The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Acras 
by Karen Soutar 

Maybe hitchhiking hadn’t been the best idea, Jake reflected. In fact, he hadn’t been hitchhiking, had he? He had been walking. For at least three hours, now, he reckoned. He didn’t want to look at his watch. It would just annoy him.

He checked his guidebook. ‘The village of Acras is a picturesque addition to the wild headland of…blah blah blah.’ He tucked the book way again. Hopefully there’d be a hostel, a small hotel…and if not, well, he’d slept rough before. It was a warm night, and dry.  He had supplies in his backpack. He’d survive.

He became aware of a noise, coming from behind him, getting louder. A bloody car! Typical, when he was almost there. Perhaps he could bag a lift for the final stretch, though. Jake stuck out his thumb.

The car slowed, then stopped. The window wound down, revealing a wrinkled walnut of a face, below a mop of unruly white hair.

‘Hi!’ Jake tried a friendly grin. ‘I don’t suppose you could take me to the village, could you? I think it’s only about a mile…’ His voice faltered as the old man at the wheel shook his head vigorously.

‘You don’t want to go there. You come with me. That village – no good.’

‘Oh?’ Jake stared. ‘Why’s the village no good?’

‘It’s no good!’ A wizened hand reached out and grabbed Jake’s wrist, iron fingers digging in. ‘Come with me, I’ll look after you. Come!’

‘Er, no thanks.’ Jake pulled his hand away with some effort. ‘On second thoughts, it’s a nice night. I’ll just keep walking. Thanks for stopping, though.’

‘Young idiot!’ The driver was practically spitting now. ‘Get in! Last chance!’

Jake hitched up his pack and walked onwards. The car revved and sped past him, the old man still shouting. Something that sounded like ‘Watch out for the rocks!’

‘Watch out for the rocks?’ What the hell?  Jake wasn’t a kid. He knew the dangers of this coastline. What a cheek.

***

The village was beautiful.

Jake gazed at the place, nestled in the cliffs, lights in a few windows. Moonlight glistened on the water in the tiny harbour. White foam frothed gently at the edges of the rocks and the breakwater. That reminded him, he could really go a latte.

It didn’t look as though he was going to get one, though. A walk around the village showed no hotels, hostels, not even a bar that he could see. Nobody about. Weird.

Oh well. He made his way to the harbour, drawn to the glinting sea. Wide steps led down. He chose a step high up, well away from the water’s edge. Jake rummaged in his pack. He snuggled into his sleeping bag, his back against the rocky outcrop from which the harbour buildings seemed to grow seamlessly. As he munched on a cereal bar, he gazed out over the sea. A wonderful sight to fall asleep to.

A small boat puttered into the harbour. A figure stood holding the tiller, the other arm waving wildly. Jake stared. It surely wasn’t…?

‘You come with me!’ The white-haired old man yelled as his boat approached. ‘Come now! Jump down!’

‘You!’ Jake struggled to stand. ‘Are you crazy! Leave me alone!’

Ripples formed behind the boat. A dark mass rose, gleaming, moon-like eyes glaring balefully.

Jake gasped. ‘There’s something behind you! Oh my God, what the hell is that? Watch out. Watch ou-‘

His shouts were abruptly cut off as the rock face behind Jake opened up with a hideous grinding sound, and a gaping maw swallowed him whole. A furious crunching was followed by – silence.

The boatsman cut the engine. He turned to the giant head which broke the water behind him.

‘They never listen,’ he complained. ‘Why do they never listen?’

A rumble came from the creature.

‘I know, I know, I’m crazy. I see monsters, I talk to them…I must be crazy.’

The creature rumbled again.

‘Yes, yes, I know you’re real.’ The old man patted the huge head, then pointed to the rocks, now silent and still once again. ‘But so is that. Oh well, let’s go.’

Giant tentacles swished as the creature exited the harbour, followed by the little boat.

Behind them, the village lights went out.

(‘Acras’ is Scots Gaelic for ‘hunger’).

Fiction © Copyright Karen Soutar
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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