Also available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, iHeartRadio, Alexa
Hello, it’s Spooky Boo! I’m back from summer vacation and here to read some spooky, scary stories to you. These stories come from the depths of the internet. Some may be true and some are fiction. Many of the stories no one even knows where they come from or are anonymously placed in the Creepypasta libraries around the web. Why don’t you be the judge and visit my website at CreepypastaScaryStories.com and let me know in the comments.
Before we get started, I’d like to invite you to watch Creature Features with me on Saturday nights at 9 PM Pacific on YouTube. We all have fun in the chat room while watching the old horror and sci-fi movies presented by the adorable horror host Vincent van Dahl along with his stately butler Livingston and tantalizing but dangerous housemate Tangella along with their guest of the week. Get the link at www.creaturefeatures.tv.
I write and tell my own horror stories on the Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time website and podcast. Check it out at www.scarystorytime.com or support the channel at Patreon and get all of what you see here and my stories as well in once podcast at www.spookyboo.club.
I’d also like to thank all of the courageous firefighters and first responders out here in California and everywhere. Thank you for all of your diligent hard work in keeping us safe for these torrential fires. You are in our hearts and prayers always.
Now, let’s begin.
Story Number One
The Skeleton in the Throne
Can you hear it?
Thud… thud… thud… thud…. You… you are alive! You cannot hear it? Try harder…. Thud… thud… thud… thud… thud…. That… that is the sound of life coursing through your veins! But what of the lack of it? Why, that is surely the tell-tale sign of a dead carcass! Oh, but what is more delectable and delicious than a stale corpse? I do not know.
Mmmn…. I can feel the crisp frigid air stabbing at my barren flesh. Oooh, the sting of the brandings and scars of His divinity! My, yes, they hurt, but they were all for Him! Him, I say! The bringer of darkness and despair! The Wyrm!
I stand here, naked and shivering, before His holy abode: this cave of plague and revulsion. I can hear my blood trampling through my body…. It must be given back! I must prove my devotion to His disease! Oh, but I dare not arrive before him with only my body, oh, no! No, no, no! You see, I have brought others into my body! I have bathed in the blood of the babe! I have ingested and fattened myself upon the innocent! I have devoured and absorbed the very children I have birthed! Though, that is not all, no! For I have taken from the needy and preyed upon the weak! And above all, I have brought Him these disgusting little larvae! I, and I alone, am the Maggot! The most devoted receiver of His grime! And all of these putrescent children are but squirmy little larvae!
Oh, but how beautiful this pale wintry sky is! Oh, how tranquil these peaceful evergreens that house and protect all that is natural and right are! Ack! It must all burn! Burn to the ground, I say! For that is His will! And oh, look how comforting the daunting sight of the cave before me is, with its grotesque formations and the rancid stench of decay that oozes from its gaping, gnarled mouth! Before I intrude, however, I must slaughter to Him one of these horrid larvae!
“Come hither!” I bark at a particularly frightened looking child.
It raises its teary eyes and slowly inches forth to me, and I tear away its squishy pale throat!
“This is for you, my Father!” I shriek ecstatically to the heavens as the blood dribbles down my chin and the larva writhes and oozes on the cold hard earth.
Now that I have properly conducted the sacrifice for Him, I must now send unto Him the rest of these slimy little beasts, but: they must be willing! I tell the children before me that they will meet their glory, but I know that all they will meet is a horribly delicious end. I send them along in pairs to go into the dank depths of the cave before me, believing me when I remind them that they will meet honor, and be forever a hero to the world.
Now there is only myself.
I prepare myself to go into the cave. But… what is this? Fear? Why? For I have done everything I know to do….
•• • ••
Where are the children? I cannot see, but I should have stumbled across a corpse by now. Why does this frighten me so? No matter, I shall descend into this impenetrable darkness nonetheless.
Suddenly, to my right, I perceive a soft, distant whimpering. I turn my head to face the direction that it is coming from – but alas, only an endless black abyss meets my eyes. I reach my hand out to touch the wall so that I may use it as a guide, but… there is no wall! It appears to be a tunnel of some sorts. I decide to follow it, as that is where the soft crying is coming from.
•• • ••
After what seems to be hours, with the whimpering slowly getting louder, I finally find myself stumbling into a dimly lit chamber. The stone floor curves in a shallow basin, with a slightly raised platform against the far wall, and in the center of that platform is an empty, ancient looking wooden throne. On the floor in a semi-circle around the throne are the very larvae that I had sent as a tribute to His repulsion. But… They are not dead! No, no, they are very, very much alive and sobbing! Slowly – very slowly – and angrily – very angrily – they swivel their puffy, weeping faces to glare at my own.
“Is this not what you wanted?” a pleasant voice I do not recognize asks calmly yet angrily. I raise my eyes to the source, and am surprised to find in the previously empty throne a man donned handsomely in skins and furs, with a crown of snowy white ivory atop his head.
