The Stroeken

Oliver lived in a small town where the roofs were all red, the walls were grey brick, streets were cobbled, and bakery items were showcased in little shop windows. The picturesque town sat on the coast, encircled by a stone wall. Mornings and evenings were hazy from the sea mist that came to swirl and dance around the town tenants.

It was the end of winter, meaning harsh winds and the regular occurrence of thunderstorms. Walks along the shore were not advised, the tides higher than usual and waves crashing up against the jagged rocky cliffs that the town was built upon. Besides the necessity of setting out to purchase groceries and the occasional errand, most townspeople stayed indoors.

Little Oliver Bran however, always the bright and cheery child, saw the perks of stormy weather. It opened his world to fantasies of pirates and sea creatures. He’d skip along puddles up to the lighthouse that stood tall at the very edge of town, where he’d brandish his wooden sword his father had helped him make, slaying imaginary villains and putting himself in the center of every story as the daring hero. Sometimes, if he was feeling braver than usual, he’d even imagine himself saving his parents and fighting the Stroeken.

The Stroeken was a monster of lore, well known to the townspeople. Supposedly born of belief and word of mouth, it lived in a cove at the bottom of the bluff, a place no one dared venture. Even if the weather was permitting, no one climbed down the stone steps hitting out from the rock face, to the beach below, the shore too close to the supposed Stroeken’s lair.

Stories of the Stroeken were controversial, no one knowing for sure what it looked like or what it did, but tales of its talent at manipulation and its taste for the flesh of children were commonly told, most often by parents in attempts to get their children in line.

Oliver was one of the current victimized children of the myth. He’d been warned of the Stroeken when he wouldn’t go to bed on time or strayed too far from home. At first it scared him and he didn’t dare wander far from home, but when Adie Hagen had mentioned her parents telling her a similar thing if she didn’t eat her vegetables and Dalling Gale's parents if he kept hitting his brother, Oliver put it all together.

Oliver bounced downstairs, wooden sword ready in hand. After a quick glass of juice and shoving a slice of toast with jam in his mouth, he hurried outside, eager to continue his battle from the day before.

His mother’s voice floated behind him, “Oliver, the Stroeken!”

Grinning to himself at the knowledge of knowing it was all a ruse, he set off in the direction of Murr’s, the lighthouse just a few paces beyond the town’s gate.

It wasn’t too far really, and technically speaking the lighthouse was a part of town, it just wasn’t inside town lines. So even if the Stroeken was real, which it isn’t, Oliver reminded himself, the Stroeken still couldn’t get him.

As an imaginary raid of pirates began to scale the cliffside and Oliver went to the ledge at the ready with his sword of mind spun steel, a small black dot down amongst the dark waves caught his attention. At first glance, he mistook it as a seal and carried on with his adventure, but as the minutes passed, the object was carried closer till a spot of white appeared alongside the black dot. This time, Oliver stopped what he was doing, curiosity getting the best of him, and he watched and observed the black speck, watching as it got closer, closer, and closer…

Oliver’s eyes widened.

He ran to the top of the stone steps that led down to the beach, then hesitated.

The beach was a place that Oliver didn’t even have to ask his mother about chancing a visit to because he knew it was forbidden. No one walked down to it, talked about it, even so much as glanced down into the rough waters. It was unspoken knowledge that no one was supposed to go down to the beach.

Oliver stared down the crumbling stone steps. Should he chance it? He glanced at the familiar shaped outline of town then once more into the sea. If he was seeing what he believed to be seeing...

Taking the steps two at a time, he bounded down the stairs, nearly slipping on the slick stone. It didn’t deter him. He was beginning to feel time was of the essence. Finally, he reached the bottom.

The soft yet solid surface beneath his feet momentarily threw him off. It wasn’t like the ground up above, but he’d have time to inspect later. Now on sea level and looking out straight ahead, he saw his suspicions had been correct.

He ran towards the tide, stumbling only once, until his toes were just out of reach of the water’s edge, and gazed at the object he’d seen from above.

It was a young boy, about his age, skin deathly pale, lips tinted blue, and dark locks floating about his head. Oliver couldn’t tell whether he was alive, or dead.

Trying not to touch the water, Oliver leaned forward and attempted to latch onto the boy’s hair or shirt. Realizing he was still too far out of reach, Oliver inhaled, paused, I can do this, then stepped into the water.

He gave a sharp intake as the freezing water lapped around his ankles, already numbing his feet. Carefully, he waded into the water until the water was just above his knees, then grabbed the boy’s white blouse, and pulled him along behind him to the shore.

He dragged the boy up to the sand, far enough from the water’s reach before checking to see if he was breathing.

The chest was still.

Leaning in with his ear, he barely dared to breathe as he concentrated to listen for small, shallow breaths, coming from the boy's lips. He scrunched up his nose as he smelled something funny. The boy kind of smelled like Old Man Cruickshank, a villager everyone claimed was far past his time.

