The Child-Eaters' Society and Other Stories Read online

  THE CHILD-EATERS' SOCIETY AND OTHER STORIES

  By Fran Jacobs

  Published by Fran Jacobs

  Copyright 2014 Fran Jacobs

  Amazon Edition, License Notes

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  This is a work of fiction, and as a work of fiction any resemblance to people, places or things is entirely accidental. The creation of certain buildings and locations is entirely the work of the author to avoid conflict and comparison with existing structures

  Dedications

  I'd like to dedicate this to all my friends, real world and those online, especially Karen, Rosa and Rohaa, for always being there when I need them and an extra thanks to the latter for her editing help. And to Ailsa and my grandparents, as always, because, as always, they are still missed.

  I'd like to thank Natalie, for editing, and Simon and Sarah for brainstorming. I couldn't have done this thing without any of you.

  I'd also like to thank my parents, for their support and proof reading abilities, especially as I know this wasn't really their sort of thing, Deedee for her gorgeous cover and Clive Harber, for building and maintaining my brilliant website.

  And, lastly, I want to thank everyone who has supported me in my writing endeavours, by buying and reviewing and telling their friends. Every little bit helps, so thanks guys!

  CONTENTS

  1. Introduction

  2. 'One Last Song.' Oliver goes looking for his comatose wife in the land of dreams. This story was inspired by the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

  3. 'Community Service.' Stuart has been sentenced to clean up the local pond, as part of his community service, where he meets Kat. This is based on the story of Hylas and the nymphs.

  4. 'The Child-Eaters' Society.' Mourning the death of her baby, Karen has started having unsettling dreams about a friend's newborn. This is inspired by the myth of Lamia.

  5. 'A Nice Cup of Tea.' Tony has a job fixing a young woman's boiler. This is a flash fiction story, inspired by Circe's island in Homer's Odyssey.

  6. 'A Long Day.' David attends the funeral of his nephew. This story is based on an event in Hecuba's journey, after the fall of Troy, to her new home as a slave of Odysseus.

  7. 'The Wizard of the King's Arms.' Helen seeks out an old acquaintance for a love potion to use on her husband. This is based on the story of Deianira, wife of Heracles.

  8. 'The Screaming Tree.' Amy and John find a strange tree in the woods. Inspired by the story of Dryope in Ovid's Metamorphoses.

  9. 'Just A Dream.' Holly is having bad dreams again and her dreams have a habit of coming true. This is a story inspired by Cassandra's final prophecy.

  10. About the Author.

  INTRODUCTION

  The world of Greek and Roman mythology is a dark one, full of strange creatures and monsters, of nymphs and centaurs; Cyclops and winged horses. A world where gods and heroes alike battle these monsters, go on epic quests, but also rape, murder and enslave men and women to suit themselves. It's a world where you can be transformed into a tree, an animal, a bird, be served the flesh of your own son or melted alive by a poisoned robe and crown.

  I studied Ancient History to Masters degree level at university and my favourite part of the course was ancient literature, in particular, the Greek Tragedies. I especially loved Medea by Euripides, and Agamemnon by Aeschylus. They both make excellent horror stories as they are, with the painful, bloody death of Medea's rival, Glauce, killed by flesh eating poison, and the eerie scene in the Agamemnon where Cassandra, the prophetess, sees the ghosts of the past that are still haunting Agamemnon's house, before she walks inside to her death. But I didn't want to do a straight retelling. I wanted to put a new spin on these old myths, make them my own, so I decided to write stories that were inspired by the myths, using as many of their key elements as I could, (although some stories are close to the original than others) and set them in the modern world.

  The myths that I chose to use were a mixture of my favourite stories, or parts of them at least, and the ones that could be best set in the modern world. As much as I love it, I couldn't figure out a good way to set the complex myth of Medea in a modern setting, but there were plenty of others to choose from, so I chose my favourite eight. Eight myths that are a mix of revenge, transformation and tragic deaths. You don't need any previous knowledge of the original myths to enjoy them and I hope that you do.

  ONE LAST SONG

  “This isn't what I expected,” I said, taking a seat in Harry's over stuffed, floral sofa.

  “Let me guess, Harry said, as he flopped down into the armchair opposite me. “You were expecting black candles, skulls, cobwebs, perhaps a black cat, or two?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Oliver, but when you see all that, all the glitz, the . . . fur coat and no knickers as it were, then you're probably dealing with a fake, with someone who tries hard to look the part to hide the fact that they have no abilities at all. I don't have to do that. I can do what I claim and I can help Ellie.”

