Split scream, p.9
Split Scream, page 9
part #4 of Split Scream Series
When the spell was complete, a great light settled over us. It rippled out over the water. I closed my eyes. Mary fell into my arms.
The baby looked over John’s arm, into Mary’s face, like a curious cat. Then it patted her cheek and was gone. I suppose I’ll never know how its soul came to be at Bone Light.
The young pregnant woman touched the hoop of light at my waist and it dissipated. She ran a hand over her belly again, wistfully, then gave me a small smile before departing, one that I like to think said, You did not save us, but I thank you anyway.
I dragged Mary to the little bed in the dwelling at the base of the light-house. She was dead asleep but breathing normally. I took off her wet things and tucked her into the bed, wrapping her up in her mother’s quilt.
Somehow, the spell had taken the entire day. I have not much memory of the time.
I have been unable to sleep since the spell. I have been tending the light, looking out over the sea, expecting the darkness to return. But the night is clear. The oil burns clean.
Mary’s John sits by the light, his hands restless with nothing to do, looking at me like he will always be there between us. I must do something. I went to the light while Mary slept, and I tried to think of how to cast him away. Then I realized that was not what I was after. Finally, I spoke to him. It seemed the most sensible thing to do. I told him how I loved Mary, and I’d take care of her, and how he didn’t have to worry.
He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at something I couldn’t see. He seemed to hear a voice inaudible to my human senses. He walked to the light and looked back, his face a little sheepish. He nodded to me once. Then he was gone.
I wouldn’t have believed it of him to go just like that, but then again, he always was a sensible soul.
January 26, 1874—
Ida Boyle writing
The morning came clear and bright. Mary is slowly thawing. I was trimming the wicks as the pink rays of dawn touched the sea, and she stood by the rail, looking out over the water. I have been nervous about losing her again, so I tied a rope from her waist to mine.
She turned and seemed to see me then. “Ida, is that you?” she said.
“Yes, it’s your Ida,” I said.
“My Ida,” she repeated in a soft voice.
She was quiet the rest of the day, but her eyes were hers. No unmoored souls thrashed in them, nothing trapped in her skin.
January 27, 1874—
Ida Boyle writing
We have all the stores unloaded now. The dwelling is dry, and I have completed most of the repairs after the storm. We will need a new hen house, and the stairs of the light-house tower could use repainting. I brought most of what we need, and I received my letter of commission appointing me to assistant keeper. I suppose the inspector never got his wish of replacing us with a man.
I have decided we will replace the holes in the tower with stones. Let the sea claim its own.
No more words from Mary yet.
I have not seen John again.
February 6, 1874—
Ida Boyle writing
Glorious sunny day. This morning Mary was up filling the lamp. When I sat up on the cot, feeling the loss of her warmth, she smiled at me. “Good morning, Ida,” she said. She seems to have no memory of her ordeal. We ate beans and rice while Shadow played, chasing one of the hens.
“We will write to my brother and ask him to come stay so that we may take a trip away,” Mary said to me as she watched Shadow play. “We are allowed a holiday of twenty-four hours, after all. I think we should go to town and go to the opera house there.”
I was so happy to hear her voice again that I agreed on the spot.
When I went to check on the light, I found it glowing warm and radiant. The walls were no longer whispering. Bone Light is quiet tonight.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
D. MATTHEW URBAN hails from Texas and lives in Queens, NY, where he reads weird books, watches weird movies, and writes weird fiction. His stories can be found in No Trouble at All (Cursed Morsels Press), The First Five Minutes of the Apocalypse (Hungry Shadow Press), and Monster Lairs (Dark Matter INK), among other venues. Find him on Twitter @breathinghead or on the web at dmatthewurban.com.
HOLLY LYN WALRATH is a writer, editor, and publisher. Her poetry and short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Fireside Fiction, Analog, and Flash Fiction Online. She is the author of several books of poetry including Glimmerglass Girl (2018), Numinose Lapidi (2020), and The Smallest of Bones (2021). She holds a B.A. in English from The University of Texas and a Master’s in Creative Writing from the University of Denver.
ABOUT THE ARTISTS
Viviana is a Portuguese artist most known as ECHO ECHO. Her creative influence is born in observing nature to the smallest details and recreating that feeling in her illustrations. She likes to create new worlds, bringing some sort of reality to these fantasy worlds while filling them with psychedelic manifestations of her imagination. Find more of her work on Instagram @echoechoillustrations.
EVANGELINE GALLAGHER is an award-winning illustrator from Baltimore, Maryland. They received their BFA in Illustration from the Maryland Institute College of Art in 2018. When they aren’t drawing they’re probably hanging out with their dog, Charlie, or losing at a board game. They possess the speed and enthusiasm of 10,000 illustrators.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
D. MATTHEW URBAN – Thanks to this story's first readers, my parents and sisters, whose comments on a very messy first draft went above and beyond the call of familial duty. Thanks to Celina, the love of my life, for laughing at the funny parts. Thanks to my critique partners at Brooklyn Speculative Fiction Writers, who didn't read this particular piece (too long for a short story—the curse of the novelette!) but whose feedback and encourage-ment have benefited my writing tremendously, despite my interloping from another borough. Thanks to Alex Ebenstein for expert editing that helped whip this strange story into shape. Thanks, finally, to Mrs. Giles, my high school Latin teacher, who taught me many years ago that sometimes all it takes to reanimate a dead language is a little imagination.
CONTENT WARNINGS
These stories are works of horror fiction which contain dark content that may be triggering to some individuals. In addition to instances and implications of violence and death throughout, there are instances of child death and infertility in “Bone Light.” Please read with caution.
TENEBROUS PRESS
aims to drag the malleable Horror genre into newer, Weirder territory with stories that are incisive, provocative, intelligent and terrifying; delivered by voices diverse and unsung.
FIND OUT MORE:
www.tenebrouspress.com
Social Media @TenebrousPress
NEW WEIRD HORROR
Holly Lyn Walrath, Split Scream
