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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something is found in the sea. A curse or miracle? From long ago.

Submitted: March 13, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 13, 2017








Long ago, in a time of hostility, among humans.  Medieval warriors kept slaves.  This race ascended into higher beings.  Even after many lifetimes.  One lost town in Africa, that lived by the old ways, was met by the anger of a superior force.  The ancient ways were being erased, by a Lost Saint of Christianity, by Godabya, the Guardian Angel of Slaves.


Jim Stone stood on the lonely rocky outcrop of Filey Brigg, with fishing rod in hand.  Hoping to catch something big for his supper, or to store in his larder.  His wife Matilda sent him a text, to come home soon.  As their son had come home from school after detention.  Some fight had occurred and 12 year old Alan Stone had hit another student.


Jim reeled in his catch.  A lean sea fish fell into his cooler box.  It was not a local breed, but the aging angler was more happy, because it had enough meat to feed his small family.  The man with short grey hair, dragged his boat up the beach , attaching it to his small van.  This was used to sell fish and other fayre at local markets on the Yorkshire coast.  The lanky father of one sped the mile ride to his cottage home.


The man of the house carried his single catch of the day.  It was quickly studied by his nosy wife.  Matilda was usually a small round friendly soul.  She could cook almost anything.  Fish stew, beef stew and vegetable stew.  Baked, stewed, fried, boiled or broiled.  Her husband knew she had been brought up well, from a generation of house proud women.  Now though she was quite pink in colour, she pointed to the back bedroom upstairs.  Although she was angry, she or Jim were never severe with Alan.


Alan Stone sat on the edge of his bed.  Playing tricks with his yo-yo.  It was one thing that he was good at.  He could not do fancy tricks, like he had seen on Blue Peter.  But he could - walk the dog, allowing the reel to roll along the carpet.  Or throw it against the wall, but recoil it before the red disc side could touch the white wallpaper.  Sucking on a mint and on pulling in the string, made the boy aware of his dad at the door.


‘Alan!’ his dad shouted, to close to hear.  ‘Are you alright, son?’


The almost teenager nodded while nursing a bruised chin, with his yo-yo free hand.  Whilst the room seemed bright white.  Alan looked shadowy to Jim’s vision.


‘What happened at school today, son? Your mam’s going mad downstairs.’  Jim pretended to be a zombie off the TV.  But changed his silliness into a more serious face.


Alan smiled a bit, ‘I’m sorry dad.  The other lad started it.  You know I don’t fight.  They were picking on my mate, Geordie.  You know him dad.  He’s short and a bit dim.  But I like him.  You know, he’s a mate.’


Alan’s eyes met his dad’s pupils.  ‘Yeah son, I understand.  But you cannot go round hitting people.  Specially in public.’ His dad winked.


Alan smiled a bit more and wiped away some of his gloomy mood. ‘Will you tell Mam, I’m sorry, for me dad.  I won’t do it again.  I will walk away next time, and take Geordie with me, then we’re both out of trouble.’


Jim watched his son do magic with his yo-yo.  He smiled and patted him on his shoulder.  Come down later, will you son.  See what I caught for supper.  The bedroom door was closed.  And so was the matter.  Alan had decided to lie on his bed and shoot his yo-yo at the ceiling.  His dad smiled more on leaving.  An hour doing that and his son could be a yo-yo champion, his mind pondered. 


It was 8 pm when the family sat for tea.  The aroma of garden peas, mashed potatoes and fish pleased the three that were used to simple but wholesome meals.  The strange fish though met a curious gaze from Alan.  ‘What is it Mam?’ he whispered, as she served at the table.  Some peas fell on the floor, but were rescued by the dog.  The clever dog Spot was always ready for free food.


‘I don’t know what it was,’ stated Matilda, ‘but sure smells okay to me. 

The strangest thing though, I found an old coin in its gut.’


‘Wow Mam,’ sighed Alan, merrily as he sucked up some peas.  ‘Hey dad where you get the fish?  Hong Kong?’


The three laughed.  Jim held the coin in his free hand.  ‘It looks like a medallion.  Sure don’t know how it got in the fish.  I think it could be African.  You can have it if you want, son.  I could find you a chain then you could wear it round your neck.  For good luck, you know.’


Matilda broke in, ‘Now boys, don’t go playing games with me.  I want no more trouble this week.  You know its Bingo night tomorrow.’


