Happiness and Misadventures

Liquid Gothic

I took advantage of a rainy day to finally write a new story. Wrote and reviewed in a single day. I know it is forbidden, but as I wrote in the previous post, there’s no time to lose in these days.

Hervé couldn’t get rid of the images in his head, they kept recurring before his eyes. He was running on the muddy trail in the woods, damp up to his knees. The well was ten minutes away; there was plenty of time to rethink his guilt. He knew he was responsible.

His older sister had been ill for ten days with a high fever, and the chaplain was constantly at their place, blessing her and praying by her bed. Nevertheless, he had very little hope for her. He eventually suggested reaching the well of Saint Denis, whose holy waters were said to be remedial. Desperate, his dad sold their cow and two sheep, and got a whole silver sou, the largest amount the boy had ever seen. Hervé was given this huge treasure, and had specific instructions: reach the well –about five miles after the village–, offer the coin to the Saint, and fill up the costrel with water.

Unfortunately, some devil must have cast a curse on him! When he left home, black clouds were approaching on the horizon, almost touching the lush hills of central France. He didn’t care much about the weather, and started running. From their farm, he reached a hamlet with just a dozen of people –there wasn’t even a church–, then followed the unpaved road towards the larger village. Before he could reach it, heavy raindrops started falling, and within ten minutes he was cold and soaked. When he was a child, he often played in the woods in that area, and knew of a trail which could save him a few minutes. Impatiently, he abandoned the main road to get the shortcut, but he didn’t think how sludgy the footpath would be. The thick rain made his leather shoes stick to the mud, and eventually he fell face down. When he got up, he wiped himself as best as he could, and kept running. After fifteen minutes, he reached the well.

A tiny stone chapel had been built around the spring, several paintings and sculptures adorned the building. Hervé entered the wooden door, wide open, and kneeled while making the sign of the cross. The well was in the center of the building, with a rope and a bucket attached to a pulley. It was late afternoon, the sky was dark, and just a faint light entered from the windows. He stepped in and looked in the pit: it was totally black, no water could be seen. With his hand, he reached into his pocket to get the sou… but it was gone! He patted all his body, looked in every corner of the mud-stained clothes, but couldn’t find the silver coin, so small yet huge. It must have fallen when he stumbled. He considered going back to that spot, but the rain was pouring too hard for the coin not to be covered by the mud. It was his family’s whole fortune, and he wasn’t capable of guarding it.

There was no time for self-pity, so the boy took a decision without pondering too much on the consequences: if Saint Denis was good-hearted, he would understand his situation, and offer his healing help without any pledge.

The rope was twisted around a stone on the side of the well. Hervé untangled it and lowered the pail. After a moment, he felt it touching the water with both his hands and ears: the sound was muffled by the pouring rain, but his tact did not fail him. When the bucket was pulled up, it was full of water. He opened the costrel, a portable bottle with a cork, and filled it. Some drops fell on his hands, so ice-cold that made him jump. He chuckled nervously, thinking to himself, It is a well, the water is cold down there, you knucklehead. Despite those words, his skin seemed to burn where the drops had fallen; but there was no time to lose, so he closed the costrel and ran back outside.

He avoided running –it wasn’t the case to lose the holy water too– and reached his house safely after about one hour. The rain didn’t let up for a minute, and despite the cold, his hands kept feeling strange. When he entered home, the chaplain was there, and immediately took the receptacle.

While trying to warm up near the fireplace, the boy kept an ear to the other room, where Agace lay in her bed. He looked at his hands, which had strange black spots where the water from the well had wet them. After some suppressed noises he couldn’t get, a scream broke the silence. It was his sister! Hervé ran to the bedroom and stood by the door, deeply confused by what he saw.

