KNIGHTMARES

RYAN FITZGERALD

The giant’s head landed on the floor with a disgusting, wet thud. Anthon calmly wiped

the dark blood from his sword Breminir with the sash he kept tied around his waist for

just such a purpose; behind him, the looming figure swayed unsteadily for a moment

before crumpling to a heap on the ground. He sheathed his weapon, allowing a sigh to

escape from between his lips. Defeating these foes, whilst a sign of his prowess, was

simply not enough to attain the renown he desired. He sadly looked up to the sky,

thinking of the Knights of the Round Table, and wishing desperately to be counted

amongst their heroes; silently praying, he asked for just one chance to prove himself and

gain fame.

Floating in the sky, the indifferent clouds were his only reply.

Head drooping, he trudged through the muddy forest, pushing thick branches aside with

his armoured hands and arms. The metal shell encasing his body shone dully in the

daylight, its steel largely untouched.

Trapped in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the ominous rustling creeping upon him

from the undergrowth to his left until it was too late.

A flash of red.

Before he could react, a small fox had torn the sash from his waist and darted out of

sight. Cursing, the knight pledged to reclaim the sash from the sly creature, for it had

been a gift from a lady whom he loved greatly. Returning without it would be a second

blow to his pride, and he was determined to not suffer such embarrassment.

And so he left the well-trodden path through the woods, making his way into the

thickets where even the sun struggled to make headway. He pushed on against the

resistance of nature for an hour, every step plunging him further into darkness. On the

verge of surrender, he spied the sash, caught on a branch, though the fox was nowhere to

be seen.

Reaching out for the sash, his eyes suddenly fixed themselves on a strange looking

stone hidden amongst the trees. It seemed to be set apart from the surrounding rock,

seeming to call him towards it; his body moved without his consent, inextricably pulled

by an unseen force. As he drew closer, he could make out a series of strange blue

markings which glowed softly in the grey darkness of the woods.

It seemed to be a cave of some sort, and judging by the unfamiliar glyphs, Anthon

guessed that it was an ancient tomb. The rock looked completely untouched, no marks

indicating that it had ever been moved before. He decided his course of action quickly; he

believed that the strange markings must have been a kind of sealing magic, which meant

that there would be either great danger, or great treasure, within – perhaps both, if he was

lucky. Running his hands around the face of the rock, he felt a cold sensation passing

beneath his gauntlets, and suddenly the rock rolled away to the side, exposing the dark

mouth of the cave and its even darker throat. He hurried inside.

The stone rolled back with a crash, completely choking the small wisp of light that had

penetrated the murky abyss, so that Anthon was left in complete darkness. Outside, the

glyphs began to transform, shimmering with an ethereal light, until they formed words of

warning; of course, it was too late. Anthon was already trapped inside.

He who desires to enter here

Should flee this place in wisest fear;

For deep within a danger lies

That cries in vain from bleeding eyes;

A creature made of shadowed mist

That can’t be harmed by sword or fist;

These words of warning, heed them well –

Or else, you’ll turn this world to Hell.

***

His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness rather rapidly. The slimy walls of the cavern

pressed in on him, rivulets of rancid water trickling down between the cracks. As he

moved cautiously forwards, Anthon was sure he could make out a faint laughter – that of

a young maiden, gleefully enticing him forwards. A faint shadow moved in front of him,

darting around a corner. The laughter continued, quieter than before, but echoing

relentlessly nonetheless. Peering through the darkness, his attention entirely focused on

making out the obscure shapes before him, Anthon was completely oblivious to the flash

of movement reflected in the surface of the water at his feet. He didn’t even hear the

hollow hiss as the indistinct shape passed close to his head.

The shadow seemed to be leading him further into the maze of the caverns, always just

out of sight. Anthon could never quite make out what the shadow was; when he managed

to look upon it for a few seconds before it disappeared, he was forced to avert his eyes as

a sharp pain suddenly exploded in his mind. The pain was still there as he continued, a

dull throb that increased in ferocity the further he pushed on.

Stopping, still as stone, Anthon realised that the laughter had slowly been turning into

crying. The soft sobs peeled away and became horrific wails, piercing his body and soul,

shaking his very bones; the high pitched squeals of sorrow assaulted him from all angles,

reverberating slashes through the air. Concerned that the maiden was in trouble, he

rushed forwards.