The meal was eaten.  The dishes washed and dried.  Alan watched his dad find a spare chain in a draw of oddities, to go with the coin.  He placed it around his lads neck, pretending they are royalty.  ‘Arise Sir Alan, now go and do your homework.’ Jim patted his son on his head, allowing him to flee into his bedroom. 


* * *



Alan Stone sat in the corner of the History classroom.  He leered, out of the window, across the fields to the Summery shores of his home town.  Exams had been done, but teachers and parents still expected children to study.  A voice seemed to cry out in the breeze, outside, as Alan heard drums beating far away.  The pain of being hurried was matched by an unseen force, from within the boy’s soul.


‘Mister Stone, Mister Stone,’ echoed the deep tones of Mr Clyde, the History teacher. ‘What is the name of the African tribe that attacked Roukes Drift?’

Alan breathed coldly, ‘Zulu, Sir.’

‘Ah! glad to know you are here,’ snorted the wily Scottish teacher.

Alan’s face froze before the eyes of his tutor.  A shadowy form seemed to cast between them.  African drums sounded around the bemused Scotsman.  His mind yelled, ‘enough!’  Yet he found himself, staring at his watch and calling, ‘class dismissed.’


The class of history kids giggled at the strange whiteness of their teacher.  Students usually waited of the bell, to tell them the period was over.  Alan trailed out with the rest.  Heading for home, in a kind of stupor.  He glanced back to see Mr Clyde, wiping sweat from his brow, even though it was a cool day of Summer.


Dumpy Geordie Pratt kicked an empty coke can by the school gates.  The coke less tin was whacked across the road and landed in the gutter.  ‘One nil,’ hailed the kid aloud.  His voice was met by the Denton gang.  Carl Denton threw his empty can of pop.  Hitting Geordie in the forehead.  A mark showed the wound.  Denton merely chortled with his two 6 foot tall mates.  They often guarded the head shaven bully.


Geordie smiled when he saw his chum Alan Stone.  The brighter of the two, pulled his school shirt sleeve.  Trying to move away from the Denton gang, and head for home.  Carl tripped both victims.  No one was looking.  Alan lay beside his pal, next to the can that Geordie had kicked into the gutter.  Alan leered at the trio of trouble. 


Something flew past the face of the Denton gang.  It was not a seagull.  For a second, the three boys saw vultures land at their feet.  Pecking at the stunned carcasses.  A hola was heard.  Then footsteps racing away.  The Denton gang were gone.  Chased by unseen birds of prey.  Geordie wiped away his bruise.  Amazed by what happened.  He also noticed Alan was clutching a charm, hanging around his neck. 


The pair ran closer to their homes.  Then Geordie stopped and held his mates arm, before he moved towards his house, in the opposite direction.  His mouth blirted, ‘What the heck was that Al?  Those guys looked like they had seen a ghost.  It was so cool.’

Alan placed his hand on the kids shoulder.  ‘Least they shouldn’t taunt us for a while.  See you tomorrow.  I gotta run Geordie for my tea.’

The Newcastle fan noticed the charm around Alan’s neck.  But kept quiet.  ‘What ever you like Alan, but that was totally wicked, see ya!’


At that the Pratt kid had gone.  Alan Stone soon arrived home.  The aroma of bangers and mash, made him smile.  It was a change from fish.  He ran and washed up. Alan did not want any trouble.  A smile to his parents was enough to show he enjoyed the meal.  Their son would not tell them what happened.  Or about the Amulet.


* * *



Every other month, Jim Stone took his son and Geordie, to watch Newcastle United, live.  The family made it an outing.  Matilda Stone went shopping with Mrs Pratt.  While the boys were absent.  The women gasped and awed at the prices of posh frocks and handbags.  Then had a few coffee’s whilst waiting for the roar of the crowd as a sign that their men were returning soon.


Mrs Pratt was a widow.  Geordie was her only child.  She often claimed that Mr Pratt had died at sea, on an oil rig.  But that seemed dubious to Matilda.  The mother and son were quite happy though.  Both families were small, so they shared occasions.  Although Mrs Pratt was a bit slow like Geordie, Matilda liked her company.  The girls bought a second cup of decaf and listened out for the end of the match.


The three guys sat glued to their seats, up in the main stand.  Not far away sat Leeds fans.  They included the unaware Denton gang.  The time was almost half time.  The Toon army were one nil up.  This enraged the more foul mouthed Yorkshire fans.  Jim Stone was oblivious to the bottles of lager being thown at his boys.  It was other Newcastle fans that showed his blindness.  ‘One nil,’ was shoved down the ears of the enemy.


