Amulet of Salt and Metal

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. A chill hung in the air. Cold. Damp. Howls sounded in the distance; wolves from afar, hunting unseen prey. Wind shrieked through the trees, and in a shuddering breath the candle flickered and went out. Dristen was alone in the dark.

Heart racing, he groped along the rough wooden sill for the candlestick. His hand struck the hard metal base and it clattered to the floor, echoing jarringly in the stillness. It scraped along the old wooden boards as it rolled further and further away. The sound slithered down his ears, setting his teeth on edge and rooting him to the spot. Finally, a thud; the candlestick hitting something soft. Worn leather boots sprang to mind. His grandfather’s, dusty and scuffed, left by the archway.

Dristen unfroze and stumbled toward the sound, the floorboards groaning with each step. The shadows of his grandfather’s boots wavered in the dim light, but when he reached down to feel around them for the candle, he felt only the cold, hard floor. He peered through the shadows. Nothing but water-damaged timber walls and a slowly rotting doorway, speckled in gathering dust. Ma took Grandad’s boots away years ago.

In the next room, Dristen peeked the very tip of the candlestick and swooped through the doorway to pick it up. Hands shaking, he fumbled with his matchbox to relight the candle. The first strike against the matchbox broke the flimsy match. He shoved it back into the box and grabbed another. It flared to life in a blaze and he quickly touched the flame to the candle’s wick, revealing his grandfather’s old sitting room. Shadows shrunk away from long-forgotten furniture; Grandad’s old rocking chair, its fabric torn and covered in a layer of dust; his cherished mahogany coffee table, well-loved with its abundance of dents and scratches; the once-cheery fireplace, cold, empty and ashen.

His grandfather used to tell him stories in that chair. In the cold of winter, with the fire warming the cabin, he’d sit on Grandad’s lap, and Grandad would read to him. Sometimes Grandad would read to the others, too—the happy stories of heroes and might, of magic and unicorns. Katie loved the unicorns. But the other stories—the scary stories—those were just for Dristen. Dristen loved those stories the most.

The chair creaked as Dristen pushed his hands down into the folds of fabric. His grandfather had spent most of his time in this chair. Maybe it was here. His search revealed a few loose coins and an old crumpled photo of his grandmother that must have fallen from a pocket. His stomach churned, and he quickly dropped the photo on the coffee table.

He barely remembered his grandmother; she’d been gone for a long time. Her eyes, they used to watch him from her picture on the mantlepiece. And there were rumours; before Grandad died, he’d been trying to bring her back. Impossible. The ramblings of a mad man. A rumour. But, Dristen hoped, containing a grain of truth. Grandad had shown him the amulet. Here in the rocking chair, with Dristen on his lap, he would bring it out and show it to Dristen. Blood red, encased in swirls of obsidian. But it wasn’t here. He collapsed into the rocking chair and buried his face in his hands. Not here.

The rocking chair groaned under his weight. The gentle swaying helped him think. If it wasn’t here, where else could it be? Nowhere—he’d checked everywhere else. A rumour then. Nothing more.

The photo of his grandmother stared at him from the coffee table, the candle’s flickering light made her seem alive in the image. In the end, she wasn’t here; Grandad hadn’t brought her back. Perhaps it was time he cut his losses and went home before someone noticed he was gone. The candle quivered mesmerically. His body wouldn't move. He sunk deeper into the rocking comfort of his grandfather’s chair.

A banging noise woke him. He shot up from the rocking chair, leaving it swinging wildly behind him. The candle had burned through and gone out, leaving behind only the intricate, golden holder. Grey light streamed through the windows. The picture of his grandmother was gone.

“Dristen!”

Another bang. The cabin’s front door swung wildly open.

“Ajax! What are you doing here?” Dristen snatched up the candle holder and pushed it into his coat pocket. He scanned the room again; one last check to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. As he took a step towards the doorway, a memory stirred. A hiding hole. He’d discovered it when he’d been young—it’d been empty then, but now…

Ajax’s steps echoed against the hollow-sounding boards of the greeting room. “What are you doing here? Been looking for you all morning. It’s nearly midday!”

“I was just… looking for something! Don’t bother coming in here, the place is a mess. I’m coming!”

Dristen knelt and carefully peeled back the woven rug beside the coffee table. His breath caught in his throat as he pried loose the mismatched floor plank. Inside the dusty cavity lay a small object wrapped in black cloth. Ajax’s footsteps drew closer. Dristen grabbed the bundle and shoved it deep into his pocket.

“You know we’re not allowed here. Ma’s gonna kill us!”

Dristen pushed the plank back into place and replaced the rug. He stood in a rush as his brother walked up behind him.

“Whatcha got there?” He peered curiously at Dristen’s pocket.

