The Creature of Scarlett Falls (Scarlett Falls #2)

Finding himself trapped in his home while several odd, otherworldly creatures roam the streets of his town, our narrator accounts for what has happened to his quiet, tranquil town of Scarlett Falls.

March 13^th, 1932

8:34 p.m.

            Dear reader, whoever you are, what you are reading has been written under such a grave circumstance. This quiet Georgian town I have grown to call home, Scarlett Falls, has become plagued by these odd, otherworldly creatures. Where exactly they originate from I cannot say. However, as a certain book of the occult; one Necrominocon, if I’ve gotten the name correct, would have me believe, these monstrous, perhaps even demonic, beings may have come from the darkest depths of space as one of the devout followers of a previously unknown old one. Forgive my ramblings, dear reader, but I fear I don’t have much time. Although the severe extent of these creatures’ tampering with the town has begun just recently, I believe their presence can be traced back to the town’s foundation in 1878.

            Whilst reading through old newspaper clippings dating back to the late ‘70s, I stumbled across an article titled: 3 dead, 7 missing after Scarlett Falls earthquake. I know that doesn’t sound significant, and I didn’t think much of it, either. Until I read further into this supposed earthquake. At my local library, I discovered another article about the earthquake; which, according to this newspaper, occurred on April 21^st, 1879, just over six months after the foundation of the town. And in the contents of this longer, more descriptive article was what gave me my initial concern. This “earthquake” as the townsfolk called it wasn’t simply the shifting of geologic plates beneath Scarlett Falls. Yes, per witnesses, there was a rumbling of the ground. However, they all failed to mention that; following this rumbling, several craters were opened in the dirt around seemingly random areas of town; behind the church, outside the general store, and on the playground of the local grade school. Unfortunately, this was where two of the three deaths occurred when two children, a boy, and girl, were pulled beneath the crater to their demise.

            The authorities who dug their half-eaten bodies up one week later claimed, upon noticing the boy’s open abdominal cavity completely vacant of any organs, that they must have stricken a jagged piece of rock on their way down which gave them such grotesque wounds. Upon reading this quote, I was immediately skeptical, as I’m sure the townsfolk must have been, as well. Especially because the third confirmed victim; the town drunk, Henry McCallum, who had stumbled into the crater outside of the general store was unearthed in a similar state; except, more specifically than the young boy, his lungs and pancreas were missing. The other seven missing townsfolk went unfound. At least until, per a different article dating back to July 4^th, 1903, when four partially decayed but otherwise intact skeletons were discovered by a couple of young lovebirds who had gone out for a romantic late night swim in the town lake. Now, you’ll have to forgive me, but I can’t help but feel empathetic towards the unfortunate young man who was surely hoping to grow intimate with the young lady he was courting. Bah! Look at me; my mind has found its way into the gutter so simply. It’d be amusing in its own unique way if my happenstance wasn’t so grim...

9:06 p.m.

            I have returned; thank God if he’s watching after this accursed town after all. Just as I was recounting the history of Scarlett Falls and the mysterious craters, I was disturbed by a loud knocking followed immediately after by the sound of shattered porcelain from my downstairs. I believed that the creatures had somehow found their way through my extraordinarily strong maze of locks, bolts, and boards covering every door and window of the first floor and basement of my home. Gathering what little sanity my sleep-deprived mind had left, I retrieved the baseball bat from beneath my bed and started down the steps. Looking back now, I realize that I must have gone through a brief spell of insanity because it’s unlikely that my blunt weapon would have provided much defense from those unspeakable terrors who completely lack a skeleton or other anatomical structure that provides shape. Excuse me if you will; I hope you can read that last line through the tears of mine which have begun dampening the parcel on which I write. I’m not normally much of a crier; having only shed a tear on a select handful of occasions. But those creatures, those... unshapen scaled beasts have brought me to such a fragile state of mind that I am unable to contain myself. I must hurry; the creatures have taken most of the town to that Hell from which they rose. I can’t say for certain, but I believe I’m one of the last townsfolk remaining. It’s only a matter of time now until they find their way into my home.

