Whispers of the Night

Chapter 5

In the town of Bristol, fear gripped the hearts of its inhabitants like never before. Recent deaths had cast a pall over the once-vibrant community, turning it into a place of eerie silence and apprehension. As dusk descended upon the town, a sense of foreboding settled in, prompting residents to retreat behind the safety of locked doors long before nightfall. The streets, once bustling with activity, now lay deserted after 6 p.m., as if the very air itself whispered warnings of danger. Only a handful of police constables dared to patrol the perimeter of the town, their presence offering little reassurance against the unseen threat that loomed over Bristol.

Across the forest, beyond the gentle flow of a river, lay a hilly expanse. Its landscape was dominated by ancient trees, with their lush green branches reaching towards the sky. Yet amidst this natural beauty, something unsettling lurked—a skeletal tree, stark against the verdant backdrop, its barren branches stretching upwards like fingers poised to snatch the unwary. This tree, devoid of life and foliage, stood as a macabre monument to death itself. Its very presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air, leaving a chill that crept into the bones of anyone who dared to draw near. Its twisted form hinted at a malevolent force, as if it harboured a darkness that defied explanation.

Under the lifeless trunk of the tree, an iron hatch lay hidden from casual view. Its rusted surface bore the marks of age and neglect, yet it beckoned with an undeniable allure. A chorus of whispers drifted from the iron latch, weaving through the night air like ethereal tendrils of sound. These murmurs carried with them an otherworldly resonance, a cadence of unknown origin that seemed to echo with ancient power. With a creaking groan, the iron latch yielded to the touch of a lone visitor, revealing stairs leading underneath. The visitor, with his long red jacket, descended into the depths below. He emerged into a vast cavern illuminated by flickering torchlights to behold a scene both mesmerizing and unnerving. Fire torches were casting dancing shadows upon the rocky walls, painting the cavern in shades of amber and gold. At its center, stood a gathering of figures cloaked in long, dark red jackets, their faces obscured by hooded cowls. They were chanting incantations in the long-forgotten ancient language, exuding an aura of solemnity. The visitor joins the group.

The hooded figures were standing before a towering statue. Carved from stone with masterful precision, the statue depicted a man of imposing stature, his countenance etched with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce the very soul of anyone who dared to gaze upon it. The man in the statue was adorned with only a simple cloth draped around his waist, extending to his knees. His muscular form displays strength and authority, while a skull-shaped pendant hangs prominently from his neck, adding an air of ominous significance to his visage. In its right hand, the statue held a staff of formidable size. its surface adorned with intricate symbols and runes that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. At the very top of the staff, a serpent-shaped figure coiled around itself, its sinuous form carved with such lifelike precision that it appeared poised to strike at any moment.

As the final echoes of the incantations faded into the depths of the cavern, a reverent hush fell over the assembly. Each hooded figure bowed low before the imposing statue, their gestures imbued with a deep sense of respect and reverence. Amidst the flickering torchlight, the visitor stepped forward, a sense of urgency driving him to seek an audience with the hooded man who stood at the forefront of the gathering. That man had a similar skull pendant around his neck, like the statue. He appeared to be the leader of the clan. With a respectful bow, the visitor addressed the leader, his voice carrying through the cavern with a weight that belied the gravity of his words. "I have important news," he began. The leader turned to face the visitor; his features hidden beneath the shadowy depths of his cowl. "What is it, Rahu?" he inquired, his voice resonating with authority that seemed to fill the entire cave. Rahu hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty, before he spoke again. "He...he is back, Master," he revealed, the words tumbling from his lips with a sense of trepidation. "He is returned."

Under the cowl, the clan leader's expression hardened. His brow furrowed in concern as he listened intently to the account of what had transpired in the forest. "Tell me what happened," he demanded. A tense stillness gripped the cavern as Rahu recounted the events that had led to the return of their adversary. His words were measured, each syllable heavy with the weight of the truth he bore. "I and Raka, we were in the forest hunting," Rahu continued, his voice quivering with the memory of the fateful encounter. "Then...then we saw that girl...Sarah. She was entering the ruins." A collective murmur of apprehension rippled through the gathering as Sarah's name echoed within the confines of the cavern, a harbinger of impending doom. "We knew the implications of that, so we rushed after her," Rahu continued, his voice growing more urgent with each passing moment. "Then, we saw it. The sacred ice broke upon her touch, and she fell within." "We were furious and wanted to avoid the inevitable," Rahu confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "Raka reached and pulled her out of the cavity and the water. She was unconscious. Raka held her to the ground like the worthless human she was. He pulled out his dagger and was about to cut her in pieces, and then..." Rahu's voice faltered, his hesitation palpable as he struggled to find the words to convey what came next. "What happened, Rahu? Where is Raka?" demanded another hooded figure from the group.

The clan leader's eyes were flashing with righteous anger. Rahu stepped back, his gaze falling to the ground as he continued his tale. "Just when that girl was about to get slashed, from deep within the cavity, he returned. Clouds were thundering, and the wind whipped through the surrounding landscape with ferocious speed, unleashing a cacophony of eerie howls and unsettling wails as he rose from the underground and landed outside," Rahu continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "His eyes were sparkling blue. The contempt in his eyes was beyond imagination. His black robes billowed around him like the tattered wings of a fallen angel. He was looking like a storm about to engulf everything around him."

As Rahu's tale reached its climax, the atmosphere in the cavern grew thick with tension, each word hanging in the air like a knife poised to strike. The clan leader's expression darkened further. "Raka attempted to put the dagger in Sarah's chest, but it never happened. The prince, with unbelievable speed, reached Raka, held him by the throat, and lifted him up" Rahu recounted, his voice quivering with fear. "The dagger in Raka's hand fell to the ground and I had no courage to help him," said Rahu. "Raka struggled to get free, but to no avail. The prince smashed him to the ground with a mighty force and then..." Rahu's voice faltered. "And then he twisted and tore apart Raka's head from the body with just a twist of his hands." A stunned silence fell over the cavern as Rahu's tale came to its grisly conclusion. With a heavy heart, Rahu confessed, "At that very instant, I ran from the ruins and was in hiding till now." His words echoed through the cavern settling a sense of dread over the assembled clan members.