The brightness blinded him.

There, right in front of him, was a table covered in piles of precious jewels and

surrounded by large, heavy chests, lids opened and revealing mountains of gold coins

inside. The precious metal glinted in the warm candlelight, the dancing flames

puppeteering the shadows. Anthon advanced, all thoughts of the maiden muted in the

face of his hunger for the treasure. He reached out, his fingers curling around the stem of

a golden goblet studded with sparkling, beautiful gemstones. Admiring it, he turned it

over in his hand, the perfectly shaped curve of the stem fitting his hand as if it had been

crafted for him alone.

His eyes grew wide in shock.

Reflected in the golden goblet, a face stared at him. It seemed to be a pale, cracked

mask, deep gouges running the length of an expressionless face. Black orbs, empty of

life, occupied the eye-sockets of the mask. Long, ragged, black hair hung limply, framing

the face like a shroud.

Anthon dropped the goblet.

As it fell, the apparition darted forwards, a scream as though from Hell itself filling the

cavern. The high pitched piercing wail drilled through Anthon’s body, shaking his very

soul. Nausea swept over him, and the world dimmed, black spots obscuring his vision as

he swooned. He managed to staggeringly turn to face the creature.

There was nothing there.

A feeling of cold dread pricked his neck.

That was the last thing he felt before he fell unconscious.

***

An eagle soared through the air, a green carpet of treetops passing rapidly beneath the

path of its majestic flight. Its wings thundered against the sky, propelling it forwards with

a steady rhythm.

A tall, thin tower emerged from deep within the trees, its grey stone a stark contrast to

the luscious tones of nature. The eagle’s shrill call pierced the heavens as it swivelled its

body and flitted through a tiny window. It circled around the high ceiling, before slowing

and perching on a wooden stand.

In front of the eagle, a wizened old man was bent over a large golden chalice, from

which a purple liquid bubbled, spitting and hissing occasionally. The old man’s face was

close to the surface, steam rising up and finding its way into his nostrils. His white beard

was slung over one shoulder, its tangled and wiry hair so messily arranged that it was a

wonder he had even bothered to take this precaution. His eyes were completely black, a

thin film enveloping them.

This man was Merlin.

Suddenly, the wizard inhaled deeply, his whole body thrown backwards, and the film

slipping from his eyes. Dark, cold blue returned to his iris, and he blinked for a moment,

before muttering under his breath.

“Dear God…she’s awake.”

***

Anthon awoke groggily, removing his helmet to lay a hand on his reeling head. Thick

brown hair fell to his shoulders, matching his bristly beard in colour. He scratched his

chin, when suddenly he remembered where he was.

His heart beat quickened.

Looking around the cavern, he could see no sign of the strange creature that had lurked

behind him. Perhaps I imagined it, he thought.

He looked down at the goblet that lay discarded on the floor by his feet. A shudder of

cold wrapped close around him. Fear – so strong that he could taste it, could touch it –

weakened his muscles, but he remained standing. He replaced his helmet, and then

moved as quietly as his armour would allow him, backing away from the treasure, until

he could no longer see it any more.

Turning around, he ran.

Flailing about blindly in the darkness, his boots resounded loudly as he struck the stone

floor, sometimes a splash of water beneath his feet snaring out amongst the chaos of his

escape. As he fled, between the thumping of his boots, he was sure he could make out the

wail of the creature, and it sounded alarmingly close. Soon, the screams were drowning

the noise of his escape.

A new sound suddenly joined them. The sound of grating stone, a deep rumbling, and

suddenly, light – glorious light! – shone from the distance.

This was all the motivation Anthon needed. His legs doubled and redoubled their

efforts, and he tore through the air, the small crack of light looming up on him with pace.

Would it be quick enough – the screams were dizzyingly loud – quick enough to escape

that Hellish place?

Dazzling him, it was all Anthon could do to stagger through the trees, arms raised to

protect his eyes. His legs had given up, the drain from having to shift a highly armoured

knight exhausting their energy reserves. But, empty or not, they carried him slowly

forwards, pushing him onwards. After a few moments, the trees fell away, and he could

see a church spire framed against the sun, not too far in the distance.