Dristen pulled the empty candle holder out. “I dropped it,” he said sheepishly.

“What are you doing out here, anyway? You know we’re not allowed near Grandpa’s cabin anymore.”

“I uh... I thought that if I could bring Ma something that belonged to Grandpa, maybe it’d cheer her up.”

Ajax stared at him shrewdly. The small bundle felt heavy in his pocket; a secret waiting to be found out. He shoved the candlestick back into his pocket, and kept his hand there. Anything to obscure the bundle’s shape. Something crunched behind them. A boot on glass, or dried autumn leaves. Both boys wheeled around but there was nothing there.

“Well, you’ve got it now so let’s go,” said Ajax. “I don’t like it here. It’s creepy.”

Dristen nodded. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

Grey clouds and towering pines hid the sun as the brothers picked their way through the woods. The pathway to Grandad’s cabin retreat had almost vanished in the years since he had died, but Dristen and Ajax knew the way. Eventually the woods fell away behind them, and they made their way across the muddy and uncut yard of their home estate. They left their shoes at the door as they entered the eerily quiet house.

“Ma?” Ajax called. It echoed down the long hallway. Silence.

“I’m going to go see Dad,” Dristen said. “He’s probably still in bed.”

He made his way toward the stairs at the end of the hall, but stopped at the doorway to the sitting room. “Ma?”

She sat motionless on the sofa, staring into empty space. A full mug rested on the coffee table, untouched.

“Ma, I got you something.” He pulled the candle holder out of his pocket and held it in front of her. She stared past it.

“Ma, how long have you been sitting there?” Ajax whimpered as he came up beside Dristen. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle shake. Nothing.

Dristen wet his cracked lips. “We were, uhh... we were in Grandpa’s cabin,” he confessed.

“That’s nice, dear.”

“Ma. Snap out of it.” Ajax’ voice turned hoarse. He shook her shoulder again. Harder. A tear marked a wet track down his cheek.

“Leave her be, A.J.,” Dristen pulled his brother’s hands away. “She just needs time.”

“Time? She doesn’t need time, Dristen! She needs Katie back!”

A slap to the face. Dristen’s anger flared, and he clenched his fists. He slammed the candle holder onto the coffee table and dragged Ajax out into the hallway.

“Don’t,” he growled and threw Ajax against the doorframe, fists clenching his collar.

Ajax smacked his hands away and barged back into the sitting room, muttering angrily under his breath.

“Ajax!” Dristen shouted after him. He started to follow, but froze at the doorframe. Ajax kneeled in front of Ma, but her hair floated as if weightless, and her eyes were a dead, milky white. Dristen choked back a gasp and stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet. His chest tightened, refusing to let in air. How could Ajax not see it?

“What’s wrong with you?” Ajax frowned, glaring at Dristen from across the room. “Come on Ma, we need to get you up and moving.” He took her hand, and in a blink, her hair dropped again to its listless, pale yellow. She slowly lifted her face and stared blankly at him.

“I…” Dristen started, but he’d already been forgotten. He swiped angrily at his cheek and rushed from the room.

Down-turned photo frames decorated the small stand next to the staircase, the faces within hidden. Empty hooks dotted the walls up the stairs, in between captured memories of Ma, Dad, Dristen, Ajax. His family; laughing, smiling. His hand quivered as he placed it on the banister, but he clenched it and forced himself to climb, fixing his gaze dead ahead.

At the stairwell’s middle landing he froze and peered out of the window. The woods seemed to glare at him, and something moved beneath the shadow of the trees, slowly approaching the yard. A figure. His breath caught. It looked like… Grandad. He glanced quickly towards his parents’ bedroom. Maybe Dad was out of bed, gathering wood for the fire. But when he looked back, the figure was gone.

He dashed up the second flight of stairs—away from the window, from the woods and Grandad’s shadow, from the empty hooks; and the empty eyes of his mother, downstairs. When he came to his parents’ bedroom he paused and pressed his ear against the door. “Dad? You in there?” Nothing. He gave a few small raps against the door.

The door hinges creaked as he quietly pushed inside. The heavy curtains were drawn, blocking out all light. He could barely make out the lump that was his father hidden beneath bulky winter quilts. He pushed further into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar to let in light. “Dad?”

Dristen inched towards the bed. Dad’s face was hidden beneath the blanket, and he wasn’t moving. Fear itched at Dristen’s sides, daring him to look. He peeled back the covers, and lurched backwards, pulling the blanket with him. Dad’s legs stretched at an odd angle; his arms twisted, hanging limply. His neck crooked, bent. His body, broken. Mangled. Dristen’s knees seared with pain as he dropped to the floor. His lungs seized, clutching at air that wouldn’t come. They were dead. All of them, dead and empty. His hand trembled as he reached slowly toward his father’s corpse.

