Death Echo - Volume 1 Read online

  Death Echo

  Vol. 1

  By Sebastyan A.J. Smith

  Cover and other illustrations by Jade Andrews

  Copyright © 2017 by Sebastyan A.J. Smith

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-9957508-0-7

  Paperback ISBN 978-0-9957508-1-4

  [email protected]

  In memory of my Grandfather, Dennis Smith

  With thanks to:

  Jade Andrews

  Nicole Gropetis

  Katie Hatton

  Phee Kear

  Jenny Lame

  Ben Liddle

  Zoe Lim

  Bryony Mulville

  Amelia Owling

  David Parr

  Holly Rose

  Kelvin Ruthven

  Author's Note

  When someone dies they leave something behind. Most might not hear it but others are deafened by it. Death Echo is a collection of stories exploring the vast concept of death from a dozen different perspectives. Some stories are surreal, some are futuristic, and some fantastical. All are self contained. I hope you find something in here that you connect with, even if it is just an echo.

  - Sebastyan

  Contents

  Loch Morar

  Death and the Maiden

  The Crystal Tower

  Human Shaped

  Pandemonium

  Machine Monk

  Old Oceans

  Desert Shadows

  The Decadent Beggar

  Stench

  Dearheart

  Eidol and Visitant

  About the Author

  Loch Morar

  Daniel pulled the car to a stop, the wheels crunching on the gravel road. Before him was a gate - and beyond that a small driveway which led to a whitewashed cottage. It looked out over Loch Morar. He'd been thinking about this place for a long time. Nearly his entire life, in fact.

  He had been here once before. Forty-one years ago: the Summer of '76. It had been the hottest Summer on record. Whilst he and his brother had dearly wanted to go to the beach his father had dragged them and their mother all the way over the border into Scotland. This adventure had mostly consisted of being cooped up inside their small family car as it pottered and wheezed along the winding roads of Scotland's western coast in the baking heat. The goal had been Calligary on the Isle of Skye where his father had some family, but they never made it that far.

  The drive had taken him seven hours, far quicker than it had with his father driving.

  Daniel clicked his door open and crunched along the gravel to the farm gate. He struggled with the rusty spring lock, and then tugged it open.

  In his memory Scotland had always been drenched in the honey thick air of that Summer. Today was not warm, despite it being Summer again. The wind coming in off the still water was icy; cutting through what he supposed must look like flimsy city clothes. He hurried back to his car and drove it into a space beside some old abandoned stables and got out again. There was another car parked up around the back of the house. It might have been from the seventies itself: a Vauxhall Chevette. Daniel found himself staring at it until the cold forced him around to the front door, which he knocked with frozen knuckles.

  At length, the door was answered by an old woman. She was swaddled up in a dozen layers, a great shawl nearly covering her features. Every inch that could be seen was etched with craggy wrinkles, but her eyes sparkled. She looked up at Daniel and scrutinized his suit with a slightly critical air.

  'Tired of the rat race?' she asked, with a surprisingly English accent.

  Daniel nodded.

  'Aye, most of the guests we get here want to escape. That's how I ended up here and that was a lifetime ago. You're Daniel?'

  Daniel nodded again. This must be the woman he'd been emailing about the guest house since January. He'd been keen to make sure he got it for this weekend in particular. She ushered him into the small hall and closed the door. The cottage was unexpectedly warm.

  She gave him a very brief tour which consisted mainly of pointing towards rooms, rather than actually showing him around.

  'Here's a copy of the keys,' she handed them over, a Loch Ness monster keyring dangling from them.

  'There's no Morag merchandise, I'm afraid,' she said.

  'Morag?'

  'The Monster of Loch Morar!' she intoned in a stage whisper.

  When she saw his blank face, she deflated a little.

  'Everyone knows about Nessie but no-one has time for Morag!' she shook her head, and pulled on a coat over her woollen layers.

  'Phone's just over there in the kitchen. There's a list of numbers should you need them, but everything else is up to you, like it said on the ad. You've brought food, haven't you?'

  Daniel explained that it was still in his car.

  'You'll want to get it in before night hits us proper,' she advised, 'It can get even colder! Though this cottage isn't hard to heat up.'

  She patted the radiator as though it were a new invention, and then pulled a knitted hat down over her ears.

  'And don't go wandering off. People always come around thinking they know how to handle lochs, but lochs aren't just big lakes! They've got their own rules. Every loch has claimed lives.'

  Daniel shuddered but the old woman seemed to miss it. She opened the door again and immediately the wind came whistling in. Despite this she continued talking.

  'When I was on the right side of thirty a family came down here and the boys went running off! Do you know what happened?'

  'One of them died.' said Daniel, woodenly.

  The old woman paused.

  'Well, yes,' she managed.

  'Thank you for the keys,' Daniel said hurriedly, 'and the advice.'

  He began to close the door on her. For a moment she looked ready to resist, but then she relented and trudged out into what was fast becoming a gale. He nearly slammed the door shut. His heart was pounding in his chest.