Police and stewards were on the way, but mayhem was already occuring.  As the loudspeaker sang ‘red, red wine,’ Geordie noticed Alan holding his neck.  Touching the chain to his African talisman.  The fear of fans faces, being bombarded were met by a massive afternoon gust.  A hail of sand smashed into the bottles and other missiles.  Everything was smashed back at the Leeds fans.  Blood and bruises were met by men screaming.


Geordie saw his mate staring at the pitch.  Time seemed to speed up.  The wounded fans were taken away.  The match continued.  Newcastle were held to a one all draw.  Yet Geordie felt that all were lucky.  Not to be harmed any more.  He did not see what Alan saw.  But even the dim lad he was could see, something else was going on.  Even the hard Leeds fans stayed quiet. 


The small families regrouped and began the drive home in Jim’s van.  The women sensed the gloomy mood in the guys.  Something had happened.  Even the whole region had been affected.  The Unknown Spirit had cast its power.  From a boy that had witnessed shades of badness, attacked.  Geordie had to say something.  But decided to wait till the next day, Sunday.


* * *




Choppy waves crashed into the side of the wooden motor boat.  It had always been big enough to haul a good catch of fish and other edible seafood.  The Blue Cod was a 15 foot long fishing vessel.  It was anchored just off shore from Filey beach.  It was early Sunday morning.  Well before the nosy tourists would turn out on a sunny Summer day.


Alan Stone sat at the back of the craft.  A lone rod angled over the side.  His dad used his binoculars to look out for any tell tale sign of groups of dawn fish.  The pair had done this many days off school, work and football.  A radio played the weather and fishing reports, broken by songs by Frank Sinatra, ancient history to Alan’s ears.


One small cod, haddock or sea trout would do for the family supper.  Part of Jim’s job was to catch all sizes of fish.  The big ones for the fish company.  Certain smaller catch could be retained by Jim, to eat or sell on at a discount from the back of his van.  The deed had been signed and allowed before Alan was born.  The kid had been born into the fishing industry. 


Young Alan Stone liked angling, but was more interested in the rules and regulations.  He often asked his dad about the size of the fish and where it was legal to fish.  Jim was quite happy that his son held an ambition in the fish industy.  The twosome noticed the line go tight.  The reel spun fast.  This catch though was stronger than usual to Alan.


Geordie Pratt rode up to the watersedge, on his rusty old girls mountain bike.  The kid stopped and stared out to sea with his camping binoculars.  They were cheap but he could see his friend wrestling with his rod.  Although he had no head for water, Geordie enjoyed watching fishing, to him it was like the Toon army taking a corner.  The dim kid had his mobile phone, ready to text Alan, ‘Good catch, man.’


Geordie’s heart raced when he saw another sea vessel heading for the Blue Cod.  It was one of the fish inspectors, looking out for fishing pirates.  The kid could see it was a man that did not like Jim Stone.  And he was a Sunderland fan too.  The lad saw the overgrown bully, close in as the Stone men pulled in a fish larger than most.  It was a small shark.  Geordie yelled into the wind, ‘Oh no! Go away!’  His voice dived and faded into the grey North Sea.  He could only observe, the small battle at sea.


Bossy Barker the new man from the Fish Company ordered his man to moor with the small fishing boat.  The larger craft seemed to drown the poor Blue Cod.  A red faced bulldog of a man grumbled in a polite manner, ‘What have you there, Stone.  I knew it was you.  You half pirate.  If I had my way you would be put in stocks.  Your kid too.  Let me take a look.’


The smaller boat eved along with the Private yacht.  Barker saw it was a young shark.  Many more lived beneath the waves, but sharks were not on his okay list.  Even though other officials often frowned, this ogre would make a meal of it.  Jim Stone reverbrated with Bossy Barker.


Geordie huffed, a gust of wind blew his arms.  He could see the men argue.  Alan was not to be seen.  At a second glance, the young Toon fan saw that his mate was holding his shirt tightly.  ‘Oh no!’ sighed Geordie, ‘not again.’


Mr Barker began to prod Jim in the chest.  Ordering him to pay an on the spot fine of ten pounds, there and then.  The father of one, agreed to pay in court.  This made Barker to push Jim more.  It was then that a huge wave grew from nowhere.  It seemed to hang there like a brooding old woman.  It caused Bossy to look at his fretting assistant. 


The larger boat was piloted by Bill Gate.  Never before had he seen a black wave.  It was falling from ten foot over the Fish Company Number 2.  Fish guts and seaweed hit Bossy Barker in the mush.  He was flung back into the No 2.  Bill screamed in terror.  He steered his craft away from the surf.  His only window wiper waved a sorry farewell.


