Short Horror Stories

Veins of the mountain

As a young child I had always been rather sickly, it was easy for me to catch whatever could get close enough.

One day a terrible plague entered my village and wiped out most of the population.

I should have died back then, but my father made a deal with the healer, an old lady whom lived on the edge of our village.

In return however we would be enslaved by her, unable to disagree with her and forced to work until we drop.

My father knew full well that this was the outcome, but he didn't want to let me go.

I guess I can say that the healer did a good job, I haven't felt sick after that one time. Both my father and I have much to thank her for.

Yesterday a couple of other village kids and I got sent into the mountain, the holy mountain for that matter.

This journey is something meant to be kept hidden from the ordinary villagers, after all they care much more about it and its history than any other.

It is said that the mountain can heal kind travelers and perform miracles. You could even go so far as to call this mountain our 'God', the one that will protect us against the cold wind from the mainland and let us live in peace. And in order for it to keep doing that, it should remain protected.

None of us are allowed to go onto the mountain, and to hurt it, is even worse.

I guess we are going to do that right now.

We're forced to turn against our own God, in order to please this old lady that's our master.

Dressed a bit too thin for this cold weather we slowly climb the mountain.

Stone by stone, we climb the giant.

Careful not to slide away into the darkness by loose stones or slippery ice.

The higher we reach, the harder the wind blows us, making us slow down even more.

I can't feel my toes anymore, but I'm lucky that my fingers haven't turned black yet like with some of the others. I don't expect them to make it off of this mountain alive.

A gust of wind seems to whisper: "Don't come here, go back, go back to your warm safety." In my ear, but I can't. I want to, everything is better than here, but I can't. If I don't, punishment awaits and I'm still not sure how far our master is willing to go with it.

She really wanted us to get something from the mountain, she seemed to be obsessed with the thought of getting even only a piece of it.

The object in question?

A part of the mountain's veins.

A legend describes it as something that could cure all, even able to quench our hunger for food or thirst for water. Something that can warm your body from the cold, something that could perhaps even undo death itself.

It really sounds like something great.

But I'm not sure how it would do in the hands of someone like her.

Would she embed the dead? Have them be her slaves as well?

What about the other villagers who still live independently?

I reach my hand to my face and pinch myself, trying to stop myself from thinking in such a manner. But it doesn't matter, the cold has taken the feeling of pain away from my face.

It's almost as if my face is frozen solid, it's heavy and cold, so much that I can't feel anything.

"It's in here!" one of the other kids calls out to the rest in a shaking breath.