At his touch Dad twitched, and mumbled in his sleep. Dristen’s breath returned in a rasping cough as he stood in a rush of relief. Dad lay curled in a ball, everything in its right place. The shattered man pressed his face into his pillow, mouth twisted in silent anguish, cheeks puffy and red. He’d been crying again.

“Dad?” Dristen said again. The troubled dreamer let out a soft whimper. Dristen tucked him in tighter, and leaned over to plant a light kiss on his cheek. When he drew back, his tears remained, mingling with Dad’s. He turned and fled the room. He tore down the stairs in reckless bounds and sprinted past the sitting room where Ma leaned brokenly against Ajax’s small frame. Ajax’s unsteady voice called after him, but he had already burst out the back door and was hurtling through the empty yard.

The river gleamed tauntingly at him as he raced down the small winding pathway to her.

She sat with her back to the river, flowers decorating her face.

Katie Everkessair

1986-1994

Beloved daughter and sister.

The river took you from us. May it take you somewhere beautiful.

Dristen collapsed in front of Katie’s stone, unable to stop the choking tears. His hands shook as he shoved them deep within his pocket and drew out the small bundle of black cloth, but he stared at it for a moment, unable to open it. Somewhere along the path by the river he heard noises. Rushing feet. Awful, stalking cries; something coming closer—coming to stop him. He couldn’t let it. Trembling, he unwrapped the precious bundle, and drew out the delicate amulet. This isn’t right.

Disbelief. Rage. He crushed the necklace between his fist; it broke apart easily. Pale plastic pink, and cheap black. He left the trinket where it fell, and turned towards the stone next to hers. He swung his foot out violently, leaving a crack along its top edge.

“You lied!” he yelled, and struck again, leaving a second crack. “It was supposed to bring her back!” His clenched teeth pierced his lip, and the taste of blood touched his tongue. “You’re useless!”

“Driiizten!” The cry sounded horrible; scathing and shrill. A cry of the unnatural.

Dristen whirled toward the sound. A marred, bloody monster rushed towards him; eyes a soulless black, teeth piercing needles, and claws like razor-sharp saws. His mind screamed with icy fear and his muscles seized, but he forced himself to raise clenched fists to defend himself from the horror.

The monster roared again, claiming him as its prey. Its claws tore into his right shoulder and pushed him against his grandfather’s gravestone, crushing the dried flowers, knocking over the small, brittle book.

Dristen cried out in pain and swung his fist at the creature, but another monster materialised and sunk its claws into his other shoulder, holding him down.

“Drizzdnnnn, sstoggghh!”

A third monster launched at his legs, tearing into him with its vicious teeth. He kicked and struggled, but he couldn’t break free. His tongue ached with the taste of salt and metal. He was numb, empty. Like the hole in his heart. He glanced over at Katie’s stone. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? To join her? He closed his eyes and gave in.

“Dristen, stop!”

Pain erupted across his cheek. He blinked in surprise. Ma knelt before him, her open palm reddening and wet with his tears. A.J. clung to his right shoulder and his father’s iron grip clenched his left, pinning him with his back to his grandfather’s gravestone. Vaguely, he took in the splatter of blood next to his head, and the pain in his foot. His foot, covered in red and twisted at an odd angle. An image sprung to his mind, of muddy shoes left by the doorway. The full force of Ma’s furious stare bore into him; and the realisation of what he’d done.

“I was going to bring her back,” he said weakly. “With Grandpa’s amulet. I was going to bring her back.”

“Dristen!” Ma cried, clenched hands trembling, knuckles white. “It was just a book! Dristen she’s gone, we can’t bring her back.”

Dristen couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat. “I have to. I have to.” He wrenched out of A.J. and Dad’s grasp, and pushed past Ma.

“Dristen you can’t!” Ma caught at his shirt. He wrenched himself away.

“I have to!” he screamed, his eyes screwed shut. “I have to.” He knelt in front of Katie, and dug his fists into the dirt. “I have to.”

Ma grabbed him again and hauled him away. He struggled in her grasp, but A.J. and Dad added their arms to the bundle, locking him in place.

“Dristen,” Dad said, his usually strong voice broken. “Dristen, it’s not your fault.”

“But I should have been watching—”

“No, Dristen!” Dad’s arms crushed tighter around him. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

Ajax sobbed into his shoulder; Ma clung to him. Looked upon by the graves of his sister and grandfather, Dristen wailed away his frustrations. Blood and tears. An amulet of salt and metal twisted around his neck; a noose that he could never remove.

The only monster lived inside of him—it lived in all of them. They all wore the amulet.