Here’s the first Telvan Tale! (More information can be found here) It’s probably one of the most horrific ones I’ll write so viewer discretion is advised. It’s heavily inspired by a mix of myths around Alcatraz and typical slasher story tropes. Instead of writing of a retelling of the urban legend, I instead chose to write the truth that no one knows.
Content Rating: Mature
Content Warnings (send me an ask if you think of a tag that should be added): Graphic violence, blood & gore, murder, forced captivity, cannibalism, death, extensive body horror, war (mentioned), memory loss
Word Count: 2374
Telvan Tale Taglist (ask to be added/removed):
General Taglist (ask to be added/removed): @ecwrenn
“The best time in my life was when I went to Kromhold.”
“Well golly, that makes me feel great to hear but you don’t look like you're having a whale of a time.” I laugh heartily. Not much I can do for him besides try to lighten the mood.
“I mean before all the barbed wire and concrete.” He takes his head out of his hands and looks off to the window. I know that look, I invented it. It isn't focused on what’s here or what’s to come, is to look back on what was. He didn’t need to say much past that. He’s told me plenty about him and where we are. His tone is genuine and his gaze is forlorn enough that I can’t help but feel pity for him.
My friend here talks about Kromhold when it was under a different name. I remember those days but not as clearly as him. This was back when it was a castle open to all instead of a fortress designed to contain and isolate. One could enter for a pittance and in exchange be given a memory worth a lifetime. Decadent foodstuffs lined every street. A friend lurking behind every corner. Every poster, every coat of paint, every leaf was prim and proper. I’s were dotted and T’s were crossed. It was wonderfully, perfectly, saccharine. All thanks to an anonymous benefactor, Bellanaya was able to stay open for years, ensuring at least three generations had seen its glistening walls. That was the past, and all that’s left now is a bitter aftertaste.
“What was your favorite part? Mine was the whale watching. I could catch up with the whole family from right on the beach.” Another jest, but what could I do, tell the truth?
“The teacups.” He nodded, as if to agree with himself. “Definitely the teacups.”
“You always striked me as a coffee person.”
“No, no,” waving his arms like he’s swatting away my witty retort. “The ride. Never could handle most of the others, even the bumper cars would tumble my stomach around like a washing machine. I threw up plenty of times on the trip here. “ He looks out the window and locks eyes with the sky.
Even in the past he wasn’t worth his salt it seems. It’s fair I suppose, the only thing he has to hang onto is me after all. Even his skin looks ready to leave him. Dry and gray, it clung to his bones shivering with shallow, dissonant breaths. He had to look better than this at some point, if he’d been here back in the heyday. The cars were taken out around the 14th year of business. Another 11 before we had to close up shop. Back then his name wouldn’t have mattered, only how much he was willing to spend. They needed it more than he would. But just like everything else, discounts and promotions wouldn’t help what was to come.
He takes a break from his staring match and sighs. “How’d this happen? You were here from when the park was still a park, weren’t you? What happened?”
I let loose a giggle. Unintentional and all it does is serve to unnerve him. We’ve had this conversation so many times I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this situation. Despite all the trust I’ve cultivated with him, he has troubling matching eyes with me. Granted, all he can do is look down at me from this position. “You aren’t from around here are you? From the south I bet, beyond the sea and all?” He doesn’t need to answer yes, he’s already talked about the plains where he lived enough for me to guess with certainty. I continue, “The same thing happened to this place that happened everywhere. Money was the only thing keeping us in business. Memories stopped being made and started being sold. Then the war hit the mainland. We were ready to shut down and leave, but that wasn’t an option with the flames licking away at the island. So we stayed. When all was said and done, the Sangreguila came and forced us to stay open. As you can see, the objective was still to give our visitors memories they wouldn’t be able to forget. This time they couldn’t leave.”
He curls up into a ball at the foot of his cot. “Zastüd didn’t help.” He couldn’t help but shudder and sniffle after uttering those words. For some it was a victory the likes of which no one had seen, and for others it was a loss felt around the world. He fell into the later camp it seems. A shame.
