Don’t Look for the Voice
Malcolm pulled into an unfamiliar shore on a foggy afternoon. When he hooked a large fish on his line, he hardly even noticed as it pulled him miles and miles out from shore.
He was a proficient fisherman but his navigational skills left something to be desired. After hours afloat on the ocean, he began to near the island. As he docked his boat on the beach, he heard a jovial greeting.
“Ahoy!” shouted a heavyset man in a raincoat. He had a long gray beard and a friendly smile.
“Looks like it could rain today,” he said as he looked up toward the gray sky. This seemed like equal parts small talk and accurate observation.
“It does, doesn’t it. Good thing I made it to shore I guess, huh?” said Malcolm as he forced a conversational tone. He walked gingerly up the shore and toward the old man.
“Tides can sure pick up in a storm. Wouldn’t wanna be out there when the goin’ gets tough, I’ll tell ya. What’d ya say your name was?”
“I’m Malcolm.”
“Seamus. But most of the townsfolk just call me ‘Big Dan.’”
Malcolm didn’t ask and Seamus didn’t explain.
“Anyways, I’ll show you the town. Should be able to find a place for you to stay the night — at least until the storm passes. Don’t get a whole lot of visitors here, but the town’s got a B&B. What’d you say you were doing here again?”
“Got a fish on my line and it pulled me away from sh — ”
“Lot a big ones out there! What was it, shark? Marlin?”
“I think it was a sw — ”
“Doesn’t matter much now I guess anyway,” Seamus powered through obliviously.
They began approaching the town. The streets were cobblestone and the homes were tired. Row-homes lined the monotonous streets. They were made exclusively from brick and cement.
The road they made their way down now was almost devoid of vegetation entirely. The few flowers growing on the street looked sad and out of place. Malcolm looked down at the sidewalk to see a rose, but its pallor was an inky black. He paused for a moment and looked at it curiously, but Seamus continued walking forward as though he hadn’t noticed.
“Anyway, there’s a diner just up ahead. Food’s decent. Nothing to die for. If Denise is working I’d go with the steak.”
They walked past a bakery. Out front of it stood a pudgy blonde woman with a child by her side.
“Look, I know you closed four minutes ago, but would you just make an exception?” the woman asked with a smug grin.
“We’re open till seven o’clock, sorry I just locked up,” explained the harassed looking staff member as he forced a friendly smile.
“I’m just a couple minutes late, surely you can just unlock the door and grab a couple croissants for me!”
“M’am, we’re closed and we’re out of croissants. I don’t want to be out after dark. I’d be happy to make a fresh batch tomorrow morning. We open at eight, you’re welcome to stop in if you’d like.”
“The nerve! I’m going to be having a word with your manager!”
“Ignore her,” explained Seamus dismissively. “That one’s a bit entitled, to be frank.”
They continued walking along the sidewalk of the cobblestone street. The chimneys of each home were stained with soot. The shops on the street looked passionless.
“Hey Cathy!” Seamus suddenly greeted a brown-haired woman walking with a bag full of groceries.
“Hey Danny, whose this here with ya?” she asked with a smile.
“I’m Malcolm.”
“Hi Malcolm! I’m Cathy. Don’t see a lot of new faces around here so I thought I’d get your name!” She turned now toward Seamus.
“Anyway, I’m sure you already explained the…”
“Right… I was just getting to that.”
The air seemed to suddenly grow congested. A bead of sweat surfaced on Seamus’s face. He looked seriously toward Malcolm now.
“Malcolm…” he paused for a moment until he was fully sure that he had Malcolm’s undivided attention.
“The voice… if you hear a voice — don’t go near it.”
“The v — ”
“Don’t look for it. Don’t go near it. If you hear it, ignore it. Go the opposite direction.”
The sun hadn’t set yet but the density of the fog overhead made it appear almost like twilight now.
