Quarantine Stories part 1: The Rocks

A little something for those who are stuck at home and would like to hear a story. Granted, I'm broke as hell at the moment and without work, but I can't bring myself to charge anyone who is likely in the same boat I am.

That being said, if you like this story and you'd like to help me and support my work, feel free to message me or send any amount of money to my paypal. If you can't spare anything, then an encouraging word or comment of your opinion is just as good. I’d love to hear from you.

Note: I have no professional equipment at home, nor professional recording programs, so the quality of the audio won't be up to par, but I hope you'll forgive me.

Now, on with the show.


 

The Rocks

The waves broke over sandy beaches and patchwork stones, echoing up the cliff side. The sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, kissing the air with an ancient and all-encompassing call for quiet, and revealing the jagged rocks that dotted the coastline far below. 

Megan stood at the edge of the precipice, looking over, swaying in the morning breeze, back and forth. 

Back.

Forth.

Back...

Forth...

Back...

She took a deep, unsteady breath. 

"I'd aim for the rocks, if I were you," a man's voice spoke from behind. Megan fell backwards with the sudden shock. The shape of a man, burning in the morning light, walked forward and knelt on the very edge of the cliff, sending bits of sandy soil skittering down toward the roaring sea. "I mean, if you don't aim right, you might hit the sandy part down there," the man continued, pointing at a speck far below. "If you hit that from this height, you'd probably break your legs, maybe even puncture a lung. You could spend the next hour gasping for breath as the tide rolls in. Eventually, you'd begin to wonder if you'll drown in water or in air..." He paused, staring off into the dawn sky, then turned to her with the friendliest smile she'd ever seen. "So, I'd certainly aim for the rocks," he continued. 

Megan blinked at the stranger, then got up and screamed "Who the hell sneaks up on someone who's standing on the side of a cliff!? I could have fallen off!" 

"Was that not the point? I mean, it did look like you were about to... take the plunge, so to speak. I thought it might make more sense to take a chance at stopping you rather than to simply admire the view." 

Megan shook her head and turned her back on the stranger. "What the fuck do you know about it?" 

"Oh, you'd be amazed," the man replied.

A gust of wind put an end to any reply that Megan may have given. Instead, she turned back to the stranger. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" 

"Someone who cares if you aim for the rocks or not," he replied, then smiled again.  "What brings a pretty young girl to the edge of a cliff in the pre-dawn light, anyway? Boy troubles?" 

Megan gave a look that, should it have had the ability to kill, would not have. Instead, this look would have maimed its intended victim of their dominant hand, broken every joint, added ground glass to their lungs, and seared off their hair with a blowtorch. "You think I'm dumb enough to kill myself over a fucking boy? Really?" she said. 

"Girl, then?"

"No!" Megan shouted like a curse.

"Just checking." The man smiled at her once more. Megan seethed. "So, why do you want to jump off a cliff? And don't tell me all your friends were doing it, because despite ages of mothers using that line, I don't think it has ever actually happened." 

"I'd bet it has," Megan retorted. "Have you ever heard of cliff jumping with wing-suits?" 

"Wing-suits?" the man scoffed. "What, people line up and pretend to be their favorite lemming but decide to be a bird instead?" 

"More like a flying squirrel," Megan replied. 

"Sounds expensive," the man said, looking at the sea, still confused. 

"Incredibly." 

"Why do they do it, do you think?" he asked. 

Megan looked over the edge of the cliff. "For the thrill," she replied. 

"You don't look thrilled to me." 

"I'm also not wearing a wing-suit." 

The man edged closer to Megan, joining her in her view. He took in the rising sun and the breaking waves, the early-morning birdcalls and the omnipresent rocks below. "I can see why you chose this spot. It's beautiful." 

Megan nodded, her eyes locked to a point on the horizon. 

"You're not the first, you know," the man said, quickly. 

Megan blinked. "To jump off a cliff?"

"No. You're not the first to jump off of this cliff. Hell, you're not even the first person who was interrupted before they could work up the courage." 

"Oh, right. I'm sure you've saved dozens of people who come up here to end it all. You're a great, big, fucking hero." Megan shook her head in disgust. 

The man sighed. "No. I haven't saved a single one." He glanced down at the beach. "I really would aim for the rocks, if you're serious about this." And with that, the man turned to leave. 

He only got a few steps away before he heard Megan behind him. "So what happened?" 

The man stopped and turned back. He smiled. "I'll give you the short version. I know you've got things to do..." 

Megan smirked. 

"It was a few years ago. The morning wasn't nearly this nice. It was cold, it was windy, and clouds covered the sky. You couldn't even tell it was morning, not really. It was just grey. And that's how he felt, I guess – not particularly bad. Not particularly good. Just... grey.

"He hadn't even intended to jump, if you can believe it. When I asked him, when he finally responded to me, he said he had just come out to walk in the rain and to clear his head. I guess the idea of jumping off the cliff came as a bit of a surprise to him, but once the idea made a home in his mind... well..." He gestured at the distant horizon. "It really looks like it might go on forever, doesn't it?" 

"I hope not. That sounds awful." 