The Black Wave missed Jim altogether.  He tried to forget the scene and motor back to shore.  The embarrassed Barker was too afronted to face the half pirate.  He knew the tale would make him a laughing stock around the coast.  The scary morning was saved by unbridaled force of the sea.


Goerdie puffed on his inhaler.  Then hurried to meet his friends by the shore.  ‘This time,’ his mind told him, ‘you have to say something, this time.  About what caused the Black Wave.’


* * *



Dinner was set.  Mrs Stone phoned Mrs Pratt to let her know that her son was stopping for a bite.  The situation was fine, as Mrs Pratt had her Cocker Spaniel for company.  She was also busy making jam to sell for a small profit.  She worked part time at a bakery and knew a lot about cakes and savouries.  She had sent a sponge cake with Geordie, with lovely strawberry jam filling.  The table was set for a healthy meal.


Matilda had rarely cooked shark before, but she was a very good cook.  Together with thick chips and chopped garden carrots, it went down well with chilled lemonade.  Jim had a can of lager.  His wife served the sponge cake, while Geordie noticed Alan touching his neck.  He coughed slightly and spluttered some words, ‘Mr Stone, how long has Alan had that medallion?’

‘Oh just a few days really, why kid?’ hummed Jim as he supped some beer. 

‘Can you see what it is doing to him?’

Matilda interceded, ‘What do you mean, Gordon?’ That was his real name, but only said by his mother.

‘Its - its having an affect on him.  Look, it glows a bit and his face is pale.  I seen it happen three times.  It is like - like Kryptonite or something.  It attacks others who are bad.  But it makes Alan ill, as it works.  And there is this strange woman, I think.  Alan see’s it, don’t you Al?’


Alan Stone had been staring at the bubbles in his glass of lemonade.  They seemed to fizz more than normal.  In the corner of his eye a shadowy figure stood in the corner of the dining room.  Drums thumped out a tune in the cottage lounge.  Yet no TV or radio played.  A scary hand touched him on the shoulder.  Then bang, bang, bang errupted from the front door.


The four people all jumped.  Even the shadow ran off.  Jim dashed with a can of lager in hand.  He supped it all and chucked in a bin, on the way to the door.  The situation was dropped but not forgotten.  All stared at the flickers of people at the porch.  It was the Police.  At that Geordie fainted, it was all too much.  For dim kid, he thought to himself, ‘I know too much.’  At that he blacked out.


Gordon Pratt woke up back at his home.  The squat bungalow was part of a pretty council estate.  It was miles from rough townships beyond the Filey Coast.  His mother sat by his bed with a cold flannel.  He knew he did not have temperature, but enjoyed the scenario.  Geordie asked his mam what happened at Alan’s home.


Mrs Pratt huffed a little.  ‘Well it seems Mr Stone was taken in for questioning.  It appears that Mr Barker has had a heart attack.  After the fishing drama this morning.  The strange thing is, before being sedated, he swore to his wife that a dark woman was standing in the corner of the room.  Then called out, ‘Jim Stone,’ just before he was taken to the hospital in Scarborough.’


The following week was quite interesting to Geordie.  At school he was never bullied again.  The Denton gang were too afraid of the Alan Stone.  The news of Mr Barker made teachers wary too.  They all just got on with it.  Alan’s dad had taken the amulet off him, and placed it in a draw in the lounge.  All knew it seemed to have strange powers.  Jim had placed the old coin between pages of the bible.


Jim Stone was not a true Christian.  But most fishermen kept a book of god, merely for the story of Jonah and the Whale.  Still things appeared to get back to normal.  Mr Barker got better and nastier, but aimed is temper at new anglers.  Only Alan remained like a shell of what he used to be.  Geordie told himself what he feared, that it was the calm before the storm.

* * *




Time went by, the hot Summer holidays had arrived.  The Stone family went away for two weeks.  The three forgot the amulet.  They drank, ate and got merry on Cornish fayre.  The cleaned fish van had not travelled so far for ages.  It broke down in Newquay.  Matilda Stone phoned Mrs Pratt, to ask if she would check on their house.  Some house plants needed some water and the three gold fish needed feeding.  She informed her friend, that they hoped to be home for the weekend.  That was the third week away.


Mrs Pratt sent her ever faithful son.  She told him the spare front door key, for the Stones’s cottage was under fishing garden gnome.  Typical mused Geordie, as he searched, everything was fishy about the Stone Family.  But they were good to him.  Once when he cut his knee, Mrs Stone put some stuff on that seemed like magic.  Yet they were always a very normal lot.