Motioning with the sign of the cross, he resolved to make it to that sacred place, even if

he had to crawl on all fours.

Behind him, the creature had pulled up close to the exit of the cave. It growled quietly,

lurking darkly in the shadows for a moment or two, and then took an experimental step

towards the light. The cloak smoked slightly, and the fiend retreated.

Soon, it seemed to hiss. Soon.

***

The moment that Anthon stepped onto the hallowed ground of the cemetery, he felt

washed of all his pains. His muscles miraculously regained their strength, and his heart

swelled with optimism. Pushing the large oak doors that led into the church open, he

strode along the long and thin red carpet that adorned the floor, making his way towards

the altar.

“Hello? Father?”

An elderly looking priest hobbled out from behind a wall, carrying a candle in his hand.

He had a warm appearance, an assuring smile resting on his two lips and echoing in his

eyes.

“How can I help you, child?”

“I seek guidance, father, and shelter. A strange being has accosted me, and I fear it may

be seeking me, with the intention to drag me back to Hell with it.”

“No demons can enter this sacred place, my child. You may rest here as long as it

pleases you. I insist that you have some water to – oh, m-my…”

The priest stuttered, cutting his sentence short; Anthon had turned to place his helmet

on a pew, intending to speak to the religious man face-to-face. Marked onto the metal

that protected his shoulder was a dark handprint, black as the shadow which birthed it.

“You…you have come into contact with the banshee! Oh, please tell me that this is not

the demon you say is chasing you? You slew the wicked creature, or closed the entrance

with magic, surely?”

“Banshee? No, I…I fled the cave, barely alive, and am now here. I am afraid to say that

I did not remain at the entrance for long enough to see whether it shut itself. Please tell

me, what is this creature, and what can be done to stop it?”

“I will tell you what I know, but you must then leave immediately afterwards! That

mark is fated to bring only slaughter to those who see it, for the banshee has wrought

great sorrow here before, slaying hundreds of men. It is rumoured that she needed only to

kill three more humans before she would be complete and therefore powerful enough to

conquer this world. That which she lacked was a pair of eyes, a heart and a soul. The

legend says that before this could be achieved, a wizard trapped her in a cave, sealing it

with a magic that would last one thousand years, making it near invisible to the human

eye. If you have unleashed this demon, I can only pray that the perpetual light of our

Lord protects us or receives us gracefully into Heaven. Perhaps the old wizard still

lives…perhaps he will come to our aid again. It is not often than old magic is broken;

maybe the Devil has decided to stake his claim on the human realm himself. I know not

how, but I know that if a screaming woman has followed you out into the world, you may

have brought death to us all. Now go; the demon cannot stand the light, but come

nightfall, you will suffer unimaginable horrors should you remain here. With the moon

behind her, this sacred place would be destroyed.”

“Father, I thank you, but where shall I now go?”

“There is a worthy knight, known as one of the greatest of Arthur’s court, who is

currently residing just a brief journeyfrom here. I will give you my horse; may you find

the knight, Sir Gawain, and perhaps together you can vanquish this devil’s spawn.”

“Father, you are too kind. I will find this knight, and we will return for you.”

“Bless you, my child, but now, you must leave, and do not return – you will simply

bring more trouble than you have already inflicted upon yourself!”

The two men hurried to the back of the church, and, mounting the friar’s horse, Anthon

commended him to God, leaving as the whisper of the wind crept upon the church.

The sky darkened ominously as a cloud concealed the sun.

***

The horse’s hooves thundered against the ground, soil flinging up into the air with each

step. Anthon pressed it forwards, urging it on in the hope that he would reach the knight

the priest spoke of.

It seemed that fortune favoured him at that moment.

Bursting out of a patch of trees, Anthon gasped as he saw a small knight fighting the

biggest bear he had ever seen a short distance away. It stood on its hind legs, slashing at

the knight with muscular and powerful paws, claws screeching across body armour. The

metal did not give way – in fact, not even a scratch showed on the gleaming gold.

Roaring, the bear dropped to all fours, gnashing teeth so sharp that they seemed to be

crunching the air itself. The knight backed away, and the bear charged forwards, a

hulking enormity crushing down on the tiny figure of the human.