            Now let me get back to the history of these beings so you can have a better understanding of why I’ve been driven mad like I am. Years after the earthquake of 1879, the town seemed to have returned to normal until six months after those teenagers discovered the skeletons of four previously missing townsfolk. Then, on January 2^nd, 1907, an out of town contractor hired to fix a problem with Scarlett Falls’ sewer system went mad and, in a lucid fit of rage, bludgeoned the Sheriff deputy, a German-American named Eldritch Tanner, to death with a pipe. The photograph in the following paper was a horrific sight to see; the dreary and colorless streets were damp with the remnants of a storm, and the rust-speckled drain was caked with a grime somewhere between crimson and black.

            It was quite peculiar of an occurrence, but what tickled my funny bone further was that the contractor; of whose name remained withheld, didn’t attempt to flee. He did quite the contrary, in fact. The blasted fellow stood silently in the street, staring at his bloodstained hands until the Sheriff arrived to detain him. Now, this was where things became even more unsettling. In the contractor’s statement, he wrote, “Their eyes; their eyes, like the backside of a thousand suns. The beings underground are working restlessly and are soon to return. My crime was not out of contempt, but as an offering.”
            The man ended his statement by pouring the cup of water provided for him on the floor. Further attempts to coerce him of information were futile. On January 3^rd, the contractor was found dead in his cell; an apparent suicide. On January 4^th, 1907, the second earthquake struck Scarlett Falls. This time two additional craters opened in varying locations; all larger than the ones decades prior. The next morning paper’s front page article read: 12 dead, 1 missing in second devastating Scarlett Falls earthquake. This time, however, because of the town’s population having nearly tripled, there were many more witnessed of whom were much closer to the craters when they opened.

            Oddly enough, per every witness interviewed separate from one another, they all claimed that not a single one of the victims had fallen into the crater when they appeared. And to back up their seemingly insane claims, the families of five of the victims came forth and declared that their loved one was safe at home when the earthquake struck. Confused but still with a job to do, the authorities searched the craters and unearthed the twelve latest victims; convulsed so that their arms were twisted like claws, and completely stripped of skin. Their eyes, although open, were completely deadened, hiding the horrific secrets they must have known behind a glossy veil.

            Researching the occurrence even further, I uncovered several photos of the deceased. The pink muscles bulged as the tendons connecting them to tissue strained. To me, the latest victims of the craters didn’t resemble humans, but instead meaty sculptures. But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, not even close. The worst sight of all, I tell you, was that dead look in their eyes. It burned, by God! Like the deceased contractor driven mad by fear had put it; like a thousand suns. Jesus Christ help me; those eyes, although vacant of life, were full of something. Something terror-inspiring. Something illusive. Something they knew. I hadn’t previously believed this, but as I look back, I’m beginning to wonder if they had discovered something that no man should ever know. Then, those boneless creatures from the craters must have tracked them down and silenced them before they had a chance to speak of what they saw. But why take their skin and only that? Why Henry McCallum’s pancreas and lungs, and the young boy’s visceral organs in 1879? I still have yet to make sense of the grotesque specifics. Did any, or perhaps all of those sad people uncover something more sinister about the town, or were they simply randomly chosen victims?

            I thought I would never learn anything further about those creatures or the land from which they come, until my old friend and colleague, Fredrik Montague, got in contact with me a week ago; March 7^th, to be specific, just two days after the third earthquake ravaged our town; this time killing over one hundred within the first night and nearly four-hundred more since then. My dear friend told me that, following his wife’s disappearance and subsequent discovery of her corpse, that he had been plagued with a severe case of insomnia. And on one of these sleepless nights, he told me that he had watched one of the craters; the one encompassing his backyard, very closely after supposedly hearing a sound he described as an “inhuman snoring” from beneath.

