Forgotten Ones Read online

Emma K. Leadley

  The woodsman was new to his employment, though experienced in his craft. He started his first morning chopping down unruly saplings, pausing whenever his axe fell.

  Each time the wind whistled harder, and the leaves rustled louder. When he stopped to wipe sweat from his brow he thought to eat lunch under a nearby oak. Nestling back against the ancient trunk he slept soundly in the midday sun, not feeling the trees moving and or hearing the chorus of creaks.

  He awoke to roots binding his limbs, the leaves and earth rising to meet him. "No more," whispered the forest.

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  The Skogsrå’s Tail

  Jen Chichester

  Ingvar was speechless.

  Emerald eyes peered at him from beneath a wild mop of sun-glazed auburn hair.

  “Let me show you the way out of these woods,” she spoke in a low, lullaby-esque voice. “Take my hand.”

  Without thought he put his dirt-smeared hand into her dainty, pristine one. She offered him a coy smile as her fingers tightened around his. Even if he wanted to let go he could not. Her talon-like nails dug their way into his skin.

  From beneath her billowing, white skirt emerged a cow’s tail. Little did Ingvar know he had stumbled upon a skogsrå.

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  The Spriggan

  T.J. Lea

  No matter what they say, this isn’t my daughter. It never was, something snatched her. A grotesque miniature frame of brittle bones, leathery skin and bulging eyes sunken into an ancient skull with wispy hair and gnarled teeth curled into a sick smile. The Spriggan has been in Cornwall for an eon, and it set its yellowed eyes on my daughter, leaving this deformed changeling in her place. They say she was always this way, but I know why they turn a blind eye: they have children of their own that may be snatched away, if they offend the Spriggan.

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  La Viuda del Árbol

  Joel R. Hunt

  Martin had lost his patience. This project was costing thousands every day, and a single protester was holding up the operation. His superstitious workers refused to cut down the forest after seeing her, claiming she was some spirit of the forest; ‘La Viuda del Árbol’.

  Now Martin was striding through the trees, ready to flush her out himself.

  A soft patch of ground suddenly gave way. Martin tumbled down into a crevice in the rocks below, his leg jamming between two stones. He looked up to see a smiling old lady, vines growing across the gap to seal him inside.

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  Jake's Visit to India

  Gabriella Balcom

  “Only idiots believe in make-believe gods,” fifteen-year-old Jake muttered, staring at the statue mostly obscured by trees. He'd wandered off while his family visited tourist sites.

  Grabbing a branch, he began hitting the statue before pelting it with stones.

  “That represents Shiva,” an Indian man said, walking toward the teen.

  “It's stupid.”

  The man's body shimmered, rapidly growing larger. “I'm Shiva,” he boomed, eyes blazing. Snatching up vines he whipped Jake, ignoring his shrieks, then beat him with a tree limb.

  Soon bloody flesh and bones lay everywhere.

  “Only idiots ridicule gods,” Shiva said before vanishing.

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  To Drop Thy Sword

  Steve Stred

  Grasping the thick, leather book in one hand he felt its power surge through his skin, up his arm and deep into his soul.

  He’d long heard of this tome, written by the ancient ones. Within it foretold of the man who’d possess it and change the course of a war.

  Far below, where the battle raged on, his men were boxed in.

  They’d be slaughtered shortly.

  The Knight dropped his sword, opened the book and read the first sentence.

  A powerful percussion blasted forth from the ink, knocking him back.

  On the battlefield the enemy fell, lifeless and defeated.

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  The Night Mare

  Amber M. Simpson

  The mare slid through the keyhole, a mist of black and gray. Hovering between the door and bed she slowly solidified into her nightly visage: beautiful, dark, and dreadful.

  She snickered at the broom and shoes turned inwards beside the bed, the man’s foolish attempts at warding her off.

  Graceful as a cat she leaped on his chest, gazing into his sleeping face. His eyelids twitched frantically, and he moaned as his dreams grew dark and sinister.

  The mare smiled as she crouched atop the man’s trembling body, eagerly imagining all the wonderful terrors she would inflict upon his dreams.

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  The Slaughs

  Paul Benkendorfer

  They lurk in the darkness. Slaughs, wraiths, souls of the damned searching for others to join their coven.

  I can hear them, howling from throats filled with a thousand dying screams.

  Then I see them in the fog. Silver figures shrouded in a veil of white mist, cloaked in the curtain of night. Their crimson eyes burn like millions of tiny pyres, and their wails grow louder.

  My dying grandfather knows they’ve come for him as he waits in bed. Their wails become deafening, their phantom arms reaching for him.

  I slam the shutters closed, but there's too much silence.