  He quickly found a window and pulled the drapes back, just a crack. The old woman was standing by her car, staring back at the house and slowly shaking her head. Then she shrugged, gathered her layers and squeezed herself into the small vehicle. Daniel didn't stop looking until she'd locked the farm gate behind her and driven away, the red taillights vanishing around the bend in the road.

  ***

  Morning brought with it a grey overcast sky and more cold winds. Daniel had breakfast at the counter in the small kitchen, slowly chewing his toast whilst staring out the window at the loch. Outwardly he was quite calm, internally he was in turmoil. Today was a special day. Today was the anniversary. If he'd been back in Manchester, he would have taken the day off and drank his way into oblivion. Then the days that followed would be a malaise of hangover. By the time his head cleared he would be long past it for another year.

  But today he sat with his eyes open and his head crystal clear. He'd slept well, even with the howling winds. He glanced at the keys in his right hand. He'd been unconsciously toying with the monster key ring. He'd never heard of Morag before.

  After the incident, the police had asked him so many questions. Then his parents had asked the same ones, over and over again. He remembered crying. Daniel had told them what he'd seen but they'd told him off for making up lies. Eventually they stopped asking. He'd never changed his story - something had taken Samuel.

  'Morag,' he said out loud, tapping the key ring on the wooden countertop, 'Morag.'

  It had a nice, earthy rin
g to it. He repeated it between each mouthful.

  ***

  Three hours later the cold wind had blown the shell of city life from him. Now all that surrounded him was a landscape that looked in every way immovable. A week ago, he'd wandered into a mountaineering shop and bought everything: the boots, waterproof padded trousers and matching coat. He was grateful for his own caution; any other clothing would have been useless here.

  How could it have been so warm that day, but so bitterly cold now? It felt as though the loch was actively trying to deny his own past. The grand scenery, the jagged peaks which ran alongside the narrow loch seemed unreal. It looked too picturesque, too scenic, to be genuine.

  He tried to put himself back there; he tried to imagine the sun beating down on his skin, the gentle wind. That feeling of giddy, breathless excitement which came with finally being released from the car.

  Don't run off, his mother had shouted. A useless order, and quickly ignored.

  What had they played whilst running along the water's edge? Daniel had spent so long trying not to think about it that he'd forgotten the details. Sam had been older, in his young teens, and as such got to choose the games. Looking back Sam had been young for his age - keen to make-believe and play, when most might have shied away.

  He couldn't remember the games they'd played, but he could remember the chill of the water when a misstep took him ankle deep into the loch. His trainer had been quick to dry out in the heat. It had barely slowed him down. Strange, he thought, that he'd remember a detail like that so perfectly.

  By noon he'd walked several miles along the loch edge. Had they really walked all this way? It hadn't felt that long a walk back then. Perhaps his parents were keen to tire out two rowdy boys.

  His parents had passed away four years ago, within a week of each other. Daniel had trouble remembering them as anything other than the two rarely moving lumps, propped up in their chairs in front of the television. Had they walked hand in hand along these dirt paths, blond haired boys tearing ahead? Had they been drunk on the hot weather? Intoxicated by the sense of adventure?

  The truth was he didn't know. He barely remembered the games he played, and a child playing a game doesn't care about what their parents are doing. Perhaps they'd been arguing about how long the drive was taking, or bickering about how much the journey would be costing them. They argued a lot, afterwards at least, until age softened them.

  He paused for a moment, watching a distant ripple, a fish, no doubt. It broke the surface of the lake and the ripples spread out, before being wiped away by the wind.

  Sam had been faster than him. It was everything Daniel could do back then just to keep sight of him. For two inner city boys being unleashed into the wilds of Scotland had almost been too much for them - they might as well have been taken to another planet. With their parents behind them the two had raced forwards, pausing only to climb upon a newly painted bench.

  Daniel rounded a bend and stood staring at the rusted bench, half overgrown. He took off his glove and ran a hand along the bubbled paint and the coarse ochre metal beneath. They hadn't waited long here. The moment his parents caught up they'd run again, this time towards the water.

  With trudging inevitability Daniel now retraced these steps, trampling down bushes and nettles in his wake. They had called it a beach, back then. The narrow strip of pebbles looked nothing of the sort.

  In his nightmares, it was an expanse.

  Daniel stood for a moment, following the route with his eyes until they stopped at a rock. Roughly twelve feet off the ground and strangely angular the sight of it made his breath catch in his throat. The rock was much smaller than he remembered. It stood slightly taller than himself, but it had seemed monolithic to him as a child. It sat just a few meters out into the water, almost as though it had waded part of the way out and then stopped, scared to go any further.

  This was how far they'd come.

  On legs that didn't want to move Daniel began closing the distance. Inside his sensible clothes he was dripping with a sudden sweat. His mouth was dry and his hands were tightened into fists at his side. Sam had run out and hid behind the great rock, his boots kicking up sprays of water and mud, laughing as he went; the water had been shallower back then.