  Ellie. Just the mention of her name brought a lump to my throat. My wife, my childhood sweetheart, just twenty-four years old and lying like a living corpse in a hospital bed. A coma, the doctors said, and they didn't know if she would ever wake. I visited every day, pushing past the press that had gathered outside, all desperate to catch a shot of Oliver McKenzie, singer, in all his misery. And I spent that day, morning until night, sitting beside Ellie's bed, waiting, hoping, watching, as she grew thinner, paler, frailer. The woman she had been was fading in front of my eyes but I refused to let her go. I had consulted experts, the best that money could buy, and when they could tell me nothing new I'd turned elsewhere. Alternative therapists, new age healers, witches, whatever they wanted to call themselves, I'd asked them all for help and I'd gotten no where, until one of them had mentioned Harry. A rather large 'gift' and a phone call later and here I was, sitting opposite a blond man who looked barely out of school, trying not to get my hopes up and failing.

  “So, how does this work?” I asked at last.

  “It's fairly simple. I'll make you up something to drink, it tastes like crap, I'm afraid, and it will put you under. Then you just have to find Ellie and bring her back.”

  “I don't understand,” I said. “Find her? I know where she is. She's not lost, Harry.”

  “Part of her is,” Harry said. “Ellie is in a coma. Her body is in the hospital, but her essence, her soul, if you prefer, is in limbo, stuck there because her
body is neither dead, nor fully alive. I will give you something that will let you enter limbo safely, then you just have to find her and bring her back to her body, back to life.”

  “Right,” I said, a slow drawl of doubt and disbelief. “That sounds easy enough.”

  “That's the one thing it isn't,” Harry replied. “There are all sorts of nasty buggers in that place, Oliver. They will know that you're not meant to be there and will be attracted to that. You have to be careful. If you see them, don't acknowledge them, don't look at them, don't let them see you noticing them, because they will follow you back.”

  Now I had to laugh. “These 'creatures' will follow me back? To what?”

  “To whatever they can find, Oliver. Any vessel that is nearby that they can access.”

  “This is starting to sound like something from some sort of dodgy horror film, you do know that, don't you?”

  Harry grinned easily. “Oh yes. I know how it sounds. Just as I knew how it sounded when I said that I could see and speak to the dead and that some of my dreams come true. Doesn't change the fact that it's true.” He shrugged. “So, that's it, Oliver. You can give this a go or you can cling to what you believe you know is true of the world and hope that Ellie recovers on her own. What's it to be?”

  Put like that, the answer was obvious. “I'll take the chance,” I said.

  “Cool.” He hopped up from his seat. “Then let me get you what you need and run through the rules and what else you need to know and then you can be on your way.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  It was dark and pissing down by the time I reached the hospital, which had thankfully chased away any remaining member of the press. I pulled up the collar of my coat, snatched up my takeaway coffee, purchased for after I'd drunk Harry's potion to take away its 'nasty ass' taste, and left the car. A brief dash later and I was inside, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind me as I headed up to Ellie's ward.

  As always it was the smell of disinfectant, that strong, familiar, clean scent, that accompanied me as I walked past the other beds and the nurse's station, towards the end of the room and Ellie's bed. I was really beginning to hate that smell and the beep of the machines that breathed for Ellie, that kept her alive. They were important, I knew that, but together they masked everything that told me that she was still alive, the soft sound of her breathing and that earthy, natural scent that was her, the essence of her, that had always lain beneath her perfume and the raspberry shampoo she always used. I'd often lain beside her in our bed at home and just listened to her breathe as she slept, inhaling her scent and feeling comforted, just knowing that she was there with me. But now I couldn't sense her there at all, even when I held her hand.

  Reaching Ellie's bed, I pulled the curtains around us so we'd have privacy, set the cup of coffee down on the night-stand, took off my soaked coat and draped it over the back of the chair, before dragging it closer to the bed. Ellie looked no different than she had that morning, pale and fragile, her long, blonde hair limp and greasy where it lay flat on the pillow that supported her head, except her sister, Sarah, must have come to visit because her nails had been painted pink. Sarah had painted them blue the week before, even though she knew that that Ellie didn't really care about things like that. Sarah had also taken away the dead flowers, which had filled the vases scattered around the cubicle, and replaced them with fresh.

  There was a spare blanket draped over the foot of the bed. I pulled it around me and when I was warm and comfortable, I pulled the small bottle that Harry had given me out of my jacket pocket. It was a clear liquid and didn't really smell of anything, but a little drop on my tongue and I was retching and coughing and gasping for air. 'Nasty ass' was an understatement. I wasn't even sure that the strong taste of coffee would clean it from my mouth, but it was all I had so, after tipping back the contents of the potion, and making sure I wouldn't throw it back up again, I drained the contents of the coffee cup too.

  Then there was nothing left for me to do but sit there, wrapped in the blanket, holding Ellie's hand, and wait.

  There was long grass all around me, rippling like waves on a pond, as the wind gently blew through it. It was grey, like grass in a black and white photo, knee high, soft, and it stretched on as far as I could see, like an endless grey ocean. Out in the distance there was a tree, also grey, while above the cloudless sky was a shimmering silver, like the surface of a mirror. But there was no life, no birds flying, no animals rustling in the long grass, no insects buzzing and no people, no Ellie. I was completely alone.

