Scholars of Novia CONTEST #1 "The Sisters Grim" - Authors please read

Merry met writers!

It came to me with a wonderful feeling when I received the winning entries to the contest and was able to post those winners for you to see! If you missed the winners of this fantastic contest, you shall be able to follow this path of candy wrappers to that post!

Congratulations to all the amazing writers, it was indeed a hard choice to pick only the top 5 out of these great stories.

Very warm and big thank you to Lady FireLotus for taking her time out of her busy schedule to be our special guest judge. As is with all things, was a great honour working with you m'lady!

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This thread will be for all the wonderful authors that submitted work to this contest. We ask that if you would be so kind, please sign your name at the end of the list. This signing is to acknowledge that this is indeed the story you submitted as well as giving permission to reprint your story inside Shroud of the Avatar as is displayed.

Winners will be rewarded their prize of Portalarium publication where as those that are not in the top 5 are being offered a place in our library wiki and recommended list as well as in the future when possible, the Scholars of Novia would like to publish your stories for you at our expense and not yours.

Without further ado, from from first to fifth, followed by no particular order:

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

A Tale of Braemar
By royalsexy




A Tale of Braemar
By royalsexy

“Whiiiiiiizzzzz” is the best word to describe the sound the boy’s sling made as he spun it over his head. He loosed the stone and startled a lizard basking on the side of the mountain, part of the range known as the Bone Spires.

“I’m so bored! Nothing ever happens here!” the boy complained to his friend.

“Well, let’s go explore the beach down South, Damon,” the older boy replied. “If we catch some clams and crabs the inn will pay well for them.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Alby, I’ll tell my folks and grab a few supplies,” Damon replied. The two boys were as close as brothers, having grown up together in the sleepy forest village of Braemar.

Soon after sunrise they set off, backpacks full of camping supplies, and an optimistic quantity of nets and sacks for their catch. They arrived late the next day and set up their camp at the base of the cliffs. A cold wind was picking up. The sun was setting, so they decided to wait until morning to go hunting for shellfish. Tired from the hike, they slept easily, though a little uncomfortably with the wind rising as night fell.

A booming crack of thunder directly overhead awoke both boys, disoriented and startled, moments before the rain came pelting down, driven straight into their meager shelter by the wind. Both boys scrambled to pack up their gear, as they knew the beach wasn’t a safe place in a heavy storm. Damon stumbled outside first, looking around and seeing that the tide had risen to their left where they had entered the beach. To the right the wet cliffs rose straight up from the sea to the ruin-covered bluffs, and would be impossible to scale.

“Damon, the cave!” shouted Alby over the thunder and screaming wind. Damon, heart pounding, looked to where Alby was pointing and made out the hollow just above them during a bright flash of lightning. They scrambled up the terraced stones into the cave mouth, but were still being pelted by rain. Alby muttered the spell he’d learned from a wandering wizard recently (the only spell a boy of his age was trusted with) and a soft glowing orb appeared over his head. He’d been quietly proud to learn he had a natural talent for summoning magic. They could see that the cave extended deeper under the cliffs and moved further inside. The rock passage gave way to a larger room, and they could see a rectangular shape on the flat floor on the cavern. The boys glanced at each other, and started laughing giddily.

“We’ve been coming to this beach for years and never knew this was here!” exclaimed Damon. Alby nodded and bent to examine the intricately rune-carved surface of the granite block.

“Look, there’s a join here, I bet this is a lid. Maybe some pirate’s treasure stash…” Alby said, running a finger over the strangely warm stone. “Give me a hand.” Both boys pushed hard and managed to shift the lid with a grating of stone on stone. One hand-span, then another it shifted, and an eldritch blue glow started emanating from within. They both jumped as a metal gate slammed shut with a deafening crash, cutting them off from the passage they’d entered through.

Alby’s light spell ran out.

In the dark Damon began to sob raggedly, his heart again pumping fit to burst through his chest. A voice came from the sarcophagus they had unwittingly opened.

“WHO DARES TO DISTURB MY SLUMBER?” The vast voice boomed.

“We’re so sorry, sir!” Alby gabbled, but Damon had had too many frights for one day and took off running deeper under the cliffs, assuming Alby was right behind him, but when he found sunlight he realized he was alone.

Several days later, the townsfolk of Braemar found Damon hiding in a stand of trees halfway back to town. Alby was never seen again, and Damon could never be coaxed to speak of it. In fact, he never spoke much again after that day. On windy summer nights, blue lights can be seen in the distance by someone standing on the southern slopes of the Bone Spires, moving around on the beach and through the ruins of Ravensmoor. No one knows what became of Alby, but strong warriors fear to open the two stone coffins in the cave.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

The Journal of Dereck Warden
translated and with an introduction by "The Bard from Shadow Valley"



Translator's Introduction:
I was able to acquire this journal at flea market in Ardoris. It is obvious that the seller did not know its value, because it was written in an ancient Obsidian cipher. Fortunately, I know a bit about cryptanalysis and was able to break the cipher and I am able to share this diary with immense historic value with you — the reader.

* * *

The Journal of Dereck Warden of Hilt


Day One
Our task is to explore the lava tubes. There are reports of missing soldiers in one section. Our group consists of Shreya, Zyrus, Winston, Trix and myself. We have started to search through the lava tubes. They look abandoned.


Day Two
We have found what looks like an entrance into the Catacombs. It seems that someone built a tunnel on the other side. We should explore where it leads.


Day Three
We are moving to explore this part of the Catacombs. We have found something that might be an entrance to an underground fortress. We have made an encampment in the large cavern.


Day Four
Zyrus, our sorcerer, blasted the gate open. I have ordered a search of the fortress. It is hard to tell cardinal directions down here, so we decided to call the gate Southern Gate.


Day Five
The corridors are empty except for cobwebs. We have not found anyone so far. No bodies either. It seems someone left the place in the hurry. However, if that was the case, why was the gate latched from inside? Trix has not returned from his search of the Western side. He was a thief recruited by the Obsidians and cannot be trusted. If he does not return soon I shall send Winston to search for him.


Day Six
We have been underground far too long. I am not sure whether it is day or night, whether it is day six or seven. It seems that this fortress was built by the Obsidians to protect the secret entrance into Hilt. Where are its inhabitants, though? There are no signs of battle or plague. Winston has not returned from his search for Trix. We should all go search the Western area of the fortress.


Day Seven
Still no sign of Winston or Trix. No signs where the former inhabitants went either. We are sweeping through the Western area of the fortress. I have a bad feeling about this.

Nothing. We have completed the search. No bodies. No blood stains. No exits. We found a treasure room. There were not many valuables, however there was a chest we could not open and no one has found a key that would fit its lock so far. We tried prying it open but we broke a sword during our attempt. We found a diary. Zyrus says that the Obsidians used shard metal to make the lock of the chest and some unknown magic. They were experimenting and trying to find the ultimate protection for valuable relics of the past. We should bring it to the Obsidian Sorcerers for further examination.

