Scary Stories from Riverbrook Inn: Short Stories of Hailgalad and other kingdoms

Gregory sat nursing a tea as he looked out from the front stoop of his small house. As far as he could see in the gloomy night, tombstones and small crypts laid. All was quiet as the old man rocked back in his chair in a relaxing peace.

***

The serene silence was broken by the sound of feet, rushing through cemetery. The mist revealed a man running. His hair flew wildly in the air and his eyes were wide with fear as he ran towards George.

The caretaker's eyes narrowed as he scanned the frantic man.

He stood up and shouted in a gravely voice, “Evening, what is the matter?”

The man panted as he came to an abrupt stop at the caretaker's door. He could not find his breath as his hands dropped to his knees. He seemed t

“Come on, my lad, with it,” Gregory said impatiently.

"A-are you the caretaker?" The man asked as he gasped for air.

"I am the caretaker," George responded with frustration heavy on his tone.

"T-there is a crypt that was open. People or a person is inside. Something isn't right under the ground over there.”

George did not say another word, he went inside his home and grabbed his sword, which he slung over his shoulder, and his heavy cloak.

He was off in the direction the man was pointing when the man called after him, “Should I call the royal troops?”

“There is no need,” the old man responded as he went off to the direction that man had pointed.

There was a calm, steely look in his eye as he scanned the graveyard that was under his charge.

***

Silence gripped the rows of tombstones has he walked alone. He could hear an owl call out as it swooped down at some, small prey. All was dark until he saw a light up ahead.

As Gregory came closer to the light, he saw that a crypt was open. He scanned the area to see that there were no signs of a typical vandal. Then, a chill hit hime and he saw something that made even his blood run cold.

In a black chalk, there was a circle with an ‘X’ through it on the doorframe of the crypt.

“Necromancy,” he growled under his breath.

Gregory looked at the top of the door to see the words House of Ulrich. It was the name of a house of nobility. If the family still had members alive and in power, he did not know. It did not matter much to him. Tending to the fields of the dead was his mission. The caretaker did not concern himself with the affairs of the rich and powerful.

As he stood there examining the scene, he heard an ominous chant. The words themselves were unclear, but they held an uneasy weight.Then without warning, he heard a terrible creaking behind him.

In one move, the caretaker drew his sword that glowed with a faint, golden light. He swung hard and the blade found its mark. A skeleton tumbled into a pile of bones at his feet.

Before he was able to survey the area around him, an arrow twanged and flew past his head. It was a stroke of luck, but the old man had moved his head just before the arrow found him. He returned a precise bolt of fire, from his left hand, into the mist. It was answered by the crashing of hollow bones into the ground.

Gregory scanned the tombstone-ridden landscape in silence. His blade was in one hand and a spit of fire in the other. All was again still as he drew himself up and looked down into the crypt. With a sigh, he stepped forward into the darkness.

***

The caretaker walked carefully down the stairs which plunged deep into the ground. His steps echoed as he moved onward. After a short time, the chanting stopped and the light he followed went out. He was again cloaked in darkness.

Gregory narrowed his gaze as he extinguished the fire in his left hand and gripped his sword tightly with both of his hands. After a moment more of stillness and silence, he continued with his heart throbbing and breath quickened.

After walking down the stone stairs, he finally came to the main floor of the crypt. He looked in every direction, but heard and saw nothing. Then, a creature fell on him.

Gregory jumped and struggled to throw it off. Once he got a hold of it, he tossed it across the room. It was nothing more than a rat. The old man smiled and shook his head. That was when two, boney hands grabbed his face.

He was thrown down to the ground by another skeleton creature. As he stood up, the caretaker looked into its eyes that glowed with a faint, grey light. It came after him again as another grabbed him from behind.

He dropped his sword in the scuffle, but was able to draw out a dagger that had the same glow. With a few quick moves as he fell to his feet, the caretaker dispatched of the first skeleton. Then, he moved to the other one, but it had already fallen into a heap of bones. We looked around, but saw no grey glow ad heard no creak of another enemy.

“Leave this place,” a commending voice came from deeper in the crypt.

Gregory drew himself up and called back, “I am the caretaker. Leave these dead to their slumber and depart. These crypts are not meant for restless beings.”

Light spurred up once again from a far corridor and the chants continued. The old man sprang up, grabbed his sword, and was off to face whoever dared to oppose him.

***

After some more uneasy steps, he came to the final room of the family of Ulrich’s house of rest. Here was a sight that was most unsettling to Gregory.

A man in a black cloak stood at the far end of the room. He had a small, leather-bound book in his hand as he called out strange words. Black runes were etched into the walls and torches blazed in brilliant light. In front of the man, at lest twenty figures were on their knees, bowing to him. Gregory could not see their faces, but they were draped in similar black grab.

“I told you to leave this place,” the man called out.

His voice was unsettling and cunning. His long, slender face gave a grave smile as his black eyes stared at the caretaker.

“I told you the dead are to be kept at rest,” Gregory growled as he gripped his sword. “Your work here must not be allowed to continue.”

“So be it,” the necromancer replied.

He gave out a powerful command that the other figures responded to. It turned out that they were spirits formed of nothing but shadow as they turned on the caretaker. Without warning, they floated all round him, darting to and fro, trying to attack the man.

Gregory wildly swung his sword, but the creatures were in too great a number to parry. In a matter of moments, he was thrown down to the ground in a helpless heap.

That was when he struggled to grab an object from his satchel. It was a vial of liquid that glowed a bright gold.

