Sharing Tales of Terror on this dark night.

Hallowmas. A time of half forgotten dreams and confessions to turn your hair white. What better a time to share some horrifying tales of the neath?

Tell me your short stories of the horrors of Fallen London!

I will share one of mine own, though it is probably poor and was written on the spot. Tell me what you think:

Alfred walked hurriedly though the deserted streets of Watchmaker’s Hill. When the criminal Jack of Smiles left the proclamation on his latest victim that anyone caught on the hill on the night of Hallowmas would be cut up to the point of no return, the people of The Fifth City left the area as quickly as they could. Normally he was seen as nothing more then a annoyance, but noone was risking the final death to see if he meant his word. But Alfred had a package to deliver: His employer was counting on him to bring the goods, and he was being paid well for it.

He kept thinking he saw glimpses of someone following him. Could it be someone else interested in the package, or him? Nonetheless, he thought better then to take the risk. Slipping into a alleyway and using a hidden door he knew of, he took the long but secret routes to his location. Finally, he got to his employer.

…Or what was left of him anyway.

Naught but pieces hacked crudely and with much mess. But that did not concern Alfred now. What he was more worried about was the tall man wielding a wicked looking knife that has suddenly spotted him.

&quotWell, look who arrived. I was wondering when the hired help would get here.&quot He said in a voice that chilled his bones. &quotHand me that package you got there, And I MAY think about sparing you since I’m satisfied for now. Course, that’s no guarantee!&quot

Alfred ran.

&quotOH NOW YOU GONE AND DONE IT MATE! Oh well, have it your way!&quot said Jack in a voice of blood.

Alfred ran, and kept running. He ran out of Watchmaker’s Hill and, not looking where he was going, right into Bugsby’s marshes.

Only slowing down long after Jack’s cries faded into the distance, and still carrying the package, he finally stopped in a small clearing. He tried his hardest to catch his breath.

&quotSo, you done running from me yet?&quot

Jacked stabbed Alfred in the lag and he dropped screaming. The package fell to the floor and split it’s contents: Knives. Hundreds and hundreds of sharp, evil looking knives.

&quotYou know, I really must thank you for delivering these to me. It makes my goals a LOT simpler. Now, how best to thank you? I know! I’ll kill you BEFORE I cut you up!&quot

The last thing Alfred saw was the knife going to his heart.

One evening, I had found myself lost within the myriad halls of the palace. On most evenings I would have found a servant to escort me back to more familiar grounds, but on this night I was alone in my wanderings. Presently I came upon a door left ajar.

Thinking that I might find less bewildered parties, I was about to turn into the room, when a young ruffian in black garments bolted out of it at some speed. I thought to check the state of the room for injured, and found another gentleman, bleeding from several lacerations to his person. And next to him, a suitcase of teeth, spilled out along the floor

At first I assumed I had just been privy to a rather lethal mugging, yet the gentleman was still gently whispering. I bent down close to hear him say; &quotThe teeth… …The teeth&quot. At which point I noticed that the pile of teeth next to him was wriggling. From the pile, and I have this verified as truth from other parties, from the pile came a swarm of long, jagged fangs, pouncing upon the gentleman and nearly almost myself, buzzing like wasps around my feet. Each terrible tooth moved of it’s own accord, one of them putting a sizeable hole through the man’s gloved hand in a single swift movement.

I am not at all ashamed to say that I ran like the blazes, out of a very reasonable fear that I may shortly be relieved of my life. Once out of sight I ran to find a manservant, and needless to say those fearless men responded quickly to the threat. I was told later, over a strong drink, that the unfortunate gentleman had been found in giblets, each individual chunk the quarry of a vicious, chattering fang.

Whatever dark and insipid beast once held those teeth, I dearly wish to never meet it.

His heart pounded in his ears. His vision was crazily fragmented and inconsistent - from the false stars of the Neath high above came a soft rain that drenched the alleys of Paris beneath his feet. He dodged between buildings and around corners, searching, searching, catching a glimpse of what he sought, a small figure vanishing as soon as he spotted it, its laughter hanging in the wind. Gargoyles and grotesques watched him from above, their eyes glowing yellow like those of the devils they were meant to ward off. The streets thronged with a crowd of shuffling phantoms, blocking him at every turn. He chased and chased, but could not catch up. He would never reach her in time. Already he could see the bloody hands of the man in grey, and the crimson stains that spread across her body as the killer carefully wiped his face with an elegant handkerchief. He screamed in horror.

He screamed in horror, eyes snapping open to stare wildly at the damp ceiling of his temple. Panting hoarsely, he sat up and looked around, reassuring himself that nothing was out of place. His ravens, white and black, looked at him from their perches, disgruntled.
“You was screamin’ in yer sleep again, guv,” offered Gwydion.
“Louder than the Stymphalian Birds of Ares himself,” Taliesin opined.
“I dunno about no birds, but you sounded more scared 'n a soprano what’s been robbed, guv,” Gwydion responded. Taliesin merely glared at his counterpart, disgusted by his lack of culture.
“Laudanum,” rasped the Marshal. “Where… where is the laudanum?” The birds indicated a small bottle on a table by the bed. He snatched it and drained its contents, relaxing as the drug took effect. “No more dreams…” he muttered as he sank into a stupor. “No more blood…”