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

This was not the story that I originally started, it was meant to be a traditional chilling ghost tale for Christmas. But the problem with ghost stories for Christmas is you don’t really think to write one till the Christmas spirit is upon you, and you think how nice it would be to write a ghost story in time for Christmas Eve, only to have no time because you left it so late. So this carried on into the new year, and hints at ghostly things as you expect for Christmas, but it ended somewhere very different as the decorations came down and we got on with our daily lives.

When writing, it is all too easy to stray into already trod paths when your own is not very clear. When I began this tale, I knew it was already following one of these existing paths, and as I typed I could hear its tone, all too familiar as these existing short stories bounced around my imagination, not wanting to leave. So I let it follow the same path, but letting go to an end I did not see where it was going till it got there. I have left what you could call an ‘Easter Egg’ in this age of DVD menus to point you in the direction of this particular influence. I am sure Google will point you in the right direction as you search in the nocturnal hours and recommend them heartily if you like this sort of thing.

So now read on and enjoy, but not too much.

…

The statue had stood in the woods for more than seven centuries, if you believed the stories that are closely twisted around the cold worn stone by the locals as they enjoyed more than a few glasses of local ale of an evening. A year or more ago I myself enjoyed the tales told by the rough voices as the wood fire burned away, keeping the pub warm in atmosphere as much as heat. I relished the revival of childhood interests in the supernatural, hauntings and curses. Now, it is different; now I cannot dismiss the tales round the fire as just entertainment. Now I fear that all legends and folklore tend to be tethered by some truth, these tales told over the years bend and turn to the storytellers whim. But often the oldest roots are solid, whether we choose to believe in them or not.

…

I had bought the house and surrounding grounds the previous year, soon after my role as a member of a prestigious law firm in London had taken a positive step up the so-called ladder, as did my income. I had always dreamed of a retreat in the forest, and when an estate of a recently deceased client of the firm was offered for sale at a very reasonable price, I was finally able to afford the mortgage for a home outside the city, while being able to rent a modest room in London for the working week. All was perfect for a time: I worked hard in my new position in the law firm, willing to spend the extra hours in the evening to prove that their decision had been the right one. At the weekend I would return to my new home with the tools and supplies to decorate and repair, enjoying the physical labour after spending days behind a desk, dredging through legal documentation.

I had decided to take a week off as holiday to finish the decorating, put away the tools for a while, and finally invite friends to stay over the weekend. Many of them were hinting at how they longed to escape the overbearing nature of the city and all it entailed. So with a certain amount of zeal, I got on with the work and finished it with a day to spare. It was late evening when I had put away the last of my tools. But as it was summer, dusk was only just manifesting and I decided to take a walk. The renovations had taken up all my time and attention, and I had still not fully explored the grounds. As I stood and looked out of the French windows, it occurred to me how odd it was that I had never stepped beyond the open lawn.  A strange sense of foreboding came across me, causing me to shiver. Was it really the renovations that had kept me from leaving the grass area for the dark passages through wild ornamental plants or had it been something else? As my mind began to wonder towards the fantastical horrors spoken of by the old men in the village, I gave myself a mental shake and with some bravado told myself that I would go see what lay in my gardens, at least until the light no longer allowed.

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