“Why are you so surprised?” he asks innocently. “Did you not send these beautiful creatures here to be with me?”
“I-I–”
But this is not the Lord that I had expected! Why does He speak to me of these children with so much love in His voice? Is this some sort of trick? These larvae are not beautiful… they are repulsive!
“You do not think us beautiful?” the larvae ask in unison.
“My children!” the man in the throne exclaims. “My daughters and sons! Why would you ever say something like that?”
“Those are her thoughts! They are most impure,” they chant monotonously. The man raises His face to me, wearing an expression of mock confusion. I notice that wrinkles are spreading out across His face.
“Is this true? Could it be that the most devoted of my followers does not love her own beautiful children?”
“Of course it is not true!” I lie quickly. “They are beautiful little cherubs!”
“She lies, Father.”
“I know, my children,” He assures. He seems to be an old man now, but His voice is as clear as ever.
“Tell me, what are you?” He asks me.
“I am the Maggot! I am your most loyal, your most devoted!”
“The Maggot? And am I correct in supposing that these horrible little creatures are not but lowly larvae? Hmm?” His eyes are glazing over and His skin is becoming taught over his receding flesh.
“Oh, but of course!” I cry in ecstasy as I realize that He truly is on my side. “They are but mere vermin! They are nothing compared to me!”
“But just only a second ago, you said that they were beautiful. Did you not?” His skin is receding in holes of decay.
“Tell me, my children: what is the difference between a maggot and a larva?”
“A maggot is simply a kind of larva,” they answer together eerily.
“That is not true!” I shriek uncontrollably. He looks back up at me calmly. Insects are now devouring the very jelly of His eyes.
“I beg to differ. A larva is simply an insect during the early stages of its life, and so is a maggot. And this title you wear proudly upon your fattened bosom is an insult. Maggots are considered some of the lowest and vile creatures… They are at the bottom of the animal food chain. Do you have any idea how many other so-called “Maggots” there are in the Wyrm’s service? Yet, you think yourself to be the only true Maggot. Tell me, to whom did you cause pain when you indulged yourself upon the innocent and took from the needy?”
“Nobody, Father!” I cry.
“She lies! She devoured our very brethren! The very ones she herself birthed!” the larvae wail, brimming with anger and hate.
“Yes, I know, my children,” an unfamiliar voice assures them from behind me. “She lies to the ones who know.” I turn around and see a rotting old woman of obvious former beauty.
“I allowed this gluttonous fiend the privilege of mothering our children, but mother them she did not! No, she consumed them for her own sick delusions of grandeur,” She tells the decayed body in the throne. She now turns to face me, Her eyeless sockets somehow piercing through to my soul.
“Tell me, woman,” She says to me, “do you take pride in yourself for being such a gruesome abomination against Nature? Against Myself?” She is now nothing but bone with bits of shriveled black flesh holding her skeleton together.
“Mother, she has no heart, she has only greed!” the children exclaim.
“My children, I know,” She responds.
“So,” the rotten skeleton in the throne begins, “I believe that it is fairly safe to assume that you truly are the maggot here. You feed yourself upon the pain of your children in the hopes of you appearing holy before a demon that is not I. The Wyrm.”
My head is pounding from the mounting tension of this sudden and unexpected turn of events. It is true: I have no love for these horrid larvae, only hatred and contempt.
“But… but this… this is… this is not what I expected!” I cry shrilly. “I sent these larvae here to die for you! You are supposed to be the Unholy Disease!” At this, the skeleton leaps out of His throne in a flash of rage and points a long, bony finger at me.
“YOU DARE REFER TO ME AS AN UNHOLY DISEASE?” He roars. “You have only sent these innocent children here to their premature graves for your own personal gain and wicked ways! You hold no love for your children, and have no room to excuse yourself!”
“You have only contempt and greed,” the Mother adds.
“Why do you not love us?” the tiny skeletons scream in unanimous rage and despair. “We were your very children!”
“You are beneath me!” I screech hysterically. “I am your better! Why should I care for you? You are but the filthy vermin squalor under my pedestal of superiority!”
“You,” the Mother returns, “truly are the unholy disease here! It is your duty to love and care for your children, yet you sent them with ecstasy to their dooms! Every mother should love her children, but you do not!”
“I quite agree!” the Father concurs, obviously disgusted. “And since you have done these acts of villainy, you must thus pay the price of your evil and disgusting ways! I hereby sentence you to experience every pain you have inflicted, every rape you have committed, and every life you have stolen! And until you have paid for your crimes against all that is right and just, you shall not be free! And curse not I or the Mother of Nature, for you have brought this curse upon yourself!”
•• • ••
I stand before a familiar cave, confused and terrified of what may come. To my left is my scarred and hideous excuse for a mother, who has devoured my brothers and sisters. Behind me are those who have been spared her lunacy. My mother turns her foul head towards me with a look of pure hatred and contempt.