  With clumsy steps Daniel sped up, abandoning dry land, cutting a diagonal line through the water towards the rock. His own heavy boots were well made but icy water soon flooded in.

  'Sam!' he found himself shouting, over and over, 'Sam!'

  It was insane, of course it was, yet Daniel was propelled forwards by more than just memory. Knee deep in bitterly cold water he reached the rock, laying both hands on it to steady himself. He circled it, desperate to see the other side, a side he hadn't dared try to reach when he was younger; the side that had swallowed Sam without a trace. The mud pulled at Daniel's feet under the water, slowing him.

  There was nothing on the other side, only the vast swath of water that was Loch Morar.

  'Sam?' Daniel asked, barely a wheeze, his eyes were stinging.

  The Loch said nothing. It's surface barely touched by all his disruption.

  What am I doing?

  The question came from somewhere deep inside. What was he doing? His legs were turning numb and the cold was creeping upwards.

  'What am I doing?' he voiced aloud through chattering teeth.

  He tried to move but found he couldn't. His boots had now been sucked deep into the mud; the water was at his knees. He panicked and thrashed around, desperately pulling at his legs, almost toppling himself in the process.

  Another splash, not of his own making, caused him to hesitate. A ripple, far out in the loch, but moving closer. For a moment Daniel watched it, confused. As he watched the ripple it grew.

  'What on...?' he said aloud, before looking back to the trail.

  It was deserted, utterly so.

  The distant ripple seemed to be speeding up, homing in towards him. Fear gripped him, a deep, instinctive fear. Daniel returned to his thrashing, pulling desperately at his trapped feet. With a squelch and a splash one boot came free. He reached for the rock desperately trying to pull himself up and out. With his one free foot, he tried to find purchase.

  The ripple was closer; there was a shape, black and indistinct.

  What had Sam done, all those years ago, trapped in the mud, calling for a brother who never came to his aid?

  'I'm sorry!' Daniel found himself whimpering over and over, 'I'm so sorry!'

  With another great yank his remaining foot came free, leaving the boot behind. With a strength and dexterity borne of terror he scrambled up the rock, dragging his exhausted, wet body above the water. He turned, looking back at the ripple which now spread out for several meters. Below it was a shadow, a shape unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Daniel took a step back, almost toppling from the rock.

  'You there! What do y'think ya doin?'

  Daniel's head snapped around, there on the trail was an old man, waving his stick. Wordlessly, Daniel pointed towards the water but when he came to look at it again he found it empty. The ripples, the shadow, gone. Only the mud, kicked up into an opaque storm, remained.

  'Are ye okay?' the old man called, scrabbling down to the waterside.

  Daniel pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until lights danced inside his head.

  'No,' he said, so softly that the old man couldn't hear him, 'I'm not okay.'

  The Loch was silent.

  Death and the Maiden

  Andrew glanced down at the crisp blue hospital bed sheets. His hands were curled up into tights fists, his knuckles a stark white. They looked too violent, too raw, next to her. He forced himself to relax.

  He'd always thought of ill people as frail, with delicate, drained bodies. Alice looked like she was sleeping after a busy Summer’s day. Her golden hair was still full and shining, her face was ruddy with all the signs of a healthy life, and her cheeks were still plump, yet to lose the puppy fat of youth. She didn'
t look terminal, but something was inside her.

  At the beginning, he'd tried to understand it all. He'd spent restless nights here at her bedside reading article after article, journal after journal. He was a man of information, a man of learning. He'd stopped reading a week ago. Now all he did was sit by her bed and stare at her, trying desperately to absorb every part of her image.

  They'd given Alice her own room at the end of one long corridor and the nurses were the only ones to visit now. They were all very kind, horribly kind, Andrew thought. They knew it was a waiting game. Like an ill cat finding a quiet place to die they had been shoved away until the inevitable.

  Alice hadn't stirred since the day before. She'd eaten a little; even spoken a few words, gibberish, mostly. Gibberish had never been so beautiful in Andrew's opinion. But now she was back to lying there, still and statuesque.

  Back in his student days there had been a trip to a church in Leicester. Andrew couldn't remember the details, but at this church there had been the sculpture of a knight, laying down as though sleeping in his armour, forever perfect. That was Alice, laying frozen in a state of pure fitness whilst below something withered.

  There was a noise in the hall. Andrew didn't react. He'd grown tired of the small talk with the nurses. Now he barely looked at them at all. Not out of spite, but out of exhaustion.

  He hadn't slept for days; he didn't want to be asleep when she passed.

  Another noise and a scrape, almost like nails on a chalk board. Now Andrew did look. His knuckles were white again. What idiot was dragging something around at this time of night?

  He got up, wincing as his knees clicked. He carefully navigated the equipment which cluttered the small room, and eased open the door.

  'Who's there?' he asked a dark and deserted corridor.

  It was cold, very cold, compared to their room, and Andrew could see his breath turn to mist before him.