ELDRITCH HORRORS: DARK TALES

Recompense of Sorrow

by W. H. Pugmire

(Excerpt pp. 1-3, Eldritch Horrors: Dark Tales)

There is a place in the Sesqua Valley where the hills rise high, far from the center of town. In this place, beyond one small and solitary house, the woods begin their growth; and if one walks along the woodland path that begins just beyond the back yard of the small yellow house, one can follow it to a place of legend. The small circular clearing houses a deep pool of dark water, around which, sporadically, stands a clutch of statuettes, five of which are not large, while one is life-size. This taller statue faces the pool, before which it raises six wings. One large hand is held before its breast, the palm upward. The other hand holds some kind of implement, with which the beast seems to be writing on the upturned palm. Strangest of all is the creature’s proud face, which looks so odd that one may imagine it to be some impressionistic caricature. What seems unmistakable is that this beast is a fallen angel.

A scarecrow stood beside the angel, trying to study its outlandish face without falling into the pool. Her clothes were now too large for her desiccated limbs. Her frame of bone and flesh, once so robust, had been withered by encroaching disease. Her skin, once so smooth, had wrinkled and shrunken, especially her throat and arms. Her name was Theodora Oake, and she was a stranger to this supernatural place. As she steadied herself by clutching onto a graven wing with one frail hand, she touched her other hand to the creature’s granite cheek. “What a proud beast you look,” she told the statue.

“ ‘Every one who is proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord.’ ” The speaker stood some distance from her, beneath dark trees. Theodora’s first thought on seeing him was a passage from Dracula, wherein the vampire is introduced posing as a coachman. Here was a figure in somber attire, tall and commanding, whose face was mostly hidden by a large round hat. Here, as in the novel, were the shining eyes, not crimson but silver. The woman’s initial instinct was to back away as he drew nearer; but this she could not do without slipping into the pool, and so she clung to the statue with both hands. “This water is quite deep, my dear. Take my hand, and I will be your anchorage.” Theodora looked at the large sallow hand that was offered her, at the twisted mouth that smiled at her, and knew that she wanted nothing to do with this person. And yet this discomfort struck her as immature, and so, resigned, she reached out and took hold of the fellow’s paw.

“Thank you. . .”

“Simon Gregory Williams,” he informed her, raising his head so that it was illuminated by soft daylight. Theodora a could not refrain from gasping, for the fellow’s fantastic visage was a living mimic of the statue’s countenance. “And you?”

“Theodora Oake.”

“Ah, young Oake’s elder sister. I hope that you've enjoyed your brief time here. We’ve not seen much of you, in town.”

“No, my illness has made me a bit of a recluse. I decided to venture out for a walk today, and stumbled upon this place.” She studied his face and then turned to look at the statue. “Forgive me, but did you pose for this?”

“Not really, it amused the artist to cast me as his mold. At first I thought it rather silly, but now I don’t mind dwelling here, in effigy, surrounded by my little ones.”

She motioned to the statue. “And what is it that you write onto your palm?”

He answered, “The names of those adopted unto my demesne.” Something in the queer expression of his malformed face perplexed her, and she stiffened as that face bent low so as to examine the medallion that hung from a length of cord just above her bosom. “Most peculiar,” he intoned.

“It’s a replica of Joseph Smith’s Jupiter Talisman.”

“Smith? The lunatic Mormon magus?”

At this she could not help but laugh. “Even he. The original was found of his person following his murder. The legend is that he used it to contact angelic beings.”

“Most peculiar,” Simon repeated. “And do you commune with the heavenly hosts, Miss Oake?”

(...)

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TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Paul S. Kemp:
One Thousand and One Words

W. H. Pugmire
Recompense of Sorrow (brand-new Sesqua Valley!)

Ron Shiflet
Out of the Frying Pan

Don Webb
The Jest of Yig

Gary Hill
Rest in Peace, Jeremy Randall

Simon Bleaken
Ashanna's Whispers

Leigh Blackmore
The Return of Zoth-Ommog

Thomas Strømsholt
Devouring Darkness Hovers

Benjamin Szumskyj
A Haunting From Beyond

Linda Navroth
The Specimen

Dan Clore
The Dying God

Blake Wilson
The Door to Nowhere

Paul Mackintosh
The People of the Island

Henrik Sandbeck Harksen
The Bibliophile