Inside the cottage, Geordie stared at himself, in a hallway mirror.  He posed with image of a short plumpish brat with short black hair.  Yet to him he was George Clooney, the loon giggled.  Then found the fish tank.  Brown eyes stared at the motionless fish.  ‘Oh dear,’ he thought, ‘this won’t do.’  Geordie shrugged his shoulders in defeat.  Then went to the kitchen, to get water to freshen up some potted plants.  They looked like nettles to the kid.  He did not know or care really. 


Soon the odd jobs were done.  Geordie was slowly moving to leave.  But his mind was wondering how all three fish died.  The tank was in the lounge, as he stood there, a sound echoed from a cupboard.  Geordie stared and stood stock still.  Drum beats pounded like a big hall clock, but gone mad.  The banging went faster.  The kid moved near to a bottom drawer, in what was the drinks cabinet.


Geordie pulled open the small drawer, suddenly the noises stopped.  Before his chocolate eyes lay the bible.  The place that he knew that kept the amulet.  The black book was taken and placed on the sofa that the kid crouched by.  He opened the page that was home to the old coin.  Then in the corner of his eye, a dark figure appeared.  Doing nothing but waiting.  Then all went black.  Geordie had fainted, again.



Mrs Pratt had filled her last jam jar of the day.  She rewarded herself with a nice cup of tea.  It was strange that her son had not returned from the Stone household.  Yet she was sure her boy was upstairs in his bedroom.  The old but not ancient woman went up to check.  There she found Geordie fast asleep in his jacket and jeans.  The kid was stirred gently from his sleep.


‘Hey love, you okay, man.’  Her friendly tone was met.  Gordon woke and looked at his mam.  He was at a loss as how he got home and in bed. 

‘What happened, mam?’ His mother wanted to ask the same of him.

‘I found you here.  What happened at the cottage?  Did you lock up behind yourself?’


Geordie stared at the clock on his dresser.  The kid nodded then after realising it was tea time, he followed his mother for a good nosh up.  She gave him a tray full of food.  The pair watched the Saturday tv.  They waited for Doctor Who.  Geordie swallowed his beef, peas and boiled spuds.  Both sat on the sofa, watching the news.


A disaster was occurring in India, Africa and Central America at the same time.  Winds blew and destroyed with rain in most of these places.  The mother and son were almost in tears.  Geordie sipped some coffee.  He saw fighting on tv in these countries.  The announcer stated that this was a cataclysmic event.  His right hand clutch hold of something.  The kids face went more pink than usual.  Then he spoke quite loud, ‘No more, no more of this badness.’



Geordie’s mother placed both meals and drinks down on the coffee table.  She held her son’s shaking free hand.  ‘Hey love, what is it?’

Although it was bright out, gloom and shade enveloped the Pratt lounging room.  The kid whispered, ‘She’s here.  She did it.  Can’t you see her mam?’

‘Who is it, Gordon?’  her tone was calm, but she was concerned.  The tv announcer broke in.  The boy and woman listened.

‘The storms have stopped.  The sun his shining hot and bright.  The fighting has stopped.  A miracle has happened, I repeat, the storms have stopped in all three continents at the same time.  Praise the Lord or who ever did this.’


At that point, Mrs Pratt switched off the tv.  Geordie told her that a he had been looking at the amulet at Alan’s house.  He must have brought it home and slept with it.  Now he can see the Black Nun, standing in the corner of the room.  She had been waiting to help him or anyone who has the old coin.  ‘I understand it now.’


Mrs Pratt politely ordered the kid to return it to the Stone house.  Then try to forget it.  What is done, is done.  ‘Say thank you to the Nun then, come back home.  It is not for us to undertake.’  Gordon Pratt obeyed his mother.  For he was still a dim kid.  So he returned and placed the coin back in the bible and closed the drawer.  He made the sign of the Cross and thanked the Black Nun.  For stopping the Cataclysm.


The kid locked the front cottage door and replaced the key under the gnome.  Then left things well alone.  Assuming that was that.  The world can forget the miracle and go on as usual.  Geordie raced home on his battered girls bike.  Not knowing what was to come.  And why.


This is the not the end of the Black Nun.  More was to come.  It had to.  The world had only just met the lost Saint.  She longed to be freed from the prison of her lost town in Africa.  Then, all would come to know, Godabya, Angel of Slaves…















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