Yet again I have come to bless the internet with the first few pages of a potential new story; this one, I must warn readers, is pretty morbid, however, some people like that sort of thing, I certainly get some sadistic pleasure in writing it oddly enough. Either way, I’m pretty excited about this one, as with Asylum-X; my previously posted concept; although I’ve really got to finish editing Fixed In Stone first. Anyway, enough yapping; here’s a long-winded but interesting piece of writing.
1248 BCE – Egypt under the 19th dynasty
Within the bounds of Ramses II’s mighty hand, along the banks of the Blue Nile, agriculture thrived across the fertile soils of the tributary; the farmers of Ancient Egypt knew the river’s wrath, but also they knew of its beauty, they predicted when it would flood, and made preparations, keeping an efficient and seemingly sustainable system.
Amongst this thriving community walked a strange looking man; his crooked appearance encouraged his fellow men to stay clear of him, yet despite the figure’s haggard appearance, the families of those thriving on the river’s blessings would tell stories about the stranger that spanned over many generations. Children would gasp and the elderly would sneer, knowing that he had what they didn’t; the dark-cloaked man had cheated death, and continued to do so, even in the face of the many years he had haunted the fertile grounds, many animals fleeing along with the human residents when he made an appearance.
The thing that most scared the denizens of the communities he wandered across, apparently without purpose, was the dreadful smile he always wore on his face; his upper lip curling around a vast scar that ran all the way down his scabbed face. The sides of his mouth would form a dreadful crescent, a distorted mess of an expression, and one that was accompanied with a piercing glare, one that seemed to twist a knife right into the souls of those who would look the hermit in the eye; he kept his distance however, and the inhabitants of the thriving land were grateful for it, their fear of him almost matched by the relief that he wasn’t intruding in their lives.
That ancient civilisation however, was wrong about him; he had a purpose, one that he needed his immortality for, one that, when he thought of it, transformed his mouth into that creepy shape that barely passed as a grin. He had to wait for what he needed, for the right people, for the right circumstances; and one such person was the reason he had been plaguing the lands of the Egyptian farmers for so many generations, his first recruit was almost there, he was just being patient… very, very patient.
Across the river bank; in a small hut with little light coming in besides through the cracks in the poorly constructed walls the paupers had attempted; a heavily pregnant woman with dark brown skin and the distinctive nose shape of the Pharaoh yet to come – Cleopatra VII, was screaming in agony. Her husband lay next to her, his hand tightly in her grip as he attempted to comfort her to no avail; there was a baby coming, and the man would never be able to relate.
“Breathe steadily my love, you’re rushing.” Moses suggested, knowing that his words were essentially social suicide in such a situation; as he felt his wife’s nails dig into his wrist and pierce the veil of his skin, he waited for the verbal abuse to accompany the blood she had drawn.
“Rushing? Have you any idea how painful this is? Of course I’m rushing! If I wasn’t bound to you by marriage I swear I’d slit your throat!” Isis blared out; her husband excusing her for the rudeness in her excruciating circumstances.
Isis’ pain reached its upper threshold as she gave a final push; her body felt like it was tearing itself in two and she could only hope that she would still be intact once the process was over; her mind only on the negatives of the process as she cursed the human being that was causing her so much agony, wishing horrors upon the child before she had even seen the face of the wretched creation.
That all changed however, when the head was freed from the narrow passageway from which it had made its escape. Moses hurried over to his wife’s lower half and scooped the bloody child in his arms; switching to his left as he brought down a knife to the umbilical cord; separating his newborn son from his symbiotic relationship with his mother.
Isis’ eyes lit up with happiness as she first observed the beauty of her child; the disproportionately sized head of her baby was scrunched up and trembling as the newborn raised his hands before his face and shook in a pathetic introduction to the new stimuli surrounding him.
Moses patted the baby on the back and it took its first gasp of air as its father cleaned up some of the mess it had left behind, his wife’s smile temporarily disappearing as she began the process of afterbirth.
A crooked old hermit in a long black cloak stood outside the quaint hut where this was taking place with an awful half-smile emblazoned across his terrifying face, and as he heard Moses announce the arrival of a brand new baby boy, his eyes grew wide and hungry, and he practically shook with anticipation.
