"Heed my words Son!"
Vincent didn't. Heed them.
Vincent didn't. Heed them.
As soon as he'd finished school he dropped off his bag in the porch and ran to the farm's Black Sheds at the wet bottom of the sloped field. He stared at them nearly every afternoon, his vivid imagination running wild. What a school essay he could write!
The Sheds was a dilapidated out-building made of ancient stone and rooved with rusted corrugated metal sheets painted black. Cobwebs smothered the split doorway and a foul smell drifted out from the dim interior. There had been two sheds once but now there was only one, the other simply having collapsed in on itself. However locals still referred to them as the Sheds. It had stuck.
An archaic cattle crush lay abandoned outside from the days when the Sheds were an important part of their ancestors' beef herds but those days were long long gone. The modern farm now was a mix of arable, some free range chickens, a few sheep, conservation and camping. No great enterprise but the family got by and they lived in the beautiful moors.
The Sheds had always been troublesome as far back as anyone could remember. Stories of strange noises and worried cattle abounded among the farming locals and more intimate tales of horrible visions and noisome imps had been passed down the family's generations. It was absolutely for the best that no-one went anywhere near them anymore.
Left alone the dire structure was returning to a nature unto itself. Bruised ivy crawled up the cracked stone walls and twisted oaks punched the rusted metal roof. There were unaccountable ash heaps strewn outside in the long decrepit grass. Spiders consumed each other and little shrieks of pain squealed continually from the undergrowth. Larger things burrowed round the drainpipes leaving wet trails through the fetid tussocks as they dragged helpless prey below the rank threshold into darkness.
Older ones in the village spoke of the Black Sheds harbouring the devil's chemist. Rot and Consumption was in those parts and even whispers of a more ancient corruption can sometimes be discerned in fireside tales on Winter nights. The dreaded Black Death, a loathsome relict that had plagued the valley, doubtlessly festering still like a stain in the soil and stone.
"There's Satan's sickness on those Sheds!" they warned.
Vincent wasn't bothered about any of this tittle-tattle. Curiosity had got the better of him and he had to take a look for himself inside those sullen sheds.
So one afternoon he summoned all his courage and stepped through the rotten timber door. It creaked as it slowly swung open and the boy was inside.
The interior reeked of dereliction and decay. Weak daylight misted through ivy-choked windows.
The Sheds was a dilapidated out-building made of ancient stone and rooved with rusted corrugated metal sheets painted black. Cobwebs smothered the split doorway and a foul smell drifted out from the dim interior. There had been two sheds once but now there was only one, the other simply having collapsed in on itself. However locals still referred to them as the Sheds. It had stuck.
An archaic cattle crush lay abandoned outside from the days when the Sheds were an important part of their ancestors' beef herds but those days were long long gone. The modern farm now was a mix of arable, some free range chickens, a few sheep, conservation and camping. No great enterprise but the family got by and they lived in the beautiful moors.
The Sheds had always been troublesome as far back as anyone could remember. Stories of strange noises and worried cattle abounded among the farming locals and more intimate tales of horrible visions and noisome imps had been passed down the family's generations. It was absolutely for the best that no-one went anywhere near them anymore.
Left alone the dire structure was returning to a nature unto itself. Bruised ivy crawled up the cracked stone walls and twisted oaks punched the rusted metal roof. There were unaccountable ash heaps strewn outside in the long decrepit grass. Spiders consumed each other and little shrieks of pain squealed continually from the undergrowth. Larger things burrowed round the drainpipes leaving wet trails through the fetid tussocks as they dragged helpless prey below the rank threshold into darkness.
Older ones in the village spoke of the Black Sheds harbouring the devil's chemist. Rot and Consumption was in those parts and even whispers of a more ancient corruption can sometimes be discerned in fireside tales on Winter nights. The dreaded Black Death, a loathsome relict that had plagued the valley, doubtlessly festering still like a stain in the soil and stone.
"There's Satan's sickness on those Sheds!" they warned.
Vincent wasn't bothered about any of this tittle-tattle. Curiosity had got the better of him and he had to take a look for himself inside those sullen sheds.
So one afternoon he summoned all his courage and stepped through the rotten timber door. It creaked as it slowly swung open and the boy was inside.
The interior reeked of dereliction and decay. Weak daylight misted through ivy-choked windows.
There were old farm tools scattered in one corner, tools much older than he'd seen before. Saws, knives, mallets, spikes and spears resting on a window sill as if they'd been thrown in. On the back walls were ancient chains and shackles pinned into the masonry. Vincent shuddered at the thought of what they might have been used for.
To his horror and delight there were also bones. Human ones!
The youngster cautiously walked towards them at the far side of the building. The floor was stained with thick dark patches of slime, which continued up the stonework. The bones were both big and small. Some were still shackled but most were stuck in the pitch slick. They appeared to have been gnawed and the skulls were cracked open.
The youngster cautiously walked towards them at the far side of the building. The floor was stained with thick dark patches of slime, which continued up the stonework. The bones were both big and small. Some were still shackled but most were stuck in the pitch slick. They appeared to have been gnawed and the skulls were cracked open.
The slime on the floor and the walls seemed to be getter wetter and emitted a wholly unpleasant smell. Vincent approached and was convinced the murky stains jittered as he got closer. His shadow appeared to be part of it as it bubbled skyward towards the roof.
Vincent looked up and thought he saw something. Something scuttling over a hole in the rafters where dank ivy languished. Vincent squinted and saw what he thought was a face peering down at him, a small face hidden in the gloom. He sensed that it was smiling at him.
Suddenly the thing on the roof fell through the hole onto the shed floor, where putrefied hay was piled. It landed in it and momentarily vanished. The haylage convulsed as it writhed beneath.
Vincent was terrified and backed away.
The thing gradually emerged. It stared at the boy with blood red eyes. Though looking like a child it was without any real substance or depth. It was as if some young dead shadow had been given life. It simply removed the space it occupied and any light therein. A cold fell creature from the other side, a herald of ruin.
Without warning it sprang up and clasped Vincent round his front like a crab. It knocked the boy to the ground and dragged him by the hair. Vincent yelped in agony.
They reached the thick wet black stain.
The thing stopped.
It stared at Vincent and grinned with such dreadful malice that he started to cry. Lying in the slime his young body suddenly began to shrivel and putrefy, pustules breaking out all over his skin.
It stared at Vincent and grinned with such dreadful malice that he started to cry. Lying in the slime his young body suddenly began to shrivel and putrefy, pustules breaking out all over his skin.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!", he screamed.
No-one could hear and no-one saw the dire creature swallow the rotting boy whole before quickly leaping headlong into the stained walls, where it dissolved and vanished.
If during the coming days when the Police were searching for the missing boy they had plucked up the courage to look through the hole in the roof of the Black Sheds they might have seen a small dark form.
A small dark form with Vincent's face staring down at them smiling.
No-one could hear and no-one saw the dire creature swallow the rotting boy whole before quickly leaping headlong into the stained walls, where it dissolved and vanished.
If during the coming days when the Police were searching for the missing boy they had plucked up the courage to look through the hole in the roof of the Black Sheds they might have seen a small dark form.
A small dark form with Vincent's face staring down at them smiling.
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