“Come hither!” she barks.
I slowly obey her command, terrified of what she may do to me.
In a blinding flash, she claws out my throat with her long nails, and as I lay on the ground drowning in my own blood and writhing in agony, I watch in silent horror as she ravenously devours my disembodied vocal chords.
Story Two
Flight of the Elf King
Günther was sick, yet for all the herbs and remedies Hugo’s wife, Heidi, had learned from her grandmother, Günther made no signs of recovery. The small boy would wail into the night and beads of perspiration trickled down his clammy cheeks, which were Hellfire to the touch.
“Father,” whispered he one night upon waking from frenzied dreams, “the Elf-King speaks to me in my slumber.”
“My son,” Hugo coaxed while wiping Günther’s brow with a rag wetted and warmed, “’tis but a tale to keep the children from playing alone in the hills. There is none here save your mother and I, with your brothers and your sisters dozing in their chambers.”
“But father, I’ve felt his breath upon my cheeks, and felt his lips upon my hand as he sings pretty words in my ear.”
“Günther, even if fairy tales were real, they would have to face my wrath before they could lay a single hand on you.”
Günther blinked and fell back into his pillow, while Heidi caressed his pale face.
“Hugo,” she said, “our child needs a doctor urgently.”
“I know. But it is late, and Günther is ill. I would not want the night cold to take his life.”
They sat by his side all the night, taking their turns for sleep, as Günther grumbled and groaned of the Elf-King and of the Elf-King’s daughters. In the morning, Heidi woke the other children and had them attend to their chores, while Hugo prepared for the long ride to town. When the horse had been saddled and with his cloak about his shoulders, he shook Günther, who moaned and covered his eyes.
“Günther, we ride today, so that we may see a doctor for your ailment.”
The boy uncovered his eyes and grasped his father by the sleeves of his coat and rasped, “Father, please do not make us tarry within those plains and vales, for that is where the Elf-King lies. That is where Sir Olof befell upon the Elf-King’s daughter, who struck him down with pestilence, as with Olof’s bride and mother.”
“My son, please, the tale of Sir Olof is nothing but that: a tale. Now you need treatment, and we must avoid the winds of night lest you succumb to the angel of death.”
Günther cried and buried himself into the blankets wrapped about his body, his eyes cast to the windows.
“But the Elf-King waits for me in the fields, father. He has watched the cottage these last few nights, and eagerly awaits our arrival. Please, do not bring me out, for he shall claim my body for his.”
Hugo could not bear to see his son in such distress, so he let his youngest retire and fretted about the day’s work, casting wary eyes between the house and the fields. But that night, when the other children had been put to bed, and he and Heidi were ready to resume the night’s vigil, Günther suddenly awoke with eyes in the back of his head and spit foaming at mouth. Hugo and Heidi cried aloud and held down the boy’s flailing arms, and soon he was asleep once more.
“Hugo,” Heidi gasped, “we’ve no time to wait. I know night has befallen the land, and that the wind raps against the walls, but you must take him now to the doctor, for he’s little time left on this Earth. Take him now, and ride into the night, so that our son may see the daylight once more!”
Hugo quickly gathered up the afflicted child and raced out to the stables where he mounted the horse, with Heidi’s lantern casting long shadows over their fretful faces. He pulled about his cloak and turned towards her weather-worn face. There’d not even been enough time for her to change into her evening attire.
“Please,” she urged, “hurry, my love, for Günther is fevered and may not last ‘till the ‘morrow.” She picked up the shivering young boy wrapped in blankets and handed him to Hugo, her eyes deep and tearful.
“My love, I shan’t rest until I have reached the court and have medicine for our child. I pray that we soon return, but until then, ask God to watch over us.”
The father and son then headed out away from the cottage and into the distance, the night dark and the wind wild, but the father held the boy tight against his body, keeping him warm and safe from the perils that lurked in the darkness of the fields they passed.
“My father,” the boy rasped, awoken from his daze, “will I be seeing the angels tonight?”
“Of course not, my son. They will have what you need. Now rest your weary eyes, for dark is the night and cold is the ground, and we’ve yet to meet our travel’s end.”
Günther put his head back against his father’s breast, feeling the beating heart and warmth of his blood as Hugo held him snug. On they went, with the wind biting at the horse’s heels and the darkness soaking their eyes. With the child held in one hand and the reins in the other, Hugo had not been afforded enough arms to carry with them a lamp, nor had he time enough to toil with hanging one from the saddle.
The fields flicked by, and the mist grew thick, glowing under the silver rays of the moon. On they rode, never stopping, with the father and child both perspiring for fear a life be lost that night, taken by the cold pallid hands of Death come in the form of pestilence.
Hugo noticed once they passed a stream that Günther cowered low his face against the wind and groaned aloud with dread.
“My son,” he asked, “why cover, shiver, shake and moan against the night?”
