Hey everyone, here’s a sneak peak at Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie.
CHAPTER 1
THE END
“RUN…”
Cyrus turned in the direction of the voice. The chamber was cold, dank and ill lit by dying candles weeping over craggy ledges. He smelled something sweet, yet foul in the air. Then it struck him. It was the reek of fear.
He searched the darkness. Several rusted manacles draped against the damp walls, and the odd meat hook jangled overhead.
“Fibian,” Edward cried.
Cyrus looked to the small spider. Edward clung to Cyrus’ shoulder, pointing forward. Cyrus peered ahead.
At the room’s center, Fibian lay strapped to a thick, wooden chair.
“Angels,” Cyrus gasped, “What happened?”
Candlelight illuminated Fibian’s sharp features. He was haggard, a ghost of himself. His face was bloody and battered, his nose broken and his eyes swollen. Deep lacerations outlined his brow and cheekbones. The way he sat, Cyrus suspected his ribs were broken too.
“Run,” Fibian repeated, wheezing, “Before she returns.”
He moved his head, gesturing to the rear of the room.
Cyrus rushed to Fibian’s side. He began to unbuckle the leather straps around his wrists. Long dried blood stained the chair’s deep grain.
“No, go- now,” Fibian coughed, blood spattering his lips.
Cyrus unstrapped his friend’s ankles, contemplating their escape. The only way out was the stairway. But that was suicide. Yet if they stayed…
Cyrus hefted Fibian out of the chair and hauled him to the double doors.
“Get ready to run,” Cyrus whispered.
“No,” Fibian begged.
“Cyrus,” Edward pleaded, digging his legs into Cyrus’ flesh.
Cyrus unbolted the steel lock. Something heavy clicked behind them. He turned. Beyond the shadows, a hidden door in the back wall began to edge open. A long, spidery hand reached through the crack. Cyrus’ legs grew weak. A bald, crooked, old woman emerged through the passage.
“The Sea Zombie,” Edward gasped.
The creature’s white powdered face and wooden, costume nose was spattered with dried blood. She grinned like a snarling wolf. The rip in her membrane-thin cheeks exposed dark, decaying gums.
She began to move forward with a cripple’s gait, but Cyrus was not fooled. He knew crushing strength hid beneath the grey, tattered robes.
She looked at Cyrus through black, oily eyes, their deep sockets drilled into jutting cheekbones.
“Murderer…” she said in a breathless whisper, “Thiefff!” she spat, as she raised her blackened, right arm.
The right arm that, because of Cyrus, was now handless…
CHAPTER 2
THE BEGINNING
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD CYRUS LONGBONES rushed along the sandy shore, mindful of the Dead Fence lurking in the nearby forest. The sky was heavy and grey; the wind crisp and salty. Raindrops lashed the beach.
“We need to finish the boat tonight,” Cyrus said, “If I’m not back before dinner…”
He did not need to say more. His blackened right eye told Edward enough.
“I’m afraid,” said Edward.
The velvety spider, crouched on Cyrus’ shoulder, “I’ve seen strange things over there. Weird blue lights in the night.”
“It’s an island, like Virkelot,” Cyrus huffed, running with a sheet of silk in one hand and a steel pin in the other, “You’re letting those ghost stories get the better of you.”
But the truth was; Cyrus was afraid as well. It was just that his stepmother terrified him more.
Edward was an odd, little spider. He had a yellow mark on his back that looked similar to a skull-and-crossbones. Four years earlier, a twelve-year-old Cyrus had found the seven-legged orphan clinging to a web. The boy had said hello to the creature, and the strangest thing had happened; the spider had said hello back. As Cyrus spoke, Edward began to mimic everything he would say. Over the years, Cyrus taught him how to speak and shared with him all he knew. Cyrus had also asked about his missing eighth leg, but like most of his young childhood, Edward could not recall that memory.
Cyrus cut through a withered field of bluish-grey grass and tramped over several half-buried, stone tiles. The ancient stones were weather-beaten, and each looked as large as the town churchyard. He had always wished to ask someone where they had come from, and why they ran along the entire coast, but knew he never could. He was not supposed to be on that side of the fence…
“Angels,” Cyrus cursed, as he slipped in the mud.
He fell to his bottom on a soggy patch of grass. He managed to keep Edward and the sheet out of the filth.
At the south end of the island flowed the island’s lone waterfall. The excess water from the village’s steam-powered contraptions drained into the man-made river; then into the sea. Over the years, the fall had carved its way through one of the stone tiles, clearing a lagoon where it met the ocean.
With time running out, Cyrus found his feet, waded through the pool and skirted in behind the sheet of water. There lay the entrance to a cavern. The result of an old cave-in, Cyrus reckoned. The hairs on his neck prickled.
