Spectre in the Storm

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short piece of late 19th century style chiller inspired completely by Susan Hill's The Woman in Black.

Submitted: March 25, 2013

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Submitted: March 25, 2013



Spectre in the Storm


I was standing on the beach.

The lady, I could see her! There again, standing out at sea! The storm churned heavily in the night sky as the ocean roiled with an anger, the likes of which I had never seen before. Sporadic bursts of cold rain pelted my face in the surging gale, and there she was, out there, atop the waves and she was beckoning.

Lightning flashed to my distant left, in the same split moments she disappeared, re-appearing unmoved, beckoning me towards her, towards the dark waves of the shore line that drew back like a hateful breath. Slow with a venomous hiss before rushing forwards in an eagerly destructive and exhailing crash.

I could hear my name whispering from her through the howling wind, and I drew my duffle jacket in ever tighter as fear began to transfix me. I stared out to her and could feel her gauntly gaze meeting mine. Her white face and dark eyes piercing my soul, slowly subjugating my sanity towards some depth one might never hope of properly returning from.

Unaware, I began to make uneven, staggering steps. My feet crunching awkwardly into the wet shingle. Forwards, walking towards her, into the breaking wash.

This woman whom I'd seen not seven days ago in the market square, whom I'd never met or known of before. I thought she must be mad perhaps, as I caught her staring into me from across the way. This, only moments before being tragically trampled under some runaway horse and broken cart that trailed.

From all the screaming, calling and shouts of warning from the market place dwellers had my attention been immediately caught, and could see the stampeding horse hurtle towards this lone woman. Was she a deaf? A blind? She seemed hopelessly oblivious, standing in the street, staring straight through me. I could do nothing but freeze in dumb panic and confusion. Why didn't I try to help her? A signal, something, anything to make her aware of the catastrophe about to strike. All I could do was feel her eyes burn through mine in the deathly moments before witnessing her violently disappear beneath the galloping hoofs and half mangled drawn cart.

I had been left standing horrified  The market atmosphere hung in a morbid daze of shock and tragedy, as if an executioners stool had been unreplaceably kicked away for some innocently convicted criminal and the horrified onlookers whom I was indeed very much a part of, had slowed to confused and moribund shapes of figures and dispair.

Here and now, staring at me with the same sullen eyes she bore at the market, piercing mine, I had no control. God help me!

As I steered myself out towards her, she moves further away and further away! Sinking back out to sea, further into the storming night and I could not but witness myself attempt to follow, as if my thoughts and will were not my own anymore, and yet conscious I remained, aware as only a mere observer from some locked away oubliette of the mind.

The waves were splashing over and around me. Clothes, jacket and trousers filled with the salt water, weighing and freezing me to a solid stone.

I could hear myself calling out, howling a non sense for fear and mortal desperation. I tried to reach towards her with rigid hands outwardly begging to meet the tormenting demands of her malevolence.

All of a sudden I found myself completely submerged in the freezing murk, tumbling and tumbling as the invisible grip of the sea yanked, pulled and dragged me under. Along and over it's jagged and rock filled bed, the ocean would not release me, and I was drowning.

Soon, the darkness claimed me.

© Copyright 2018 Bolt Thrower. All rights reserved.

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