  I stood there, for Christ knew how long, not at all sure what I was supposed to do and then, for a lack of any better ideas, I started walking. It was aimless at first, just a stroll through the grass, which brushed against my calves like gentle, caressing fingers. But as I walked, I began to make out a figure, a good distance away, and my steps became a little more determined as I walked toward them. As I grew closer I was able to make out details. The person was short, slender . . . female, definitely female, with long blonde hair. She was dressed in black jeans and a green t-shirt, the same clothes that Ellie had been wearing when she'd been struck by that car . . .

  “Ellie?” I whispered, and I couldn't help it, I broke into a run.

  My mind raced, as I tore through the long grass. Was it her? Was she really here? Had I really gone to limbo and found her, or was this just a dream? A very vivid dream. Then I had to laugh. I didn't care. I really didn't. Limbo, an alternate reality, the world of the dead, or a dream, I didn't care what this was, where I was, I just wanted to see Ellie again.

  “Ellie!” I shouted, when I was close enough for her to be able to hear me. “Ellie!” For a brief moment I feared that I'd made a mistake, that the person would turn around and it wouldn't be Ellie after all, just someone who looked like her.

  But then she turned and her blue eyes met mine and a huge smile broke out across her face. “Oli!”

  A moment later she was in my arms and her soft hair was all over my face. I inhaled that familiar scent of raspberries hungrily, as I tightened my arms around her.

  “Oh, God, Oli,” she gasped. “I'm so glad to see you.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, as she tried to keep herself from crying. “I . . . I don't know what happened. I was on my way to meet Sam for coffee and then . . . and then I ended up here . . .”

  “It's all right,” I said gently. “You're safe now. There was an accident, you were hit by a car. You . . . you're in a coma, Ellie.”

  “A coma?” she repeated. And then she laughed. “Don't be ridiculous! How can I be in a coma when I'm here talking to you?”

  “Look around you, Ellie,” I said. “Grey grass, grey sky . . . This is limbo.”

  And Ellie did look and it must have been the first time that she really registered what was around her, because all the colour drained from her face and her eyes grew wide, shimmering with tears. “Oh. Oh God-”

  “But it's okay,” I said quickly. “I'm here now and I'm going to bring you back. Just follow along behind me, okay?”

  “Why can't I walk with you?”

  “It's just one of the rules, Ellie,” I said. “I'm sorry, but you have to do this yourself.” Harry had been adamant about his rules. I couldn't walk with her. I couldn't talk to her. I couldn't even look behind me, as I walked, to make sure she was all right. I could only be her guide. She had to do this herself.

  “Oh,” she said, and I watched as she struggled to smile, while blinking back tears. “Okay.”

  “But stay close.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I won't let you out of my sight.”

  I kissed her and then I did the hardest thing that I'd ever done before in my life, I turned my back on her and walked away.

  Harry had told me that I had to find the light to make my way back. But in the mass of grey all around me that was easier said than done. Everything looked the same. It was probably best to just try and head back to where I'd started, not that I knew wh
ere that was of course. But I couldn't stop and take a moment to look around me, to try and gather my thoughts, because then Ellie would know that something was wrong. So, I just kept going, onwards through the grey, step after step, even though it was a lot harder to walk through the grass now. In fact, it rather felt like I was pushing through mud, instead of formally soft and silken fronds. All too soon my thighs were burning with the effort and beads of sweat were running down my forehead, but I kept going. I didn't dare stop. I didn't dare glance behind me, even though my concern for Ellie was growing with every step. If this was hard for me, what was it like for her?

  I started to sing, trying to distract myself so that I wouldn't worry about Ellie, so that I wouldn't turn around to make sure that she was all right. It was soft at first, because I felt like a complete tit singing in the silence, in the midst of this never ending grass. But I'd never really been able to keep my songs to myself and, before I knew it, I was singing at the top of my voice, although I couldn't have said what it was I was singing. The words just streamed out of me, like they did when I was singing to myself in the shower, with a tune, a life, all of their own.

  As I sang, I found myself feeling more and more confident that this was going to work. I was going to wake and Ellie was going to be awake in her hospital bed beside me and in a few days, a week or so, I was going to be able to take her home. Back to our little house, the one we'd decorated together, back to our life, to cosy, candlelit dinners, to cuddling on the sofa as we watched films and drank wine after a long day, and to lazy Sunday mornings, enjoying breakfast in bed.

  But there would be changes, too. No more late nights in the studio, coming home to find Ellie asleep on the sofa after trying to wait up for me, no more missing social gatherings for a photo shoot or an interview, no more long tours that took me away from Ellie for months at a time, because none of it was important. None of it mattered. Not really.