His parents stood against a wall, completely frightened, staring at the bed. On it, Agace was twitching painfully, screaming with all her lungs, despite nobody was touching her. In the corner of the room, the chaplain –almost a shadow, in the feeble candlelight– was holding the rosary so firmly that his knuckles had whitened. Hervé never saw a more terrorized face. After a while, the man whispered, “Te impero, spiritus malignus, ut exis ab hoc loco!” and raised the crucifix with little conviction. The boy looked again at his sister, and only then noticed the marks on her arms. There were black spots all over her forearms, and new ones appeared on her shoulders before his very eyes. They were similar to the ones on his own hands, but… they were shaped like handprints! Black imprints were appearing on Agace’s whole body, and in the meanwhile she was shifting violently on the straw mattress. It was… something holding her, yanking her. Hervé instinctively stepped forward and grabbed her hand, but an invisible force hit him, like a hammer in the chest, and was thrown back against the door frame. His mother screamed, and when he got up again, his fear grew even more: his sister’s body was sinking into the bed, one limb at the time. Her legs had disappeared in the wet linen sheet, and her left arm was being drawn downwards. Her eyes were wide open, she was completely awake compared to previous days: she was aware of what was happening, but nobody could comprehend. At last, a black hand-shaped mark appeared on her mouth, and her voice was muffled. With a final tug, she disappeared in the straw mattress, leaving the room in total silence. Only the heavy breathing of all those present could be heard. They all stared at each other, and at the bed.

When the boy asked what had happened, his father said that Agace had only been wet with the water he had brought. Not even an instant passed, and Hervé had an intuition: the pledge. Without giving anyone an explanation, he quickly wore his shoes and sprang out the front door. The rain didn’t stop, and the road was barely visible. He passed the hamlet and then took the shortcut through the woods. He focused on remembering where he had fallen, retracing his previous steps, and when he reached the supposedly correct point, he kneeled down deep in the mud. He rummaged and scavenged everywhere, but could only find stones and bits of wood. When he was about to give up, after maybe five minutes, his fingers grasped something flat and metallic. He immediately picked it up and cleaned it as best as he could, rubbing it against his shirt — there it was, the silver sou! He got up clumsily, completely covered in dirt, holding the small coin in his hand with all his strength.

When he reached the church, only the occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the surroundings. Inside it was pitch black, so he stepped cautiously, and kneeled in reverence. He leaned towards the opening of the well, straining his ears — silence.

“Agace?” he called with trembling voice. No response.

Then, he opened the hand holding the coin, and noticed that it was bleeding because of the excessive strength. He cleaned the coin once more and kissed it, while murmuring a prayer; then he stretched forth his arm, and dropped the coin in the blackness. He couldn’t hear any sound when it should have hit the water. Maybe it was covered by the heavy rain, but he wasn’t so sure.

Time passed. First, he kept staring at the void in the well, but after a minute or two, that stillness became unbearable. He sat against the stone wall, and waited. He kept praying, even if his thoughts were not directed to Saint Denis. The boy could sense that there was something else, much older than the stone church and the saint to which it was dedicated. He was lost in his thoughts, exhausted, and eventually dozed off.

When Hervé woke up, he was startled and scared because it was totally dark, and he couldn’t remember where he was. After a moment, he recalled everything, and calmed down. Outside, the storm was gone, and the sky was of the color that precedes dawn. He got up, and approached the well one last time. He looked down, and saw nothing. The boy let out a heavy breath, and stepped towards the exit. Then, he heard it: a distinct whisper, a sigh, from inside the well.

He immediately ran back and called, “Agace!”

There were more sighs, a girl was crying down there. “Hervé? Is it you? Where are you? Where… where are we?”

The boy lowered the rope and helped his sister out of the water. It was difficult because she was very weak, but they succeeded. When she stepped out, he drew her in a hug, and cried with relief. When he let her go, the first sunlight fell on the chapel stones and lit them up.

“What is it?” asked Agace, seeing the worried look in her brother’s face.

“Uh — Nothing, I’m just tired. Let’s go home,” he replied with little conviction. He couldn’t tell her that her body was full of black hand-shaped imprints.

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