Günther whimpered and replied, “Do you see the Elf-King in the fields?”
Hugo cast his eyes about, though he saw nary but fog and grain, and shook his head.
“He is near us!” Günther cried. “The king of elves with crown and train!”
Hugo gave a hollow laugh and ascertained, “My son, the mist is in the fields.”
Though he tried to lighten Günther’s heart, Hugo felt it weighing down their dampened spirits. So, he reached his hand beyond and pointed to the trees ahead.
“Do you see, my son, the trees so near? There is no need to have such fear, for if the Elf-King lived in the plains, he would not venture beyond the brush.”
“But my father, would he not delight within the thickets thick?”
Given this, the father gave not a response, but held the child tighter, keeping fevered dreams at bay. For that was all they were: illusions of the ill.
Past another creek they went, while through the canopy above the moon illuminated fog-covered foliage they wound between along the twisted path. The wind around them whistled in the leaves and echoed amongst the hills, and Hugo could not help but to imagine the wind whispering to him in playful tongues. Though, against his liking, Hugo could not keep the words from the sighs.
“Sweet lad, o come and join me, do!” the wind eerily crooned. “Such pretty games I will play with you; on the shore gay flowers their color unfold, and my mother has many garments of gold.”
“My father, my father!” Günther cried with eyes pried wide and cheeks bone-white. “Can you not hear the promises the Elf-King breathes in my ear?”
Hugo shook his head, but his jaw was tight as he replied, “Be calm, stay calm, my child; lie low. In withered leaves the night-winds blow.”
Hugo urged the horse to gallop faster, while the trees whipped past and the road grew darker. Up ahead, he could see a cluster of willow trees that shimmered in the moon’s marquee. He could not quite tell, but he could almost see fevered figures dancing in the grove. He then noticed there below the branches’ reach three bodies lying still as stone. The wind began again to holler. Hugo felt it almost sang against his ears, but he adhered to his belief that it was a trick of the hollows.
“Will you, sweet lad, come along with me?” it breathed. “My daughters shall care for you tenderly. In the night my daughters, their revelry keep; they’ll rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.”
“My father! My father! O can you not trace the Elf-King’s daughters in that gloomy place? Can you not see Sir Olof and his bride and mother underneath their chase?”
The wind nipped at Hugo’s face, but he batted tearful eyes and failed to stifle shudders from the lullabies. From their sides, he surmised rustling leaves that raced alongside their steed, who whinnied, snorted, and writhed with eyes wild and pried.
“My son, my son, I see it clear, how grey the ancient willows appear.”
In his arms, Günther whimpered and wheezed, while the hoofbeats kept pace with their heartbeats’ fleet. Shadows shimmered in the trees, and the wind blew the leaves. The moon now disappeared, the branches grew ever near and caressed their tender tears. Hugo’s cloak was flapping in the breeze, and he could almost feel dreadful fingers snatching the hem to bring him sprawling to his knees. The maelstrom of leaves flew fervently, and his mind perceived demonic faces laughing at his plight, yet he gave it little heed, for Günther was in need of treatment for his blight, lest he die in Hugo’s arms that night.
“I love you,” the leaves and shadows cooed, “your comeliness charms me, my boy! And if you’re not willing, by violence I’ll take joy!”
“My son! My son!” Hugo screamed. “Have heart, for we are near the forest’s extreme!”
He felt the body of the boy struggle in his arms, but he held his child tighter in his grasp, lest he fall and come to harm from the trample of the horse’s lash.
“Now father, now father, he’s seizing my arm!” Günther gasped, his eyes glazing past. “Elf-King has done me harm.”
Hugo shuddered, suppressed a shriek and pushed beyond the leaves and over the streams, urging his steed faster than he could think. They soon broke through the forest wall, while beyond, the town was seen with the church’s steeple tall. The moonlight glistened, while the wind began to fall, with leaves aground, not hitherto.
“Günther, Günther!” Hugo cried, joyful at last. “Look beyond, for we’ve now reached the pasture, our troubles have passed! You’ll be sick no longer, now let us go yonder.”
There was silent reply from Günther’s lips. Icy chills ran down the father’s spine like daggers and sticks.
“Günther, please. Have you slipped into a doze? If so, then please awake to let me know.”
Alas, when the father heard not even a sigh, he righted his son and was morbidly surprised.
For in his arms, the child was dead.
Hugo’s blood ran cold, and he gripped his fingers tight around the blankets. The child’s lips were blue, and his green eyes gazed at the stars. Hugo brushed a strand of hair from Günther’s hollowed face and whimpered as his chest heaved and his chin trembled. But he’d barely let out a single tear before he heard a chuckle from near.
Turning his head, Hugo saw a small shadow of the dead. Standing above it was a lanky figure stroking its hair. The tiny phantom despaired and reached out a hand, but the larger writhed and snatched it away, shooting Hugo eyes of firebrand. Before they disappeared, the father caught a glimpse of the tall spectre’s finger, cold and rotted to the bone.
