Of Quill and Bone

Alfred Rodriguez was a struggling author. He had written two books. But none had managed to stir the bookshelves in the local bookstore. His books were meant for the local population. He aimed to please those who lived around him and smiled at him daily in the grocery store. He dreamt of pushing local folklore to epic proportions one day. He saw himself becoming a world famous writer – publishers all over the world bowing and kissing his feet. To achieve stardom he had decided to start small, desiring to make local headlines with his publications. But the books failed to raise eyebrows. Alfred was in despair.

Alfred was a lonely man. But he had the good fortune to inherit a grand family mansion complete with elaborate gardens and majestic fountains. He was well educated and possessed a degree from the renowned University of  Nogath in Psychology. However, fortune was also his bane. Plagued by bad habits and bad company, Alfred had visited all the evil alleys of society from gambling to occasional brushes with the goons and thugs. He also indulged for some time in artificial stimulants which played havoc with his brain cells. He shrugged off that particularly bad habit in time but he secretly believed that it had unlocked previously unknown zones in his brain. Having identified the event as his muse, he decided to pick up the quill at its behest.

The people of Abbath were particularly fond of their indigenous folklore. Most of the macabre tales were propagated by the grandmothers in the households to the young blood who refused to hit the sack in time. Alfred had decided to put this tradition on paper in anticipation of a warm reception. But Fate had decided not to rub shoulders with him. The people of the otherwise peaceful town had turned against him. Clearly, they were not happy with the publications. Efforts were made to remove his books from the shelves. They were not comfortable with the idea of their tales reaching folks from other lands. The lore was clearly not meant for idle gossip between strangers.

The reason of course was not hard to decipher. The tales bordered on the nether regions of the human imagination. For instance, there was the legend of Helma. Great tales were told of her - how Helma, an ordinary housewife, had gone to the woods one day but had never returned. The townsfolk found no traces of her in the forest. But during the search, strange noises were heard emanating from the depth of the forest during the night – low, guttural noise of an anguished creature, inhuman to the core. The elderly folks came to the conclusion that the woods had come to life, that a force of great evil lurked the marshy swamps which were abundant in the woods. Nobody knew what had become of Helma except that her soul travelled the length and breadth of the woods seeking lost travellers and townsfolk.

Alfred had added a few details in the legend to make it juicier. His grandmother herself had narrated the tale when he was young. The woods were no longer uninhabited. Much of it was removed to make way for new colonies. The town had expanded and the legends were buried.
   
After a few months, the stir caused by the books had died down. The town continued with its daily life consisting of humdrum activities and chores. Abbath was your average town – average people with no significant business ventures. Alfred too, decided to move on.

One night, however, Alfred found it particularly difficult to sleep. It was one in the morning. His mansion had the only other soul living in it, his faithful butler Rudolph. Rudolph was part of his earliest memories. The Rodriguez family had a number of servants in its heydays. Now, only Rudolph remained. That night, Alfred had this unnatural urge to toss and turn in his sleep. The day had not been particularly eventful. He had his usual dinner at the usual time. An hour of television followed post dinner. When the clock had struck eleven, Alfred was already tucking his blanket underneath him.

Alfred had fallen asleep initially. But the dream he had caused some kind of disturbance in him. At one point of time, he could swear that he heard a voice. It was an unusual dream. He did not know who spoke to him. He could not even understand what the voice said. It was a hollow, undecipherable voice…

Half past one, the voice grew in volume. Alfred felt an urge to find out about the voice in his dreams. He wanted to know more about it. A force of attraction made him float towards the source. He felt his weightless body soaring above a lush green forest. He could see lavish trees and wild animals roaming in the woods below. There was a horrible mixed feeling of serenity and foreboding horror in his dream. He felt anxious yet strangely attracted to the voice.

As he rushed forward, a bright glow of light emerged in the distance. Was that the source? Was it an angel awaiting him? The dream felt too real. He could even sense the wind gushing past him. It all made sense in a strangely ethereal way. Yet he could not understand why he felt apprehensive. He continued to drift until…

The glow suddenly turned grey. A bodiless face emerged. It was blurry initially but when it cleared...The horror! The bony, rotting face had gaping hollow sockets where the eyes would have been. The mouth was strangely distorted . There were no teeth. The face continued to emit noise from that unearthly mouth. “Aaaagh”, Alfred flipped his eyes open. He was in his bed. There was darkness all around. Alfred tried to get up but he felt pinned down to his bed. He tried to shriek but in vain. He felt a strange force trying to throttle him. Alfred could not scream…