The Old Soldier

Short fantasy story. In an attempt to repent, Oxer travels to an old fort he had raided ten years past.

It had been ten years since Oxer had last seen the fort. A small unimportant property somewhere far away from the capital. The perfect target for the old group of highwaymen he led. Oxer ran his fingers against the sword strapped to his waist. He had left that life behind him and had come to return the final reminder. Oxer approached the forts large wooden doors, the axes that he had used to break in were still left on the ground next to a hole in the doors. Oxer climbed through into the fort. The entryway was lit by a series of candles placed carefully on the floor as well as the light which intruded from the hole had climbed through. He turned to take note of the doors location but instead noticed it overrun by a new green glow.

    Long, thin fingers clasped the back of Oxers belt. The rusted steel clasp pricked his stomach as he fell to the ground, releasing a small trickle of blood. Oxers face hit the cold stone floor. A booming crack echoed throughout the hallway. His nose had cracked in two places. Blood streamed from his nostrils, some funnelling into his mouth while the rest collected in a pool on the stone.  His mouth was open, though he could not muster a scream. He could taste the iron. Reaching out with both bands Oxer grabbed the edges on one of the stone tiles. Slowly, he pulled himself along. His fingernails reached the next stone tile but where meet with resistance. Long fingers wrapped around his ankle. The hairs on his leg shot up and like a wave so did the rest of the hair on his body. Oxer refused to let go. Even as his finger nails splintered and cracked, even as the skin underneath split open and yet more blood pooled on the ground. The grip around his ankle tightened, and despite his cries and begs to be released the creature dragged him deeper into the forts bowls. He could see the sword, which had strapped to his waist was now sitting the pool of blood near the wooden doors.

     Due to a mixture of both fear and blood loss, Oxer had fallen into unconsciousness. When the blood began clotting at his wounds and his brain had regained its composure, Oxer was able to open his eyes. Though this did not elicit any feelings of comfort as he was surrounded by complete silent darkness. The kind of darkness that Oxer had only seen before under his bed as a child. Illusions of monsters and goblins clawed their way into Oxers mind the same way they did when he would lay awake at night and pull the covers off himself to protect from whatever was hiding in that blackness underneath his bed. Suddenly, these illusions were banished by a more immediate threat. A great clanking echoed through the room, like the chains on a drawbridge. No, it was the exactly the same as the chains on a drawbridge. It was then realisation hit. The darkness had confused Oxers senses, but he could still feel around, was lying back against some kind of stone. Not the same as the tiled floor in the hallway, it was far smoother, far more crafted. He couldn’t move his legs far apart before reaching the edge of the stone, as he could feel his feet and head planted firmly against its edges. The stone curved upwards as if he was in a bowl. The clanking had gotten closer now, and finally, Oxers understood his situation. Adrenaline shot through his veins and he raised his arms to catch the lid of the coffin. Thankfully, while it was also made of stone the lid was not thick and Oxer could halt its advance, but only for a time.

     After a few minutes, the lid of the coffin began to fall, threating to entrap him there forever. He could feel scratch marks on the inside of the lid. Whatever that creature was it had no intention of ever releasing him. If he loosened his grip for only a second, the lid would fall and he would certainly be buried alive. He fingers were still bloody from the skin which had split under his nails making it difficult and painful to maintain his grip. Ten seconds felt like a year as he heard his muscles begin to creak and moan, all thought turned to one singular goal. Survival. His senses reached out, looking for something that could help him escape. A brief sound, a hidden clasp, anything. It was then a faint scent hit his nose. It was a nostalgic smell, the smell of a youthful springtime spent playing tag in the fields. Daisies. If there were flowers, he must be near the surface.  If he was near the surface, someone might hear him if he screamed for help. Oxer took a deep breath in, holding in as much air as his lungs would allow, but before he could unleash his cry another smell snuck into his nostrils. Again, a familiar smell, but not from his youth. He had encountered this smell dozens of times whilst raiding. It was putrid. A smell which turned the sweat on his brow cold and forced the breath out of his lungs. Like rotting meat. It was the smell of corpses. The perfect fertiliser.

      As the smell invaded his nostril and his breath began to leave his body, Oxer thought of the reason he came to this place, and the sword he had lost when he first entered the fort. His mind, now invested with the rotting smell, travelled back to his youth once again. To the seaside picnics, he would have with his family. His Mother would be walking along the beach, tracing the sea with her steps and he would be playing soldier in the sand �" making castles and acting out great battles. Remembering the calm sea breeze blow specks of sand off his hands made Oxer’s grip loosen further. He remembered the conversations he would have with his father, the one piece of advice he would always give, night after night until it was all Oxer could think about and loathe over. “Living with regrets is fine, just so long as you don’t die with them.”

    The memory of these words sparked newfound life within him and like a predator backed into a corner, Oxer summoned a great feat of strength. Not only stop the stone lids advance but push it back. The chains which carried it crumpled back. They clashed against one another like bickering children. The smell of daisies returned with a fervour and with one final push Oxer made enough room to crawl from the coffin, hitting the ground hard splitting his lower lip. A thin line of blood burst from the cut and crawled its way down Oxers face.

     He raised his head and smiled, before wincing at the pain coming from his cut. The room was still a pitch black. Oxer began moving slowly in one direction, hoping to encounter a wall which he could follow to an exit. After a few steps, he bumped into something, placing his hands on the surface of this unknown object he could feel a smooth, cool surface. Tracing the edges and focusing in on the smell his suspicions were confirmed. This was another coffin. The smell of rotting reached full intensity. Oxer took a deep breath in before continuing along his path. However, after a few more steps he ran into another object, placing his hands upon it, he realised it was another coffin. Oxer retracted his hands quickly and continued walking, quickly, passing more and more coffins on his way. His cold sweat returned. Spinning around he chose another direction, now he was running. Once again, his path was blocked. Oxer closed his eyes, despite the darkness of the room and sat on the ground. Images of men and women buried alive spun in his head, screaming for help, finger tips cut and oozing blood as they tried in vain to scratch their way out.

    It was then Oxer heard a voice. A faint voice, so faint he couldn’t make out what it was saying, but he was convinced he needed to help. What if someone else was trapped in one of these stone boxes? Frantically Oxer stumbled closer to the voice, ignoring the coffins he was hitting on the way. The smells of daisies and corpses which were fighting for control of his senses had ceased. Oxer’s entire being was focused on finding the location of this voice, of helping whoever it belonged to. Finally, he reached the coffin the sound was coming from, once again he summoned his strength to force the lid off. It came crashing the ground, filling the darkness with an explosion of sound. When it had settled, Oxer could no longer hear the voice. He thrust his hands into this new coffin only to find that it was empty. Suddenly, a green light filled the room. Oxer turned and facing him was the apparition which had trapped him here and tied to its belt was the sword Oxer had carried, though now it was as transparent as the apparition and emitted a similar green hue. The sword had been returned to its owner.

     Oxer looked up at the old soldier, tears in his eyes before climbing into the empty coffin. A new lid came down but this time he did not fight it. The lid scraped the coffins stone edges as it sealed him in the dark. Oxer took a deep breath in through his nose to smell the daisies once again before closing his eyes to sleep.