            He then claimed that around the witching hour of three in the morning, he saw a creature emerge from the massive cavern in the ground. The creature, of which I will come to see later, was then followed immediately after by another identical abomination, then another, and another until my friend counted six of them in total. The sight of these beings of which he dared not attempt to explain in fear of going mad like the contractor frightened him greatly. Yet, although my friend was unable to speak of such horrors, I would come to see what he meant. I had also received a sealed letter from him that he sternly instructed me only to open if he were to die. In it, he claims, is what he discovered underground.

            On March 11^th, Mr. Montague contacted me again. He told me that he needed to speak with me urgently, regarding the matter of the creatures. When I met with him in my very own home, he appeared flustered and unkempt. His normally-combed blond hair stuck up wildly at varying angles, his eyes were sunken in and were dragged down by large, dark bags underneath, and his face and palms were both soaked with perspiration. The odor emitting from his pores, however, wasn’t that of body odor, but instead one of a more sulfuric and earthy stench. When I asked my friend what was wrong, Mr. Montague sat me down, opened his satchel and poured the contents onto my desk; a rather large tome, some breath mints, and an old relic appearing to be a rune of some sort. Shoving the mints to the side, Mr. Montague threw open the unnamed but ancient book and shuffled through it until he arrived on page 234.

            “Here,” he declared, shoving a sweat-stained finger into the pages. A moist fingerprint appeared over a symbol on the page. He withdrew his hand so that I could see the symbol for what it was; the shape of a man curled up in the fetal position. Then, when he was sure that my mind had composed a mental image of the symbol, Mr. Montague picked up the circular relic and placed it over the drawing. The disc-like relic had the same symbol engraved into it as the tome.
            “What’s this?” I asked. My concern was growing, but I did not know precisely why.

            “I had this book on my shelf for years,” he said, noticeably out of breath, “It was given to me by my father and is said to contain several phrases, spells, and symbols.”

            “Like the Necrominocon?” I inquired.

            “Yes, but this is a different tome.”

            I cast my eyes below the rune covering the symbol and made out a single Latin word of which I dare not speak aloud for the eerie translation sends shivers down my spine; venuint. From my limited knowledge of the dead language, I was able to translate that as; they come.

            “Where’d you find this relic?” I asked my friend. He was growing anxious; peering over his shoulder multiple times.

            He knelt before me and lowered his voice as if the creatures were eavesdropping, “I found it in my wife’s pocket when the authorities discovered her body.”

I shuddered, then he continued, “I told you about the creatures from the ground, didn’t I?”

            “Yes, Fredrik. You told me just the other day. What is the cause for such concern?”

            He paused, looked over his shoulder once more, and continued, “After they left their crater I went into a crazed frenzy and snuck into my backyard armed only with a coil of rope and lantern.”

            My eyes widened at this, “What did you do, Fredrik?”

            He smiled grimly. His face had developed a shadow of sorrow and regret, “I went to the Hell from which those monsters arose.”

            “What did you find?” I asked, picking up the relic and held it under my spectacle-dressed eyes.

            “Oh John, I found more than I cared to know. I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you of what I saw down there, but I’m afraid in doing so that I may lose my sanity.”

Suddenly, my friend sprung to his feet, grabbed everything but the relic of which I held in my hand, and rushed to the door I had unblocked prior to his arrival.

“I fear that you have been marked, John.”

            “Marked? Fredrik, you must listen to yourself,” I declared, perplexed with his irrationality.

            “No!” He bellowed, throwing open the door. Without turning back, he said, “It’s just you and I left, and if my sixth sense is correct, soon it’ll just be you. You received my wax-stamped statement, I presume?”

            “Yes.”

            “And you haven’t opened it?”

            “No.”

            “Good. You can go ahead and open it when I leave, John.”

The rain had begun pouring outside, slickening the cobblestone and crater-covered streets. The scene outside resembled a battlefield.

“I suggest you board up this door, even though it won’t do much good in the end. They’ll find a way in sooner or later if they’ve found you,” his inflection rose and fell rapidly. I could tell that my friend was crying.

            “How do I know if they’ve found me?” I asked.

            At this, he turned back to me for the last time. His overcast face seemed to lack any familiar feature, “You’ll just know.”