“Wiping a city off the map didn’t do much for international relationships. Not to mention Zastüd was a technological marvel. It was even worse that they couldn’t find out who did it. After everyone was done pointing fingers, they picked a couple patsies to throw in here and tossed the key in the ocean. They wanted to make a place for just the absolute worst society had to offer. People who wanted the world to burn and chose to do so with their own hands. Just like you.” Those words hurt him, but I know he couldn’t redirect his anger at me. I’d been his only friend since he arrived here in Kromhold.
Gods, I hate that name. Cold and hard, so I guess it's at least truthful. Bellanaya was such a better name. Regardless, Kromhold did it’s best to break him down but he refused. He was innocent, after all. When he’d first arrived he was greeted with a fist to the mouth. Despite his absolutely rancid reputation and overpowering stature, he fell apart at the first sign of a conflict. Being given what was in essence a death sentence didn’t help his confidence either. Those who wanted fights found a whimpering dog. Those who wanted friends found a monster only held back by a tight leash. But then he found me.
I’ve been the only companion this poor boy has known. I’ve given myself the task of helping him throughout this trial. The only way I can is to help him remember. The good times, the bad times, the times in between, they all fade away with a nice rosy pink when you look back on them. It was my Mother who first told me about what I could do. She once had it herself but thought it better to give it to me. “People will always forget about you until they need you,” she said. I’ve always hated that word. Forget. I still took the gift gratefully, it was my Mother’s and to have anything from her was the greatest honor. Even now, that gift is the only thing I have of value. It’s all the boy has needed fortunately. As long as I flash a smile or say some outdated slogan he stays sated for the day. It’s a small price to pay for what he’s done for me. He always forgets the next day or sometimes even right after I’m done speaking but I’ll always start talking to him the next time he asks.
“Oh gawrsh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Best friends don’t hurt best friends right?” I squirmed over and offered a “hand”.
He looks up and wipes his face. He appears to mull it over but I know his answer. He takes my loose fibers in his claws and mutters, “Friends till the end.”
I hate being in this position but it’s the only way I’m still here. At least I’m not in the same situation as the other mascots. They usually “enforce” the rules around here along with the standard armed guards. One of the boys on my friend’s block snapped and stabbed one, only to find out it was another prisoner. Warden made sure they stayed in character and kept silent, permanently. The rumor was the Warden wore the suits too, but no one had the fortitude to try and hunt him down after the first incident. The boy came to me that day, crying up a storm. Took ages to calm him down. When he could finally look me in the eye, I didn’t miss the gleam in his eye. It came from a deep, dark place that even he didn’t know he had. Perfect, I thought.
Many a day and night has passed and that boy has turned into an old man. He’ll still be a boy to me, bright eyed and gentle, not wanting to hurt a fly. This place changed him. It made him rough and broken. This is one of the few days he can speak to me with clarity. Normally, he can’t help but keep looking out that window and hoping for something different. I think it’s high time I gave that to him. This is not the first time I’ve said these words, but I believe it is the first time he’ll hear them.
“Do you remember your first day here? They needed five men to drag you in. All you could do was scream ‘I’m innocent’. That didn’t matter to them. Everyone in here could be innocent of their crimes but the guards don’t care. Still, they needed five to bring you in, and that wasn’t even with you trying, bud.”
He looks wide-eyed. Confused, even. Enough to register what I said. That’s all the proof I need to continue.
“Do you remember the day you met me?” He shakes his head. Words escape him and so does the memory. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was just a scratch on the floor and a prayer sitting in between the walls. Forgotten. All I could do was sit, wait and listen. And then you came in. You wanted to never forget. Not Kromhold, but Bellanaya. It was pretty shoddy workmanship but you made a burlap sack into the spitting image of Wilfredo the Whale. You know, me! I scared you half to death the first time I talked but we’ve been friends since then.”
He grinned ear-to-ear. Revealing a row of sharpened, yellow teeth. Not fit for anything but meat. Ironic since all he’s eaten for the past couple of years is gruel.
“I remember.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“Excuse me?” He’s a bit taken aback. Understandable but unwanted and unnecessary. All I need is a “yes”, not a “yes and”.