As the bear neared him, the knight nimbly sidestepped, drawing his sword up in an arc.

The bear skidded to a halt and turned around in the same motion – or, at least, half of it

did. The other half slid along the floor, slowing to a stop as it collapsed to the floor.

Those last few seconds of the bear’s life as its exposed innards continued to function

were sickeningly magical; its blood suddenly gushed out, bringing Anthon back to the

gritty world of reality.

He hurried towards the knight, calling out as he went.

“Good sir knight! I wish to be considered your ally and beseech you to tell me your

name!”

“You carry a dark aura about you, sir knight – why should I believe you to be a friend

and not a foe?” the knight replied, not looking up from the dead bear which he was in the

process of examining closely. It was as if he had sensed Anthon’s presence in the midst

of his intense battle.

“If I were a foe, would I have approached you noisily? Would I not have instead come

stealthily, with my sword drawn and – ” he reached up to his helmet, removing it with

one hand, holding the horse by the other – “with my helmet on?”

“I have known many wicked foes that would attempt to use illusion to gain an

advantage. I warn you that none of them are still alive today.”

“Indeed, I believe you. But could it be that you are Sir Gawain, the man I am searching

for?”

“Why do you seek me, knight?”

Anthon’s face grew brighter. Perhaps God was preparing to fight back against the

Devil’s envoy; Gawain had been discovered almost entirely by luck, a sure sign of

Heavenly favour.

“Do you know of the banshee that is rumoured to be trapped within these parts? I fear

that it has escaped, and seek your help to defeat it.”

“A banshee? I have slain foes such as these before; certainly I will aid you. But is it not

true that banshees live only in the darkness? Then we will rest until dusk; for you look

weary, and there is indeed much time for us to prepare. Come, I have set up a camp

nearby.”

As they laid down to rest, a shadow began to close the sky. The sun grew darker,

partially shielded by the moon.

An eclipse.

***

The priest shivered, bathed in darkness. A soft crying began, coming from outside of the

church. He clutched at his crucifix, muttering prayers beneath his breath.

The sobs grew louder.

A stained glass window shattered, the multi-coloured panes sprinkling onto the ground

in a display as beautiful as it was terrifying. Another window caved in, then another –

suddenly the doors flew open. A rabid wind tore around the inside of the church,

scattering pews. The priest held out his crucifix; “The power of God will – ”

Suddenly, the banshee was upon him. She screamed, the force of her voice knocking

him to the ground, his face no longer smiling but twisted into a fearful grimace. His

fingers fumbled to find the cross.

The banshee strode up to the priest, prising his hands away from his precious symbol of

faith; she tore it from his neck, inspecting it between her fingers with those blank, black

eyes. Tossing it aside, she descended on the quivering man.

Taking his head between the palms of her hands, she placed her thumbs on his eyes,

pushing the soft orbs inwards. She felt the resistance of the priest’s eyes slip away and

anticipated the sick pop of the eyes bursting moments before it happened. Pushing harder,

she held her fingers in place until the streams of blood dried to a trickle. The priest’s

screams mingled with her own howling, until these too finally came to an end. He

stopped struggling long before he died, with only the twitches of his body animating him

for a short time after his death.

Blood ran down the face of the banshee’s mask, dripping onto the floor. Still, her eyes

remained empty, no flicker of life penetrating that darkness.

She slowly stood up, raised her nose to the air, and proceeded out of the back of the

church in pursuit of her prey.

***

Merlin was far behind, moving against the trees and wind, navigating the deep darkness

of the woods with the added trouble of the eclipse.

By the time he had reached the church, the banshee was long gone.

He bent down to examine the remains of the priest, running his finger along the blood

stains on the wall, sniffing his finger and recoiling immediately in disgust. Without

hesitating for even a fraction of a second, Merlin had left the church.

***

Anthon jolted upright, eyes widening as he awoke with a start. He felt as though he had

just witnessed something as it happened; the strange feeling lingered in his mind.

Suddenly, he looked up at the sky – darkness. The sun blazed black.

He reached out to Gawain, shaking him awake. “I don’t know what’s happening to the

sun, but it does not bode well for us.”