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  Ignorance

  Chris Bannor

  When their young men began to disappear, those searching the newly discovered cavern, his people recalled tales long since forgotten.

  He ignored them all.

  An earthquake had uncovered a long-buried cavern, and he wanted to be the first to see inside, to explore the beauties that nature had hidden.

  What he found was death.

  The creature had a long neck, with curled horns adorning its head. Its teeth were bared as it glided through the lake’s waters, and he froze in terror at its speed.

  A single word dripping from his lips as the beast reared back to strike.

  “Ogopogo.”

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  Scylla

  Timothy Friesenhahn

  Their ship had already been capsized, screaming sailors swimming away furiously.

  The beast was too quick, and the waves it created threw them into the air.

  If they were lucky they smashed back into the water, but most of the screaming men were flung directly into one of the beasts six mouths. The six headed sea-dragon destroyed all who sailed her channel.

  The surviving sailors begged for mercy, but the ones she didn’t eat were subjected to a more sinister fate. Thrown upon her cliff they would be prisoner to her natural form, spending eternity as slaves to her desires.

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  Sword of Freyr

  Andrew Anderson

  Freyr, seeking water, had wandered into the wrong town.

  “Pretty boy, with a nice blade too,” jeered the elder, whose armed townsfolk menacingly surrounded the stranger. Emboldened by the strength in numbers, the elder snatched for Freyr’s sword.

  This weapon would only fight if its wielder was wise, and it fell from the unworthy man’s hand. He shrugged, instead stabbing Freyr in the gut with his dagger.

  Freyr fell to the ground, close to death.

  “Fool, don’t you realise who I am? Your harvest, your wealth...gone…Sverthaust…”

  The sword Sverthaust obeyed, rising up and slaught
ering the bloodthirsty, unworthy town.

  Awakening Tide

  Thomas Wake

  The tide goes in and out, almost pacing their steps along the bottom of the sea. The thick, endless mist covers the small, seaside town like a mortician covering a cadaver. People slumber, blissfully unaware of the ancient curse creeping along their streets and houses.

  Pale moonlight filters through the mist, a beacon to the maritime dead now dragging their dripping feet on the cobblestone. A nefarious promise, made by the forefathers, finally gets fulfilled. Doors splinter, windows shatter and a thousand screams pierce the night. And, in the golden dawn, there is only the lingering stench of the draugr.

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  The Final Journey

  Kathleen Halecki

  Sustained on the long, dark journey by the kipsum ritual performed every morning, she could still hear her parent’s teary voices praying.

  Clutching the gold coins tightly in her pocket she patiently waits on the shores of the Hubur River, ignoring those around her rending their garments in their anguish. With no money to pay the stone-faced ferryman, Urshanabi, they are pushed aside, their pleas ignored as they attempt to rush aboard.

  The wails become louder echoing over the passengers as the ferry glides across the water. She turns away helplessly as the forgotten dead are left on the shores.

  Prayers

  S. C. Morgan

  The family kneeled before the crude altar, praying to their deity. Times were difficult: crops were marred by blight, and blistering heat forced them beyond their fields for the bare necessities.

  Papa extended his arms towards the altar, his head bowed solemnly. His son mimicked these motions, bringing a tired smile to Mama’s face.

  The candle light sputtered as a cloaked figure appeared from the shadows. Mama’s smile grew larger with relief: their savior had finally arrived. Her smile vanished as he emerged from the shadows wearing a too-wide, jagged grin.

  Her screams echoed their final deliverance through the trees.

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  Crops and Fire

  Al-Hazred

  Drums and flutes echoed across the temple, muffling the voices of Gades’ citizens. A fire in the center of the room projected dancing shadows unto their faces. One of the men comforted a crying woman.

  “Crops will be good.”

  Around the fire lay seven cribs, the cries of the infants made inaudible by the instruments.

  Out of the shadows emerged a vaguely human shape, flapping nostrils and protruding yellow eyes moving in frenzy. The ram-headed being emitted a guttural roar, showing rows of malformed fangs before proceeding to feast.

  The drums kept growing louder as Melqart consumed its innocent sacrifice.

  Marōn

  N.M. Brown

  Screams billow through the corridor, blasting us out of a peaceful sleep.

  “Tor, Lori’s having nightmares again.” I grumble, nudging my husband. “You go this time.”

  “She always wants both of us.” He warns.

  A blast of cold air penetrates my bones as we enter her bedroom. The ethereal figure of a monkey sits on Lori’s chest, its hands squeezing her throat.

  “It's a Mare!” Tor shouted as he lunged forward. The monkey changes shape as it disappears.