“Let me hold it.” Isis requested, her beaming expression warming the heart of her lovestruck husband, who could barely contain his joy; he wept a little as he handed over their beautiful son, his tiny feet wiggling around at he did so; Isis could barely contain her excitement.
Moses took his awe-bound wife in his arms and the two of them shared a loving kiss, sparks flying as their love radiated from their soft embrace; they didn’t notice as they rubbed their noses against each other, that they had a visitor. The crooked old man stood before them and his sudden appearance made them both jump in surprise; Moses grabbing his slightly rusting knife and holding it towards the hermit, his hands shaking with both fear and anger.
“Who are you? How did you get in without moving the veil?” Moses angrily enquired; motioning towards the sheet of fabric that lay in the way of what would in more recent times be a space for a door.
The crooked hermit put his index finger to his lips in response to the farmer’s questions, silencing Moses immediately; the man was frozen in fear. The hermit took the same finger on his free hand from his sleeve and pointed towards the crying baby in Isis’ arms, his hands barely steady, his deadly grin sending chills down the spine of the sore woman, her troubles apparently not yet over.
The hermit’s smile opened to reveal a mouth salivating in an almost chronic fashion, his eyes blackening and his limbs tensing up as he spoke in a deep, haunting tone. “You have something that belongs to me… Mordred… My first disciple… he is here…” The man’s words froze all but the baby in Isis’ arms, Mordred was flailing about as he had before, apparently unaware of a change in scenery.
Moses could say nothing, he was terrified, the fear the hermit was summoning inside him cooling his blood and stiffening his bones, the effect the man was having on the farmer was unprecedented, and unnerving to say the least.
Isis however, chose to stand up against her instincts and responded to the man’s odd claim; hoping with all of her heart that her actions would work in her favour. “This is our child, this… Mordred you speak of… you must be looking in the wrong place.” Isis’ mouth narrowed into a very thin line as she finished and the hermit shook his head, he knew full well what he was dealing with.
“Hand over the first horseman mortal woman or there will be… dire consequences.” The hermit spoke slowly and with a voice that was so deep it almost sent a tremor through the earth beneath them; his mouth opened wider as he finished, and Isis was sure that she could see something moving at the back of it, something inhuman.
The new mother shook her head twice as hard as the hermit had, ignoring any instincts that were trying to tell her to do the opposite, she was determined to protect her baby, her Mordred. “Leave us old man, your company is not required, nor is it appreciated.” The stuck-up response to the terrifying man angered the hermit, Isis could see his rage as soon as she had spoken; his blackening eyes dripping streams of dark fluid like tears down his scabbed cheeks, his mouth opening ever wider as they did so, Isis’ fears were confirmed as more of his orifice was visible, there was definitely something moving inside.
The old man; black blood running down from his eyes and mouth open as wide as a snake swallowing something twice its size, let out a horrible scream; the high pitched noise shook the very foundations of the hut and caused Moses’ knife to fly out of his hands; the baby in Isis’ arms didn’t notice any of this, he only grabbed its mother’s warm chest in protest to his lack of nutrition.
Moses held his hands to his ears as the piercing sounds spread throughout his head, causing a throbbing headache; the worst was yet to come however, and as Isis watched in horror, what seemed like hundreds of flies crawled and flew out of the hermit’s mouth, all moving in one direction, towards Moses, and the terrified farmer could only cry in agony as the insects climbed into his facial orifices, and began eating him from the inside; within minutes Moses was finished, his skin worn like an oversized suit over his bare skeleton, all that remained of the once proud man.
Isis cried out in horror at the tragedy occurring before her very eyes, the love of her life was gone, and by such improbable means, she barely had time to process the monstrosity before it was her turn; the hermit pointed a long, bruised finger at her and the flies that had taken away her husband flew towards her, her arms serving no protection to the threat, she was done for. Mordred fell to the floor as his mother was ravaged by such simple creatures, the hermit walking over to the baby and cradling Mordred in his bony arms as a swarm of insects returned into his mouth, the black liquid from his eyes dripping onto the newborn’s face, baptising the baby in a lake of fire; tainting the child with its first taste of darkness, Mordred was born, and the hermit’s gambit had just begun.