Cora Frost: The Fasting Spider Read online



  Cora Frost:

  The Fasting Spider

  By Matthew Leland Smith

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Matthew Leland Smith

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this story or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  1886, London

  Jacob Fancher lay reclining in his bed. His once emerald eyes were now concealed by a granite like stain. Sightlessly and mechanically, the young teen embroidered an intricate rose design on an ivory shaded cloth. Gray thread weaved in and out of the blanched sheet. The needle dangled like a spider carefully gliding down with each downward stroke.

  Possessed nearly to the point of automation, he seemed to mutter incoherently. All the while there was no sign of consciousness over his face. This metronome like motion continued until a small knock on the door. Like being snapped awake Jacob tossed in his bed. During the furor of confusion, the needle plunged deep into the boy's finger. Pulling it out, he flung the work and the bloodied tool beside him. Three small blots of crimson dripped from his finger to a spot just adjacent to a gray rose.

  “Jacob,” a voice on the other side of the door echoed. “It's aunt Laura. You have a visitor.”

  “Come in,” Jacob said. His voice sounded graveled and parched.

  The ebony haired visitor crept in as the door creaked open. The visitor walked towards him, almost in the fashion of a funeral precession. She reached for the young boy's face. When her hand finally touched the boy, he swatted it away like a lion pawing down its prey.

  “Jacob!”

  “No it's fine Mrs. Fancher,” the visitor responded recalling her hand.

  “Are you her?” Jacob gulped in trying to rehydrate his throat. “Are you Cora Frost? Are you the woman who runs that shop?”

  Cora Frost was the shopkeeper of Eerie East End's Occult Specialty Shop. A bizarre and rumored establishment, it has garnered a reputation as a genuine source of the macabre in a sea of fakes. Though not a doctor, she's been known to make house calls. Terror usually follows those with whom she makes these calls.

  “I am,” Cora said. She looked at the impressive craft lying beside him. “This sheet is quite beautiful for someone whose eyes have failed them.”

  “It was not a hobby that I indulged in before the accident. I had never touched a needle. They seem to like it though.”

  “They?” Cora asked. Her hands etched around the fresh bloodstains on the sheet.

  “The Spiders. That's how they come.”

  “The spirits they come in the form of arachnids?”

  Jacob's eyes grew wide. They shook like orbs of smoke enticed by the candle flame that kept the darkness at bay for Laura and Cora. Small bumps began to bubble over his pale arms.

  “They are always crawling over me,” he explained. “They enter my brain and they take me over to make their webs.”

  Cora turned over to the small chest at the foot of Jacob's bed. Layers of sheets, blouses, and tapestries piled down just in front of his feet. The elaborate patterns did not end on the rose sheet nor the pile of fabric at his feet. The edges of his sleeves, his pillow, even his pant legs were embroidered with endless mosaics.

  “I have limited medical experience,” Cora said, her eyes still fixated on the drops of blood. “I brought some healing tonics and a few spell books with healing incantations. While I might abate some of the pain from your affliction, I don't know what impact my presence here will provide.”

  “I am afraid I have been deceptive to both you and my aunt,” he said, his blank eyes still conveying a sense of regret. “Cora Frost, I do not believe that you can heal me. My time on earth is dwindling. I did not have my aunt bring you here to heal me. I had her bring you here because the Spiders wanted you here.”

  Laura Fancher's face was morose, if not surprised. She grabbed the shawl she wore. The 'spiders' had weaved a pattern of pink sweat peas on it. There was a small snag that Laura played with. Each time the nightmare her nephew was challenged with, brought itself to light, she would try to un-stitch the design. Pink and green threads lay carelessly like vines over her shoulders.

  “The spirits wanted me to meet you?” Cora asked. Her eyes flickered to the habit Laura was afflicted with. As Laura tried to remove the stitches in her shawl, Jacob's hand slowly reached for the needle that was still stained with his blood.

