The Dark Place In Your Mind III: Call of the Macabre

I live in a small, coastal town known as Los Carpinteros. With our small population, the nearest town is Sullen Oaks. Many don’t venture near there because of the dark tales told about that accursed place. Yet, our town has a bad history all its own.

Many ’round here spread whispers of ghosts that haunt the beach and harbor of the town. You’ll see pictures being shown around by people every so often, but you never get quite a good enough glimpse. If you visited here, you’d probably think of us as strange, superstitious folk to give any credence to that sort of thinking. No one goes around giving a census for that sorta thing, but it’s easiest to say that everyone has different beliefs about spirituality. Yet for those who do believe, they have good reason.

One hundred years ago, a vessel known as the Niebla Nocturna was attempting to reach its destination when a storm blew it in the direction of our harbor. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for an unforeseen problem. The two lighthouse keepers were drunk as skunks and dead asleep when their lamp went out. This unfortunate circumstance led to a horrible chain of events.

The ship crashed hard into the rocks nearby, leaving a gaping hole in the Nocturna. With water rushing in and barely any light to go by, some died before they even got off the ship. Others managed to abandon ship, but were pulled into the sharp rocks as well. A leftover crew of roughly twenty men managed to make it to shore, albeit bloodied and beaten. This is where the history goes beyond unfortunate.

At the time, people in Los Carpinteros were extremely xenophobic. There’s a history that somewhat explains this, but not to the level that it became. Fear of outsiders doesn’t quite do it justice. They assumed any outsiders in their land without being warned constituted as a raid of some sort. And that’s exactly what happened at what would later be referred to as the Harbor Massacre.

When the drunk lighthouse keepers came out of their stupor, they realized the loud crash that woke them was that of a vessel. They immediately rung the bell in the lighthouse to inform the townspeople that someone needed help so they used the morse code that made the most sense….S.O.S.

Yet, the combination of the bell’s warning and seeing bloodied men approaching the town at night meant only one thing to xenophobic townspeople…a raid. Everyone in town went into a panic, grabbing guns or any weapon they could find.

The poor passengers who only needed help were soon being rushed at by a mob of angry citizens. Despite their pleas for help, most of the men were killed which left only four alive. As much as the remaining wounded men tried to reason with the townsfolk, they deemed the unknown men as liars and hung them up in the town’s square.

It was only after the drunken lighthouse keepers made their way into the town streets that anyone would stop long enough to listen to any reason. They showed them the wrecked vessel, which now had dead bodies strewn all about the rocks beneath the cliffs.

In order to hide any evidence of the incident from other towns, they managed to tow the ship inland and burn the ship to ash, along with all the bodies of the men that day.

One hundred years later, the town is commemorating the anniversary of the Harbor Massacre with a play reenactment and the story being told by the Mayor. I have high hopes for this day, but can’t help but feel a bit uneasy. After all, I am a spiritualist and one thing is for sure…angry souls are not to be taken lightly.

I did a walk about town, noting the various decorations and signs being put up and realized quickly that they were referring to it as the Harbor Incident. While this may not seem to change the meaning too much, I couldn’t help but feel as if they were saying that it wasn’t entirely their fault. The mayor was probably trying to save face…the swine.

Mayor Truman was always someone I loathed. He had short, pudgy little fingers, beady eyes, a condescending tone, and a sardonic smile that might as well have daggers for teeth. It also bothered me that historically every mayor was within the same family and that never sat right with me. Despite my disdain, I knew that no complaint would be enough to change that stubborn man’s mind.

So I went about my daily routine, noting that they were telling spooky ghost stories of the town’s history to children. I stopped by on my lunch break and listened in. The children’s eyes were wide as she spoke of the ghost’s lust for vengeance, and then all of them jumped when a man drunkenly stumbled into the speaker.

“Ohhhh!” She screamed as she almost fell out of her chair.

I was close to enough to catch her from falling, and helped her get set up in her chair once again.

“Reid Milligan,” she almost spat at the drunken man. “You have better get back to your home before I teach you a lesson with my purse.”

“Oh, yeah? You think that purse’s heavy enough, hah!” Reid retorted in his slurred speech.

“I’m referring to the gun in my purse, now go on!”

“What are ye telling these kids!”

“I was telling them a scary story before you showed up and scared us all half to death!”

“Are you sayin’ the ghosts are just a story, Ms. Bee?”

“Yes, they’re only stories. Nothing to be afraid of.”

At this, Milligan seemed to sober up a moment as every word he spoke next became crystal clear.

“Son, don’t you listen to Ms. Bee. There’s strange, ghostly things about, always have been since the massacre. I recommend you stay in your home tonight and keep your door locked tight. Yes….locked indeed.”

“Oh, stop that and get on!”

Reid Milligan then shot her a dark, somber look and began to step back.

“They’ll come for you….all of ye’s! I’m getting out of town after this wears off and not coming back ’til I know it’s safe. Mark my words, all of ye.”