“What kind of voice? What do you m — ”
It was clear now that Seamus didn’t want to answer anymore questions. His friendly tone had hardened and his face looked severe.
“Just don’t look for the voice,” he said in a way that was equal parts tense and emotionless.
“Under no circumstances should you look for the voice.”
The sun set quickly that day. But the lack of visible sun in the sky made it difficult to tell. Seamus and Malcolm walked quickly toward the town’s inn now with hardly a word exchanged between one another. Malcolm wondered whether he’d said something to upset him. Seamus’s eyes were glued firmly on the road ahead. His objective now was to make it to the inn and he made that clear.
It began to drizzle. Malcolm looked around at the colorless cluster of houses as he tried to keep up with Rodney’s purposeful pace. Malcolm noticed a white gown that lay beside the road. It appeared to be soaked lightly in blood and dirt. Malcolm looked inquisitively toward Rodney now as he debated whether or not to bring it up. Rodney continued forward.
Once they made it to the inn, they were both drenched. They opened the door to the abrasive ding of a bell overhead.
“Can I help you?” replied a monotonous voice after an eery pause. A gray-haired woman with sunken eyes rounded the corner with a cup of coffee in her hands. She looked exhausted and defeated. Rodney pulled her to the side.
They exchanged heated words at a restrained volume. Their muted mutterings seemed suddenly to grow very intense. She looked now toward Malcolm and then, without a word, began moving. She made her way toward him with hollow eyes and a vacant march as he stood uneasily at the counter. Once she reached him, she continued brusquely past him and toward a pair of keys that hung on the wall beside a few others.
She grabbed it and gestured abrasively for Malcolm to follow. He followed her down the white hallway in oppressive silence. Once they reached the room, she opened the door and handed the key to Malcolm. An impatient look compelled Malcolm to enter.
“Thanks for y — ” began Malcolm, but she’d already closed the door behind him.
The bed was uncomfortable and the curtain was broken, but he was thankful anyway for the place to rest his head. In spite of the rock-hard mattress, Malcolm found that he drifted off to sleep rather quickly. But when he awoke, it was to an awful moaning. He checked the time on the antiquated alarm clock beside his bed. 3:37.
He looked out the curtain and didn’t see anything besides a light drizzle. A sonorous moan seemed to glide down the street and toward the inn as Malcolm gazed out the window. As he looked off into the distance, he was shocked to notice suddenly as a cottage burst into flames. Black billows of smoke rose from the stone cottage, but the villagers paid it no mind. The moans continued to reverberate between row homes and lifeless storefronts.
The fire continued raging, but the village sat in eery silence. No one left their homes as the fire proceeded to wear the old cottage into a smoking pile of rubble. The rain continued.
As Malcolm watched in fear he began to feel his body go numb. The moaning grew closer.
After a few moments, he noticed a little girl wandering down the street away from the flames. She appeared to be muttering to herself. Malcolm was paralyzed in fear now.
“Evil I did dwell, lewd did I live,” she said to herself as her limbs shivered erratically. She moved with sudden, uneasy jerks.
“Murder for a jar of red rum,” she continued. Her words conveyed little meaning but there was deep purpose in each of her steps.
She looked suddenly toward Malcolm now through the broken curtain of his window. There was a fiery rage in her eyes as she began to sing a soft and gentle song. Suddenly, Malcolm had forgotten his warnings and emerged from bed almost hypnotized. He opened the door of his hotel and made his way robotically down the colorless hallway.
He opened the door quietly now to the subtle tinkling of a bell overhead. The little girl stood there frozen in the rain. She continued to sing. Her eyes locked onto Malcolm once again. He walked out from beneath the awning and allowed the frigid rain drops to beat against his skin.
She held out an arm to him as she continued singing softly through falling rain. The closer he grew, the softer her words became. He grabbed hold of her tiny hand and they walked off into the wet, black night.
This story was written in response to Monday Mashup #4 Challenge by