Bloodied, he raised his hand to the sky and started to shout an incantation, but it was thrown from his hand.

With a command, the spirits stopped their harassment of the old man. They again bowed low to the necromancer who approached his foe.

“You should have left when you had the chance,” he laughed as he kicked the vial away. “A powerful artifact you have there. Light from Areandel herself, or at least that is what they say. It is quite rare indeed.”

Gregory said nothing, he only started at his foe in disgust. He wished to make his move, but pain pulsate through his body and he was unable to rise up.

“Shh,” the necromancer said with a grin. “On this night, I am going to draw power from my patron. I have waited many long years for this and the time has finally come. Lucky for you, I believe I have a part for you to play in this.”

The man raised his hand and it glowed with a faint grey. Within moments, Gregory found his eyelids getting very heavy as he drifted off to sleep.

***

Gregory awoke to blazing fires. He was shirtless and bound by chains, with his hands over his head. He looked down to see strange runes marked on his body in the same black chalk from the walls. All around him, the strange spirits hissed a terrible chant that the old man could not understand.

“Tonight, on the night of the festival of Helhain, we call upon our lord to grant us power. Power over the living and the dead, so we can help breed his kingdom in this world,” the necromancer called out with his hands held high.

HIs words were answered by the hissing and calling from the spirits which danced around the room with delight. As if the power he called was in their presence, the torches blazed with incredible heat and light.

“Please take this vessel as a sacrifice in your honor,” the man extended his hand to Gregory.

The old man struggled as he gave one last, feeble attempt to escape from his adversary. It was no use as it only made the spirits taunt him more.

The caretaker held his head in defeat. In all his years, he had never been bested before, and he had always done it alone. He had faced enemies much stronger than this novice, but he was off his game.

I am getting to old for this, he thought to himself.

That was when he saw a figure, slinking in shadows. It was the man who warned him about the crypt.

What is that idiot doing here? he thought.

The man looked terrified as he saw the caretaker chained. Then, he saw the vial. Whether he knew what the vial was or by some sheer luck, the man picked it up and rose it to the sky.

The necromancer saw the man and the vial and sneered, “There is another, get him!”

Gregory closed his eyes and shouted, “ Light of Areandel, I ask thee, smite my foes.”

A golden flash filled the room. Gregory was thrown back and his chains were broken off. He scrambled to his feet and saw the necromancer had done so as well. All the spirits had been dispelled and the other man stood alone in the exit of the room.

“Go and fetch the guard!” George growled as the man took off, up the stairs.

The necromancer gave out a scream of frustration as he extended his hands. Long whips of grey light came forward to strike the caretaker. The old man was quick to respond with a brilliant golden orb to shield him from the attack.

After his foe’s initial surge was deflected, Gregory went on the offensive. He threw firebolt after firebolt as he stepped towards the necromancer. Before long, they were face to face. The man was no match for Gregory as he took him down to the ground.

In the scuffle, the old man was able to bind his adversary as he said, “I told you that I am the caretaker. It is my duty to keep the dead at rest. You upset the natural order of things as now it is time you pay.”

With this, Gregory gathered the leather-bound journal, stood the man up, and led him out of the crypt.

***

Gregory and the necromancer were greeting by a hazy morning sun s the emerged from the crypt. They were greeted by a few soldiers and the man who saved his lift. One of the soldiers was clad in silver armor and wore a black tunic.

“Morning, Halgreth,” Gregory called out as he pushed his captive ahead of him.

“What did we have last night? Not children vandalizing the tombstones I take it,” Halgreth replied with a smile as he put his right fist over his heart and gave a bow.

“Just some fool trying their hand in necromancy,” the old man growled.

Halgreth shook his head, “Seems to happen all to often during the times of the festival of Helhain. They seem to think they can commune with Dyurkan or some other demon. All they end up doing is causing trouble.”

The necromancer was silent as they stood with their head bowed, covered by their thick, black cloak.

“Luckily no one was hurt,” the caretaker said. “Well, he’s all yours now.”

“Thank you, as always, for your service and watching over our dead,” Halgreth said with a bow as he took the prisoner.

Gregory bowed to the group as he turned to the man.

“Thank you for your help,” the caretaker said with a smile.

“Any time,” he replied with a nod.

Gregory took a moment to stare at the man, as if he was measuring his constitution.

“What were you doing out here after dark?”

The man bowed his head, “My parents recently died. I come out to visit them often. That is, when I am not tied up at the mill. They have me working long hours there.”

“What do you say about coming to work for me?” the caretaker replied.

“Are you sure?” the man asked. “I hate work at the mill, but this seems to be a dangerous job. A good deal more dangerous than I would have thought.”

The old man nodded, “It is a dangerous and a thankless job, but it is important. You just got a glimpse of how perilous it can be. It is, however, important. People count on me to keep the dead at rest. This will forever be a place where evil can fester and I am getting too old to do it alone.”

The man paused for a time in thought. After a while, he smiled and said, “Why not. The name is Armand can consider me your apprentice.”

The old man put his arm around him as they walked off to his home.

***

Gregory sat nursing a tea as he looked out from the front stoop of his small house. As far as he could see in the gloomy morning, tombstones and small crypts laid. All was quiet as the old man rocked back in his chair with Armand rocking beside him.

"Who are they?” he heard a voice ask.

It was two people who were carrying flowers. It was clear they were here to visit a loved one who had passed on.

“Those are just the caretakers," the other answered dryly.

Gregory gave them a nod as he watched them go on their way. Then, the old man and Armand took a sip of their tea and smiled.