We all watched in silence as the Milligan man stumbled away and out of sight.

“What’s he so convinced for?” I asked.

This question wasn’t mean to convey “what’s his problem?” I genuinely was curious.

“Milligan? Well, he’s the ancestor of the lighthouse keeper.”

“Of….you mean of the one when…”

“Yes. His great-grandfather was one of the keepers the night of the massacre.”

“Oh, my God…”

“Yes. It seems the drink has run in his family. Yet, I think Reid has a guilt complex over his ancestors. Never seems to let anyone forget it.”

“Poor guy.”

Later that day, I attended the reenactment of the Harbor Massacre. It took place in the town hall, and we were all delighted to see that they actually put a lot of effort into it. They actually chose people who were decent actors and I was quite enjoying myself despite such a gloomy history.

Everything was going fine until the end. They were reenacting the hanging scene and I found that something about it was distasteful. Instead of just showing nooses or using some off-stage trickery, they actually had actors hanging on stage. I suppose they used some sort of harness or other stage trick.

The play ended, and everyone stood up to clap. With the close of the curtain, we waited for it to open once more for the curtain call. Our applause died down as we began to wait an uncomfortable amount of time. A murmur went through the crowd as we were all trying to decipher whether or not they were doing a curtain call when a scream erupted backstage.

Everyone began looking at each other, then there was another scream followed by muted shouting. The director came out and addressed the audience.

“I’m so sorry for the delay, everyone. There’s been an…an incident. All calls have been made to address it, so you are dismissed. I’m afraid that due to the um….incident…that we won’t be doing a curtain call.”

We found out later from the cast that one of the actors had died. Talking to multiple people, I was able to piece together that the person who died was one of the people in the nooses on stage. His neck had apparently been broken. In fact, it was very likely that we were all looking at a dead person while they were on stage.

Despite this horrible occurrence, the festivities carried on that day. I however, could not carry on without some sort of response.

Everything together seemed to tell me that these spirits were still angry all these years. I couldn’t prove any of it empirically, but I felt a heaviness in the air as the day went on.

Meanwhile, I was back in my home and working on a project. Using two pieces of wood, I constructed a cross with a bow and some ribbon. With a knife, I carved out a small message in remembrance of the poor souls that died that day. It was very possible that it wouldn’t actually do anything, but it certainly made me feel better. The town wasn’t honoring these people that died, they were just using it as an excuse to have a party as far as I was concerned.

I made my way through town and to the shoreside, where many youths were gathered and goofing around. The sun was beaming down and yet somehow darker all at the same time. Perhaps it was just my imagination.

With some effort, I planted my cross firmly into a spot and had my own personal memorial service with a short simple message.

“I’m sorry this happened to you. I only have little words of comfort and I’m no one special but, I just wanted to say that you didn’t deserve this. You only wanted to do your jobs and go back to your families. But you can’t, because the fear and idiocy of those here before took that from you. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

Caught up in the moment, I shed a tear that darkened the sand between my feet. After bowing my head for a bit longer, I slowly walked away. I didn’t even make it halfway off the beach before I noticed some of the kids pointing at the cross and laughing.

Disrespectful little bastards.

Nighttime came, and there was little to say about it. There was a large feast for everyone and we socialized and played carnival games and the like. We kept checking the forecast as there was an expectation of a storm but all signs of it slowly faded in the evening.

The mayor took to the podium, and I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the smug, insincere face of that charlatan. He went on about how great the town is and gave himself subtle pats on the back before he began his speech on the history of the town.

As I’d heard the story many times over, my mind drifted as the mayor spoke and I couldn’t help but watch the sky behind him. It seemed my imagination at first, but a fog seemed to be coming in over the horizon. This was nothing new to see on the coast, but it brought to mind a movie I once saw that gave me the chills.

Just before the mayor finished his story, the bell at the lighthouse suddenly began to chime. Everyone quickly lost interest not only because it was distracting, but the mayor himself looked dumbfounded that it was ringing in the first place. After listening to it for a moment, I realized that it was morse code for…

“S.O.S.,” I said under my breath. “What a brilliant way to commemorate.”

This great idea was short lived and undermined by the mayor’s confusion. Like many others in the crowd, I began to ask around and soon found out that the bell ringing was actually not part of the commemoration.

“Can someone go up there and tell the keepers to cut that out?” The mayor barked.

A young man was sent, and the mayor continued his speech.

Minutes later, the same young man came running back and was pale as a ghost.

“THEY’RE GONE!” He shouted.

Now irritated, the mayor stopped his speech to address the man.

“What do you mean, they’re gone?”

“The lighthouse keepers, they’re nowhere to be found!”

A great murmur whipped through the crowd, all giving their thoughts and hypothesis at once.

“Okay, everyone. We can all calm down, there’s no reason to…”

“That’s not all, sir!” The young man yelled, and began to approach the podium. “The bells continued to ring until I reached the bell tower. I expected someone to be there, but there was no one there! It didn’t stop ringing until I reached the top!”