We have left the fortress. We should reach the lava tubes soon. We will be standing watch.


Day Eight
No one woke me for my watch. Zyrus went missing during the night. Neither of us knows where and when. Only two of us are left now. I am sending Shreya for help.

I have to pull the chest myself now. The sound of my feet on this cursed floor sounds like gritting teeth. Or maybe the sound is coming from the chest. My imagination is playing tricks on me. I could swear that the chest is looking at me, but it has no eyes. I have reached the tubes, but I am tired. I have to have a rest. I hope that whatever evil was hidden in the Catacombs will not follow me in here.

* * *

Translator's Note:
After this there was only one note in the journal. It is not coded and it was clearly written by another hand.

* * *

Dereck Warden was nowhere to be found when we arrived. There is no sign he had left, yet there is no sign of battle either. He simply disappeared. We have recovered the chest and found this journal next to it and we will transport both to the Obsidian Sorcerers. We also blocked this lava tube. Shreya.

The caravan transporting the chest never reached their destination and the chest was never delivered.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclym

The Smokehouse
Anonymous




The Smokehouse

A man returning from a day’s hunt stepped from the forest into the clearing surrounding his woodland homestead. Long shadows from a westering sun reached from the tree line and wrapped around the small cottage. Light spilled through the open door and spread across the empty yard.

“I’m back!” he called out.

He had expected his boy to be waiting, eager to see what game he had caught. Or at least the dog to come bounding out. But all was quiet.

A disappointing homecoming for a disappointing hunt. All he had to show for the day were two quail. They’d make a fine dinner for tonight, but he needed to start putting away stores for the coming winter. Not that he was worried about insufficient food. In another two weeks it would be cold enough to slaughter the hogs and smoke the hams and sausages that would last them until spring. But more variety meant a less bleak winter.

As he approached the cottage door, he heard soft crying. He stepped inside.

His son sat on a chair near the fire of the kitchen hearth, legs pulled up, knees under his chin, arms wrapped around his shins. His eyes were red and puffy.

“What’s the matter, son?” he said. “Where’s your ma?” The boy looked up and took a shuddering sniff. “She ain’t got back from the market yet.”

The man’s throat clenched. She should have been back hours ago. He glanced over the empty cottage. “Where’s Burley?” It was unlike the hound to leave the boy, especially when he was distressed.

“He runned off when the monster showed up.”

The man blinked. “The what?”

“The monster.” The son buried his face behind his knees. “It was horrible. I was so scared pa.”

“Monster? What are you talking about?”

The son looked up, his voice now prideful. “But I caught it pa, I trapped it in the smokehouse. You’d be proud of me. I caught it, Pa!”

“What nonsense are you talking? You’ve got some animal in the smokehouse?” It was typical of his son’s boyish imagination. He probably trapped a raccoon in there. And the rafters were still hung with smoked trout from this summer’s fishing trip. The critter would be gorging itself. The man flushed with anger. He dropped the quail on the table next to his son and walked back out the front door, leaving it ajar.

He walked around to the smokehouse. The small outbuilding was constructed of stout oaken timbers, grayed with age and streaked with black stains where years of smoke found exits through chinks in the boarding. It was meant to keep out scavengers and protect the precious contents during the long smoking process. Now it was holding something in.

The man paused at the door and listened. He thought he heard something faint, like rope stretching against wood. What could the boy have caught in there?

He slipped his hunting knife from its sheath and pushed the door open a crack. The setting sun no longer reached through the surrounding forest, and the growing darkness, coupled with the black, smoke-stained interior of the smokehouse made it impossible to see inside. The man waited a moment, satisfied to let whatever animal was inside run free into the forest, no doubt with a belly full of fish.

But nothing emerged, and the man heard no noise from within.

He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. He could make out nothing but smoked fish hanging from the closest rafters. He moved further in, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he discerned a tall shape suspended from a rafter in the back of the room. He stepped closer, gripping his knife.

His wife’s body dangled from the rafters by a rope that bound her wrists. Next to her, their only son was similarly suspended. Behind him, the dog hung from its hind legs.

His son’s head lifted slowly and one eye opened.

“Pa, there’s a monster,” he said hoarsely. “It looks like me.”

Stars exploded before his eyes as a tremendous weight impacted the base of his skull. His face hit cold, packed dirt. He tasted soot. He was vaguely aware that he was on the floor of the smokehouse.

As if from a great distance, a voice cackled, “Oh, how well I will eat this winter!”

Blackness consumed him.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Mirror, Mirror...of the Lost
by Gaelis Trajan
translated by Tolon





Mirror, Mirror...of the Lost
by Gaelis Trajan
translated by Tolon

Gordon, ropemaker by trade, was travelling from Owl’s Head to Kingsport to offer this month’s production. It would be the last of the busy marketdays for Kingsport before winter dragged its frozen claws across the land. He had been dallying, reluctant to leave hearth and home as the days were already growing short and chilly and thus, with dusk already falling fast, he decided to turn in at an old, run-down inn he had never noticed on previous journeys.

Neither its unexpected discovery nor the somewhat haunted look of the gloomy building and not even the merry atmosphere in the warm and homely pub room could keep him from his bed. He had his mind set on getting an early start and make up for the lost time. As he followed the comely maid up the well-worn, creaky stairs whilst paying way more attention to her equally comely rear than a married man should, he couldn’t help but glance into the old, cloudy mirror facing him as he came up to the landing.

He stumbled, luck alone keeping him from tumbling down the stairs, as facing him from the mirror was not his face but staring back at him, as through a window, was a view of the pub room. Not the merriment he had witnessed before, the warm glow of the fire and the golden puddles of beer on the polished old wood of the tables. What he saw was bloody mayhem. The tables were slick with blood, the landlady slumped over the bar with a knife in her back, and the patrons mangled, cast across the bloodied furniture in sickening contortions not unlike puppets with their strings cut.

Squinting his eyes shut he wanted to turn away, to follow the unperturbed maid upstairs, but found himself stunned with fear and surprise. As he dared to look again at the hellish glass it was but his own face, pale and scarred, looking back at him.

Despite his plans to sleep early and move on soon after dawn and despite the weariness from the journey so far Gordon couldn’t fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the scene from the mirror. Every time drawn to a new horrific detail he hadn’t noticed before. He couldn’t help it, he needed to take another look at the mirror, convince himself that it was merely a spectre of his imagination.

Slowly, carefully, he crept up to the landing of the stair and peeked into the cloudy glass on the wall. There it was again, the pub room drenched in blood and death. Yet it was not entirely the same scene. Just at the edge of the mirror, where the lower landing of the stairs was visible the maid stared at him with dead eyes, still clutching a key akin to the one of his room, her limbs twisted and broken.

