Join Date: Feb 2007
Location: Jersey Shore
Posts: 51
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Clam Digger
This is a chapter excerpt from my novel. but also may stand alone as a short story.
Swaying, falling, crashing, the sound of boards splitting, screams of terror, bones snapping, thunder heads splitting, and salt water invading every crevice. The Lord Macabre lay in his black coffin as the ship crashed in the cold November sea. Gravity seemed to have been betrayed as the ship had been carried to the top of the enormous swell, only to come crashing down at a dizzying speed. At the end of its descent, the ship had smashed into unseen coastal rocks just below the surface. Sheer velocity and force had driven the vessel so hard into the craggy death stones that the entire structure imploded on impact, shattering wood, cargo and soft human flesh. Most died instantly, but for the few that felt all the pain before the ocean swallowed them in her shadowy depths. In his coffin, the Dark Lord had heard and felt it all. He had pushed, scratched, clawed at the hard wooden surface of the coffin but it would not give at all. He felt the waters carrying him and did not know that a large altar rock had come to rest upon the coffin above or that the coffin was borne upon the back of a shattered beam from the ship. Lord Macabre felt the sensation of flotation but could see nothing in the pitch black tomb that trapped him.
Escape! There was no escape as the salt water rushed into the coffin. Turbulent seas carried the black coffin beyond the shore and into the marshes. Outside the wind howled with ferocity and the currents removed everything in their path. Further inland, the dark cargo transported by the violent storm in a place where no man lived or breathed, at least, not at this time of year. Lord Macabre continued to struggle against the heavy lid of the coffin but to no avail. Impact! The coffin struck something. A fallen tree jutted up from the marsh stream and the beam bearing the black load swept into it. Sliding fast, weighted down by the altar stone and the heavy metal weapons of his resting place, the sensation of rapid sinking came over the Dark Lord. Sea water rushed in through the loose seals of the coffin and began to fill the empty spaces. Panic, fear, terror, struck all at once. Cold brine covered everything and made its way into his stinging nostrils and mouth, filling his lungs, yet he did not die, did not lose consciousness. Lord Macabre felt all of it, the horror of his existence, dead but not, living, but not breathing. The coffin sank further and came to a soft rest among the muddy silt of the marsh. A scraping was barely audible beneath the water as the altar stone slid partially off the black box. Still, the Dark Lord could not move, escape, he was trapped and left to rot.
Clam Digger loved the spring. Her tribe returned to the shores from their winter hunting grounds to live off the bounty of the sea. She was the best in the tribe when it came to finding the hard shells that lay beneath the surface. Sinking her toes into the oozy mud below on the bottom of the marsh, she felt the hard pinch of a blue claw crab seize her toe. Screaming loud, she jumped away, cursing the crustacean. She would eat that crab someday when the men came down to seek out the sweet meat. Last year, this had been her spot, she had pulled clams everyday. The elders warned her not return to the same place she harvested the year before but her curiosity got the better of her, and the crab had ruined it for her. Clam Digger made a note to herself to be sure to let her father know where to search for crabs as she headed back to camp, empty-handed.
On the following day, Clam Digger set out with one of the elders to find new clam beds. The two walked in silence through the reeds and wetlands. Spring’s fresh smell pervaded the air about them. Walking Stick had a special place in his heart for this young one, she was vibrant, full of her father’s spirit. Shark Killer was Clam Digger’s father. One summer, while he was not quite a man, one of the tribeswoman had been attacked by an errant blue shark in the shallow coastline. Shark Killer had gone to the woman and wrestled the shark, sinking his teeth into the dorsal fin of the thing and ripping out the flesh with his teeth. He had been covered with blood, his mouth and skin torn by the shark’s coarse skin. The shark was pulled from the sea, the whole tribe enjoyed a hearty meal and a brave story. Clam Digger spotted an area that looked good for clams.
“Grandfather, look over there, I bet there are lots of clam’s in that mud.”
The old man strained to see where the girl was pointing. She did not notice that while the rest of the area was lit by the hot rays of the sun, the place she pointed seemed covered in a grey mask. No birds wandered, no sounds came and the marsh growth was dead.
“No, Clam Digger, that part of the swamp is forbidden to step foot on. You mustn’t go near there, ever.”
“But, why, grandfather.”
Walking Stick knew he could not avoid the girl’s question and so he would have to explain.
“Evil rests there, little one. Evil so dark that it may one day destroy all that lives.”
“How can that be, grandfather. The good spirits are stronger.”
“The spirit that lies there was once good, but now serves the darkness. It knows the good and its weaknesses, so that now, it can overpower the light.”
“Then why do we even come this close?”
“Ah, child. This black spirit is not of our people but of something else and it is still too weak. It’s power will grow long after you and I, and even your grandchildren and their grandchildren have passed from the Earth.”
“So, why do we fear it then?”
“It’s blackness can infect you, child. If the tribe were to eat something from that place, our people would be damned forever. You must never touch the ground there or go near that place, Clam Digger.”
“How do you know it is there, grandfather?”
“Possum had a dream about that place, moons ago. He saw a great dark spirit rise from the swamp and all the land turned grey and black and all the people turned to dust.”
“Grandfather, let’s go over there, away from here. I am scared of this thing.”
“Yes, it is best to be far from here and good that you are scared. Do not forget what I have told you today.”
“Yes, grandfather.”
Clam Digger and Walking Stick headed away from the black swamp with its nefarious treasure below the surface. Dead, but not. Black, tainted, oozing muck, rotting sea life, and waiting to unleash its wicked force upon the living.
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