Then, before I could bat an eye, Fredrik Montague sprinted outside into the rain. I attempted to rush after my friend but was stopped at the door by my paralyzing fear. What he said echoed in my head and the curled image of a man in the fetal position remained burned in my mind. I slammed the door shut and boarded it up again. I hadn’t heard from my old friend since.

            The next day, on March 12^th, I failed to receive a letter from Mr. Montague. Pretty soon you’ll be the last one plagued my mind. But, at first, I refused to believed what my friend had told me. Surely, he hadn’t been taken by these abominations like all the others. Then again, in this last week he would contact me every morning around dawn to give me an update on his predicament. I shivered, and like Mr. Montague, had developed a nasty case of insomnia. I hadn’t slept at all the night before; I could feel the heat of hundreds of eyes all together as one burned into my neck.

            Around three am this morning I cast my eyes to the wall as I tossed and turned and realized that, foolishly of me, I had forgotten to board up my bedroom window! And, in that window hidden behind the reflection of my terror-stricken face was a clear, almost transparent, arachnoid-like tree branch of an appendage. And, on that distorted and hooked limb were dozens of eyes embedded into every unholy inch. By God, what a horrific sight! The sheer amount of terror that drowned me like a drunkard fallen into a lake, I’m afraid, is impossible to describe with justice. Just imagine, dear reader, that you were awake for thirty hours and were left without a family or contact with the outside world while these unearthly horrors attempted to find a way into your home. Only then will you know a mere fraction of the helplessness I felt. I let out a yelp of excited fear and sprung to my feet, then rushed to the closet where I kept my tools for barricading possible entry ways into my home while the hundred-eyed limb of the creature watched my every move.

            However, to my dismay, when I threw open the closet door I found that I had used the last of my wooden planks boarding the entryway downstairs. Damn my old friend for making me uncover it to allow him in! Why couldn’t he have simply told me of this symbol and relic in one of the countless letters he had brought to my door in the past week? I shot my gaze back towards the window only to see that the arachnoid leg with many eyes was gone, but down below where I first saw the horrific sight was the sound of something burrowing into the wood. At this moment, I realized that the creatures were attempting to tunnel their way into my fortress!

            It was then that my mind was brought back to the unread letter Fredrik Montague had given me. How foolish of me to have forgotten about it until this moment! What if he had tried to warn me of these creatures that continued tunneling their way into my home? Without hesitation, I rushed back to my desk, ducking beneath the window as I did so, and retrieved the wax-sealed letter from the drawer. Imprinted in the red seal were the letters “F.M.” my old friend’s classic, yet simple signature. But before I could tear the wax and break the seal, a blinding white light brighter than anything I had ever seen or heard of infiltrated my room through the window. Just merely glancing outside of the glass gave me a tremendous headache and caused me to see a series of colored shapes floating in my field of view; green triangles, purple circles, blue squares, et cetera. However, burned into my eyes amongst the colored shapes following my gaze was the symbol of a man in the fetal position. The accursed relic! I would have rushed downstairs where the stone disc sat and cast it to the ground, but as soon as the consideration came to me, the sound of shattering glass and snapping wood called up. Curses, those blasted creatures had found their way into my home at last.

            This horrid memory, dear reader, occurred just a few minutes prior to what brings you to where I currently am; stowed away in the attic with Mr. Montague’s final letter in my hand. I have just broken the seal and uncrumpled the parchment. Here now I transcribe the contents of that letter.

Note I

            John, if you’re still alive as I venture through these tunnels, that is, if only you could witness what I’m seeing! These craters, or so we call them, aren’t as deep as we once suspected. I was able to reach the bottom with a single thirty-foot coil of rope. But for what these craters lack in depth, they compensate for in length. There are tunnels down here, for God’s sake! Long, spiraling, endless tunnels! And the sounds, John, the sounds are enough to drive any sane man mad! A low-pitched noise sounding like a mix between a rattle and humming is droning on like a cooing bird down the tunnel, and every hum causes the soil beneath my feet to shake and dirt from the ceiling above to rain over me. My garments are covered, my friend. It will take several baths to fully rid myself of the stench. But for now, I must press on; down the tunnel towards the humming. My hesitance is growing strong, but the thirst for knowledge is irresistible.