Gordon had to steady himself on the wall as he rushed back to his room, all thoughts beyond flight banished from his mind. He grabbed his things and ran for the stairs, avoiding another glance at the mirror.

* * *

A few days later...

A young merchant making his way back from Kingsport came upon the inn. After drinking through most of his earnings with the regulars, he followed the maid upstairs almost knocking down an old, cloudy mirror as he staggered up to the landing.

He screamed as in the mirror he saw, like through a window, a view of the pub room, guests slaughtered, the landlady stabbed and blood on every surface.

...and swinging gently from a rafter on a very new rope, the ropemaker whom he had missed at the Kingsport Market.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclym

Moonlit Vigil
a selection from the Tales of Lux
from the Lux Sanctuary Library Collection




Moonlit Vigil


The first time I saw her I thought it was a dream.

I was on my way home, with happy thoughts in my head and cradling an almost empty jug in my arms. Needing to relieve myself and given the courage only found at the bottom of a pitcher, I stepped up to the cliff’s edge to look fate in the eye and show how I felt about the cards I had been dealt so far.

That was when I glanced down into the canyon and noticed a pristine slender figure in the lake. She was laughing while splashing twinkling droplets in the moonlight. Although she didn't look my way, I quickly retreated homeward.

Over the next weeks a transformation came over me. No longer did I seek the relief of liquor. Instead I slept by day and spent the evenings taking the winding way into the canyon, strolling along the lake and contemplating how a dream could so utterly possess me.

It was under a clear sky's moonlight that I saw her again. I was sitting on the lakeshore, when I heard a splash and a laugh. I turned and there she was. So beautiful a sight that for a while I forgot to breathe. When I finally remembered, I let out a gasp, but the sound startled her and she quickly retreated away. I turned around and apologized profusely. Angrily she called to me that I better go away, for her big brother was there to protect her. Turning to where she pointed, I could see a silhouette of a large man with a stick standing on the cliff above us.

The next clear moonlit night I hid behind a tree making sure the foliage would hide me from her brother’s watchful eyes. My heart raced and skipped beats as I watched my obsession bathe in Daedalus' embrace. But this time when she stepped out of the water I could have sworn that she stole a glance my way.

The hopes and fears were driving me insane. Did she know? Was it just my imagination? I had to find out. The next clear moonlit night, I sat in front of the tree, shadowed by the foliage, but visible from the lake. When she finally arrived she looked straight at me, undressed, and stepped into the water.

One cannot even fathom the joy sitting there partaking from a distance in this canvas of radiance. But with fall approaching I had to grow bold. I stood up, but seeing my move she rushed forward trying to intercept me before her brother would see me. That was when my stomach went cold, seeing her up close for the first time I noticed I could see through her. She saw my bewilderment, stopped and with a sad smile descended into the lake.

Quickly I climbed the cliff wanting to confront the silhouette. My surprise was complete when he turned and, though still tall, was an old man leaning on his cane. Taken aback, I challenged why he stood there on moonlit nights. With a hoarse voice and with a stream of tears running down his cheeks he told me a story from his youth. The night before the grand dance, his younger sister had wanted to take a cleansing moonlight bath. His parents had charged him with her protection and he had followed her to the lake, but with the recklessness of youth, he had strayed from his task. They never found her, but he swore that on clear nights he could still hear her laughter.

At the end of his story I gave him a hug as it was all I could do. He collapsed and for all his stature he was like a hurt child seeking comfort from a parent. For a long while he held my arm desperately and sobbed at my shoulder. When it finally subsided I held him at an arm’s length and looked him into his eyes.

"It is over," I told him, as I gently pushed him away and over the cliff’s edge.

* * *

Now I'm standing here in the fading light of dusk. Standing and waiting with stones in my pockets at the brink of the lake — waiting for the moonlight so that I can tell her that from now on I will be the one protecting her and that I will share her vigil in the lake.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Selected Works of The Paean Bards
collected by Sunswords



The Treachery of Baram-Kul
by Xan

Where bloodied roses and dry bones lie,
Even Virtues forsake this unholy ground.
Within the shadows shrieks a voice high,
Take heed good folk, death is abound.

Why forth have you come, oh foolish one!
To feed the maggots with your corpse?
The gods of mercy shall spare you none,
This darkness swallows with no remorse.

Baram-Kul the Lich will welcome you warmly,
He yearns to feast on your blood red flesh.
From your skull, a cup he shall drink deeply,
Your eyes and your teeth, a garland most fresh.

Baram-kul the lich is most forgiving, he'd say,
Ghastly flames burning bright in his eyes.
His voice echoes in his kingdom of decay:
"Perform for me and freedom's your prize".

Where bloodied roses and dry bones lie,
A dancing skeleton mocks the sunlight.
The stretched skin of a face in the wind does sigh,
As your scream is drowned out, by the still of the night.



Of Curses Betwixt
Anonymous

Poisoned shroom and spiders' silk,
I cast a curse on thee.
Thine precious wit and foolish ilk
Rue the day thou camest to be!

Blackened pearl and mandrake root,
I bind my will to ye.
Do my bidding mine faithful brute
So fall upon thine knees!

Serpent scale and pinch of ash,
I trap thy heart once free.
Twist thine soul and hopes be dash
This crone doth laugh with glee!



Dread Beasts' Puzzle
By Parnaxis

A crown I wear, a jeweled arc,
Gems that shine, in light and dark.

Through air I crawl, a dreadful grace,
Wings I have not, I leave no trace.

My weapons sheathed, a dagger pair,
Your blood it drinks, your flesh it tears.

Wanderer of the abyss, you draw near,
What am I, the one you'll fear?

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclym

Anonymous Letter Containing a Warning
discovered and curated by The Grim Sisters
transcribed and with a commentary by the Sororahorridalia Society




A Warning

It bears no name and no title. Its canvas is black and liquid as though soaked in oil and tar, with foreign symbols writ in dim, luminescent silver. The smudging of these words tends toward the bottom of the page as though the shapes themselves cry in agony. These qualities are unimportant. You will know it if you find it; you will feel the darkness reaching into you.

Tal sharak. The Shadows will not live much longer. I come from a place called Merdia, a land far removed from your own. I am sorry, reader, if you have the wit to read these words. If your people can know evil, I have done you a great wrong.

You will know it if you find it, reader. You will know because it has found you. The feeling is unmistakable. It is lust, fear, anger, hatred. It is all that is evil in every world, removed but palpable, as though you stand before the most vile creature ever made in any place. As though you belong to it. When you feel this, you will want to die.

Know, reader, that it cannot be destroyed. As we burn it, it is born again somewhere new. Nine men lost their lives attempting to destroy it by tearing, piercing, slashing, pounding. Do not try these, reader. If you find it, run.

