"The Mire," a work-in-progress original content creepy short story about a medieval doctor
9 replies, posted
I recently returned to my original creative muse, writing, and decided to make some original creepy-pasta. This is a short story about a Hungarian doctor in the middle ages that sets it upon himself to find out why his countrymen have been disappearing in a seemingly malevolent swamp. Note that this is still a work-in-progress, and I'm open to suggestions and ideas as well as feedback, positive or otherwise. Constructive criticism can only lead to improvement. Whenever I complete a new chapter, I'll add it to the OP.
THE MIRE
PROLOGUE
For as long as anyone can remember, there have been stories about the swamp - tales of eerie “ghost lights,” unexplained disappearances, a looming and decaying medieval castle, and even tales of a sporadic, luminous mist that carries spectral shadows within its wispy vapors. They’re mostly eerie folk tales often told to children to scare them into staying away from the marshes, but locals take the stories with a grain of salt. We all know one thing, though: there’s truly something unnatural, something evil about the swamp.
We usually refer to the marshes as the Mire, which lies on the northern border of our village. As for why our village lies so close to such an evil place, for one thing, the swamp isn’t too difficult to avoid – its only real victims are the curious and the ignorant. Superstition and lore also offer a buffer against invasion from surrounding provinces. Nevertheless, here, at the swamp’s misty edge, time seems to stand still. Generally speaking, not a sound can be heard from within the depths of the marsh - not frogs singing, not birds chirping - nothing. The silence is unnerving enough that most people avoid the northern part of town, where the town clinic and chapel lie. Fittingly enough, the cemetery is but a stone’s throw from here. Sometimes, though, if you listened to the silence long enough, one might just hear a ghastly wail. Or a deep moan, perhaps, of some large creature crying out in the distance. Or maybe frayed nerves and a nervous mind simply play tricks on ones hearing. Who knows?
Interestingly enough, it’s said that the Mire wasn’t always so malevolent. Generations past, Hungarian dukes constructed enormous, looming castles to act as bastions of defense for their empires. One such castle was constructed in a lush wood by the Duke of Mohács, but after a severe drought, the castle was abandoned and left to the elements. The Duke disappeared. Over the years, and ironically enough, the forest had fallen victim to severe inundation and eventually became the damp marsh that it is today. But as for the cause of the Mire’s malignancy, no one has presented a rational explanation. It’s been suggested that the Duke of Mohács, Jozsef Mohács, led a violent and destructive reign of terror much like Vlad Dracul, or Vlad the Impaler, and that this malevolency caused the swamp to become a place of dread and evil. However, these claims remain unsubstantiated due to the poor upkeep of records as well as the disappearance of the Duke of Mohács, leaving only hushed whispers and rumors about the kingdom’s past. Of course, the notion that an evil ruler caused his realm to become a malicious entity that seemingly swallows up souls without a trace is absurd in itself, but you can’t expect a village of superstitious peasants to be rational.
You’re probably wondering why I’m fairly well-versed, considering the fact that I live in a village brimming with gullible fools. You’re also probably asking yourself, “Who exactly are you?” The simplest explanation I can offer is that I’m a doctor, and something of an amateur scientist and apothecary. I’m a man of science, not of religion. Whereas most would value prayer and fasting in sickness, I prefer a rational approach to illness, like the use of medicinal herbs, healing remedies, leeches, and bloodletting. Of course, I’ve been accused of witchcraft and other unsavory deeds more than once, but despite that, I desire nothing more than the safety of my village, and I do not harbor any misgivings about my fellows here.
As for why I know so much about the Mire - I’ve been studying it. As I’ve said, I want nothing more than the safety of my village and my way of life, and more than a few poor souls have been swallowed up by that accursed estuary. “Know your enemy,” as the expression goes. Luckily, I’ve an excellent vantage point, since the clinic is situated at the Mire’s border – the border to madness, as I like to call it.
Unfortunately, my pursuits haven’t gone well. I’ve noticed nothing truly out of the ordinary, other than the eerie silence and apparent lack, but not absence, of wildlife. I’ve noted, however, that most animals seem to avoid the swamp. Dogs bark frantically at unseen things hidden in the mist, but never venture close. Even birds daren’t fly over the fens, instead fluttering to an abrupt change in course and crying wildly as though repelled by a ferrous magnet – excepting ravens, which seem to be the only creatures that venture into the marshes willingly, and indeed, seem to be attracted to them.
