Escaping the Silent City
Can Jade & Tammie avoid the curse of the city's dark secret?
Previously : Jade & Tammi paid a visit to the silent city. Their antics woke an ancient demon who pursued them. The terrified tourists fled through the maze of deserted streets, every door was locked, nowhere to hide.
“Taxi,” Jade was breathless, digging desperately in her bag for her phone.
“They’re called Bolts,” Tammi gasped.
Another angry roar sounded behind them, closer than before. The young women trembled, looking over their shoulders. Their imaginations conjured a ghastly creature as the source of the sound.
They raced over the bridge, an ancient stone construction built to rebuff invasion. Their efforts were focussed on reaching the point where cabs picked up and dropped off.
“C’mon, c’mon.” Jade’s fingers were clumsy as she keyed in her collection request via the app. Every cab was at least ten minutes away.
“We need to hide!”
Tammi agreed, but there was nowhere out of sight. The nearby park, with bushes and benches, was gated and locked.
She rattled the iron gate in vain, then she noticed the plethora of tributes. Charms of different colours and sizes, some lifelike, others stylised, were fastened to the gate, crowding the iron railings. Akin to the practice of clipping padlocks to railings as a remembrance, here every charm depicted something from the seas: fish, dolphins, whales, crustaceans, and mythical creatures like mermaids, from the ocean.
“Jade, get over here,” she beckoned, “look!”
“So many! What do they mean?”
“The islanders respect the sea, and this is their way to show it.”
“Do you think — that thing after us — comes from the sea?”
“Could be — maybe what I did I disturbed it; down the well.”
Jade supported her suspicions, but didn’t want to blame her friend.
Instead, she said hopefully, “I bought this.”
She produced an octopus key fob, a gift bought earlier that day for her brother.
“I could leave this,” Tammi touched her silver starfish necklace.
“You think it’ll make a difference?”
Any other time, Jade would be skeptical, but now she hung the octopus from a blue padlock fastened to the fence.
“Anything to get away alive,” Tammi’s voice was raspy with strain as she unclasped her pendant.
The girls’ simple offerings were overwhelmed by the plethora of charms, plushies, and candles left by the islanders to appease the demon. But they hoped for the best.
As they clung together, expecting the worst, they heard an approaching rumble. Yellow headlights swept into view, and Jade released the breath she’d been holding.
“Our Bolt!” she ran towards the taxi on shaky legs.
The girls snatched the doors open and clambered in, the cab turned and drove.
“I wasn’t expecting pickups here tonight, I heard the silent city was closed for the Festival of Kilvarjo.”
The driver was not local, British maybe.
“Yeah, it looked closed.” Jade felt unwilling to elaborate.
Tammi’s eyes were fixed on the bridge, desperate to be sure no hellish creature had followed them.
I had knelt for hours, my legs were stiff. I needed to massage knots from my neck. With awkward steps, I opened a cabinet, pouring a small glass of Madeira wine, that burned my throat, dry from praying. I’d survived, and was safe, it’s heat served as a reminder.
Safely barricaded in my home, I had been a silent witness to the demon’s feral roars, presumably roused from his resting place by the presence of the young women. They ran through our silent streets, caught like rats in a trap. I couldn’t be the only person who heard. Did they knock on any doors? Seeking help from our fearful community? Each one of us complicit with the demon’s wrath by our silence.
I doubt anyone dared unlock their door, or lower their defences to offer two strangers sanctuary. My neighbours, who are not of the cloth, are more superstitious than I. All are fearful of repercussions from the demon Kilvarjo.
I hoped the tourists escaped. I prayed they left this place, unscathed. Kilvarjo had given chase, which I countered with fervent prayers for the strangers. Tonight his footfall was heavy, his wicked claws scraping deep into ancient stone. His visage was too awful to contemplate; I have never dared to look through the shutters over my window. How his maw of jagged teeth would have run with saliva in anticipation of a feast, his sinuous body bristled with thick, coarse hair and vicious talons.
Truly, the demon is the stuff of nightmares, once seen, he can never be forgotten.
Earlier that day, I had made my tribute to the sea demon. I went fishing off the dock with a simple line and hook. When I’d caught six wriggling silver fish, I unhooked four of my catch to return to the water, a sacrifice to the ocean.
My meagre supper would be the two I kept back. As I fried and seasoned them to eat, I remained mindful of my gratitude for the fruit of the sea.
I dared to hope, with all my heart, that Kilvarjo had not made a similar meal of those two young women.
[The End]
This 3-part story is entirely fictional: Inspired by a visit to Mdina in Malta. It was originally published on Medium, by Tantalizing Tales
Love the style of this piece
love the title!