  “Yes,” Jacob seemed to fade slightly. The bumps on his arms began to hive and buzz, reaching up towards his neck. “They wanted me to share my tale. At the end of my story they wish to bestow a gift.”

  “You, nor the spirits that have overtaken you, owe me any gift.”

  “By the end of my tale, what the Spiders want me to tell you, you will wish for the Spiders' gift.”

  Jacob began his task anew. The gray rose pattern began to hum again. Scarlet streaks dyed across parts of the thread. Jacob's eyes, even hazed by his apparent blindness, seemed to glaze even further.

  “I will listen to your tale, Jacob Fancher,” Cora said as she took a seat at the edge of his bed. “Though I hope that it's told through your voice. If the 'spiders' wish to speak to me, there are other ways to attain my attention.”

  “Since my accident, it's hard to tell where Jacob Fancher begins and where the Spiders end. Forgive us of the sentiment, but the Spiders have weaved themselves into every fiber of my being. They sustain me when bread does not nourish me. They quench me when water cannot. The Spiders relieve me when slumber is all but taken from me.”

  “You haven't slept, drank, or ate since the beginning of your affliction?” Cora asked. She was suddenly taken by dryness in her throat. She attempted to gulp it down with little avail.

  “For two and a half years,” he said. “The thing I miss most is the taste of chocolate cake. Though the taste of it now is more like ash.”

  “Your aunt didn't divulge the full details of your affliction. What caused this? What happened two and a half years past?”

  Jacob stopped as he pulled the gray thread through the top of the sheet. For a moment he seemed not to realize what he was doing with the needle in hand. It once again seemed alien to him. Tears began to form in his eyes as his chest elevated with a sudden grasp of anxiety. Laura rushed to his side. While not as forceful as his encounter with Cora, Laura's touch seemed to shock him more than comfort him.

  “It's okay, Jacob,” Laura pleaded. “Perhaps Miss Frost can come another time.”

  “No!” Jacob screamed. Urgency and fear enveloped his lungs with rasping and overpowering wheezing. “The Spiders will leave me tonight. I will not survive without them!”

  Cora grabbed Laura's hands firmly. “Jacob, please continue.”

  It took some time for the boy to return his breathing to normal. The meticulous motion seemed to give him focus. He reclined further back, all the while still stitching away.

  “It began when I and Aaron Forester were out aiding his father on a fox hunt. I don't care for hunting, but I agreed because Aaron pleaded with me. One of the hounds became sidetracked. Maximus wondered into one of the bushes adjacent to a grove of trees. Aaron and I tried to get him back out into the field. Back on to the scent of the foxes.”

  “Fredrick Forester didn't see us. His vantage point was blocked partially by the trees. He thought that we had gone off with the dog. He was distracted by his brother whom he hadn't seen in some time. All he saw was rustling. Mr. Forester fired. The bullet passed through Aaron's chest and settled at the base of my spine. I remember
seeing a black widow scurrying across the ground as I fell.”

  “You lost the ability to walk,” Cora stated. Her voice was taken aback with gentle sadness.

  “Yes,” Jacob stated completely emotionless. “The doctors couldn't save Aaron. In all reality they had little to do with 'saving' me.”

  “The doctors have stated time and time again,” Laura let out with a whimpered sigh. “There is no scientific explanation to his survival. He no longer requires food. No one can provide any answers.”

  “I have heard of a few cases in the United States,” Cora responded. “Both of them teenage girls. One even I could blatantly tell was being deceitful. The other girl, no one was able to outright disprove her claims. She did share your penchant for embroidery.”

  “That's what Aaron told me.”

  “Aaron Forester is one of the spiders?”

  “I guess it's only appropriate,” Jacob said. The smallest hint of a smile played across his lips. “I think we both should have said no when his father asked us to accompany him on the hunt. I hear his voice much more than the others. He's now asking me to join him again. I hear my mother and father as well. Their voices are more distant. They have had some time to feel comfortable with where they are.”