THE EFFLUVIUM
I set out to collect samples from the marsh one day, under the assumption that staying close to the village would guarantee my safety – physically, at least. Nevertheless, I took a dagger of Damascus steel with me, gifted to me by a friend who’d recently turned from the third crusade. Damascus steel is famed for its durability as well as its beauty – the metal itself exhibits a beautiful pattern resembling flowing water. Truly a metallurgist’s bane, as the creation of Damascus steel remains a mystery to all but the Middle Eastern sword smiths that created it. Although I don’t like to think myself superstitious, I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to pin a four-leaved clover to my bosom as well. I donned my apron and placed a handful of glass jars, vials, and other materials into a satchel. On my way out of the clinic, I was approached by Friar János.
“Dezsö, fiam. You look like you’re going somewhere. Indeed, I see you have your herbalist’s bag with you. Where are you going?” he asked.
“I need to collect samples from the edge of the swamp for my investigation, Father,” I responded.
“Surely you don’t mean you’re going in there,” János answered, startled. “We’ve only one doctor. We’d have quite the tragedy on our hands if we were to lose you.”
“I don’t plan to go in, Father, merely to survey its very outskirt. I’ll be perfectly alright,” I tried to reassure him. “I’ve even brought the dagger that Éliás gave to me from his exploits in the Middle East. See?” I unsheathed the weapon and handed it to János. The overcast sky’s reflection danced in the metal’s surface.
“Ah, yes, dear Éliás. We haven’t heard from him in some time,” János contemplated. He ran his fingers along the blade in silent thought. “Well, I’ve known you long enough to know that I can’t talk you out of this. Good luck, Dezsö. May God watch over you, and be careful,” He handed the dagger back to me and I returned it to its sheath.
“Thank you, Father, I will,” I replied. The friar uttered a few words in Latin, patted my shoulder, and resumed his walk.
As I approached the swamp, a sudden feeling of uneasiness crept over my thoughts. To behold the Mire in its shadow is to behold death itself. Now, I was truly at the border of madness. The dark, decaying trees seemed to be pervaded by an almost perpetual fog. The blackened soil and sickly undergrowth made it all the more unsettling. The overcast sky shed only languid light, akin to a candle in a cave where a torch wouldn’t have been adequate. Finally, I steeled myself and, gripping the handle of my dagger tightly, I carefully advanced. I thought about turning around to reassure myself that the village was right behind me, but I reconsidered the notion of turning my back this close to the Mire. The silence was almost palpable. Normally I appreciate peace and quiet, but this silence was unnatural. Suddenly, a cold chill ran through my spine, my heart quickened, and my skin turned to goose-flesh. I stood awkwardly in utter terror, staring into the Mire – into the fog. I half-expected a silhouette to move through the trees in the mist, but I saw nothing.
Eventually, I regained my composure, and knelt beside a pool of stagnant water. A reflection of the clouds above was revealed on its oily surface, giving me a sense of temporary sanctuary. I set to work on collecting bits of soil, detritus, foliage, fungus, and so on. I placed each sample into a vial and labeled it respectively. I filled a jar with soil, and another jar with the oily, murky water from the pool. I contemplated moving further into the Mire to fill a jar with the effluvium that hung in the air, but I was too terrified. I decided that it would be better, and safer, to return to the safety of the village. As I gathered my things from the ground, I noticed a twinkle in the corner of my eye. I turned my gaze to it, and realized that the twinkle seemed to be coming from within the depths of the pool of bogwater. I bent over the pool to look more closely, and I was greeted with a reflection.
The face that I saw instantly sent my heart into palpitations. That twisted, hideous countenance was not my own. I hesitate to describe it - my god, I only saw it for a split second, but I can still picture it clearly in my mind. The thing had gaping, empty black holes in the place of eyes, and a horrifying frayed and grinning mouth. Its skin – or what I think was skin – resembled molten wax from a candle. I don’t know what it was. I don’t want to know what it was.