Do not approach it. Do not touch it. Most of all do not attempt to read it. You will not recognize the symbols thereupon writ; nevertheless I compel you: do not read it. When you feel its claws digging at your mind, do all you can to shut those thoughts off from all that you know and do. It will rail against you. It will flay at your soul and burn its brand into every part of your mind. Even so, you must try in every way your strength allows to remember this only and above the corruption: that you must not read the page. All that you love depends on it.

I am sorry, reader. This act will weigh on my soul eternally. The Shadows are dying now. I pray this letter falls to a world uninhabited, where it can threaten no one. If you find this, make it known. Your people must know [...]

***

Commentary

The original copy of this message is written on a fine canvas page, ripped across at the bottom with a purple tint and burn marks along the line, and its letters are sloppy and hastily written. Most peculiar of the note's properties is that the canvas is elaborately made and quite delicate while the ink is clumpy and a very dark, almost black, red — the blood of a Necromancer, the Grim Sisters say. To date all attempts to validate that claim (or even the claim that the ink is blood at all) have failed, as have professional attempts out of Brittany and Aerie to determine the origin or maker of either the canvas or the ink.

Some rumors suggest that the Sisters simply made it all up. Of course the two maintain a certain ignorance of the letter's origin, though they have never told where or how they acquired the letter. Only one thing about it is known: that nothing about it is known, except maybe by the Crones. And they simply will not say.


prepared for the Journal of the Sororahorridalia Society,
a fellowship of Novian folklorists devoted to the preservation of stories & artifacts related to the Grim Sisters

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Twilight Air
by Joviex




Twilight Air
by Joviex

You're peaceful. You're living what you barely dreamed of and it’s okay. It's real. If you die here, you'll have this moment; your body wants this as much as your spirit does.

Stay here; it's safe with the dead in the cool dark. You remain lying on the surface; their restless thrashing a lullaby that keeps you afloat. Death is a word used by people who haven't been through it.

Time flows onwards, lost.

Two hands reach down, falling through the dark like heavy stones. Her voice doesn't disturb you. It's brisk and firm and her and you're glad to hear it after the dead’s whispers.

The eerie light of a distant tower burns low; its soft, blue glow embracing her silhouette. You don't have a proper name for it, the void between where you are and where she sits. You stare at her, and at the dead all around you — what have you done?

Before the dead began to speak to you, you had dreams of what your life might be like. Toiling under the warm sun, working the fields like your parents did, with a wife and a son — a strong boy skipping happily into the future like all children.

Your chest hurts. Your lungs grasp each breath from the arid air like rain beating upon the sun. Your aching hands, a mass of scrapes and scratches, sting from inactivity. The dead lay strewn about, unrepentant about what they'd done. The dead don't much care for the stones that mark them; they only care about their legacies.

You feel hot with the rush of your heart, beating so hard it's pounding your dreams into dust. This isn't what was meant to be. Not this empty, starlit place where you're going to die.

Framing your face with her hands, they smell of oil and dry earth. This is the verge. You either stop here forever or dive into the vastness beyond.

Her eyes glance towards the firmament, unblinking. You look up. It’s all beautiful. Minutes pass before you say what you're thinking. “You're not afraid?”

Her voice is soft. “I’m not afraid.”

It's not death; you've felt its grip upon your soul all too often. That's not the terror. The terror is unnamed, yet exhilarating — an undiscovered country beyond.

Most who are about to die are hypocrites. You watch them meet that new frontier with heavy sobs, mourning the loss of something that was never owned. You see them start that journey screaming and flailing and tearing at their clothes.

The dead don't lie. They continue their solemn march toward that land. You are never forced to bid your farewells. You know it to be more insidious. Death’s touch grows warmer with each moment you dwell.

“There's much left undone." Your words are inadequate. Like a stone; colorless and cold, twisting, descending into the shadowy, airless abyss of a river.

The stars can't hear you and won't, but she does. Everyone struggles. You see her somber smile. You hear her heavy heart. You know the battle raging behind her eyes.

You know, you understand, you reassure, “We will be alright.”

She places some flowers on the fresh earth; the smell is warm and full of life.

You watch her take up your son. The dream is done.

You're no longer peaceful, just at peace.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Chronicles of The Death
by Riya





Chronicles of The Death
by Riya

This gate is huge. It is a double-winged iron gate more than twelve arm-spans wide and higher than my eyes can see. I am not sure if it just meets the obsidian sky or pierces right through it. I was here once before. If my memory does not deceive me, this gate was only two men tall the last time I saw it. Then, I pushed it open with ease to release the creature lurking beyond. This time, over three years have passed while trying to make this fateful decision to return to this doomed scene, the Inner Hell.

I am not sure what others call it, but for me this abyss is how I imagine my hell. It can be reached neither by land, nor by sea. Even on wings it remains undiscovered. Only closing my eyes and concentrating wholly on this spot, am I guided there. Opening my eyes again, this place engulfs my consciousness — dark as a starless night. The only object in sight is this solid, plain iron edifice, massive from the bottom to the top, too heavy for a normal human being to budge.

Even I struggle to push this gate open. It was a hard decision to free this monster so long ago, but with all the involved people this time, it could cause a cataclysm. Okay, it is not fair to call it a monster. This is not a beast with three heads or a demon with a thousand eyes on his body. I’m not sure it even has a certain shape. This horror can be found in everything and everybody. That is what the people fear the most. Especially the ones, whom are to blame for my current situation, these avatars, are scared of the Chaos.

They try to chain up this part of themselves behind a door, locked with eight different seals. They call it virtues, I call it a plague. Obliged to follow those rules, all humans aim for the same goal in their short lives, binding them to a uniform future for eternity. Everyone is sentenced to repeat this tragedy over and over again. Known as a time of peace, I call it stagnation. Which not only harms them, it also hurts the one I love, the ever changing Future. She lost the brightness in her once-sparkling eyes and her colorful diversity. Thanks to the avatars she now looks the same every day, every week and every month without the opportunity to break free on her own.

Those invaders entered our world decades ago, an alien element, and still try to impose their ways. They can’t even die and move to the next world like everyone else. I remained quiet, just keeping an eye on them, hoping the people would awake from their stupor and change the world on their own, but nothing happened. The egotistical avatars interfere and rule over a world which they don’t belong to. Now it is time to stand up for my own need — selfish, I am aware — to rescue the one true love I have in this world.

My hand slides over the smooth surface of the gate. It is cold like me and represents the burden I have to shoulder once the gathered Chaos behind is released. Many will lose their lives. It could possibly devour every living soul including mine and the soul I mean to save, but I can no longer sit by and watch her suffering in silence. The consequences of not acting outweigh the risk. Even if I have to put my life on the line, it has to be done. Now. I press both my hands against the gate and begin to push.