“What are you babbling about, boy?”

“The bells were ringing by themselves, sir!”

This started a big commotion that forced the mayor to yell through the microphone for everyone to quiet down. Yet, the fervor had swept through everyone and they ceased to listen from that point.

“Hey, listen to me when I’m…”

Then, the audio on the sound system cut out. Everyone looked confused as to what was happening, and assistants were running around trying to check the sound system.

“Just a temporary setback, everyone!” The mayor shouted.

Throughout all the chaos, I looked back to the sea again and noticed something strange.

The fog…it was much closer now.

In fact, it was closer than it should have been. Fog normally doesn’t move that fast, but maybe it was the wind.

Yet, I noted that the winds were actually very calm that night. Almost too calm…an eerie type of calm.

Someone nearby saw it too, and we were both pointing and talking about it.

Now, the crowd began to disperse from the outside stage area and mull about as the mayor struggled to keep his performance going. I began to feel more and more uneasy about the fog and worked to keep some distance from the shore.

The fog seemed to roll in quicker as it got closer, and other began to notice it too. In some sort of hypnotic state, I just stood there and watched it get closer. The sound began to change as it seemed to stifle even the very waves that it moved over.

I stayed transfixed as the fog now began to make its way on to the beach and the youth who stayed there simply laughed and pretended to be scared by the fog. Even their voices seemed more distant as it enveloped them and made its way past the sand and was soon to be on the pavement of the city street.

Without reason, my stomach began to tighten and a knot formed there. Chills seeped into my skin and I shivered as I felt dread overtake my being. The silence of the fog increased as the vaporous cloud moved forward and I began to feel sick. It was so bad that I was about to turn on my heels and run.

Then, the screams began…

The horrified screams seemed everywhere and nowhere at once. The dampening effect of the fog made it hard to tell where any sound was coming from. I didn’t know what to do or where to go.

I could only stand there and listen to the screams being choked off, one by one.

Time itself had no form or sense to it. It was just one scream after another.

“Help me!!!”

“Why are you doing….”

An unknown amount of time went by as I stood there trembling with my hands covering my ears. The sound was unbearable. I felt people moving around and near me, but no one so much as touched me.

An unknown amount of time went by, and I hesitantly pulled my hands away.

Minutes went by, and I wondered whether the screams or the silence afterwards was worse. I waited, but nothing seemed to be happening.

Until I heard the footsteps.

They were slow and deliberate, and somehow I knew they were coming for me. As the steps got closer, I noticed a specific quality to them. The footfalls made a terrible squelching sound, as if they were leather boots that were…

Wet.

I cringed as the steps got closer and closer to me. A foul odor made me gag, and I struggled to compose myself. Only prayer kept me from losing my mind in that moment.

The steps approached, then stopped right beside me. I planted myself there, in shock and trembling, waiting for my turn to die.

A cold hand touched my shoulder and I winced in horror. Icy water dripped from it and drenched the cloth of my shirt.

“Walk,” a voice spoke. It was deep, as if speaking from the catacombs of the soul.

I obeyed, walking forward and crying as the hand on my shoulder guided me. As badly as my curiosity begged, I dared not to look at the hand or the thing that was leading me.

The screams that started up again further into town gave me no comfort. If this thing was taking me somewhere to kill me, I wish it would just go ahead and get it over with. Each scream in the distance was a constant reminder of my inevitable fate.

The ground beneath me changed to sand, and I almost fell from the change in terrain. Yet, the cold hand of death held me firm.

After walking for another minute or so, the hand stopped me. Perhaps this thing was going to drown me.

I waited, and the voice spoke one last time.

“Don’t move. Stay here.”

I did as the voice commanded and made no attempt to move. As the hand pulled away, I caught a brief glimpse of a tattered shirt and decayed flesh. Through the fog it was hard to see well, but I was able to make out the face of a man with a large hat. He smiled, which looked like a grimace with the missing flesh on his mouth.

The unknown hours rolled by as I spent them in a fetal position in the sand. By late night, the fog had rolled away while I was asleep.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, only to hear the sound of crashing waves and the sea wind. Not a person was in sight and I adjusted my shirt as I still felt a small chill. It was then that I looked down at my shoulder and saw that a handprint was there.

“What the hell?” I whispered.

The print was still icy cold to the touch.

I looked over in the distance and saw that there was a huge bonfire. There was something in it. I took out my phone and zoomed in to see what it was and almost dropped my phone when I realized…it was the bodies of all the townspeople.

My hand went up to my mouth in horror, and all the events of the night before came crashing back. I turned back around and turned my flashlight on the spot that the revenant had led me to.

I was standing at the cross memorial I’d placed the day before, the ribbons flapping in the wind. Just over the horizon in the sea, I saw something large moving.

After tracking it, I was able to make out the name of the ship “Niebla Nocturna.” A man was standing at the edge of the ship, and waved to me as the ship began to dissipate into the night air and was never seen again…