Note II

            If the great poet, Dante Alighieri’s vision of the Inferno is correct, then this must be his Lucifer! There are not enough words in all the world’s languages combined to fully portray what lies before my eyes in slumber. It’s a... a creature, John! But one that makes the million-eyed transparent beasts we know of resemble mere kittens. As I ventured further into the dark depths of this Hell with only my lantern to guide me, that maddening humming grew louder and louder. When I got approximately three-quarters of the way through the narrowing tunnel, I felt a sharp pain electrify my inner-head as I believe my eardrums simultaneously burst, leaving me deaf except for a constant ringing. I believe this may have happened from a combination of the pressure underground and the deafening (no pun intended) rattling hum further ahead.  

Note III

            Once I reached the end of the tunnel, I was greeted by a door with the image of a man coiled in a fetal position engraved at the top. My heart seemed to have skipped several beats as I recognized this as the symbol on the relic and in my tome, before me in the flesh! Without hesitation, I threw open the door and rushed inside. By now my hearing had returned, but the sound of the humming was even greater now. Thankfully I hadn’t been made deaf because as I stepped through the door, I heard that the noise was no longer ahead of me but now beneath my feet.

            I froze and peered down; bringing the lantern near the ground as I did so, and saw that a crater one thousand times larger than the others combined sat just a few steps out from me. One more bound and I would have fallen all the way to the bottom. I had located the source of the humming but was unable to see what it was, for the crater was deep enough that the light from my lantern couldn’t reveal the base. Peering around the narrow room, I quickly located two large roots jutting out from the wall behind me. Caressing them, I could feel that they were dry. Perfect. Breaking open my lantern, I withdrew the mostly-melted candle inside and used it to set the roots ablaze. The bright light from the flames illuminated what lied at the bottom.

Note IV

            It was when I saw this creature at the core of Scarlett Falls that my mind was brought back to a specific passage in that unnamed occult tome on my shelf. I have gone through the book dozens of times and remember that specific section perfectly, although it never said this beast was at the bottom of our very own town. Illuminated beneath the light before me, is a giant fleshy ball of organs of all sorts. Kidneys and pancreases arch like vertebrae down the center of this thing’s back. Various bones of all shapes and sizes curve into the letter “V” at the top corners. It gave me chills how eerily close these bones resembled human shoulder blades. The skin of the monster’s back varies wildly in shade. Some spots are pale while others are green with several fungal growths emerging. These multicolored shades of; black, white, pale, and green skin are all separate patterns but are connected at the seams by millions of shriveled human veins and arteries. The zig-zagging pattern of vessels appear to be acting as sutures, binding the flesh stripped from human bodies together.

            As I studied every horrid inch of the snoring abomination’s back, I noticed that the only organs missing were human hearts. Resorting back to the pages of the tome stored in my memory, I recalled that this creature was said to have been created by the boneless monsters that emerge from the craters of Scarlett Falls at night to bring victims underground in order to harvest their organs. These terrors have been using these organs to construct the abomination that lies balled up like an embryo in the womb of the town. It is said in the ancient texts, that the creatures, referred to as “The Pellucidum” are released each time their b*****d child tosses in his slumber, creating vibrations in the ground that resemble earthquakes. Then, they are unleashed into the town to retrieve offerings for their creation and can do so until the craters are covered. However, it has gotten harder to fill these holes in the earth, because as more victims had their organs used to construct this ungodly creature, its restless stirrings have grown stronger, which has led to several more craters which are even larger than the last to open.

            It is also said that, after the creature is fully matured, it will require two final organs for it to be awoken; a brain and a heart. John, I hate to say this, but I think you and I are all this creature needs.