Any doubts washed away. With no hesitation in my heart anymore I lean forward. Through the opening gap I can feel the raging heat as a harbinger of the uncontrollable Chaos. Gathering all my strength, I push even harder. Finally opened wide enough, I step beyond the ominous portal.

The Chaos hidden here in me over the years, decades and centuries has grown immense, too much to release only parts of it. However, that was never my intention. I step aside and let it free. I, The Death, won’t regret what I have done and I would do it again should the circumstances require it.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Yalanah's Songbook
by Yalanah




Yalanah's Songbook

(From a somewhat battered leather-bound journal, carefully inscribed inside the front cover with this dire warning: "Some of these songs were taught me by my grandpa, so you better not go stealing them and claiming they're yours or I'll whack ya!")


The Ballad of the Hunter

The hunter wandered off the trail
Into the woods so fair;
Ignoring elders' cautious tales
Of what awaited there.

He saw a figure through the trees,
A lithe and lovely girl;
She locked his heart and stole the keys
And left his head awhirl.

He loved her eyes of deepest green,
He loved her shining hair;
Oh, never had the hunter seen
A maiden quite so fair.

She skipped away out of his sight
As quickly as she could;
He ran, no heed to coming night,
Deep into the wood.

He followed her, proclaiming love,
She led him ever on;
She knew that by the stars above
He soon would be undone.

He loved her eyes of deepest green,
He loved her shining hair;
Oh, never had the hunter seen
A maiden quite so fair.

He followed her into the grove,
And to the largest tree.
The look she gave, the spell she wove,
Held him too blind to see.

Her magic, taken from the night,
Had helped her to deceive;
She wrapped her arms around him tight
And he could never leave.

If you see eyes of deepest green,
If you see shining hair;
Remember you should never be
Too bold to take good care.





The Lady

Gather ye round, folks, listen to my tale.
Sit yourself down, folks, grab yourself an ale.
Hold on to your children, keep them by your side,
Never let them go alone into the darkling night.

For the Lady comes a walking, before the break of day,
Preying on the innocents, taking them away.

The Lady was a noble lass, she lived up on the hill,
Within the largest manor house; you see it standing still.
She had the best of everything, diamonds, pearls and gold,
But what she wanted most of all was just a babe to hold.

For the Lady comes a walking, before the break of day,
Preying on the innocents, taking them away.

The years went by, the Lady cried, her Lord was in despair;
He longed to give the greatest gift unto his Lady fair.
And then one joyous winter day, the Lady once more smiled
When her husband fondly kissed her brow and handed her their child.

Her heart was full, her dream complete; she gazed upon the boy
And swore her life to keep him safe, the source of all her joy.
But happiness would be short-lived when Fate wielded Her knife,
And Winter's icy fingers crept inside and stole his life.

For the Lady comes a walking, before the break of day,
Preying on the innocents, taking them away.

The Lady could not bear it, her dreams had turned to rust;
Her husband heard her cries too late, he found her in the dust.
And now a lonely spirit roams from hill to dale to lea,
Seeking souls of innocents to keep her company.

When the Lady comes a walking in the dead of night,
Hide under your blankets, wait patiently for light.
For the Lady comes a walking, before the break of day,
Preying on the innocents, taking them away.





Ravensmoor

Who is fool enough to seek
The riches of the dead,
When the bones of those who've fallen
Still stand guard with eyes of red?

If you venture south of Braemar,
Try not to lose your head
To the bones of those who've fallen
And the aura of the dead.

Leave the place abandoned,
Sealed for evermore.
For who is brave enough to face
The dead of Ravensmoor?

A Throne of Bone is what they say
Resides in caverns vast,
But you'll feel cold hands around your neck
And soon you'll breath your last!

Leave the place abandoned,
Sealed for evermore.
For who is brave enough to face
The dead of Ravensmoor?

Evil gathers strength there,
The dead shall never rest,
And they will take the rest of us
To join them in their quest.

Leave the place abandoned,
Sealed for evermore.
For who is brave enough to face
The dead of Ravensmoor?

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Camping Tales: The Labyrinth
by Earl Iazon Paragon





Camping Tales:
The Labyrinth
by Earl Iazon Paragon


Rising from a pleasant afternoon nap, Ichi gazed anxiously toward a luxurious home in the distance. Stretching weary limbs, Ichi recognized the gilded iron gates and manicured garden surrounding the local lord's residence. Scanning further south, he spotted Ryna's shop. Positively smitten by images of her inviting glances and faint smiles, he decided that tonight would be the night he finally revealed his feelings for her.

“Ho eyo he hum!” Ichi sang merrily as the road took him into town. Daylight turned to dusk when he rounded the walls of the Lord's manor. Suddenly, Ryna's voice hummed the same playful tune from behind the wall.

“Ryna?” he called to her. Peering through a small gap in the bricks, he caught a glimpse of her enchanting smile as she disappeared into the garden with a soft giggle.

Stealing a moment to ensure no one was watching, Ichi deftly scaled the slick stones, swung his legs over, and gracefully leaped down in between two hedgerows. Huh? Apparently the manicured garden was shaped into a vast ... maze?

Ichi looked above the large hedges at the towering keep in the distance, wondering where Ryna had run off to. For a split second, through the foliage he thought he heard a strange rattle among the rustling leaves.

“Ryna?” he called again into the darkness. A stiff silence was the only reply. To Ichi's right he saw a path leading west along the wall before turning in, winding who knows where. To his left the path continued in much the same way, as the hedge maze appeared to twist and turn forever, fully encompassing the large central keep.

Remembering the direction Ryna had headed moments before, Ichi shook off his uncertainty, determined to find the beautiful maiden and confess his feelings for her.

Stepping further into the maze, the walls quickly disappeared around the corner behind him, and a thick misty fog began to permeate the air. It was a cold night. Ichi pulled his cloak tight around him. Left, right, straight, left, left, right. Surely he was catching up to Ryna.

When the hedgerows opened to an intersection, he caught a glimpse of her up ahead, just turning the corner.

“Ryna!” he shouted, so she would hear him. But she didn't turn around or call back, and he decided to sprint after her in pursuit. Ichi convinced himself he was running, not out of fear, but to catch up to Ryna. Straight, right, right, straight, left.

Wait. Was this the same intersection as before? All the foliage looked the same every way he turned. In the growing fog, the keep was no longer visible, and Ichi began to lose all sense of direction.

After several minutes, Ichi stopped to catch his breath. He realized that he was now hopelessly lost.

<swish> <step>, <rattle>

What was that? Ichi panted as he turned toward the sound. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

<step>, <swish>, <step> <step>

Louder now, much closer this time.

“Who's there? I should warn you, I'm armed!” Ichi spoke into the fog, bending down to pick up a reasonably sized stone from the ground.