He hurried through the darkened entrance. The air smelled moist, yet stale, the damp, sandy floor squishing through his toes. The small cave opening gave way to yawning darkness. Cyrus looked up. A massive ceiling rose dome-like above his head; then vanished into shadows.
Cyrus moved to a ledge, collected a box of matches from beside a square tin and struck a match. The stick broke in his hand.
“Come on,” he said, trying to light a second.
The matchstick’s head sloughed off. The matches were damp.
“Hurry,” Edward said, “this place gives me the creeps.”
Cyrus tried a third. On the fourth strike it ignited. The acrid smell of sulfur filled the air. As he lit the lantern, the sulfuric scent was replaced by the oily odor of kerosene. The flame attempted to illuminate a chamber larger than the largest whale.
“Let’s go,” Cyrus said, moving deeper into the cavern, “My stepmom’s already suspicious.”
The cave’s interior smelled damp and stony. Torchlight danced on the bone yellow walls.
“We’re just going to scout it out first right, make sure it’s safe?” Edward asked.
“I promise,” Cyrus said, trying to appear unafraid, “Tomorrow I’ll skip school and we’ll sail to Myrkur Island. If all goes well, we can leave this place for good.”
Edward nodded, but his round face showed concern.
At the edge of the blackness, resting on the sandy floor, lay a small, three-hulled boat. The main hull was leaf-shaped and made of dark, dunkel wood panels. Two smaller hulls hung from the sides by four horizontal struts, and a dunkel wood mast rose a foot above Cyrus’ head.
He rushed to the boat. The lantern light exposed a sandy shore beyond, verging on the edge of a vast, underground lake. The reservoir looked deep and still as it drifted off into a black, watery abyss. Cyrus had always been too afraid to explore the dark pool, but he suspected that the lake ran underneath the entire village of Virkelot. A familiar gulping sound echoed in the murk.
Over the generations, the villagers had drilled and dug a network of wells and pipelines, and like huge straws, thick, leathery hoses plunged from the cavern’s ceiling, sucking gallon upon gallon of water up to the hard-working people above.
Cyrus set the lantern on the ground. The flame flickered, and for a brief moment, all went black.
“Be careful,” said Edward.
Cyrus pulled the spider silk sheet from beneath his arm and flapped it out like a tablecloth.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
Unlike most spiders, Edward only had two eyes, and they watched in seeming anticipation as Cyrus tugged on the sail. It flexed and made a subtle humming noise. How could spider silk be so strong, Cyrus wondered?
“Will it fit?” he asked.
“I think so,” Edward said, smiling nervously.
The spider’s square teeth glinted in the dark.
Cyrus began to rig the mainsail to the mast and boom. The rigging was difficult at first, and he feared he would run out of rope, but as usual, Edward’s craftsmanship was perfect.
Cyrus moved back to the ledge and picked up the small, tin box. Inside, he kept an old, yellowed piece of paper with a drawing of a boat. The parchment smelled musty and decayed.
“Think it’ll float?” he asked, comparing the finished vessel to the sketch.
“I don’t know,” Edward said, crawling up Cyrus’ shoulder; towards the illustration.
Cyrus had discovered the drawing years ago in one of the preacher’s ancient texts. Seeing his chance to escape, he had stolen the page. The picture was crude and faded, and at first, words like ‘starboard,’ and ‘stern,’ were foreign to him, but through much study, he had learned what most of the terms meant.
“Now for the dam,” he said, collecting the pin and scrambling out the tunnel.
He followed the South River over the giant, stone tile and up into the forest. A square piece of wood, tied to a leather ball, hung from the boughs of a tree. Cyrus used a rope with a rock tied to one end to lower the two objects over the river. The board slid down a slot, and using the steel pin, locked into a square-shaped spillway, sealing a wooden river dam.
“Angels! The pin’s too big!” Cyrus swore.
“Just use a stick,” Edward said.
“No, it’s got to be smooth or we’ll never be able to unlock it. We have to do this right.”
“Then what now?” Edward asked.
“I’m going to have to break into my stepmom’s shed,” Cyrus said.
“No, if you’re caught-” Edward gasped.
Ding, ding. Ding, ding. Ding, ding.
“The dinner bell!” Cyrus whispered, his flesh goose prickling.
“Go,” Edward demanded, “Don’t worry about me. Just go!”
Cyrus scrambled to his feet, turning to leave.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Be ready.”
“You’re sure you still want to do this?” Edward called after him.
Cyrus did not bother to reply. A familiar feeling of cowardice and shame twisted in his belly. His skin flushed hot. He began to dash back over the massive, stone slabs; through the windy footpath, the trail driving him hard towards the dark and mysterious Hekswood Forest.
Hey guys, hope you enjoyed the first two chapters of the book. Check back here for more horrific content, or sign up for the newsletter.
Sincerely,
Jeremy Mathiesen