Story Number Three
The Squire and the Black Scroll
by Killahawke1
Kneeling before the Knight, Edwin accepted the scroll with great honor. It was such an odd thing he held; one of the likes he had never experienced before. The parchment was cold to the touch and made from leather of the deepest black. It was absent of moisture. Still, it felt slick and slimy in his hand as if it had been pulled from the river, rotting and decayed. He shivered at the thought of the animal whose hide hailed its origin. The parchment was rolled tight with a clay seal upon its surface. The emblem embedded in the clay consisted of sharp lines and gashes. The boy knew little of matters of magic and wizarding, but he had enough sense to see that dark curses and wicked hexes did this crest bind.
“Arise boy! Make haste and do not delay your departure. Word will soon reach the Enemy of the Scroll’s discovery. The time of reckoning fast approaches! The sacrifices made to deliver that evil thing into our grasp cannot be wasted with indecision!” said Sir Leonidi, Knight of the Fourth Realm.
With great effort, the young boy tried to remove any hint of apprehension and fear from his voice. “Yes my Lord,” he answered.
“Heed my words and do not deviate from my instructions. Head South and ride hard across the plains and through the Scorched Hills until you reach the Sunken Mountains. Avoid the main paths and stay hidden until you reach the gates of the White Keep.”
The Knight put a large hand on the boy’s shoulder and said with a lowered voice, “The item you carry is dangerous and will betray you if given the opportunity. Do not give it such an opportunity! Never must darkness fall upon it. An hour before nightfall, build yourself a fire and with green salt must you encircle the Scroll to ward off any dark spirits and shadows that call to it. Trust no one! If you must draw your sword, you strike to kill! Do you understand me?”
The boy swallowed and gave small nods of affirmation to the Knight.
Satisfied with his response, the Knight continued, “I ride East in the morning with every sword and shield that would follow my banner.”
Sir Leonidi paused and looked affectionately down at the boy, “My dear Edwin, I fear this may be the last time we speak, but if fortune favors us, we will attract the attention of the Enemy’s eyes and draw their numbers toward us. You will pass through the lands safely and undetected.”
The boy took leave of the Knight. He swiftly made his way to the supply hut within the encampment to gather all he would need for the journey. He was lost in thought as he saddled his young steed. Preoccupied was he over the war that tore through the land from an enemy that came from the stars. He wondered about the object openly displayed in the daylight upon his saddle bags. He pondered what would come to pass if the rays of the sun no longer fell upon the Scroll. So focused on the dark Scroll was he, he took no notice of the hooded figure that approached from behind.
“Such a mighty quest for such a tiny boy. Are the times so dire that it comes to this? Well, one cannot deny that the Fates do not have a sense of humor in matters such as these. Wouldn’t you agree, little one?” he bellowed a jolly laugh.
The boy turned and clenched his jaw at the insult but held his tongue when he saw the robes of a nobleman. He bowed his head and said with as much respect as he could muster, “I do what is commanded of me, Sire.”
The man laughed again, “Do not take offense, young one. I merely saw an opportunity to jest with you. Although, it might be wise to avoid such things until a more appropriate time, wouldn’t you say?”
The man’s eyes suddenly narrowed as if truly seeing the Squire for the first time. To the discomfort of the boy, the man approached. He circled Edwin several times, inspecting him up and down. Once satisfied, he knelt before the young man, meeting his gaze as equals and said, “Yes! Yes, I have chosen well. I have chosen well, indeed.” At this, he removed his hood and revealed his identity.
The Squire immediately bowed, recognizing the face of the Wizard and gasped, “The Old One!”
The old man smirked, but still held humor in his eyes, “Humph, If I were able to conjure the name of the bastard who thought up that title, I would curse his children and his children’s children. The whole lot of them would sprout tails of a pig from out of their bottoms!”
Jokti, Wizard, and advisor to the king of the Fourth Realm returned his attention to the Squire and gently lifted the boy back to his feet and spoke, “Nay! Brave, brave child, arise. You bow to no one after this day comes to pass.”
For a moment, the old man’s attention seemed to drift to other matters. He lifted his head as if listening to voices only he could hear. After a time, his eyes cleared, and they fell upon the boy. He hurriedly began helping to load the Squire’s equipment and supplies on the horse. He said, “Time is precious. So little of it remains and you have so far to go. However, do not despair, my lad. You do not go into the wilderness without defense and unprepared.”
The Wizard reached into his robe, removed several objects and presented them to the boy. He held a torch, a dagger, and a leather pouch.
He said, “I give to you the eternal Torch of El Anan-dor’ah. Darkness will flee from the light of the flames it shines. Bathe that wretched thing you carry in its glow, and you will be safe.”
