The Skeleton Lord

When a William Barnes visits a small secluded village in the rolling hills of the countryside, he discovers that there is something odd about the town

As William was engulfed by the looming hills either side of him, acting as the gates of hell, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he would never again go back to his beloved grey city, filled with crime and despair but yet teaming with life and colour. The long road slithered its way through the patchwork of fields like a snake, poisonous and filled with venom. He kicked his horse into a canter as he saw black clouds invading the blue summer sky above the village in which he would be staying. He didn’t get there in time. By the time he entered the village, rain poured off his black bowler hat obstructing his vision like he were stood under a waterfall. The journey had taken him much longer than expected, he was hoping to be here by midday but by now twilight was dwindling. The clip clop of the hooves echoed around the village, bouncing off the walls, as he trotted through the streets in to the square in the centre. It seemed as though the pattering of the rain was somehow louder in the village square than it was on the road. As he looked around, he noticed that there was not a soul to be seen. Even though the storm was heavy, you would have thought there would have been someone about. All doors were barred, all windows shut, not a sign of life anywhere.

A dark oak sign swung in the wind and William read it to say: ‘The Black Hook Inn’ and an orange glow radiated from within. An empty hitching post stood outside the door, black and wet with rain, stood outside. William tied up his horse and made for the inn, hoping to seek out what secrets were to be held within this strange village.

An intoxicating heat rolled over him making William’s eyelids waver. However the inn was silent; there must have been thirty people in there and the inn was as silent as a graveyard. An old man, fat and bearded, welcomed William the best he could.

“You new here” He said coarsely “Only residents in this tavern”.

“Well I am not a resident yet” William said stepping to the bar “But I have bought a room in the big house on Weery Lane. I am William Barnes from London”. He held his hand out over the bar, proposing a hand shake. The barman looked at it like it was a dead rat.

“I know who you are, you’re an outsider”.

 It was then that William looked around and saw all eyes staring at him. Only now did he see the miserable and lifeless people that made up this village which so far he was not very fond of. Giving a polite nod to the barman, he walked slowly over to a table in the corner. All eyes were on William, pulling apart every aspect of him: the way he walked, the way he smiled and nodded politely, the way he tried ever so hard not look like blundering idiot.

He sat at an empty table. As he sat, the eyes of the village folk returned to each other. The inn was still silent, still eerie. A pile of newspapers sat beside him, all damp and melted into one another. When the waitress came over, a single glass sat upon her tray, William had to ask.

“Has something happened here? is it usually this quiet?”. William looked deeply into her eyes trying to grasp hold of an answer. She just gently put down the glass and walked away. He sat there for a while taking sips of the bitter he had not ordered and trying ever so desperately to seek out a friendly face amongst the unbreakable barrier of miserable men and women. He was barely half way through his drink when a distant sound changed the entire atmosphere of the inn.

A distant clock chimed 10 times and made all the people in the inn get up and leave. In less than a minute, the it was empty. There were still half finished beers on tables and money was just left there in a pile that was to pay for the drinks. William slowly got up, the pint of bitter in his hand and looked out the steamed up window.

Considering it was dark and gloomy, no-one had lit the lanterns or made any attempt to bring any light.

“What's all that about?” he said turning back to the bar which was empty. Only a few minutes after the clock had chimed and the tavern was deserted.

He quickly finished and went out to head to the house he would now be staying at. Checking his pocket-watch which was given to him by the police force when he left, it said it was only quarter-past ten.

When he looked up, his horse was missing. Fear began to grip him. What is wrong with this place. So he briskly walked across the courtyard, shivering in the cold to Weery House.

The building sat heavily at the end of the short road, like it had been there a hundred years. No lights inside but he knew it was that one. It matched what the letters had described.

Opening the great black doors, he was greeted by a dark damp smell that reminded him of the church he used to go to as a boy. There was an old man leaning over the front desk located directly in the centre of the room. He looked as though he should have been buried a few years ago.

“Welcome Mr. Barnes” he croaked in a thin voice “I have taken the curtesy of putting your luggage in your room”. The thing that astounded William was the fact he didn’t blink. Not once. “Here . . .” he said reaching out his hand to William “Your keys”. He took them quickly but not quick enough. The old wretch grabbed his hands. He caressed them gently. “You have nice hands Mr. Barnes”

“Thank you” William said jerking his hand back towards his chest.

