James Jenkins - The Valancourt Book of World Horror Stories. Volume 1

I was headed at whirlwind speed straight towards the granite cliff!

I tugged like a madman at the tiller. I had the wind from the starboard tack, the boat had spun off a little because I hadn’t had time to slacken the jib; it was way too big. I tried to go against the wind. The thundering from the cliff wall was deafening and the breaking waves tossed crushingly against the sharp stones. All at once I recalled the drunkard’s words:

‘A hell of a sailor – or downright mad . . .’

I felt the cold sweat drip off me. It had gotten dark like in a cellar. The granite wall rose up higher and higher as I was mercilessly pushed towards the diabolical stone teeth, and I cried out in the storm, cried out in fear when I looked death in the eyes among the crashing breakers. A prayer poured from my lips. Then the bow fell off. There was a violent strain on the leaden sail, and the whole boat trembled during the maneuver. I pulled at the rudder with all my strength, my muscles were like knots under the oilskin. There was a cracking in the rigging.

Then!

It banged like a rifle shot when the turnbuckle on one of the starboard stays snapped like a violin string. There was a crunching sound in the mast and I watched open-­mouthed and in fear as the timber split and splintered, saw the storm pull sail and mast and rigging overboard as if it had been a handful of leaves. I was almost blind from the rain and saltwater, but I knew what I had to do and grabbed the ax from the steering hatch and tried to cut through what was left of the rigging. It was too late. A mighty wave seized the boat and sent it sidelong against the cliff, and I sat and waited for the impact that I knew must come.

There was a crushing sound like the jaws of a wild beast against thin bone. The shock knocked me almost senseless, and I hung with my torso over the gunwale as I struggled to keep myself onboard. Then another impact, and it was as if a giant’s hand gripped me and whirled me round and round – it was all just froth and foam and sea, smashed bits of wood and rope. I felt a powerful blow to my head that half deprived me of consciousness at the same time as I felt something clutching my wrist. In my half-­conscious condition I thought I had gotten my hand caught in some rope and struggled desperately to get it loose. The grip only grew tighter. Everything was going black. Red and white figures danced and whirled before my eyes, and I was drawn into a maelstrom of water and light and darkness. I only hoped that death would come quickly . . .

I was past the breakers. They were behind me, and I was lying on my back in a calm eddy. Above me the sky was yellow. Bewildered, I tried to find firm ground underneath me and discovered I could manage to stand. The wind was no longer blowing. The surf went thundering towards the stones, and I could see the white foam over the serrated rocks, but where I stood it was still. I tottered shakily up onto some flat stones up on the beach and lay down exhausted with my head resting on my arms.

I do not know how long I lay there on the rocks. It was still twilight when I opened my eyes, and the sea was just as heavy out there. It might have been a couple of hours, or a minute. I got up stiff and sore and tried to make out the wreckage. It wasn’t to be seen. I suddenly noticed that I was frozen and shivering. I turned to go further around the cliffside and try to make my way inland, and it was then that I saw her.

She stood only a few meters from me, barefoot on the smooth stones. Totally still. Her face was white, and her hair, which was long and shiny and black like a raven’s wing, waved lightly in the weak breeze. She was wearing a dress that looked as though it were made of white linen. I stood motionless, without making a sound. Then I felt my legs beginning to move of their own accord, and I walked, but with steps that were not my own, up to where she stood. I could now see her face quite clearly.

Her face was almond-­shaped. The dark eyes shone as with an inner glow, as if her head were translucent, and they stared right at me. Her mouth was pale but had a softness that I had never seen before, and which is not common among our women.

‘Come,’ she said in a low, melodic voice as she extended her hand toward me. I took it, almost without knowing it. It was warm and soft. She turned halfway around and signaled that she wanted to go upwards toward the cliff wall. I followed her, for I had no will, and the grip on my hand was firm and determined. Together we went upwards along a path that wound along the cliffside in a steep ascent. She walked beside me, upright, with her head raised and that black hair waving and fluttering behind her. I looked at her from the side as we went up, and she turned her face toward me and smiled. It was a peculiar smile. It was half as though she were crying, but at the same time the smile reflected a thousand years of happiness, as if she were seeing something she had always sought . . . and found. Her eyes glittered, and it was again as though I could see straight through them and out into the starry sky on the other side. In the same moment I knew that I belonged to her.

We had come high up the cliff wall. The path, which was sufficiently broad for us both, was a mountain ledge, and below me I could see the surf thundering against the rocks. Further out the sea was rough and turbulent. The sky was still yellow, with a golden tinge. I was surprised that I wasn’t dizzy. It was equally odd, I didn’t really understand it, but up here where we were walking I couldn’t feel any wind. The air was still, the only thing that revealed we were in motion was her black hair fluttering like a mane across her pale face. I asked:

‘Why doesn’t the wind blow up here?’

She turned towards me again.

‘Haven’t you had enough wind for today?’ she said with that low, slightly hoarse voice. I could see the gleam of her white teeth. I nodded.

‘Yes.’ I noticed that she hadn’t answered my question, but I didn’t ask again, without knowing why.

She stopped suddenly. In the cliff wall, with an opening as tall as a full-­grown man, was a cavern. She motioned to me to continue inwards, and half senseless I stepped in through that archway that was formed of granite and time itself. She let go of my hand for a moment and walked over to the cliff wall, which rose dark and close in front of us. She moved her hand, and it was as though blue flames came forth and illuminated the walls – small points of light – like with St. Elmo’s fire. I stood spellbound and saw her delicate body walk in between the rough walls, while lights were lit where she touched the mountain with her hands. Her whole white figure was surrounded with a bluish aura, and a few times it looked as though she were transparent.

There was no roof, nor any walls or floor, it was just her and me and the blue lights around us that twinkled and shone weakly, flickered and faded away, only to emerge again from the depths.

Then she came towards me, and I could see her face, which was pale like a moonbeam, and her eyes were like fire from an inner world when she invited me to lie down on a bed of woven rushes on the floor.

She was mine that night in the granite cave. Who she was and what she was doing there were beyond my thoughts, all I know is that she gave herself to me on a carpet of soft reeds, woven by fingers that also were caressing my neck. All at once I understood what love was, what I had lost by not having known it before, and what I knew I had always longed for. I loved her from the depths of my young heart. She was mine. I gave her all the youthful affection I had, there in that cave, as the lights sparkled and flickered. I could barely see her face, a pale surface with two dark openings into eternity. Her eyes were like the night itself. I knew at once what her name was . . .