Next, the Wizard held up a sheathed dagger of silver and blue steel. He spoke, “This is the blade A’Noelaa Teh Ra. It fell from the hand of our Goddess the day she succumbed to the Enemy and was stolen from us. May it give you sight in your darkest hour. Respect this blade and it will serve and protect you well.” He placed it in the boy’s hand.
He lifted up the final item and gently laid it in Edwin’s hand, “Long ago, a mortal and an angel formed a friendship during the War of Daemoni. So deep was their bond that it surpassed death and immortality. At the end of the mortal’s life, the angel wept silver light and offered up his wings to exchange places with his dear friend. Moved by this act, the Goddess called back his friend from the afterlife and made each into a star. She put them in the night sky where they would stand next to each other for all eternity; never to be separated. As they ascended, each shed joyful tears of silver that fell to the ground.”
“My dear boy, I now give to you this pouch. It holds the very last of our most treasured possession, silver salt from the tears of those two old friends. It is but a pinch, but it is all that remains, and no more will there ever be after this is gone. Evil cannot withstand its touch. Use it wisely and as a last resort.”
The Wizard led the horse to the encampment’s edge and helped the Squire mount his steed. He spoke, “Accompany the Scroll and personally place it in the hands of my sister, Aliadria. Tell her you carry the Scroll of Ne’Kra Toratum. She will know what to do.”
Trying to feign as much courage as possible, the boy asked the old man, “My Lord, why does this Scroll carry such importance? Why do you entrust its charge to me? I am a mere squire who has barely seen the edge of battle.”
The Wizard gazed sadly at the child and said, “My boy, I am afraid your questions must be put aside for another day. The less that is known to you the better. If it were up to me, a garrison of our mightiest men would accompany you, but this quest is for you and you alone. I have foreseen it. As I said, the Fates do have a strange sense of humor.”
With that, he slapped the rear of the horse and sent the two racing off towards the smoky, black Southern horizon. The Wizard turned and softly said to himself, “Yes, I have chosen very well.”
As the Squire was an obedient servant as there ever was, Edwin followed his master’s instruction to the letter. He rode hard and swift through the Scorched Hills and faithful to the Knight’s word, not a sign or hint of the opposition’s forces did Edwin encounter. Each day, the boy was ever so mindful of the position of the sun. He always gave himself sufficient time needed to prepare the Scroll before nightfall came. He carefully sprinkled the emerald salt around the Scroll and set ablaze the sacred torch. There he would sit until morning, with his dagger clutched tightly in his hands.
It was not until he reached the passageway to the Sunken Mountains did misfortune eventually find Edwin. A company of troops occupied the mouth of the slender pathway. Never before had he laid eyes upon soldiers of the Enemy. Even from a distance, they filled his heart with terror and dread. Long and slender, they stood motionless along the rocky path. Stalks of pointed nobs protruded from their brown and black rotting flesh and grew like that of moss upon the trees of the swamp. No hint of eyes did they possess except for pinprick glints of silver like that of a coin. Their mouths slowly opened and closed, reminding him of a fish plucked from the waters with gills gasping for breath.
Consulting his map, the boy confirmed what he already knew. Only one other path could he take. Determined to complete his quest, he continued South and followed the river. When night approached, Edwin repeated his ritual of protective spells and brought his beloved horse into the safety of the torch’s comforting glow.
Edwin shuddered at the thought of his new destination- The Devil’s Maw. It is said, in the Age of G’oah Teh, a great Hellmouth had formed in those lands. The Goddess sprung forth a forest and commanded the trees to bind this new evil. The good trees performed their duty but eventually came to feel betrayed and abandoned. They turned away from their mandate and betrothed themselves to the Hellmouth. The caverns consumed the trees and merged to become a forest of wood and petrified stone. Now, all men are warned to steer clear of its boundaries for dark spirits look down upon them with unimaginable hate and ill intent.
In two days time, the boy stood before a treeline of bark and gnarled trunks at the mouth of a gaping cave opening. Massive twisted branches of black and green stretched as far as the eyes could see. Stalagtites and stalagmites jetted up and down the stone floors and roof, giving it the appearance of jagged fangs. No sound could be heard. No bird sang, or animal stirred within the dark wood and cold stone. The silence and absence of movement were oppressive upon the young boy’s spirit.
He took what supplies he could carry, unsaddled his beloved horse and removed its reigns. He took a handful of hay from deep within his satchel and held it up to the horse’s snout. It caught the scent of the feed and ate gratefully from the boy’s hand. Edwin spoke, “This hay comes from the stables to the Nobleman’s steeds of the Keep. Follow its scent and continue South along the edge of the forest and caverns until you stand before the walls of the White Keep. My fate lies on a path you cannot follow, my friend. If the grace of the Goddess is upon us, we will meet again.”
