The Ladies of Horror
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This Little Light 
by Alex Grehy

The Rievers are here.

Their touch is spider-soft on my back, walking their fingers up my spine to tease my hair. An unseen hand grasps my shoulder and I feel lips pressed to my neck. They whisper of forbidden things, of blue skies and warm sunshine, of running on spring grass, of laughter. But they lie, they are creatures of the dark, and know nothing of these things, so our lore is taught. 

Their cold breath huffs over my breasts, forcing my candle flame to bend. I turn my fear to resolution. The Rievers cannot pass me, I am the keeper of the flame at the threshold. It shall never be extinguished, as long as my gaze is fixed upon it. My little light protects the community of my fathers, this is my duty, so our lore is taught.

But our lore does not tell of the guardian’s terror, of my terror, trapped with the Riever’s whispers. How my belief is tested night after night. It is not for the guardians to blink, so our lore is taught.

Neither does the lore speak of the guardian’s pain, the ache and cramp of muscles standing guard. How my strength is tested, night after night. It is not for the guardians to move, so our lore is taught. 

The lore praises the guardian’s reward, a peaceful ascension into the eternal light’s glorious embrace. The novices in the temple are eagerly awaiting the day one will take my place, then another, then another. So the lore is taught.

The ritual of the lore is secret, unknown to all but the elders, unspoken, kept by the cruel leather strap that silenced my screams as my eyelids were clamped open. That stilled my struggles as my body was forced into this angelic sarcophagus, my head forever tilted towards the candle’s flame. The novices laid flowers at my lovely bronze feet before I was carried to the hall of the guardians and set at the threshold. I am surrounded by statues, I breathe the charnel stench of my rotting predecessors. For who would trust a young girl not to turn? Who would trust generations of girls to give themselves in sacrifice? To willingly submit to the elders’ betrayal?

This is my fate, forced to watch the flame until my cheeks are streaked with red tears; the clamps that fix my gaze will not rust away in time to free me. Neither will the Riever’s frantic efforts succeed in releasing me from this torture. 

This is the lore that is never taught.

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Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

More from author Alex Grehy:

Last Species Standing

Alex Grehy (she/her) enjoys writing quirky, thought-provoking horror and is a regular contributor to The Sirens Call and Ladies of Horror Flash Project. Her fiction and essays on being a lady of horror have featured in a range of publications, including Spread: Tales of Deadly Flora. Alex’s first poetry collection, Last Species Standing, which explores mankind’s relationship with nature and technology, is available on Amazon.

Available on Amazon!