"It does? Why?" 

"Because nothing ever changes. It's all shit – all of it. I couldn't stand it going on forever." 

The man started to laugh. 

"What's so funny?" Megan demanded. 

"You. I mean, okay, sure, maybe it's all shit right now, but the only way it will stay shit forever is if you step off that cliff. Life is nothing if not ever-changing."

"Are you seriously mocking a girl who's standing on the edge of a cliff?" Megan accused, though not unkindly. 

"You asked." The man smiled again. 

They stood there in silence for several minutes as the morning sun rose higher in the sky, turning everything from a blazing orange to a muted, misty representation of their true colors. The breeze rustled Megan's hair, sending it flowing out behind her. Without looking over, she asked "So why did he end up jumping? What made him finally decide?" 

"I'm not really sure. Just... made up his mind, I guess, and nothing was going to change it for him." He stared at the beach below, remembering. "You're not going to do it, are you?"

Megan closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. She turned away from the cliff and, without another word, walked away. 

The man watched her leave, smiling, and turned to watch the sun climb over the horizon.  He stood on the very precipice, swaying in the morning breeze. 

Back.

Forth.

Back...

Forth...

Back...

It's Friday the 13th. Obviously, we need to have a story telling...

It being mid October and Friday the 13th, I thought I'd share with you a time that I was scared.

This was a long while ago. I was still living in the house I grew up in. Something to keep in mind: this house was haunted. Ever since I was a child, me, my siblings, friends, and even my father knew it. We all saw the same ghosts, so much that we came to name them.

The Tree Man stayed upstairs, wandering between the kitchen and the back bedrooms. He had no appearance, not exactly, other than being darker than the gloom around him. It was as if he absorbed the dark and wore it as a cloak. He was easily eight feet tall, and you could hear him walking, the creaking of the old wood, before you saw him. He once spent four hours sitting next to my bed.

The Cat. Let me put it this way: I grew up in a bad area, and people are horrible, horrible creatures. A gang of them decided to shoot and kill a neighbor's cat in my backyard one day. That cat took up residence, sometimes just sitting atop a pool table or meowing at you when you weren't paying attention. Even today, it will play with Chronos and Clotho, my two cats, and they seem to get along. I am glad that it's having a good spectral life, though I will forever hate the people who killed it.

The Jester was, in a way, comical. We're fairly sure it was a teenager of some sort, based on size and demeanor. He would often throw things across the basement, sometimes at another person if the opportunity arose. He also delighted in mimicking the voices of friends and family members. His specialty was sounding like my sister was crying on just the other side of the wall. Once, as I was going to bed, he threw a snowboard at my door. I was alone in the house at the time.

But the one I want to tell you about, and the one everyone agrees on, is the Lady in the Blue Dress.

She first appeared in dreams, I think. My brother, years after the fact, told us of the time he dreamt of her running at him, arms stretched out, screaming, her broken neck causing her head to bob back and forth with each step like a terrible pendulum...

She was young, either late teens or early 20's in age. Outside of dreams, she could usually be found lying in front of a rear storage room in the basement, contorted in an unnatural position, usually in the corner of your eye as you turned to put the light out. She was usually harmless, aside from a scare or two every now and then.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I moved into a room we had built at the front of the basement. I learned to deal with the ghosts. More often than not, it turned out, if you simply asked them to leave you alone, they would. It was like they wanted to play and if you didn't have time, they certainly understood. After all, we'd known each other all my life.

One night, as I was preparing for bed, lying down, reading a book, I looked up to see The Lady standing in my doorway. I'd never seen her so clearly, nor for so long. Her dress was old fashioned and, to my eye, appeared Victorian, all ruffles and lace. She looked concerned. With her head hanging at the most disturbing angle and the vertebrae trying to press through her ghostly flesh, she spoke.

"Help me," she whispered. I lay there, dumbfounded, too terrified to speak as she looked around the room. And then she looked into my eyes and said again, "Help me."

I finally found my tongue. I asked her what she wanted, but she didn't seem to understand. I asked her name, what was wrong, how I could help, but she didn't appear to be able to hear me. She looked, as far as I could tell, confused.  Every time I stopped asking questions, she would simply repeat "Help me."

I could tell she was scared. I wanted, with every fiber of my being, to help this poor girl, even if she was beyond saving, but I couldn't.

Suddenly she cocked her shoulders as if her head were still upon her shoulders and she were listening to something, and then she seemed to panic, and I knew she was terrified. Eyes wide, she said the final words I've ever heard from her. "He's coming."

And with that, she turned and left.

After several seconds, I remembered that I had legs, and that I could chase after her. My heart in my stomach, I walked into the basement proper, turning on every light I could along the way, even going as far as her usual spot in front of the storage room, but she was gone.

I saw her a few times after that, but, it seemed to me, less often than I used to, and never again like that. Since I came back home last year to take care of my father, I've only seen her twice, usually after telling someone about her. She seems to enjoy being talked about. I wonder if I'll see her again tonight, if she'll talk to me, and if I may, finally, help her.

Happy Friday the 13th, my friends.

Until next time,

~Sean Walter