When I saw that… face… as I was leaning over the pool, I panicked and damn near almost fell in. I staggered back from the pond, and in my completely irrational state, sprinted away and to the village. As I ran, I felt as though something was running after me, as though some… thing… was right on my heels. I tried to run faster. It was barreling down on me. I could feel its hot breath on the back of my neck. The village was within plain sight, and it couldn’t have been more than a thousand feet away, but it felt as though it were miles away. I ran harder than I’d ever run before. The next thing I remember, I was in the chapel, clutching the robe of poor Friar János, who was absolutely stunned by both my appearance as well as my display of complete and utter terror.
“Dezsö, what in God’s name happened to you?” he asked.
“I don’t even… I can’t…” I stuttered through sobs. I was an absolute mess, unable to form even a coherent sentence.
“There, there, you’re in God’s house now. Csöndbe legyél. Nothing can happen to you,” the friar assured me. He knelt beside my twisted, broken form and laid his hand on my head in an effort to comfort me.
“Oh, god, János, if only you knew what I’d just seen,” I said.
that was a pretty good read, i'm eager for the next part,
Would be a great piece of source material for a SCP entry.
This is a cut above what a lot of people post here.
It is a shame that this did not get more feedback, as it really is amazing.
Rated you artistic.
Bumping this. Great stuff, great stuff.
Not bad.
[i][b]When I saw that… face…[/b] as I was leaning over the pool, I panicked and [b]damn near almost fell in.[/b] I staggered back from the pond, and in my completely irrational state, sprinted away and to the village. As I ran, I felt as though something was running after me, as though [b]some… thing… [/b]was right on my heels.[/i]
The parts in bold badly need to be fixed, in my opinion.
These two lines were quite jarring, since the rest of it was reasonably good. ;o
[QUOTE=Furioso;27147025]
THE MIRE
PROLOGUE
For as long as anyone can remember, there have been stories about the swamp - tales of eerie “ghost lights,” unexplained disappearances, a looming and decaying medieval castle, and even tales of a sporadic, luminous mist that carries spectral shadows within its wispy vapors. They’re mostly eerie folk tales often told to children to scare them into staying away from the marshes, but locals take the stories with a grain of salt. We all know one thing, though: there’s truly something unnatural, something evil about the swamp.
[b]First sentence is a bit of a run on, split it into two.
"...scare them into stay away from the marshes, AND THE locals take the stories with a grain of salt.[/b]
We usually refer to the marshes as the Mire, which lies on the northern border of our village [b](The Marshes, which we usually refer to as the Mire, lies on the northern border of our village)[/b]. As for why our village lies so close to such an evil place, for one thing, the swamp isn’t too difficult to avoid – its only real victims are the curious and the ignorant [b](Why build our villages so close to such an evil place? Well, for one thing, the swamp...)[/b]. Superstition and lore also offer a buffer against invasion from surrounding provinces. Nevertheless, here, at the swamp’s misty edge, time seems to stand still. Generally speaking, not a sound can be heard from within the depths of the marsh - not frogs singing, not birds chirping - nothing. The silence is unnerving enough that most people avoid the northern part of town, where the town clinic and chapel lie. Fittingly enough, the cemetery is but a stone’s throw from here. Sometimes, though, if you listened to the silence long enough, one might just hear a ghastly wail. Or a deep moan, perhaps, of some large creature crying out in the distance. Or maybe frayed nerves and a nervous mind simply play tricks on ones hearing. Who knows?
Interestingly enough, it’s said that the Mire wasn’t always so malevolent. Generations past, Hungarian dukes constructed enormous, looming castles to act as bastions of defense for their empires. One such castle was constructed in a lush wood by the Duke of Mohács, but after a severe drought, the castle was abandoned and left to the elements. The Duke disappeared. Over the years, and ironically enough [b](Cut "Over the years." Start sentence like this: Ironically, the forest fell victim to severe inundation after he left, and became damp marsh that it is today)[/b], the forest had fallen victim to severe inundation and eventually became the damp marsh that it is today. But as for the cause of the Mire’s malignancy, no one has presented a rational explanation. It’s been suggested that the Duke of Mohács, Jozsef Mohács, led a violent and destructive reign of terror much like Vlad Dracul, or Vlad the Impaler, and that this malevolency caused the swamp to become a place of dread and evil. However, these claims remain unsubstantiated due to the poor upkeep of records as well as the disappearance of the Duke of Mohács, leaving only hushed whispers and rumors about the kingdom’s past. Of course, the notion that an evil ruler caused his realm to become a malicious entity that seemingly swallows up souls without a trace is absurd in itself, but you can’t expect a village of superstitious peasants to be rational [b](Heh)[/b].