  Lori’s hair is so tangled that we cut it. Silver strands always grow back, a piece of her soul forever lost.

  The Voices in Your Head

  Are Afraid

  Karen Heslop

  No, not of you, don’t be silly. They’re afraid of the things that lurk in the corners, slippery and liquid like oil. That sharp, creeping dread you feel when you’re awake? It’s the remnants of the torture the voices endure while you sleep. Didn’t you wonder why they shriek and dredge up horrifying memories at night?

  The ancient gods that cling to life’s waning fragments need a host. They love that they can obliterate and replace your friends, so go ahead and take that pill. Enjoy your rest, but bear this in mind as you drift off: I’m not George.

  Twitter: @kheslopwrites

  The Trickster

  Callum Pearce

  The trickster god watched the earth, dreaming of mischief and mayhem. He loved to disguise himself as some innocent thing, then create havoc for his own amusement. Spying a wedding at one of his churches, an evil grin cracked his face.

  A wicked plan was forming.

  Hurtling toward Earth he chose the shape of a pig. What fun he would have running wild in the aisles! He noticed the fire and the spit too late, ignorant of the man with the knife approaching.

  That evening, unaware, the happy guests enjoyed their roasted meat with one less god to worry about.

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  Beaten To The Punch

  Melody Grace

  “Hangman, Hangman, let my soul be free. Take me to the underground for all eternity.”

  I watched in fascination as the group began to quickly tie a noose around the girl’s neck, finalizing the ancient ritual as she giggled.

  Then I heard his steps in the distance, and knew I had to act fast. With a swift wave of my hand the rope snapped her neck. Screams filled the night just before The Hangman stepped into the clearing.

  “Seriously, Death, another one? This isn’t a competition, asshole...” He shook his head as I grinned back in silence.

  It was now.

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  Black Goat of the Woods

  K.T. Tate

  I just wanted a baby. All medicine had failed, I’d stopped caring who answers my prayers. Desperation felt like courage at the ancient fertility site.

  Drums echoed through the forest, words unknown pulled me like a siren’s call. Dragging my husband we joined the dancers, naked and brazen. Frenzy took over as the stars blot out, trees revealing unearthly hooves.

  She manifests.

  I raised my dagger, sacrificing all I love for all I want. Blood spilled. Raised up, supported by great claws, I screamed as she made me whole.

  Awakening I find my soul is empty, but not my body.

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  Wishing Tree

  Joe Scipione

  Katie stood at the stump of her beloved wishing tree and cried. The tree was magic, it had given her everything she wished for, but then her mom called the ‘tree men’ to remove the old, leafless tree from their yard.

  "You don't know what it does!" Katie shouted at her mom as she ran out of the house to the spot where her tree once stood, where twisted branches once filled the sky. "How could you do this!?"

  Katie wept for the tree that had granted her desires, glaring back towards her mom.

  "I wish she was dead."

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  Rod of Fire

  Sean P. Chatterton

  Alexandros stood before the ancient ruins of the Hall of Worlds, the Rod of Fire clenched tightly in his hand. Before him stood the doorways to infinite worlds, each unknown and uncharted. Behind him was his relentless nemesis, the destroyer of his kind.

  Alexandros had to choose how to save his people: Turn back and fight his enemy, or step forward into an unknown future.

  Mooncoyn, the tribe’s seer, had told him that his fate was already decided.

  “Each great journey starts with a single step,” she had whispered.

  So, with a little trepidation, Alexandros walked through the first doorway.

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  Titanomachy

  Zoey Xolton

  Zeus met in secret with his brother Hades, and spoke with him at length into the night. At dawn the following day an almighty quake shook the earth as Hades unlocked
the ancient gates of Tartarus, unleashing a legion of cyclops and the three dreaded Hekatonkheires — the fifty-headed, one-hundred-handed giants.

  Zeus lit the sky with glorious thunderbolts as the children of Gaia marched forth upon the enemies of the Olympians, the old gods — the Titans. For ten years they had battled, and now the tide of war was finally turning!

  Soon Zeus would be the undisputed King of the Gods.

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  The Death of Baal

  Matt Lucas

  Hundreds pled for Baal to ignite their offering. In one act he could rekindle their faith, and destroy Elijah’s inferior deity. The oxen-headed god reached from the clouds towards their altar.

  Baal trembled as he summoned his full might, yet not even an ember answered his followers’ prayers. Across the field Elijah raised his hand skyward. A pillar of fire struck the prophet’s altar.

  A blazing river branched from the pillar and consumed Baal. The impotent deity fell to his knees as holy fire scorched his flesh. As his body crumbled to ash Baal knew the source of true power.

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