Terrible loneliness laid heavy upon the boy’s brow as he wished his companion good fortune and set his loyal horse free. With the Torch of El Anan-dor’ah in one hand and a sword in the other, Edwin entered the Devil’s Maw; alone as the Wizard foretold.
By Edwin’s calculation, three day’s time would it take to transgress the narrowest part of the forest. He would emerge on the morning of the fourth day with only a quarter of a league to travel. The silence was maddening the first full day in the belly of the beast. True to its word, the Torch of El Anan-dor’ah burned brilliantly. Never did its wood burn down nor was its oil consumed by flame. The trees looked down with such hatred and rage. Root and twine writhed on the ground, unable to penetrate the glow of the torch. Thorn and thistle scraped along bark and rock waiting for a chance to pierce and puncture skin and flesh.
On the second day, broken was the silence. Stirred was the stillness. Whispers emerged and called out from the darkness behind the deep groans and moans of tree trunks swaying in the windless night. The vast branches beaconed for a champion to come hence to handle this transgressor and acquire this hidden thing that tingled the ground it passed over. At last, a guardian emerged from the dark caverns of the Hellmouth that lay below. The pleas of the giant trees and stones had been accepted.
Upon the evening of the third day, weariness and despair weighed heavy on Edwin. He poured the last of his precious emerald salt around the wicked Scroll and sat before it, with his dagger in hand. Fatigue overcame him swiftly, and the Forest saw an opportunity to strike. Masses of twisted and gnarled vines approached from above, carrying droplet of mildewed water within its crevices. Drip by drip, water fell upon the Torch. The flame singed and hissed against the moisture, but slowly its light grew less. With the last droplet of water, Edwin opened his eyes wide, and the last of the light was extinguished. All was plunged into darkness.
In the darkness, the Scroll gave a heavy sigh then silence fell. A scream pierced the night from the cursed object. It shrieked with the voice of a hundred women and infants merged into one. It hurt the boy’s ears and filled him with terror. The wail slowly faded, and in the distance, something answered the Scroll’s cries.
Edwin unsheathed his dagger, and it cut through the air with a slash. A yellow wave of light shot forth in every direction illuminating the area. In the distance, he heard branches breaking, rubble fall and leaves trampled from the one who answered the Scroll’s call. Not knowing what else to do, he placed the Dark Scroll into his satchel and buried it under what green salt he could scoop off of the ground. He hung the pouch of silver salt around his neck and nervously gathered his essential belongings. Beyond the amber glow, he heard the sound of ripping and tearing coming from the ground. A large black root had emerged from the wet, stone ground. Blackthorn covered its body and glistened in the yellow light as it reached for the boy. More thorned roots emerged from the grotesque plant and rattled in the cold air.
The boy fell to the ground as similar ripping sounds began to emerge from his left and right. The sound of galloping feet grew closer from the woods. The black root curled itself into the shape of a scorpion’s tail, preparing to strike. Edwin pushed himself off the ground with only moments to spare as the black root shot towards him. In a burst of speed, the boy ran toward the direction that would lead him out of the forest and caves.
He ran without letting up, occasionally slashing at vine or thistle that moved towards him with the bloodlust of an enraged animal. The footsteps of his stalker were relentless in its pursuit. It stomped on the ground and then leapt to the trees and back to the ground. The boy scrambled to the top of a ridge and saw a cluster of vines not yet afflicted with the forest’s curse. He grabbed the vines and swung across the open gully to the other side. He quickly cut the vines to prevent anyone from following. He turned to leave when the sound cut through the air.
The scraping of two metal blades rung out from the darkness. It kept its distance just beyond the mystical golden light that surrounded the blessed dagger. It continuously scraped its knives together, over and over again. The sounds grew louder and faster. Panic filled the boy. Just as he was about to turn and flee, the scraping stopped, and the beast emerged from behind the flickering shadows of the trees. It stood at the edge of the ridge, and its stare fell upon the boy.
It was a dwarf; not the dwarves recited to children in tales of fantasy and delight. These were ancient, evil creatures who despised the very existence of man. They infested the outskirts of each of the twelve known Hellmouths and greedily excavated the caverns for jewels, diamonds, and other precious metals.
The creature stood hunched on all fours. It was half the size of a man, naked and emaciated. Its flesh was white and stretched tight over its bone. Every manner of metal rings hung from its flesh and nails pierced its skin. Filled was its mouth with two rows on top and bottom of needle-thin teeth. Upon its head sat the only clothing it wore, a pointed hat, stained brown and red and made from the skin of human flesh.
With a smug confidence, it turned and walked away from the ridge’s edge. Turning, it bellowed a loud howl and ran at full speed towards the ravine. The boy turned to flee as the beast jumped high into the air landing a short distance behind him. Edwin suddenly stopped and swung his weapons in an attempt to surprise his foe. The white creature easily batted away each strike with its two short and twisted blades. The boy swung and jabbed, but the pale beast evaded each slash and every attack. It hopped from the ground to the branches of the trees then back to the ground with speed and grace. Cackling, it was now just playing with the boy.