“Your room is on the ground floor, just along the corridor to your right . . . next to mine”.

He swiftly moved away and over to the corridor. It was long and dark; only a dim gas light at the end. His room was first on the left: No. 6. The wooden slab on the door was rotting at the edges and the iron number was littered with orange rust.

Inside the room, it was small and dull. A single bed lay against the right wall with a window above the headboard. Opposite it was a black polished wardrobe. A small desk lay against the left wall with a letter atop it. Next to the desk lay his bags, neatly stacked but open. All the zips had been undone but they were closed. William examined the letter carefully. Red unbroken wax sealed it. He broke it and read carefully:

Welcome Mr. Barnes

It has come to my attention that we have not formally met, being the lord of this quaint little village I like to know all that goes on and all who enter here. Therefore I would like to propose a meeting tomorrow at midday at my estate. If you ask Mr. Snipseltwaite at the desk he can give you directions to my humble home. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Lord Malum Dentley

~~~~~~~~~~

William couldn’t escape the thought of the desk-man’s grin that morning. “Two miles up the road at the foot of the mountain” the scrawny man said “you can’t miss it”. The conversation echoed in his head as he walked along the road. He would have taken a carriage but no-one in the village dared to go up to the mansion. They made their excuses but William saw through them.

He had to admit that he did feel as though he shouldn’t be going up the road. Either side of the road, the cobbled walls were overgrown with black moss and vegetation and the signs were rotten and faded. He thought he would get there by midday easily but the hill leading to the house was slow and tiring. He found himself having to often stop and catch his breath.

The estate house stood tall on the crest of the hill, no light shone upon it and it seemed to be shrouded in a dark haze. William walked up the long path leading to the house and with every step he took, the thought of turning back grew ever stronger.

The house was large and looming, seeming to lean forwards over William. It must have been three floors tall with three gable roofs spaced equally along the top. The centre gable was taller than the rest and yet that one seemed to loom over William the most. He climbed the dark stone stairs and knocked loudly on the two huge oaken doors. Heavy thumps that William could hear echo around the house . . . no reply. No movement or sounds followed. He stepped back and examined the house. Most windows had been boarded up but in the few that remained open, blackness inside. He couldn’t make out anything, no lamps or curtains, nothing that had been placed on the windowsill. The house looked dead. As if left alone to die.

He waited politely on the steps, the sun began to hide behind the clouds and with every minute he waited, it grew darker and darker. A purple-grey light came down upon William and seemed to swallow him along with the house also. He knocked again hard and waited a few seconds longer. For all the while he had been there not one sound had come from the mansion; not a creak of the floorboards or the shutting of doors. So he made the decision to head back. A thick mist came over the entire house which made William nervous. There was a thin creak at the house which made him turn back, in hope to be welcomed in out of the fog.

No light was lit or welcoming figure but something caught Williams attention immediately. A pure white face in the window directly above the doors which were now wide open. Both unlocked and leaning out. The face was a dead face, William could see purple under its eyes and the eyes themselves made William’s stomach turn. Bright yellow eyes, wide like a child, and glaring at him. An uneasy feeling came over William as he closed the gate behind him. But this is what made him run back to the village.

As soon as he turned away to head back, the face disappeared. Then footsteps could be heard, quiet to William but echoing around the house. They sounded excited and fast, the footsteps getting ever louder. William could hear his heard beating in his chest and gooseflesh appeared on his arm. He saw a tall black figure appear in the doorway of the open doors. This was when he ran. The sun began its slow hibernation and William felt that he was in fact  being chased by the darkness. Sprinting to keep up with the light.

He locked the door of his room quickly and slammed the window down. Sweating furiously, he went back to the letter which still lay on his desk. He read it over and over. It said Midday! It said Midday! He found no stomach for the rare beef sandwich that lay prepared on the table. Partly because it was bloody and made the whole room smell of a carcass, but mostly because he couldn’t escape the white face pressed against the window.

William did not sleep very much that night. A cold sweat covered him and he dare not even stretch his legs out beyond the heavy quilt pinning him to the stiff mattress. Not even did he open his eyes for fear of seeing those bright yellow eyes in the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~

