Dare

[helterskelter]

Dare.

A curious thing a dare in the mind of a child, it can inspire acts of unusual bravery, or more common stupidity. Whichever is open to the interpretation of the observer, an adult would see the latter, the more youthful the former, in this instance the youthful ruled. The older boys had told them the tale of the swamplands, about how every generation; any boys who have not yet trodden the road to manhood are claimed by the things that rise from those dank, dark waters.

And here lay the dare. Spend a night in the swamps and none would ever poke fun at them again. With apprehension the group of boys, set out with their lumen globes, and sleeping bags, the sun still peaking ever so slightly above the weeping trees, bathing the sky the colour of a deep bruise in its final rays. They picked their way over the gnarled roots along the drier rises between the trees; a misstep in either direction would see them fall into the blackening waters, which would leave them sodden and stinking. It would also risk disturbing the local creatures, which had no yet risen from their daytime slumber, seeking an opportune breakfast from a floundering child.

 

The boys found themselves a nice patch of mossed earth large enough to accommodate this small merry band. Five in all, between 10 and 12 summers each, they played and talked as boys do til the last of the natural light fell, and the night rose. The boys made to cease their games but then there were only four. In a panic they took their globes and set out to find their lost friend calling his name, their shrill voices dying in the breeze as it whipped through the dangling limbs of the weeping trees. A shriek and a splash, they ran back to each other, only three now, fear making its way into their hearts, they dare not split again for fear of losing another.

Cautiously they crept deeper into the swamp, less hard earth to be found and the brackish fluid started creeping around their ankles, cold, uncaring. Onward they went stepping over twisted roots, stepping over a twisted arm. Bringing their globes together, they saw their friend for the last time, pale and lifeless, a bloodied ring upon his neck, like suckers from the tentacled creatures of the seas they learnt of in the school house. They fled toward home. They fled as best they could. Roots tripped them, branches ensnared them, the earth slipped beneath them.

Another splash, only two now, eyes watering from the terror coursing through them, and the harsh breeze stinging their eyes, a dull thud, another boy fell but the last did not turn to stop. Then a crack as his nose split. Blood pouring down his face, white light spiking his vision he felt a biting on his neck. His vision cleared to see two dead white lights staring down at him, he raised his globe, that he desperately clung to, a shimmer of sea green edged in rose copper.

An affirmative ping.

The boy yelped as he was dragged back into the swamp, the black and brackish water enveloping him, and he saw his friends for the last time, being carried away into the depths of the night by the same monsters that held him.

The Drowned had claimed their Tithe.

Edited December 7, 2017 by helterskelter