Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

He wondered why they had chosen to land the ship where they had. He thought maybe they were having problems that required them to land immediately.

He stayed for a while and watched the groups of dim figures make their way onto land. It was only when he caught a whiff of a familiar stench that a wild chill surged through his body and he decided to leave.

Turning his back on the ocean, the Reverend started off towards his cottage.

He jogged most of the way, and by the time he arrived, he was panting harshly and sweating. He stopped by the open door.

He inhaled deeply before stepping into his cottage. He closed the door then locked it. That horrid, familiar smell down at the ocean had instilled a grave fear. He had a strong feeling something unnatural was going to happen.

Acting on that instinct he went about locking the windows and shutting the curtains. There was no back door, so he only had to worry about making sure the windows were secured.

When he was finished, the Reverend slumped in his chair by the dwindling fire.

Now what do I do with the body ? he wondered. The thought about having to clean the mess vexed his already cloudy mind.

Seeing that the fire needed stoking, the Reverend hopped up and threw some more logs on. Soon the fire blazed healthy and he sat back and sighed.

What possible ramifications will this ghastly night have ? the Reverend wondered. He wanted to forget everything that had happened. Everything he had done. How could he go to church and talk about peace and prayer now?

Above the crackling of the fire, the Reverend heard the faint sound of moaning. He turned and looked towards the kitchen, almost expecting to see the man lumbering for him, the knife protruding from his head. Never would he have thought such things before tonight, and that scared him almost as much as those deep, long groans that seemed to be getting louder.

The Reverend stood and headed into the kitchen. The form was still lying on the kitchen floor, motionless and bloody.

But now the Reverend could hear that the sounds were coming from outside. He carefully stepped around the body and up to the window. He flung the curtain aside and peered out.

At first he saw nothing; he only heard the unearthly wail of many voices.

Then he saw the dim figures approaching. The Reverend drew in a fearful breath. Out of the perpetual darkness at least thirty men were striding towards him.

“What do they want?” he whispered.

It wasn’t until they had ambled closer, as they stepped into the moonlight that the Reverend saw them properly. Most had dreadful wounds inflicted on their bodies. Some had chunks of flesh missing from their necks; some had parts of their face torn off. One man had no arm below the elbow. Their clothes were ragged; some wore nothing but strips of fabric.

Were these the people from the ship?

Has to be , he thought.

He closed the curtain and turned around.

“What happened?” he said down to the body. “What abomination have you brought here?”

Panic began to rise up in the Reverend’s heart. He rushed into the dim lounge. Confusion and terror set in, in equal parts.

The first bang against the door came as a surprise to the Reverend.

He shrieked. He gazed over at the front door and heard the thumps of the people.

Not people; people don’t look like that. People don’t come to a man’s home and act this way .

He heard the breaking of glass and turned to see shards flying onto the kitchen floor.

“What do you want?” the Reverend cried. “I am a man of God. I have no money and have done no wrong!” I have killed a man , he reminded himself.

He saw one of the figures clawing at the broken window.

Another face appeared and both groaned while trying to climb in. The banging continued with force at the front door.

The cries became louder and from somewhere in the cottage, perhaps in his bedroom, he heard more glass breaking.

He closed his eyes. He knew they had surrounded the cottage.

Within minutes they would be inside.

The Reverend fell to his knees. He heard scraping all around him and more smashing of glass. Grunts rose and fell with every thump.

The front door gave way slightly. One of its hinges snapped off and the door splintered, allowing for a hand to snake its way through.

The Reverend turned his head and saw that one of the fiends at the window was almost inside. He was bleeding profusely from the many cuts the broken glass had given him. He didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest, however.

The moans from down in his bedroom were louder now.

They pounded in the Reverend’s ears, almost drowning out the sound of the fire.

The Fire!

The Reverend stood up, dashed over to the open fire and carefully clutched a half-burning log. With the makeshift torch, he hurried down to his bedroom, and stopped at the door. A half a dozen of the creatures were already inside, menacing towards him. More were clambering at the broken window. Their expressionless faces drooled blood, and the Reverend was momentarily caught thinking about the stranger.

He was brought back when a hand clutched at his shirt.

Crying out with disgust, the Reverend struck the creature with the flaming log. It howled and reeled back, cowering with hands in front of its face.

Throwing the log into the room, the Reverend slammed the door and left the cries of the monsters behind.

In the lounge the situation was even more dire. With the force of a dozen murderous creatures, the front door had been forced open and the kitchen was now packed with their ghastly forms.

He noticed that a few were feasting on the body of the stranger.

Turning his back on the army of fiends, he scanned the tiny lounge and spotted the man’s diary. He grabbed it and hurried over to the fire. He leaned into the glaring heat and dipped the tattered book into the flames. The pages immediately caught on fire. With the blazing book he went around to all the curtains and set the old fabrics on fire. Soon a fierce blaze enveloped the cottage. The noise of the rampage was replaced with painful cries as some of the monsters were caught in the fire.

Finished with the curtains, the Reverend stood and looked up at the picture of Christ. With flames curling all around him, he said, “I don’t know why you have felt it befitting to afflict a simple, honorable man like myself with such horror. If it is punishment, I accept it and take responsibility for my actions.” He paused before adding, “and my beliefs. May God have mercy on my soul.”

He tipped the flaming book over himself and his screams joined with those of the creatures.

Religion fascinates me.

I’m not a religious person; I wasn’t raised by religious parents. Yet, the idea of organised religion still fascinates me. I guess a lot of it has to do with the close association religion has with horror. The Bible could be considered the original horror book. Countless atrocities have been carried out over man’s lifetime in the name of religion. One of the scariest novels of all time ( The Exorcist , for those of you playing at home) is a religious-themed horror story.

So this is my religious story, coupled with my other favourite topic — zombies

Doug could feel the cigarette lighter clamped in his sweaty hand. He knew he should flick it on, but something kept stopping him. Nerves? His trembling hand? Or finding out that he was stuck in this tomb with no possible way out?

Just flick the lighter on , he told himself. You might be inches away from an opening and not even know it.

But he couldn’t see any hint of light in front. Just blackness.