraving upon a centre brick in the back wall. It read ‘In memory of John Connelly’. I had no idea for whom this not inexpensive tribute was, the surname not manifesting in any of the legal documents I had read. It was something I could investigate upon my return to the City, as my position granted me connections in such matters with ease, but I cursed that no dates had been carved in the beautiful ornate script. With the thought of a man’s final demise lingering, the inside of the folly seem to take on a dark and damp atmosphere, which felt almost tomb-like. I shuddered and quickly stood up to leave the folly, and as I stood my eye caught another inscription on the stone floor. Unlike the more formal dedication, this was scratched crudely by what looked like a knife blade, and it only said one word: ‘Lilith’. Another shudder fell across me and I hurriedly left the folly, letting the rose thorns scratch me as they pleased, more concerned with seeking the light than protecting my exposed skin. Those brief few seconds had turned my mood suspicious and unnerved. The sky still gave off a blue hue and seemed so much brighter than before I had entered the folly and it had quickly helped dispel the foreboding sensations.

Another wooden arch covered in ivy stood over the continuing path into the woods. I went through it and began to follow the path. I could see now just how like a labyrinth the garden was, it was not a maze as many might assume, but followed one path, as a true labyrinth would. The only difference was the destination was not the centre, but then I thought, that depends on your perspective of what the centre is. For this garden, I felt it was the woods. The path twisted and turned, so had it not been for the nearing tree line, I would have easily lost all sense of direction. Sometimes statues of angels and mythical beasts stood set back into the planting beds, the overgrown branches allowing them to hide in wait with unknown intent. The Victorian zeal for the Gothic evident in each piece of craftsmanship, nature adding its haunting quality in the green and red tones of the moss and lichen that lived upon the stone. I revelled in the overall effect of the garden, it was beautiful and full of mystery, it let my imagination run wild and filled my heart full of morbid delight in the fading light that brought an air of sinister excitement to the place.

Before long, I had reached the end of the labyrinth garden and could see the distinct line of the woodland ahead, which was bordered by a tall brick wall with a single ironwork gate allowing access to the woodland. I recollected seeing the wall in the plans of the grounds and thinking how strange it was to have such a defensive wall inside the grounds. Many reasons came to me now that I stood there. Like the statues, it was more ornate than its purpose required, but the walls seemed too high and the gate too solid and simple to be just pleasing to the eye. Recalling the tale of I was told of the missing children, it would have prevented them from playing in the woods, assuming the gate was kept locked. It was the thought that maybe the wall kept something out, something in the woods or the woods themselves, which troubled me. My mind wondered with too much morbid suspicion and folklore. I approached the gate, gently pushed against it, and it opened with the expected squeal of unkempt hinges. Once the unbearable high-pitched noise stopped, I realised how quiet it was. No birds sang and no wind moved the trees, it was a deathly silence and momentarily made me hesitate about continuing. But I told myself it was the environment and my own mind which created this sense of foreboding. There was no wind in the still night and many animals would be resting and it was still too early for the night time creatures to be noticeable. I pushed the gate fully open and stepped through.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5