The Horror of Rathemsmouth: Chapter One

The severity of the plague becomes apparent to Edward as he arrives in Rathemsmouth.

Edward Watson's eyes, dulled with fatigue, peered out from the decayed carriage’s window. The hazy evening had surrendered to the encroaching night hours ago, its darkness swallowing the heavens whole. There was a certain arrogance to the stars, he thought; those that dotted the black twilight sky. There they stood, leagues away, glistening bright with all the hope in the universe. Yet, they allowed themselves to be enveloped completely by a black sea of despair.

How could such a contradiction exist? The mortals of Earth live in the never-ending shadow of cosmic mockery; no matter the plight or despair of man. Every night, Summer or Winter, Autumn or Spring- the stars come out to dance in their own radiance. A radiance, which may only be observed, and never felt.

“Awake at last, are you?” A deep, sombre voice called out from the opposite seat of the carriage. “You were already deep in slumber by the time I embarked, and I saw no great cause to awaken you”. Heavy thuds from the driver’s horses punctuated the heavy air.

Dragging his wearily unshaven face away from the window, Edward could see naught but the faint amber glow of a pipe, highlighting the silhouetted source of the voice. The hazed scent of tobacco filled the cabin, managing only slightly to mask the foul stench of the rot which plagued the wooden chassis.

“It’s quite alright, sleep does not offer me much rest anyway” Edward replied as he attempted to neaten his brown bedraggled hair. His lean face lengthened as he fought through a yawn, while his nimble fingers shifted his loosened tie.

“Nightmares, you see.” He continued.

Several puffs of smoke leaked from the silhouette, the amber light rasping between draws. Although he could make out no detailed feature of his fellow passenger, Edward could not be rid of the feeling of piercing eyes boring through his very being.

“Ah, nightmares, the plague of the mind”. The voice echoed back, through yet more puffs to its pipe.  Flickers of escaping embers partially highlighted the silhouette, unveiling a long, aged beard to match an equally aged face. A brief silence befell the carriage, before the silhouette continued.

“Speaking of plagues, what brings you out to Rathemsmouth, Mr…” his voice trailed off, offering a verbal handshake.

“Mr Edward Watson, I’m a journalist here to document the sudden onset of disease within the city.” Edward replied, his educated voice rang out with an exhausted eagerness.

“Within the city? Mr Watson, within the city you will only find madness, and death.” The silhouette spoke, as his head glanced outside. It had been months since the passing fields had seen rain, and the approaching port-city was starving because of it. Occasionally the carriage would pass a hovel or a cottage, decrepit sadness leaked from the very stone they laid their foundations on.

“It is precisely that death which has dragged me back to this damned place.” He continued. “I must unfortunately attend the funeral of an old acquaintance of mine.  It seems the passing winter proved too cold and too harsh for him”.

“My condolences” Edward solemnly uttered, stirring himself more awake.

“Spare your pity for the city which took him,” the silhouette leaned forwards, as if pulling back the curtains of mystery. His eyes had greyed with age, wrinkles and the other scars of the passage of time cursed his face. Shallow spectacles sat on the ridge of his drooped nose, and his lips curled in to a permanent frown.

“It needs it more than any of its inhabitants.”

Hours passed, as the carriage rattled on through the barren countryside. The passengers had passed their remaining journey in a mutual silence, the old man too buried in thought to converse, while Edward let his eyes drift out of the window again. They passed empty field after empty field. The horses stomped over the weeds that grew through the long-abandoned cobbled road. Eventually, the infinite night found its end as the defiant sun pierced the sky, ushering a new dawn. As the stars receded across the sky, the surrounding buildings of the road got denser and denser, all while the driver eventually steered his vehicle into a quiet back-street of Rathemsmouth. A gentle rain came as quickly as the morning did, creating the glistening morning sheen over the city.

The silence was shattered by the driver, thumping his fist down on his seat repeatedly

He offered only a provincial “We’re ‘ere” as Edward began to collect his things- a suit jacket slung over his suitcase. By the time he was ready to depart, the aged passenger was already taking the step down to the street, a wide-brimmed hat now placed atop his head.

“I don’t believe I ever got your name, sir” Edward called out, his voice battling slightly against the rain, which had now picked up into a slick downpour.

“Nathanial Rake” he semi-shouted back, offering a tip of his hat. “I remind you, Mr Watson, that you will only find madness in this place. I pray that you resist its allure”.

And with that, the old man set off down the street and disappeared around a corner, leaving Edward alone in the cabin. 

Author's Note

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Reviews

[matrixmark]

The beginning encouraged me to read on - great, greatcrisp, clear imagery descriptions - which left the reader as to know doubt about the picture you were painting. Second paragraph, you went into dialogue mode and again by the way in which you presented this I was happy to see that you didn't just end a phrase with he said/she said. you weaved other parts into it which I was happy to have seen.

Brilliant sentence - Occasionally the carriage would pass a hovel or a cottage, decrepit sadness leaked from the very stone they laid their foundations on. - LOVED IT - little image description BUT the words you used for the cottages were loud and clear and in my mind pictured some great images.

Your piece was well written. Its structure was solid and such a joy and pleasure to have read.

You play with words well.

Mark.