This time, his calls were answered with a low, guttural moan – the unmistakable sound of forsaken torment. Bony apparitions emerged from the dense fog a mere arm's reach from his face. Bewildered, yet terrified, Ichi froze in panic, sweat dripping from every orifice. He dropped the stone. Three skeletons stood facing him. Ichi staggered back and found his way blocked by a wall of hedges. The skeletons were waiting for something.

Thoughts of a pleasant night's encounter were dashed by a sense of impending doom. Ichi felt cornered like a fox and began to wonder if he could overpower a being composed entirely of bones and make a run for it. But before he could put any plan into action, the skeleton to his right dropped to a bony knee. Following its empty stare, Ichi saw a cloaked figure alight in powerful dark magic swoop down from the swirling mist above!

“I've waited so very long,” the lich spoke with a decrepit, yet powerful voice, as it clenched Ichi’s throat with its steely blue claws. After spending hundreds of years in misery, the lich, careful not to harm the precious flesh that it would finally inhabit, drained Ichi’s life in a single drawn breath.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

The Well
an excerpt from an anonymous diary found in a house outside of Braemer





The Well


drip... drip... drip.

The noise rouses me from my slumber. I open my eyes briefly, spying the shafts of light from the shattered moon cascading in through my window. Still too early.... I drift off again, my mind’s eye wandering.

drip
droop

drip.

I roll over, covering my head with my pillow, drowning out the nagging drips.

Ahhhh ... better.

Silence.

I smile to myself, thinking about the barmaid who bought me a drink tonight. I hope she’s there next time.

Sleep comes again, slowly pulling me, spiraling ... welco—

Drip.

My eyes snap open, seemingly of their own accord. That infernal well! Every night, every single night, I can hear it. More times than I can count, I’ve asked him to fix the drip, but he just rolls his eyes. And laughs to himself. Even now, as I lay here in the dark, I can hear his whispers. His condescension. His denials.

I rub my face, exhausted, and taste copper. Looking down at my hand, I can see the red lines in my palm, glinting in the moonlight. At least, I assume they’re red. It’s hard to tell, the moon is so bright, almost blinding. I have to shield my eyes as I walk across the grass.

Vaguely, I realize I’m outside. But why wouldn’t I be?

Drip.

I turn quickly and see it, the darkness bubbling up inside me. The well just stands there in the grass, mocking me, as if its leaky bucket and coarse rope somehow make it better. The rope feels ... strong. I like the way it feels when the fibers push into my palm. It makes me feel alive.

I’m testing it now, judging it. Daring it to be as strong as it thinks it is. Looking closely, I can see the fibers forcing their way into his flesh. The supple and tender neck veins bulge excitedly as I push downward. It’s fascinating, really, watching the skin expand and contract with the pulse. Slower, slower… just like falling asleep. So peaceful.

Back outside, I consider the leaky bucket, now lying harmlessly on the grass. Despite myself, I am impressed. I kneel down, gently placing the rope inside the bucket. You were right, I think. You ARE better.

I sigh in relaxation, pulling the covers up to my chin. I cannot help but smile as I think about the bucket and the rope, and how well they did. I feel proud. And I am tired, so tired.

I can feel sleep coming at last. Still smiling, I begin to fall…

Drip.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Field Observations for Thad Trowall:
Tower Electrical Field Apparitions, Part 1
by Thad Trowall




Field Observations: Tower Electrical Field Apparitions, Part 1

I begin my studies researching the rare phenomenon of ghostly apparitions which seem to have increased in frequency. It appears they are somehow linked to the towers that are prominent in many of our cities and towns. I preface these comments with the knowledge that to date these stories have not been validated by any in the science community and are considered fringe science at best.

I have taken the liberties to gather a few posts from reports filed with the town guard, which you can find in Appendix A.

Suffice it to say, the one defining feature found within all the reports is that the apparitions only appear in the darkness of night. The guise they take is that of an electrical “ghost”, for lack of a better term, of a figure walking to or from the tower. The electrical static of the apparition could possibly be linked to recent storms in the area which may require further study. It usually last no more than a few seconds before disappearing, leaving behind a few glowing foot prints that soon disappear as well, leaving no evidence. Due to their elusive nature, it is difficult to draw any definitive conclusions.

Now, as for the actual description of the apparitions, they are said to be light blue, shimmering humanoids. The race is unknown although some have reported they believed that they were human. The odd thing is that the reports vary in the actual gender of the apparition, which could possibly be due to the projection of the viewer’s psyche. As to what they were wearing or the length of their hair, these too vary on the reports. This of course will require further analysis which should lead to some conclusions on the origin of said apparitions.

In order to increase the likelihood of observing one of these apparitions, I will need to find the common occurrences of said sightings. Many report of a crackling static sound emanating from the tower and the ghost itself. Also as previously mentioned, areas of more frequent sightings had reported increased lightning storms at the time of the incidents. These have both been verified by others in the town of Owl’s Head, which I believe warrants further study.

I am currently en route to Owl’s Head to do some first-hand investigation of the tower. This appears to be the strongest lead I have and would like to take the time to actually do some field observations. More information to follow as the investigation continues.

— Thad Trowall

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclym

Danse de Macabre
a poem attributed to Torniquet
transcriber unknown





Danse de Macabre

The following was found scratched into the lid of a sarcophagus beneath the ruins of Ravenmoor.

Listen to the wind as it rolls through my garden of death,
lost souls with no home; icy cold their breath.
Everything is at peace here; oh, the stories they tell,
for they are the ones that are left here between heaven and hell.
They dance here every night; wispy souls they entwine,
waiting for the love they had lost to show them a sign.
Nocturnal danse de macabre leading newcomers to their home,
giving comfort and love to the ones that are now alone.
Gravestone shadows by the moon as if shielding the heat,
create long black shadows like a dark silken sheet.
As the moon gives way to the light of the sun,
one life has come to an end as another has begun.

— Torniquet

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclym

The Windows Are Open
by Argentus Dragon




The Windows Are Open

He knelt down near the small, still form, allowing himself a few minutes to examine it. Emaciated limbs, atrophied from lack of use, extended at odd angles from a small torso wrapped in tattered, unwashed rags. The body was topped with a head that was unusually large by comparison, even for a child so small. Pulling a rag out of one of the many pockets secreted about his robe, he dabbed the thin line of drool from the corner of her slack-jawed mouth, examining her teeth as he did so. Yes, she was young, but not quite as young her wasted body suggested.

Then his gaze moved up to the eyes, those unfocused, empty eyes.

Anyone looking at those eyes would have thought her a soulless husk. This man knew better… the power pulled him to the soul trapped within.

“Do not worry, child… all have their place in the order of things. All have a purpose,” he whispered to her, gently brushing the stringy, dirty hair away from her face, “and I think I may have discovered yours.”

Scooping her up easily, he rose to his feet, and strode towards the Shard.

* * *

She ran, as she always had. Something was after her, she knew...vile and terrible. She had seen it once, long ago, but could not recall it clearly. All that remained was the overwhelming horror, and the need to be far, far away.