From behind, it jumped onto the boy’s back and buried its needled teeth into the boy’s shoulder. He howled in pain and stumbled backward until he slammed the creature into the trunk of a tree. Its teeth shattered and broke off in the boy’s flesh. The wounded Edwin was losing this duel, and he knew it. He then looked past the dwarf and saw the ground sloped downward and heard the sound of running water. A glimmer of hope crossed his eyes. He broke the bindings of the pouch around his neck and poured its contents into his hand. With all his might, Edwin charged at the dazed creature. He slammed hard into the dwarf sending the both of them spiraling out of control down the wet hillside and towards the running stream’s edge.
They rolled and tumbled for what seemed like forever until crashing hard at the hill’s bottom. The beaten and battered Edwin slowly crawled towards the water’s edge to make his escape, but the dwarf was unfazed and pounced on the boy. He landed hard on the boy’s body, submerging his head under water. It grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Edwin’s head back roughly to expose the child’s throat. It laughed in his ear and spoke insults to the boy in its strange tongue. Edwin could feel its hard member dig sharply into the small of his back. He felt the cold steel pressed up against his neck; blood already beginning to trickle from the cut of the blade’s sharp edge. The dwarf lifted its head and howled a cry of victory.
Before the breath from dwarf’s yell of triumph had entirely left its mouth, Edwin turned his head around and spat a mouthful of water directly into its face. Silver beads of light erupted upon contact with the dwarf’s face. It clutched its face! Flesh fell away in mushy clumps and seeped between its bony fingers. Oily black and green blood bubbled over its cupped hands and oozed down its arms. Its eyes were expelled from its skull with such force, the dwarf’s head snapped back sharply, breaking its neck.
Paralyzed, it wailed in agony from the silver salt eating into its face. Unnoticed, the boy had put the salt into his mouth before his head was plunged underneath the cold water. Triumphantly, the young boy picked himself up and stood over the broken body of the fallen dwarf. In the distance, light from a new dawn broke through the forest’s edge and the boy smiled. Sir Edwin tightly grasped the hilt of his sacred dagger and with two mighty swipes, he took the head and manhood of the conquered dwarf.
On the Fourth day, Edwin emerged from the cavern’s treeline and fell into the arms of the beautiful Sorceress. She had foreseen his arrival and anxiously stood with the boy’s faithful steed, awaiting his approach. With his final breath and the last of his strength, he reached into his bag and gave the Scroll of Ne’Kra Toratum to Aliadria as the Old One had commanded.
Aliadria fell to her knees from grief for this had not been foretold. The Fates had once again made a mockery of the pain and struggles of a mortal to satisfy their need for entertainment. She looked down at the child and mourned the loss of one so young and brave. It surprised her when the boy’s loyal steed came forth and nestled its nose against the dead boy’s face. Never had she witnessed such bonds of affections from a beast towards a human soul. If she were to render a guess, she would swear it too was grieving the loss of its companion. She could not help but feel pity for the animal. Her thoughts were interrupted when a glint of silver sparkled and caught her eyes from within the child’s mouth. Hope ignited within Aliadria as realization ascended upon her. The reunion between two friends had created a moment powerful enough to find the tiny granule of silver salt.
Aliadria smiled as she saw the depth of friendship these two dubious characters shared. The Sorceress quickly took out her wand and waved it in circular motions over the boy’s body. She said, “Not yet, child. We beg you not to leave us! You have so much left to do in this world. Come back. Come back.”
Edwin’s body began to shudder, and the lids of his eyes fluttered. They snapped opened with awareness and life and Edwin took in a deep breath of air. Tears of joy filled his eyes and flowed down his cheeks in streams. Trails of moisture glistened with magnificent light from the silver salt they held. He clasped the beautiful Sorceress by her hands and said, “She is real! She led me through the darkness towards your voice! She spoke of the Scroll and revealed its secrets to me! I know how to use it!”
“Be still. Of whom do you speak, child?” asked Aliadria.
“The goddess, my Lady!” said the boy. “I know where she is imprisoned! I can find her and break the bonds that restrain her!”
Edwin stood shakily to his feet, his face now ablaze with light from the silver salt of his dried tears. He spoke with such joy, “She gave me a message to deliver to the Old One!”
“Speak child. What was the message?” Aliadria asked.
Edwin looked at the Black Scroll in Aliadria’s hands and with the sight of a seer and the strength of a knight he spoke, “She said, ‘Prepare. The day of the prophecy will soon be upon us. The return of our champion grows near. The time has come to rid the land of the Worm!'”
The End
Thank you for listening. If you enjoyed these stories, head on over to my website at www.creepyapstascarystories.com or to the facebook page Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time and make a comment. You can also make a comment where you’ve heard the stories such as Apple Podcasts or YouTube.
That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares!
