Halloween // Springtime of Youth (Horror Short)

[NARRATED]

Spring had finally arrived. With life breaking through the melting layer of ice and snow, humanity and nature alike rejoiced under the Sun’s protective warmth. The year was 1922, I remember it as if it were yesterday. The vibrant colours and warmth brought by the month of March, would be a far memory eclipsed by the shadow of my dreadful discoveries. The life of an investigative journalist poses many dangers, and walking into the unknown is the biggest one.

It all started on an energetic Thursday morning. A powerful coffee smell flooded the news office as my boss answered a most intriguing phone call. By the age of 26 I had already uncovered corrupt politicians and the identities of their mobster friends. Needless to say, I had a target on my back and my boss decided that I should be kept away from London for my own safety.

This was the perfect chance. As a result of that phone call, I was to travel from London to Loftville, Cornwall. Reports of young people gone missing had piled up and the local authorities were doing little to nothing about it. With a three hundred mile trip ahead of me, I prepared myself the evening before. Packed only the essentials as I arranged to meet my contact there, a local lady by the name of Catherine Webster. She had been the one that called our office. I concluded the investigation would not take more than a week so I kept my luggage fairly light.

The beginning of the trip had been rather bland. The same old tall buildings blocked the Sun. People with lowered heads littered the streets, the ability to smile, long forgotten. A greyish tint covered the city from which only the out of time metallic noise of its countless factories ever resounded.
The further I got from London however, the more scenic it became. I lay my eyes upon the thriving British country side. Hills adorned with greenery and colourful flower buds at every corner. People that smiled at you for no reason and the song of birds returning from their winter pilgrimage. It was as if a different land. The most impressive of all, had to be the fresh air. A breathable air nothing like the noxious fumes that covered London. It made me look at life from a different perspective, and even ask myself if I indeed wished to return.

My arrival in Loftville could be described as troublesome. At first glance it had the looks of a small community. The discrepancy between the young and old population, even though visible, did not feel out of place for such a small town in the country side. It was something normal for the younger generations to move to London in order to make something of themselves, if only they knew what they were giving up…
The disappearance of my contact however, had been the first red flag. A couple of hours later and a few attempts at a phone call, I decided that it would be better to book my room at the motel and look for her afterwards. I had initially planned to arrive in the morning and take the time to settle in, however, fate had other plans.

An hour later I was ready to begin. After taking a stroll through the small quaint town and talking to more than a few people, I was led to believe that no woman by the name of Catherine Webster ever lived in this town. An even odder experience followed as I approached the town hall in regards to my investigation. They strongly denied the existence of the woman, calling it a prank and informing me that I should return to London and forget about it. As any journalist worth his salt can attest, such an answer only piqued my interest further. I left the town hall and started searching for anything or anyone that could have some information.

After a couple of days, I came to understand that this community was run by a council of elders. A centuries old tradition reminiscent of tribal hierarchy. They still used a town hall like any other town, but the governance of the place was very different. I had also been informed about a nearby cave where the spirits of these people’s ancestors reside. An idol had been built many generations ago in their honour. A rather barbaric aspect of their traditions had to do with a certain ritual. Every first Monday of the month, considered by them as the day of the moon, strongest in spiritual activity, the young people were gathered and led into the cave by the elders. A ritual would begin in which the spirits would choose the strongest of the participants. Upon being chosen, the ancestors would welcome them in the forever life. A term that I found both amusing and disquieting. I could not have imagined that in the modern society, such barbaric traditions still existed.

All this information came from a concerned young girl. She also confirmed something that I feared.
Ms. Catherine Webster, did in fact exist. And going by the girl’s information, she disappeared not long after calling our office. The girl refused to speak about what that ritual entailed, as cold stares from townspeople walking by forced her eyes in the ground. She seemed frightened and would stop talking every time someone walked past.
On my third night there, she had been summoned by the elders to participate in the ritual. I followed them in an attempt to peek into the cave, but got caught. An angry crowd of townspeople confronted me and shoved me away, shouting at me about angering the spirits. They were very physical and I did feel that I might be in danger, so I decided to back off and return to my room.

That night, I did not rest. Wild and terrifying thoughts flooded my mind. I nervously awaited the morning. I would attempt to meet with the girl again, and this time pry the information about the ritual from her. But as the Sun made itself present, my biggest fear came true. The girl had disappeared. My attempt to investigate the cave had failed yet again, as a few of the locals stopped me at the entrance. They decided that my presence had become troublesome and attempted to run me out of town. Due to a high potential danger to my person, I decided to board the first train out of the town. The dagger like stares of the elders as I walked towards the train station were nauseating. The young people avoided my gaze, their faces covered with fear. The constant state of danger and alert only ceased once the train departed. Deep down, I knew something had to be done. So once the train had gotten out of view of the town, I pulled the emergency break and jumped out. That night, I would walk back to the cave and see for myself what manner of secrets hid within the darkness.

Confident that I had left, they no longer guarded the cave, and I could sneak in unnoticed. After walking in the dark for a few minutes, using the right wall as a guide, I determined that it would be safe to switch on my flashlight. They should not be able to notice the light from the town, or so I hoped. The deeper I went, the greater the feeling of being watched. I felt surrounded, yet, the light revealed nothing but cave walls and formations. Determined, I pressed on. It did not take me long to find myself at the base of a massive stone idol, positioned in the middle of a dome-like room. Nothing in that room seemed natural. Upon inspection of the statue, I discovered something that sent chills down my spine. Something that shakes me to my very core even to this day. Carved within the stone were faces, and among them, the face of the girl to whom I talked to days ago.

A pungent smell mixed with a sickening sweetness caught my attention as I walked around the idol. I pointed my flashlight behind it to see the path continued deeper. The longer I walked down this path, the stronger the smell of death hung in the air. Whether it was the shock of my discovery or the unbearable stench, I stared breathless at the rotting remains that covered the floor at the deep end of the cave. Bodies with their chests open wide, their hearts ripped out. I was so distracted analysing them, that I did not hear the footsteps behind me.

With a shiver, I turned only to see silhouettes in the dark, followed by a blunt object coming at me. I fell among the rotting corpses as they continuously pummelled me, until I could see them from above.
I could see those damned elders stand on top of me. The understanding of what had happened did not come to me, until the girl whom I talked to grabbed my hand. I stared at her in shock, as more and more young people appeared around me from the shadows. Surrounded by the ones that entered this cave without to return, I watched powerless as the elders split open my chest and ate my heart.
As they carved my face into the idol, the girl squeezed my hand, a look of regret and sorrow on her face.

I remember it as if it were yesterday. The year was 1922…