Prelude of Terror

The Erelim Graveyard. Deep in the coral maze in the ocean laid the rusting bodies of a thousand ships, huge ribs of wood jutting like the carcases rotting beasts from the rocky expanse. Fluorescent fish and sparkling schools flitted in and out of the huge wrecks.

Clad in bronze armour three figures shuffled through swirling patterns of dust, thrown up by their footsteps. Great black trunks reached from the back of their heads and stretched to the glimmering lapis lazuli of the ocean surface.

Black hair flowing and curling around her neck in the narrow confines of her helmet, the startling green eyes of the necromanceress Hecate gazed through the tiny glass porthole and out onto the shimmering scene of ancient carnage, now at beautiful peace. A voice spoke where there should be none, a deep, layered, silky voice.

“This is the Graveyard. A hundred years ago a great battle was fought here between the greatest of the South Ocean’s naval powers. Manuscripts say the battle lasted thirty days and nights and only ended when magic was brought into play. These wrecks have lain here ever since, the home to vast amounts of sea life.” Hecate flicked her eyes over the furthest, tallest figure. Tanis Ato, the right hand man of Ben Brysworth, owner of the vast Megacorporation, was leading them through the graveyard, with running commentary from his perfect voice.

“So, Mr Brysworth, would you endorse it?”

“Well,” came Bruce Brysworth’s voice after a pause, “I have to admit the views are stunning. And even after the Invasion I think the sea life here will be a draw – especially since none of these fishes are trying to kill us.” Hecate grinned in her helmet. She lifted her arm, heavy from the inflexible suit and water pressure to her helmet. Her finger reached out to tap it...

“HECATE!”

A thousand echoing voices ripped into her head. Ghastly, weak, rasping voices. Alone, quiet, but together, mighty. The voices of the dead...

“D- Did you hear that?” Hecate stammered into the com rune in her helmet.

“Here what, Miss Hecate?” Tanis asked.

“These... voices... I’m not sure...”

“HECATE!”

Once more the voices surged into her mind, banishing her thoughts, dead and dying words eating through her conscience.

“YOU LEFT US!”

“What...?” Hecate whispered, trembling.

“YOU ESCAPED AND LEFT US TO DROWN IN THE COLD, COLD OCEAN! WE WORSHIPPED YOU, OUR CREATOR, AND YET YOU ABANDONED US!”

“No...!”

“NOW WE WILL HAVE OUR REVENGE!”

The dusty ground suddenly erupted in sand ahead of her. Hecate reeled back, gazing at the disturbance. A decayed black-and-red hand reached up and out.

“What the hell is happening?” Tanis cried.

“Get us out of here!” Bruce yelled. Though transfixed by the emerging zombie from the ground Hecate could just make out through the corner of her eye Bruce’s hand clasp the rope that bound his waist and follow up to the surface and tug tightly.

“One... two... three...!”

Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis the zombie ahead of Hecate reared its terrible head. The hair had long since fallen away and only tiny layers of skin clustered around its skull. Empty white eyes stared from exaggerated sockets, pupils evaporated.

“They aren’t pulling us up!” Bruce cried. “Tanis, do you – oh, god...”

Tanis was pedalling backwards, away from a trio of zombies. Suddenly his heel connected with a jutting sheet of wood. He tripped and fell to the dusty floor in a ghostly slewed manner.

“Stay back! STAY BACK! NO!”

The three zombies clustered around him, and descended clawed, sharpened fingers towards him.

Blood clouded the water.

“Bruce!” Hecate bellowed over the screams, “We have to get out of here!”

Tearing her eyes away from the zombie, and the horde of them that were beginning to emerge behind it, Hecate began to stumble away, into the shadow of the boat that had carried them there.

“Hecate!” came Bruce’s voice. Inside her helmet she spun her head.

He could barely be seen. The zombies were clinging to him, embracing him, pulling him down into the murky sand stained red.

“BRUCE!” she screamed.

“Hecate – remember! I...”

Sand enveloped the top of the helmet. As one the zombies twisted their decaying bodies to face Hecate.

They stumbled towards her.

Hecate spun around and walked as fast as she could in the restrictive suit. Hands clawed at her from the ground as she paced towards the steel ladder hanging from the underside of the tour ship. Her hand extended towards the pole...

A black, rotten hand clasped her arm.

Horror struck as a face of nightmare slammed up against her window. Hecate screamed. Saliva shot through yellow and brown teeth and onto her helmet. Loose skin drifted in the water. Bloodshot, mouldy pearls for eyes glared in at her.

More fingers caressed her.

Hecate tried to toss her attackers away. But they kept on coming. Her suit pressed against her skin where the undead touched it. Suddenly the sheer weight of all the hands was pulling her, pressing her to the ground.

A figure reared above her. It was clad in a torn diving suit, and the helmet had gone altogether. It knelt down towards her.

“He... ca... te...”

“Bruce...?”

His face was white. His skin was ripped and lacerated. His eye was red, and his green pupil was slowly dissolving into the sick-yellow of the rest of his eye.

From the other eye socket poked a tiny pillar of flesh.

Blood streamed around her. Hecate’s mouth was an orifice as she screamed.

Two hands cupped the side windows of the helmet, and began to pull.

“NO!”

Hecate struggled, desperately attempting to escape. She roared, bellowed, screamed.

Drowned as the water flooded in.

“NO! Please! Sto...”

Her nose and mouth filled with salty seawater. It streamed down into her lungs. They burnt.

Everything went dark as the corpses advanced...

Hecate’s eyes flicked open.

It was dark, but starlight poured in through one window. Slowly, carefully, apprehensively, she pawed the area around her.

Soft. Pillows. Duvet.

A nightmare.

She settled back, took a deep breath, and swung her legs out of the bed, nightgown swishing with her.

Muttering an incantation the fire flicked on. In its soothing, flickering yellow glow Hecate made her way gently to the windowsill. Sweat stuck to her.

Trembling fingers turned the lock, swinging the window open. A bout of cool, fresh tropical night air breezed in, carrying cricket chirps on its back. Hecate sighed as the wind rustled through her flowing black hair.

''“Bruce...?”

His face was white. His skin was ripped and lacerated. His eye was red, and his green pupil was slowly dissolving into the sick-yellow of the rest of his eye.

From the other eye socket poked a tiny pillar of flesh.''

The memory stung her. It was just a nightmare, but the images it had left would remain for a long time.

Was it just a nightmare?