However he woke to find the sun had dawned and he could hear birds singing outside. He stretched his arms as breathed in heavily. Only then did he notice the foul stench in his room. It was not the beef, which had flies covering it, but something else. A heavy musk filled the room but coming from outside, in the corridor. And the smell of blood was prevalent, not heavily but enough for William to notice. It grew stronger towards the door and William had to check just to see.

The corridor was empty but the smell was overpowering. He looked around and found no sign of something that could smell that bad. However his door did catch his attention, and made hairs stand up on his arm

Claw marks, deep claw marks, were scratched into the door. The door was littered with scratches and cuts, though most of them were around chest hight they covered the door. He stepped back, leaning against the opposite wall looking at the door. Some were deeper than others and the wooden doorknob appeared to have been chewed.

One thing that really made William’s hairs stand on end was something engraved into the door just below the rusty plaque. It said, faintly but prominent enough for William to see:

LEAVE

The message was clear and it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. William was being hunted.

He spent most of his day in the tavern, the many drinks fuelling his obsession. Hundreds of thoughts crossed his mind, some painful and sickening and others terrifying. Another day passed and William did not dare sit near any windows or doors in fear of seeing the face appear. Darkness came quicker that night, and William looked at a small window as if to challenge it in his drunken bravery.

He staggered out into the village square and leaned against the fountain which sat in the center. William looked up to where the estate was, even though it was night, it seemed darker in that direction. As he was walking back to the house, he saw a light flickering in the woods on the outskirts of town, it glowed brightly in the trees attracting him like a moth to a flame. And with all the Dutch courage he could find, he staggered off to prove to himself there was nothing hunting him.

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a campfire lit next to a huge tree, its trunk thick and old. No one sat at the fire and the woods were silent. No rustling of leaves or chattering of animals in the distance, this forest was itself dead. All that lay by the campfire were four thick logs pushed together to form a circle of primitive benches around the blaze. On the fire lay a black kettle, glowing with heat on the bottom.

Then a loud laugh in the distance made William freeze with fear. A laugh which evil, almost like the screech of hawk but louder. He stared at the campfire too afraid to look around. Only fear lay outside the circle of light. He began to breathe heavily. Quick deep breaths that made his chest rise and fall.

He tried to moisten his chapped lips with a dry tongue. It was then that he looked up, at the tree were some light shone on.

Darkness. But not for long.

Two huge eyes opened widely next to the tree. Bright yellow and glaring at him. He could hear it running its hand along the tree. It was a deep sound and yet strangely hollow, like bones. A whisper in the air caused a single tear to run down William’s cheek. He could not catch what it said but it was cruel and satanic.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is said that William never went back to the village. Nor back to London either. There are reports he was picked up by the police seven months later but no one really can be sure of what actually happened.

Reviews

[Nigel Newman]

My Oh My! Jack Hi. You sent a friend request so I thought I'd take a look at your writing. I'm very impressed!

I find this story genuinely scary. You have very good description. If I were to offer constructive suggestions for improvement these would probably be to amplify certain sections where you've left things as a single statement. The most obvious to me was 'It's closing time'; there's a whole slew of questions that arise from the behaviour of the folk in the inn, and all you say is 'It's closing time'. I'm not suggesting you explain things - I love the way the fear comes from the reader's own interpretation and inferences, so please don't spell things out. Even so, this felt like a bit fast forward and that there could have been more to describe.

Every now and then there's a missing word or a typo or a comma when a full stop and new sentence might arguably be better. For example "It was long and dark, only a dim gas light at the end." Either put a 'with' before the only, or have a hyphen or semi colon instead of the comma. Another example: "campfire lit in next to a huge tree" where the 'in' is not required. These are tiny things, but I think they would improve the readability to an even higher level.

I have to say this amalgam of Edgar Allen Poe / Hound of the Baskervilles / and some of Dickens' more depressing passages is not for the faint hearted, and I may not return for a while!!!!! [Give me a few days on Bill Bryson travelogues to calm down!!!!!] But it is very very well written. Congratulations!

Regards
Nigel

[Jack Burney-Cumming]

A story written for my A level Creative Writing course