You’re probably wondering why I’m fairly well-versed, considering the fact that I live in a village brimming with gullible fools. You’re also probably asking yourself, “Who exactly are you?” The simplest explanation I can offer is that I’m a doctor, and something of an amateur scientist and apothecary. I’m a man of science, not of religion. Whereas most would value prayer and fasting in sickness, I prefer a rational approach to illness, like the use of medicinal herbs, healing remedies, leeches, and bloodletting. Of course, I’ve been accused of witchcraft and other unsavory deeds more than once, but despite that, I desire nothing more than the safety of my village, and I do not harbor any misgivings about my fellows here.
As for why I know so much about the Mire - I’ve been studying it. As I’ve said, I want nothing more than the safety of my village and my way of life, and more than a few poor souls have been swallowed up by that accursed estuary. “Know your enemy,” as the expression goes [b](I like this line!)[/b]. Luckily, I’ve an excellent vantage point, since the clinic is situated at the Mire’s border [b]("Since the clinic is situated at the Mire's border, I've an excellent vantage point.)[/b] – the border to madness, as I like to call it. [b](Consider cutting "border to madness," sounds a bit clunky)[/b].
Unfortunately, my pursuits haven’t gone well. I’ve noticed nothing truly out of the ordinary, other than the eerie silence and apparent lack, but not absence [b](Cut "but not absence")[/b], of wildlife. I’ve noted, however, that [b](Cut "I've noted, however, that")[/b] most animals seem to avoid the swamp. Dogs bark frantically at unseen things hidden in the mist, but never venture close [b](cut "but never venture close")[/b]. Even birds daren’t fly over the fens, instead fluttering to an abrupt change in course and crying wildly as though repelled by a ferrous magnet – excepting ravens, which seem to be the only creatures that venture into the marshes willingly, and indeed, seem to be attracted to them.
THE EFFLUVIUM
I set out to collect samples from the marsh one day, under the assumption that staying close to the village would guarantee my safety – physically, at least [b](You're a big fan of the dash. Don't use it so frequently! Also, this sentence ought to be rewritten for clarification. It's clumsy as it is)[/b]. Nevertheless, I took a dagger of Damascus steel with me, gifted to me by a friend who’d recently turned from the third crusade. Damascus steel is famed for its durability as well as its beauty – the metal itself exhibits a beautiful pattern resembling flowing water. Truly a metallurgist’s bane, as the creation of Damascus steel remains a mystery to all but the Middle Eastern sword smiths that created it. Although I don’t like to think myself superstitious, I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to pin a four-leaved clover to my bosom as well. I donned my apron and placed a handful of glass jars, vials, and other materials into a satchel. On my way out of the clinic, I was approached by Friar János.
“Dezsö, fiam. You look like you’re going somewhere. Indeed, I see you have your herbalist’s bag with you. Where are you going?” he asked.
“I need to collect samples from the edge of the swamp for my investigation, Father,” I responded.
“Surely you don’t mean you’re going in there,” János answered, startled. “We’ve only one doctor. We’d have quite the tragedy on our hands if we were to lose you.”
“I don’t plan to go in, Father, merely to survey its very outskirt. I’ll be perfectly alright,” I tried to reassure him. “I’ve even brought the dagger that Éliás gave to me from his exploits in the Middle East. See?” I unsheathed the weapon and handed it to János. The overcast sky’s reflection danced in the metal’s surface.
“Ah, yes, dear Éliás. We haven’t heard from him in some time,” János contemplated. He ran his fingers along the blade in silent thought. “Well, I’ve known you long enough to know that I can’t talk you out of this. Good luck, Dezsö. May God watch over you, and be careful,” He handed the dagger back to me and I returned it to its sheath.
“Thank you, Father, I will,” I replied. The friar uttered a few words in Latin, patted my shoulder, and resumed his walk.