It had not always been so. She could still remember Mother, who had protected her and made the world bright and beautiful and safe. But something happened, and Mother wouldn’t play anymore. She wouldn’t play or move. She wouldn’t do anything, then she disappeared.

That was when the Thing appeared. Its arrival turned her bright and happy world into a maze of halls and doors and windows. Windows were especially bad, and needed to be shuttered always, for that was what had let it in. The doors needed to be open, Mother always had the door open, the girl needed to open the right one to find her.

And so she had run, opening so many doors to find Mother, only to find so many empty rooms. There were other rooms, with things she didn’t understand… happy moments where she thought she had finally found Mother, but instead had found only paintings of things that didn’t seem right.

A girl yelling...

...pushing...

Mother falling.

Then came the Quaking.

The halls shook and twisted about her. The doors wouldn’t open now. None of them would budge, no matter how hard she pulled. And the windows...

The Windows were OPEN!

IT would find her!

Through the windows came a voice saying words she couldn’t understand. Terrified, she ran. All the while, the halls continued to shake and rattle. She had to hide, find a place where the Thing could not reach her. She could hear it, smell it nearby. A door nearby opened and she dashed through, desperate to escape.

She was in a room... with a window, an OPEN window! Turning in a panic, she tried to escape, only to bounce off a solid wall. She cast about, but there was only the window, and...

Mother!

It was her! She was finally here! But...

Something was wrong! Mother was yelling, scolding, denying her wish to do something, but what? She found she didn’t care, anger surged inside the girl, white and burning. Suddenly she was upright with a denial of her own, one that pushed her arms out and up. She stood, horrified, as her mother stumbled back, her face a mirror of the girl’s own. She stumbled back, and then out, through the open window. Before the girl could reach her, Mother had fallen, landing with a sickening thud on the ground below.

The girl stood there, tears streaming down her face, emotions boiling within her: blinding rage, shock, shame and then a soul-crushing sorrow finally wrenching an agonized howl from her.

She looked up, the Daedalian light giving her eyes a red, feral cast, to see a dark, slender man standing before her, hand extended…

* * *

The creature’s leathery wings unfurled to reveal a small, scaly face with deep, burning red eyes that regarded him with something akin to wonder. The echoes of its transformational howling finally subsiding, the Formorian creature tentatively climbed up his outstretched hand, to perch on his arm, dutifully awaiting the grinning man’s orders.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclym

Awoken: A Folk Tale
Anonymous




Awoken

With a sudden chill in her spine, the little girl woke up.

Keeping her eyes closed, she let the blanket engulf her, not sure of what might lie with her in the darkness. As the feeling subsided, she gathered enough courage to reach backwards to the other side of the bed, and sighed with relief as her fingers felt just the holes in the mattress.

Still covered with the blanket, she turned around slowly, looking at the room she was in. A moonlight ray coming through a small window revealed a dusty floor, and gave the cobwebs in the opposite corner the appearance of silver threads. The little girl almost enjoyed the vision, but skittering sounds in the shadows made her aware again. Why did she wake up? What was she doing in that rickety room?

The sound made her pay attention to other corner of the room, into the inscrutable darkness. The unpleasant sounds became louder, thicker, as if creatures were crawling into her tiny skull. The gloomy corner captured her sight; unable to look away nor blink she saw the blackness twist and expand, acquiring an almost solid state. The ambient light became increasingly dimmer, and her confusion became fear as she felt an unfathomable presence in the deepest, furthest segment of the murky tentacles the darkness formed. It wanted to reach her. It wanted to grab her. A million inviting whispers in a language she couldn't understand came at her at once, becoming a silent scream that terrified her.

Suddenly, a sound of unsheathing came from the lower room, ripping away the darkness. She found herself in the middle of the room with her right arm extended, her eyes drowned in tears sliding by her face and soaking the blanket underneath. She then heard steps accompanied with the squeaky noises of old stairs. Without a chance to wipe her face, she tightened the blanket around her in a desperate attempt at gaining protection. Once again, the darkness shrouded her as the steps came closer. Again, the ambient sounds penetrated into her, making the climbing steps into a heartbeat of sorts. In that state, she waited, wishing for the intruder to leave.

The steps finished climbing. Trying not to make a noise, she stayed inside her blanket, but the moonlight betrayed her, revealing her position. An unexpected force took the blanket off and she faced a man in his twenties, clad in mail armor and pointing a sword at her, her blanket in his other hand. The determination in his eyes changed into kindness as he saw the skinny little girl trembling in the ground.

As he sheathed his sword, she suddenly remembered the fear and rage she had felt when evil men murdered her and her family, giving her the answer of why she was there. As he extended his hand, she lifted her head and their eyes met. At the sight of fresh meat, she felt the insatiable hunger that had awoken her.

After feasting on flesh and blood, the little girl felt drowsy. She left the young warrior's corpse, and hushing away the voices calling her from beyond, she went to sleep again.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclym

Dolly
a traditional faerie tale
transcribed by Uther Pendragon



Dolly

Little Lynette ran to the end of the garden to see the parade. She was six going on seven, cute as a button, and loved by all. Her mom kept her dark hair in pigtails that flew all over the place when she ran.

The doll was sitting with its back to a fence post. Shiny gold hair, clear blue eyes, pink cheeks, rose bud lips, all framed in a perfectly symmetrical face. She was a work of art in a blue dress, white pinafore, blue and white striped stockings, completed by shiny patent leather shoes. Lynette reached through the fence, grabbed the doll, and clutched it to her heart. She ran back to her house.

“Look Mommy, look. See what I found. Her eyes close when I lie her down.”

Her mom took the doll. It was perfect, spotless, and smelled faintly of lavender. “Ohh Lynette, you can’t keep it. She must belong to another little girl who has lost it. We will have to give it back.”

“No! No! She’s mine. I love her,” cried Lynette, stamping her feet. “She told me she wants to stay with me.”

“Sweetheart, she can stay the night, but tomorrow we must look for her owner. If we can’t find who lost it, then you can keep her.”

“Dolly says all right. But she told me no one else wants her.”

“Good girl. Now put Dolly on your bed, wash your hands, and help me candy these apples. Everybody will want one at the bonfire tonight.”

“Yes Mommy,” Lynette answered, tucking her new doll into bed. “Dolly says we really must keep her.”

As Lynette left to wash her hands, the doll’s eyes opened, turned slowly towards the mother’s back, and glared.

* * *

“She was a really good girl for me tonight,” said Lynette’s Aunt. “A little scared about all the commotion outside, but settled down once she got into bed with her new doll. It’s quite beautiful isn’t it. Lynette wanted to know what was going on, so I told her people believe that on this night, the wall between this world and the next grows weak, so everyone is out making fires and noise to ward off evil. She just smiled and said that Dolly was here and would look after her.”