“What would you do if I said I could take you back? To the days where you were free. No man could control you. If they tried, they’d learn why they shouldn’t. You are the only important person to me. I can’t let you rot in this cell.”
“What do you mean you can take me back?” There wasn’t disbelief in his voice, only contemplation. They love it when you play the hero. Thanks for teaching me that lesson, Lecuto. What a wonderful Sister.
“I can give you back your body, silly. All you need is to put me on your head. Say the magic words, then watch as the magic happens.”
He thought for a second. And then another second. He did not take a third. Years upon years of friendship does that. I waited initially, just to add a sense of suspense. I’d do my Mother wrong if I didn’t have a dramatic flair.
“What are the magic words?” There was a slight tremble to his voice. He didn’t believe something so incredulous despite my entire existence. Hilarious.
“There aren’t any.”
My body didn’t have much to offer as it was, so I could do little besides spread my fibers. A bit of resistance and they began to slink under the skin. All the natural pathways of his body were too easy to explore, invade, and conquer. He didn’t have much to offer in terms of a protest. Was it shock that I’d betray him so easily or was it a staunch belief that I’d help him?
It mattered little in the face of what I was presented with. All the juicy goods he’d amassed over the years sitting in front of me like a feast before a king. The first birthday he could remember was light and refreshing in a place like this. Benito, his childhood hound was next to go, rich and flavorful, like his surprisingly long life span. Almost fifteen years, that one. As delicious as they were, they were unimportant.
Ah, here it is.
His first kill. The rage. The bloodlust. The emptiness. The overwhelming fear. And finally, hunger.
He’d never truly been strong, especially when it comes to impulse control. The other piece I’d needed came soon after, about five or so years. Countless bodies scoured those days but none were like the first. He became complacent and slow. He wanted to savor the meal rather than simply consume. When he was caught he had nothing but regret. He said plenty that meant nothing to the Sangreguila. It wasn’t his hands that made the first cut. He wasn’t there to bathe in blood, he merely slipped onto a scene and unsuccessfully tried to make himself scarce. That wasn’t flesh stuck between his teeth, he just so happened to rip into livestock with reckless abandon moments earlier.
I could tell some didn’t deserve the pain Kromhold had inflicted upon them. My friend here was not one of those poor souls. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why they didn’t shoot him right then and there. Haven’t they heard the saying “a legend is made when someone hides the truth?”
When I was done sifting through his head, I drained out all that wasn’t important. I didn’t require much magic to remold his shape back to those years. He still remembered them fondly somewhere deep down. Muscles atrophied by years of misuse and malnutrition now pulsed with power. Legs that trembled with each step stood straight. Teeth that reeked of disease and looked a putrid yellow instead became fierce, white fangs. A perfect weapon to be used by me. I couldn't have wished for a better present. Now only one thing was left. To leave this prison behind with a trail of terror.
Overview: Telvan Tales are various short stories and pieces of fiction set within the Telvan universe. I may use these to procastinate or work out an idea, but they are all as canon as the next, no matter how tall or small an idea.
Send me an ask if you want to be tagged!
Taglist (just Telvan Tales):
General Taglist (all my writing): @ecwrenn
Timeline:
For the sake of organization and clarity, here's a timeline for the tags with a rough real life equivalent (not a historian, years are probably off somewhat) for better context.
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Age of the Poet
Set around the early medieval period and before (real life equivalent ??? - 1000 CE), tales from this period are most likely either sprawling epics or lost tomes full of forgotten knowledge.
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Age of the Explorer
Set around the late medieval period (real life equivalent 1000-1500 CE), tales from this period usually involve court intrigue, experience and study of magic, and exploration of the world.
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Age of the Thief
Set around the early modern period (1500-1800 CE), tales from this period are alot more personal, often recounting odd anecdotes and day-to-day activities.
Xenohyla Galinus:
Frog alchemist muses on making a franken-tree.
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Age of the Rebel
Set around the late modern period (1800s- Present), tales from this period can float towards any direction, either being intensely scientific, urban legends, or even recounting the weird yet wonderful day-to-day phenomona.
Whale of A Time:
Two friends recount their experiences in the prison city of Kromhold.