Note V

            John, I’m out of the crater now. I will soon send word that I need to speak with you as soon as possible. I wish I was strong enough to tell you in person of my discovery, but am unable to even say what I write aloud. I will write you soon, but first I have one final thing I wish for you to know.

Note VI

            John, I believe that the stone relic of which you most likely hold in your hand or pocket as you read this letter is how these Pellucidum creatures are able to locate suitable victims. As I’ve done more research, I’ve discovered that there have been multiple relics identical to the one I have given you. I’ve studied the victims’ circumstances in great depth over this last week and have discovered, to my dismay, that several of their family members or authorities have discovered one of these relics in their pockets following their deaths. Resorting back to the tome, I have discovered that it speaks in vague detail of these relics. However, it doesn’t declare what they are used for or where they’re from.

            I’m not sure how the relics work, but I believe they may pinpoint the location of whoever is in possession of one for the Pellucidum to find. That theory seems to make the most sense, to me at least, because several victims have been found with one and I’m sure most, if not all, of the others had a relic as well. I fear that these creatures may have found me out because of my ownership of the one my wife held at the time of her death. However, I must attempt to rid myself of it before it’s too late. I first considered throwing it into a lake, but then I couldn’t help but wonder if whoever last touched the relic is the one the Pellucidum come for. It then came to my understanding that for me to have any chance of survival, I would need to rid myself of this bad omen by giving it to someone else in town. I’m sorry, John, I truly am, but you’re the only other person alive in Scarlett Falls. Believe me; I’ve tried frantically to find anyone else to give the relic to, but to no avail. In all honesty, though, part of me fears that passing the relic to you won’t actually free me, but instead damn you as well. But it must be done. It’s all I have left to try. I’m telling you this because I really hope you’ll have better luck with finding someone else alive in town, John, so that you too may hopefully free yourself. I am terribly sorry, dear friend. Best of luck...

10:12 p.m.

            Dear reader, I can not even begin to explain the overwhelming combination of; betrayal, fear, and nausea that went through my body upon reading the last word of that letter. Foolishly of me, I had believed earlier that my old colleague had been slain by these creatures he called the Pellucidum, but now I see that he had simply abandoned me in a desperate attempt to save himself. That coward! At this moment, as the Pellucidum navigate their way through my home, I can’t help but be reminded of the story of one Moses Rose; the man who fled at the end of the Battle of The Alamo a century prior, instead of staying loyal to his brothers in arms. If Scarlett Falls represents the Alamo, then my dear friend, Frederik Montague, is the town’s coward.

            However, I find myself morbidly comforted by the fact that the man who was once a dear friend of mine had most likely been captured and harvested by these creatures, despite his fearful treachery. I, on the other hand, will accept my fate with a strong sense of fear, but dignity nonetheless. The scampering below has grown greater, and now there is a carving sound at the door to the attic of which I reside. I had blocked the door with a trunk containing my life’s savings and memorabilia, but eventually the creatures will break through with their unholy warped bodies resembling a piece of rubber tubing with black specks of proteins in the center. Their eight arms with hands replaced by crab-like pincers jutting from each side and embedded with eyes will soon seize me.

            With each word I write, the scratching grows stronger. But aside from the sound of movement, these creatures are otherwise silent. That is what makes them so frightening to me, dear reader. They locate victims with healthy organs they need, then come swiftly and silently in the dead of night. The door has been pushed partially open and I can now see two of the clawed pincers emerging through the crack. And those eyes, focusing on me and recognizing human life. By God, they’re more hideous up close. In my final act on this earth; I, Mr. John Ashley, of 1816 Crogan way, Scarlett Falls will stow this letter in the trunk with my savings, family history, and newspapers I used to research what little I could of these creatures. The door is on its last hinges now. It won’t hold more than another minute at best. Go then, dear reader, flee this accursed town and never return, for the Pellucidum are almost done constructing the coiled beast beneath the town. And one day the creature of Scarlett Falls will rise...

Reviews

[GwenLark]

This is amazing! So enjoyable to read, well done!

[Ellis Hastings]

Thanks a ton!