Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

HORROR

RORROH BEGAN TO CACKLE AS SHE looked up at Cyrus.

“If only you had not crossed my fence.”

A grill of thin teeth grinned cheek to cheek, tearing the right side of her face. Cyrus again chopped at the door, tears streaming down his face.

“Your death could have been quick and painless,” she said.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cyrus said, striking the metal lock, “I’ll go home. I promise!”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” Rorroh said, stepping closer.

Cyrus swung at the steel bolt. With a spark, the lock broke. The door creaked open.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Rorroh asked, her face snarling behind her white, wooden nose.

“Cyrus, what’s going on? Where are we?” Edward asked, half asleep.

The spider was beginning to rouse, trapped within the glass tube.

“It’s okay,” Cyrus breathed, casting a quick glance down at his best friend.

Edward’s vial rolled back and forth along the deck with the motion of the sea.

What was Cyrus going to do? If the stranger could not stop Rorroh, how could he? He thought of making a run for it. She was too close.

Cyrus turned on the witch and raised his ax.

“Please, just let us go.”

“Let you go? But you’ve only just got here.”

Rorroh came within striking distance. Cyrus prayed to the Angel King and swung with all his might. The blade arched through the air, whistling towards her skull. Rorroh caught the ax by its neck, the blade inches from her face. She wrenched it free and broke it in two.

“Wha-? Cyrus, run!” Edward shrieked.

The spider was now fully awake, clinging to the wall of the glass.

Rorroh reached out to grab Cyrus. He pulled away and tripped, falling to his backside.

“Edward!”

He clutched at the glass vial and pulled it away from Rorroh’s reach. Then he kicked and scrambled himself against the wall. There was nowhere to turn. He was trapped between thick hull boards and a child-eating demon.

“No,” he cried, hugging his legs tight to his chest.

“Cyrus, run!” Edward screamed.

Rorroh, an arm’s reach away, grinned in delight. The torn half of her mouth was a wolfish snarl. She came nose to nose with the boy.

“I was going to save you for the stew, but you’ll be just as tasty raw.”

Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please…”

With long, coarse fingers she gripped his throat and pinned him to the wall. Cyrus felt something drip on his face. He forced himself to look. Rorroh’s bloated tongue squirmed in her mouth. She dislocated her jaw and opened it wide. Dark drool dribbled onto Cyrus’ cheek, smelling of vomit and tar. She was going to bite his face off, tear out his throat. Cyrus attempted to scream. He could not find the breath. Then he heard what sounded like a hissing barn cat. It came from the vial in his hand. It was Edward, seething and clawing at the glass wall. He appeared crazed, like a rabid dog, his fur on end. The witch pulled away, frightened. Then she peered over her shoulder. Cyrus suddenly became aware of the scent of burning oil and fertilizer. He looked past Rorroh. The galley was on fire. More specifically, the stranger was up, knife through his chest. He had opened the stove and was casting flaming logs about the cabin, setting it ablaze.

“My ship, no!” Rorroh shrieked.

She leaped up at the stranger, striking him with a heavy palm that sent him skidding across the deck. Then she grabbed a large cloak and began to smother the flames. The stranger staggered to his feet and stumbled towards Cyrus. He gripped the wall for support.

“Come, while there’s time,” he croaked.

He held a slender, webbed hand out to Cyrus. Paralyzed with fear, Cyrus looked beyond. Rorroh was knocking over shelves and flapping her cloak out, trying to extinguish the blaze.

“Quick,” the phantom said, dark blood dripping from his mouth.

Cyrus looked to Edward. The spider trembled with anger and terror. Cyrus reached up and took the stranger’s hand. His grip felt like steel wrapped in silk. With the door’s lock broken, the stranger threw it open and pulled Cyrus up a narrow set of stairs. They burst through a hatchway and found themselves in the cabin where Cyrus had first been drugged.

“Help me trap the witch,” the stranger said.

Cyrus clutched the vial between his teeth. Together he and the stranger ripped and pulled the potbellied stove from its chimney. Footsteps crashed up the stairway. Cyrus and the phantom dragged the iron furnace over the top of the hatch. The hatchway jumped and cracked.

“Open this door, or I’ll eat out your liver,” Rorroh shrieked.

The phantom tipped a shelf onto the stove, adding to the blockade.

“Watch out!” Edward screamed.

Cyrus heard wood splinter. Then something snapped tight around his ankle. He instinctively jerked his leg away. It would not budge. He looked down. Rorroh’s branch-like arm reached through a crack in the trap door. It was pulling his leg below. He took Edward’s vial from his mouth.

“Help,” he cried.

If she got his leg down the hole, she would surely chew it off. The phantom grabbed Cyrus’ arms and tried to pull him free. Rorroh’s grip was too strong. Cyrus was being dragged under.

“No!” he shrieked.

His ribs throbbed. He searched for a weapon. It was no use.

“Quick, take mine,” the phantom said, gritting his teeth.

The veins in his corded neck swelled. Cyrus looked to the knife protruding from his heart. How was he still alive?

“There is no time,” the stranger shouted.

Cyrus’ foot was two inches from vanishing down the hatch. At best he would be crippled for life. He reached out and grasped the blade. The phantom winced in pain. Like a stiff cork, Cyrus twisted and pulled the knife free. The stranger let out a death choke and seemed to wilt, but still, he held on to Cyrus’ wrist. The weapon dripped arterial blood down Cyrus’ hand. He looked down at the boney, grey limb trying to pull him under. Gripping the knife dearly, he took a deep breath, then struck with all his might.

“Ssssaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!”

The blade found its mark, slicing Rorroh’s hand off at the joint. Black blood spewed from the wound. Cyrus and the stranger flew back from the hole, crashing into the door. Cyrus dropped the vial. It shattered against the deck.

Rorroh’s severed limb thrashed and sprayed, before recoiling below deck. Her screams ripped through the ship like a shock wave.

“Come on,” Cyrus said, scrambling to his feet.

He collected Edward off the floor, then found his clothes in a pile near the door.

Outside the sun fought to break through a heavy fog.

“Cyrus, your leg,” Edward said, running up his arm.

Cyrus looked down and found Rorroh’s severed hand still clutching his ankle.

“Holy Sea Zombie!”

He used the stranger’s knife to skewer the appendage and fling it into the sea.

“Over here,” the stranger gasped, slouched over the ship’s railing.

It was their boat, moored to the rope ladder below. The stranger must have secured it.

“Quick, before that thing breaks out,” Edward said.

Cyrus dropped his clothes overboard and began to escape into his craft. He kept one eye on his strange rescuer. Why had Rorroh called him a traitor?