  The small amount of joy that had appeared on Jacob Fancher's face transformed again into cold mechanical emptiness. There was a moment of silence when Jacob returned to his work. While fixated on his task, he seemed even more distant as if listening to the hum of the wind.

  “Jacob,” Cora said, the silence broken like a pane of glass. “You said there is something the 'spiders' wanted to give me.”

  “Yes,” Jacob said, breathy and husky. “You see we wanted you to understand first. Our true nature.”

  “I have seen many oddities in this world, Jacob Fancher. I can account your tale among those many.”

  “Yes,” he said, again. “You know that I commune with spirits. You know that the Spiders whisper many things to me. What you may not know is what the Spiders whisper about you.”

  Cora looked at him with a concentrated brow. She swore that she began to feel pairs of small legs crawling up and down her arms. Forcefully, she kept herself from swatting at the unseen creatures. The candles in the room began to flicker.

  “I can't say that I haven't upset a few spirits along my path. There may even be an ex-husband who may be whispering some fairly insidious lies into your ear.”

  “Ezekiel Frost actually has come to terms with your true nature Cora Frost. He does wish you would keep a better handle over his shop though,” Jacob said, as he then turned directly to face Cora. “The Spiders wanted me to warn you of the Nephilim.”

  The Nephilim, a creature who in her own words, is an abomination crafted by magic alone and can only be destroyed the same way. Wishing for a challenge in this world, the Nephilim took her first husband, Alfonse Hayes. As a promise, if Cora could possibly give her a fitting challenge, she would return him back to her.

  Cora's eyes widened and began to shake like gelatin. Jacob stared at her with an angry and deadly gaze. The irises of his eyes seemed to become segmented in the din. Thousands of eyes seemed to peer through the milky web like film.

  “What do you know about that creature!?” Cora asked. Her usual kindness and compassion seemed to disappear in her face and voice. “Answer me!”

  “You think that you are the only one who has been touched by it?” he asked, his voice full of venom. “Do you recall the words it said to you. 'Until the time of our contest I will not tolerate death to touch you.'”

  “She...It wanted you to enter the same contest? It wanted you to grow in magic?”

  “I didn't listen,” he said, shaking his head. “My parents were the first casualty. She didn't save them away like she did with your Alfonse. My despair kept me from accessing whatever talent she thought I possessed.”

  “When you got shot,” Cora began. Her countenance returning to it’s normally sympathetic expression. “This was her way of keeping death from you?”

  “I believe it more a form of punishment,” he said. “I didn't give her the kind of sport she wished for. Yet she was bound. She found a way to keep me alive and punish me for my apparent sloth.”

  “Her magic is much more potent than any I have interacted with,” Cora said, tears forming in her eyes. “Even if you or I had wished it, I don't believe I could reverse it.”

  Jacob's face turned especially light. The webbing covering his eyes seemed to fade and sight seemed to be returned to him in a fog like haze. Still sowing, he seemed to lose the niche he was possessed by. Blood began to seep around his stomach, out through the quilt covering him.

  “The magic keeping me alive has already begun to fade,” he said, as he coughed a splatter of blood. “I have little time left Cora Frost. It is time we give you our gift.”

  Taking the thread, he cut the remaining length with his teeth. He placed the gray thread and dipped it in his blood. The crimson stain seeped deep inside until all that remained was gray.

  “The Nephilim made one mistake by keeping Alfonse Hayes from you. Fate has connected you to him. Since the Nephilim has him within her, she is connected to him as well. This thread will turn crimson in the presence of the Nephilim. It isn't much but it may be a hand in defeating her.”

  “If it can be done,” Cora said, receiving the gift from the dying boy.

  “She isn't the only Nephilim. It's been done before.......”

  The bleeding erupted from his stomach seeping all over the bed. He convulsed as if going into a seizure. Jacob let out one last gasp. A single black widow raced away from his body.

  Jacob Fancher was dead. Cora held the string tightly. Laura slumped over her nephew, but remained absolutely silent.