[b](Good dialogue, very natural!)[/b]
As I approached the swamp, a sudden feeling of uneasiness crept over my thoughts. To behold the Mire in its shadow is to behold death itself. Now, I was truly at the border of madness. The dark, decaying trees seemed to be pervaded by an almost perpetual fog. The blackened soil and sickly undergrowth made it all the more unsettling. The overcast sky shed only languid light, akin to a candle in a cave where a torch wouldn’t have been adequate. Finally, I steeled myself and, gripping the handle of my dagger tightly, I carefully advanced. I thought about turning around to reassure myself that the village was right behind me, but I reconsidered the notion of turning my back this close to the Mire. The silence was almost palpable. Normally I appreciate peace and quiet, but this silence was unnatural. Suddenly, a cold chill ran through my spine, my heart quickened, and my skin turned to goose-flesh. I stood awkwardly in utter terror, staring into the Mire – into the fog. I half-expected a silhouette to move through the trees in the mist, but I saw nothing.
Eventually, I regained my composure, and knelt beside a pool of stagnant water. A reflection of the clouds above was revealed on its oily surface, giving me a sense of temporary sanctuary. I set to work on collecting bits of soil, detritus, foliage, fungus, and so on. I placed each sample into a vial and labeled it respectively. I filled a jar with soil, and another jar with the oily, murky water from the pool [b](remove this sentence, redundant)[/b]. I contemplated moving further into the Mire to fill a jar with the effluvium that hung in the air, but I was too terrified. I decided that it would be better, and safer, to return to the safety of the village. As I gathered my things from the ground, I noticed a twinkle in the corner of my eye. I turned my gaze to it, and realized that the twinkle seemed to be coming from within the depths of the pool of bogwater. I bent over the pool to look more closely, and I was greeted with a reflection.
The face that I saw instantly sent my heart into palpitations. That twisted, hideous countenance was not my own. I hesitate to describe it - my god, I only saw it for a split second, but I can still picture it clearly in my mind. The thing had gaping, empty black holes in the place of eyes, and a horrifying frayed and grinning mouth. Its skin – or what I think was skin – resembled molten wax from a candle. I don’t know what it was. I don’t want to know what it was.
When I saw that… face… [b](I often advise against using ellipsis to build suspense, and this is no exception. Cut the ellipsis. "When I saw that face, as I was leaning...")[/b]as I was leaning over the pool, I panicked and damn near almost [b](cut "almost," redundant)[/b] fell in. I staggered back from the pond, and in my completely irrational state, sprinted away and to the village. As I ran, I felt as though something was running after me, as though some… thing… [b](Again, don't use ellipsis)[/b] was right on my heels. I tried to run faster. It was barreling down on me. I could feel its hot breath on the back of my neck. The village was within plain sight, and it couldn’t have been more than a thousand feet away, but it felt as though it were miles away. I ran harder than I’d ever run before. The next thing I remember, I was in the chapel, clutching the robe of poor Friar János, who was absolutely stunned by both my appearance as well as my display of complete and utter terror.
“Dezsö, what in God’s name happened to you?” he asked.
“I don’t even… I can’t…” I stuttered through sobs. I was an absolute mess, unable to form even a coherent sentence.
“There, there, you’re in God’s house now. Csöndbe legyél. Nothing can happen to you,” the friar assured me. He knelt beside my twisted, broken form and laid his hand on my head in an effort to comfort me.
“Oh, god, János, if only you knew what I’d just seen,” I said.[/QUOTE]
Suggestions are bolded above.
I liked it, man! Your story was suspenseful, interesting, and original! I especially liked your dialogue. Though there wasn't much, what you had flowed smoothly and felt natural. That's great, dialogue can be tough for some people. Your descriptive writing is also very well-balanced, though you need to be on the look-out for redundancies, and don't use dashes or ellipsis quite so often.
Keep it up, man. Your story was a lot of fun! It kept me interested throughout.
I like this. I like this a lot. more literature on teh forumz!
This is great. You must have practiced a lot. Your prose flows well.
I'm nitpicking, but damascus steel is incredibly expensive, brittle, and only used for decorative knives in most cases.
[editline]7th February 2011[/editline]
Indention would be nice, too.
[editline]7th February 2011[/editline]
Ellipses look corny and amateur in most cases
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