The boy suddenly gasped and Oliver jumped back in fright, hitting the sand.

Coughing, the boy looked at Oliver.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked.

The boy winced as he pushed himself up to a seating position. “I am now. You saved me,” he said, voice raspy.

“Oh. That’s good then.”

“It is.”

The boys stared at each other until Oliver, recovering from the small scare, said, “You almost drowned. What happened?”

The boy shakily raised a finger to point down the shore at a rock outcropping. “There.”

Oliver followed the line of his finger but could see nothing. Fog hung densely and it was hard to see far in any direction. “What’s over there?”

“A cave. That’s where- It has my sister,” the boy explained.

“What has…” Oliver began to ask until the boy started shaking his head.

“I don’t know. I heard her scream and followed her in, but before I could get a look, something hit me.” At this, the boy reached behind his head and pulled his fingers back to look at them. They were covered in blood. He looked up at Oliver. “She’s in danger.”

“I could run back home and ask my Father-”

“No,” the boy interrupted. “There’s no time. I’m not sure how long I was out for. I have to go now to save her.”

Oliver firmly gripped his wooden sword in hand. “We’ll save her.”

The boy stood. He was only a couple inches taller than Oliver. “You’ll really help me?”

Oliver nodded, grim determination on his face.

“You aren’t scared?”

Oliver shook his head.

“Maybe we should get some help…” the boy trailed off uncertainly. He was gazing down the beach.

“Like you said, there’s no time,” Oliver said.

The boy nodded. “Follow me.” He took off running. Oliver followed.

The wind howled against them as they raced against it, fighting an invisible barrier preventing them from making quick progress. Oliver kept his head down, an arm in front, barricading his face from the sand and salty water that tore at his clothes and skin.

“How much further?” Oliver shouted. Foam rolled over his boots.

“Just a bit more!” the boy yelled back, voice almost lost in the wind.

Oliver trudged along. He was starting to shiver from the cold. A jacket and trousers didn’t do much when they were wet.

“Here!”

Oliver joined his friend at the mouth of a large cave. A wail drifted out. Oliver clenched his finger so tightly they turned white. He was feeling a bit more unsure of himself now.

“Ready?” the boy asked, expression empty as he gazed in. Without looking to see if Oliver was in fact ready, he entered the darkness, echoes of wet pebbles groaning under his feet.

Oliver looked around him, seeing if there was any sudden reason he shouldn’t go, but then he remembered that heroes were brave in the face of danger. And- he didn’t want to be left alone. He scurried in after.

The air was lighter and the cave smelled similarly earthy to the cellar back home. He went to call out for the boy, then remembered he still didn’t know his name.

“Hello?” he opted for instead, voice barely above a whisper.

“Down here!” responded the boy from somewhere further along. Oliver hurried to catch up, hand grazing along the moisture-laden rock wall once the light from the entrance had vanished.

“Hey!” Oliver whispered. “Where are you?” He tried to avoid thinking about the fact he was alone in the complete dark. He had his friend.

“A bit further!” the boy replied.

Admittedly beginning to get more nervous by the minute, Oliver picked up his pace, breathing becoming heavy, feet occasionally splashing into dips of water.

“I can’t find you!” he huffed.

“Over here.”

Oliver spun. Had the voice been behind him? Maybe he’d passed his friend. But he could’ve sworn...His gut twisted. Something didn’t feel right. But, he needed to find his friend.

Mustering together the courage, he called out faintly, “Hello?”

A shuffle and splash to his right. He quickly turned, but slipped on the slick floor and fell, falling right into a shallow pool of water.

A patter of footsteps to his left. Terrified, he held his body rigidly still, sharp rocks jabbing into his legs and palms.

“Oliver”

He cried out at the sudden whisper of his name in his ear, scampering back frantically until he found a wall at his back.

“Little Oliver the hero,” a disembodied voice bounced back and forth. “Willing to go where he should not.”

Oliver trembled. Had this been the thing that’d knocked out his friend? He realized he’d dropped his sword. He frantically felt around the ground, hand finding what felt like a heavy stick. It’d have to do. He no longer knew which way was out, but maybe if he saved his friend, they could find their way out together.

With a deep breath, he stood on two shaky legs and held his newfound weapon in front. “Let-” he swallowed. “Let go of my friend!” he demanded.

“Your friend?” Laughter echoed around him. “Little Oliver, look here.”

A sudden match was struck and yellow light bloomed in front of him. With dawning horror, Oliver saw his friend grinning back at him, a multitude of sharp teeth, too many for any mouth, between stretched black lips. His friend’s eyes had gone black, and droplets of dark maroon ran down his face and drenched his clothes, matching the deep colored pools in the floor.

Blood- Oliver understood. And the sharp rocks and his makeshift sword -bones.

“Little Oliver. Didn’t your mother warn you?”

It grinned and it’s mouth opened wide- before a draft of wind struck out the match.