Pushing Anthon away, Gawain climbed out of his makeshift bed and stared up into the

sky. “This is terrible!”

Perhaps sensing the fear that suddenly erupted from Gawain’s heart, it did not take the

banshee long to find the pair of knights. She raced forwards, darting at Gawain from

behind.

He managed to sense her presence at the last moment, sidestepping and avoiding the

attack. But following her, a fraction of a second later, was a series of glass-shattering

sound waves, each crashing upon the trees with a loud screech. The noise rang off of the

metal armour extremely loudly, causing Gawain to stagger slightly.

This was the only chance the banshee needed.

She sprang forwards, this time from in front of Gawain.

The masked figure seemed to pass through Gawain’s armour, and burst out the other

side a moment later. A faint scream seemed to emanate from within him, but he appeared

surprisingly unharmed.

He turned to face the banshee, a mocking smile forming on his lips.

Within his armour, blood, flesh, muscle and bone exploded outwards, the force so great

that some parts of his body burst out of the protective metal shell. Anthon stood agape as

the great knight literally fell apart.

Deciding that remaining there any longer would be foolish, Anthon jumped onto the

priest’s horse and untied it. The horse needed no second telling; it bolted away from the

banshee, carrying Anthon along at high speed.

Stooping to rummage around in the burst body of Gawain, the banshee pulled an

untouched human heart from the mess. Placing this beneath the folds of her cloak, the

banshee gave chase to Anthon, blood flung backwards on the air as it tore away from her

face.

***

Anthon spied a building through the trees; not knowing what else to do, he managed to

guide his wildly galloping horse towards it. He swung himself off from the horse as it

ran, rolling as he landed on the ground. The horse reared, and then ran away,

disappearing into the thickets and the trees. Rushing to the door, Anthon knocked

continuously until someone answered.

His heart fell when he saw that it was a young girl.

“What do you seek, weary traveller?”

“Please, you must flee – a great demon is on its way, and it will kill you without a

moment’s hesitation.”

There was some hushed whispering from behind the door, and it was suddenly opened

fully. A number of beautiful women stood before Anthon in finely woven silk dresses.

They beckoned him in; how could he refuse?

“Do not worry about your demon friend; the power of our chastity will keep you safe,”

one of the women said as she grasped Anthon by the hand and pulled him to a secluded

room with a bed and a bookshelf. “I hope that this is sufficient accommodation until this

demon has been captured or killed?”

Truly unsure of what to say or do, Anthon decided that it was God’s will for him to

remain here. A pure example of manly strength had failed him; perhaps a feminine

quality would serve him better when confronting a female beast. He lay down on the bed,

a contrast to the rough floor he had slept on with Gawain.

One of the women leant over him, her soft breasts pressing against his hard armour.

“Try to get some sleep. Everything will be better when you wake up. I promise.”

With that, she leant over and planted a faint kiss on his lips.

He fell asleep instantly.

***

The banshee burst through the door of the house, slashing claws scattering the maidens’

bodies. They cried out in pain as they were flung against the walls. She stalked towards

the prone figure of Anthon.

“Not so fast!” Merlin yelled, throwing fire at the creature.

Terrified of the combination of heat and light, the banshee backed away, screaming in

retaliation. But Merlin had defeated the banshee once before; he could do it again. The

scream, numbed by centuries trapped in that cave, was no longer the force it had once

been.

“Wait. You’re the wizard from my dream. How can you be here?” Anthon could hear

himself asking; and yet he was still sleeping. The steady heaves of his chest attested to

that.

“Exactly. Why am I here? Shouldn’t you be more worried about what is here?”

***

Anthon’s eyes snapped open. What had at first appeared to be a beautiful house was in

fact nothing more than the charred remains of a long-lost town. Ash mingled with the

darkness to form a blinding and choking fog. Worse was the beautiful woman who had

kissed him; lips firmly attached to his, the banshee had started sucking out his soul. He

was helpless to stop her; with each passing second he grew weaker, until his eyes

couldn’t sustain themselves. They drooped; and he was dead.

The banshee screamed out again, but this time with a sinister wholeness.

After hundreds of years of waiting, she was finally ready to destroy the world.