“Thanks, Sis. I am glad you didn’t tell her that this is also the night of the Cataclysm. She doesn’t need to know about that for some time yet. You go out now, have fun, but stay out of trouble,” said Lynette’s mother as she shut and bolted the door.

It was well past midnight when Lynette awoke. The bedroom was dimly illuminated by the light from the largest remnant of the shattered moon shining through the window. Dolly clung to her like a backpack as Lynette carefully climbed out of bed. The doll’s eyes were now an icy transparent blue, its rosy complexion chalk white, red lips turned down, and the perfectly symmetrical face distorted with malice. Together, they dropped silently to the floor and crept silently closer to the sleeping parents. The faint aura flickering between Lynette and Dolly brightened as they got near. Streamers of ethereal fire flared between them and her sleeping father. He appeared to inhale the glowing filaments and suddenly sat bolt upright.

Her mother, awakened by the light and commotion, was halfway out of bed before her husband seized her around the neck and crushed her windpipe. Lynette and Dolly stood and watched the struggle. A cruel smile played around the doll’s mouth as it licked its lips. They were the last thing Lynette’s mother saw before death took her. At that moment, the aura now surrounding them all momentarily brightened, then collapsed into an intense ball of light that flew silently out the window. Lynette father collapsed onto the floor and Lynette and Dolly climbed back into bed.

* * *

The next day Lynette’s father was arrested for murder and taken away to jail. Three of Kingsport’s guards were posted inside Lynette’s house to keep order and prevent any looting. In the child’s bed were two beautiful dolls, arm in arm–one with golden hair, the other in dark pigtails.

“Well,” said the skinny one, “I guess I’ll take these for the kids in the orphanage.”

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

The Stanger
by Lendrick Dawnfire of Britanny




The Stranger
By Lendrick Dawnfire of Brittany

The Shadow Wood

The forest spoke of eerie adulations of un-bespoken cries of anguish. Fearful glances about, as the bedraggled stranger could sense the very worms in the soil with benevolent smirks of doom. Sensing the stranger's presence, the worms flew from the ground; each had rows of razor sharp, tiny teeth. Teeth gnashing, they flew out and bored into the eyeball of his mind. The stranger screamed.

For three days he had run, stumbling and tumbling through the forest, scratched and shaken by thorny brambles and brambly thorns; the stranger grew ever so weary. The witch sisters never mentioned it would be this painful, the hallucinations. Or were they? Scrambling and grunting the stranger picked himself up and continued to run; the worm in his eye blinked away.

On and on he ran, the spirits of the dead climbing their way to the surface and shrieking and screaming ran at him in translucent glory. Each time, the stranger seemed to scream louder.

The sisters were forever in his thoughts, but to get to the end, to achieve the unachievable spoke volumes of his determination. Driven by fear, pushed by loathing, the stranger needed to keep going, needed to survive.

Glancing about again, he saw that now he was in a clearing, with a path leading to a small cottage that had a single candle burning like the sun in one of the quaint windows.

Maybe the occupant was home? Salvation? Redemption? Hope? All these thoughts and feeling burned through the stranger’s mind that he might be at an end to the perpetual torment.

Willing his tired and slashed legs to obey, the stranger half-hobbled, half-ran along the path to the cottage. Only twenty feet. Or was it two hundred feet? The cottage seemed further away, then further away, and so on and on the stranger kept running. Stopping dead. The carnivorous worms, poking through the spectral shades eyes, shrieked ever closer behind him.

Closing his eyes, the stranger knew that the cottage was only a short distance away. All he had to do was reach out and....

Opening his eyes, the cottage was right in front of him. Grasping the door knob as if death itself stalked him, the stranger flung the door open and leapt through.

The shrieking was getting louder and louder and ... the door slamming shut, the shrieking stopped.

The stranger was standing in a modest room with a roaring fireplace, a bearskin rug, wine, food and fruit on a table in-front of him. Warmth flooded through him like a wave off the Bay of Storms. The stranger was home, safe. Secure.

The scene faded, replacing the cottage with a ramshackle hut. No fire and no fruit, dilapidated and ruined, it looked as though nobody had been here for a millennium. Since before the Cataclysm. A figure in front of the fire turned. A blood zombie!

Why was this happening? The sisters had deceived him!

There was a great explosion, the stranger was knocked to his back as the hut disintegrated around him. Fear threatened to overwhelm him and cause him to recede into the depths of his psychosis, where darkness and despair reigned supreme and he but their lap dog.

Something though, deep down, stirred. A spark. The spark grew and spread, igniting inside his soul, the light of the soul fire purged the fear from the stranger. Warmth and joy replaced the cold.

Standing there in majestic glory of righteousness and strength. There was nothing this world could do to him now, any-more that would bring him to the same dark place he had just encountered. The wailing spirits, the blood zombies, the eye gouging worms. On this, inaugural day of change, initiation and no doubt a day that would become famous, it was the day he was born again.

‘You have not beaten me,” the stranger proclaimed with the light of justice burning bright.

The stranger stood there, soul fire shining bright, spreading out the sisters shrank from it. It was bright and gleaming and glorious. Fear and dismay were vanquished.

“Very good. You have passed the test, your Majesty,” the sisters replied.

At that very moment, the world as the stranger knew exploded.

The Stranger woke up.

 

The Grim Sisters' Anthology of the Mysterious & the Macabre
The Manyrows Edition
compiled by Vomica & Repugna
published by the Library of Novia in the Year 400 After the Cataclysm

Darkness
by Zerowon




Darkness
by Zerowon

The night was black, so black that Nomad felt as though the absence of light was a sign that the stars and the heavens had forever abandoned him in that dreary tract of forest. The trees, barely visible, seemed to howl as the cold night air blew between their branches, further magnifying the haunting feeling of desolation. For Nomad knew that no beneficent god would ever allow such a disturbing place to exist within the gaze of the righteous heavens and it was by that logic that Nomad knew he must be blindly trekking through the space between the living and the damned.

What to do? What could he do? The minutes stretched on for hours and the hours melted into days. There was no sign of life, no sign of the world he knew, nothing but cold and unrelenting darkness.

It was from within that primal part of Nomad's body that true fear unchecked flooded his logical senses. The fear grew into an unsettling feeling, so deeply rooted into the darkest pit of Nomad's brain that it paralyzed all of his thoughts beyond mere survival. It was within this darkness that Nomad encountered true evil — a lord undone, a life bereft of humanity, a creature so foul that it could only be perceived as a lich.

With steady speed the lich closed on Nomad raking its skeletal hands across his chest with fury. Nomad frantically tried to fight back, but it was to no avail. It became clear as the darkness crept into Nomad's consciousness that one could not encounter such menacing evil and hope to survive. It was in that blackened forest of evil that Nomad's candle was extinguished.