A Porthneal Day - Amended14:22 Mar 21 2012
Times Read: 669
The row of white-washed terraced cottages ran from High Street, down toward the road that led to the old town square and the promenade.
Washing-line strung across the street ran from a hook below the bedroom window, it’s shutters fastened open and to another on the other side.
Similar washing-lines ran from several houses and across the narrow street
The tall slim woman with blonde hair cascading down over lightly freckled shoulders smiled gently, as she strode down the narrow cobbled street, brushing aside the sheets that were in her way.
She wore a calf-length white cotton summer dress, which billowed out as she walked; that had a four-inch wide belt cinched in tight, to emphasis her slim waist, wearing red-highs heels, that matched the vivid lipstick she was wearing as she smiled gently, on a blue-sky day, a light breeze pulling at the skirt of her dress, that she held down as needed.
The blonde knew that it would taken little to scandalise the old dears with their curtains that twitched, as her heels tippity-tapped on the cobbles; and, she tossed her hair, running long fingers through it; fingernails well-manicured as usual, painted to match her lipstick and heels.
It was early in the afternoon and, one of the two pubs in was shut to visitors, as the manageress had errands to run, before re-opening at five thirty.
Finally she reached the promenade with a view across the small bay, with water so clear that a few of the recent influx of visitors to the small former fishing village would swim, much to the amusement of the locals.
She noticed that there were three small boy’s sitting on the small jetty, built of Yorkshire stones, piled one on the other; their poles hopefully held out, lines dangling into the shallow water, as they hoped to fill the buckets at heir side with crabs.
And, as a few people passed by, with the occasional man nodding, or tipping his hat, to the annoyance of his wife who held his arm a little lighter. She was well-known by many and, in a village like this, that was a good for some; but provided a reputation that had dogged her since she had arrived five years earlier.
Everyone thought they knew her business and they did anyone else in the village: divorced, with enough money to move in straight away to The Pub With A View.
But, they knew only as much of her, as Mrs Field would allow, as she valued her privacy.
There were many opinions about the woman striding down the promenade, that led to the base of the headland, with the old rusting, it’s black paint peeling.
Such were the narrow minds of many of the villagers, there were very few people in the village that did not have an opinion of her: some were good and some bad.
The building had stood empty for many years; and now it’s light extinguished for the last time, when the coast guard had taken over the safety of this stretch of water surrounding the bay and it’s coastline.
She walked off the promenade and found the old gravelled path that led up through the dense gorse bushes, toward the lighthouse.
Mrs Field’s smile widened, as she felt the wind on her shoulders, bringing forth goose-flesh on the back of her arms.
Night was approaching and, she reached for the key, old and rusty, that she had tucked between her belt and dress.
With a shaky hand, she reached out and slid the key into its match, a lock that appeared as old and rusty, whilst its mechanism was oiled and working well.
Mrs Field opened the worn-looking iron door, aware that soon the sun would set and all that she had worked toward, since returning to Porthneal would soon come to pass.
And, as she made her way up the staircase, that spiralled upward, Mrs Field felt the light downy hairs on the back of her arms rising.
Having abandoned the old ways, she knew who she was, finally. That was why she had returned, to be ready, for this date.
She reached the top of the lighthouse, then disrobed; her body seemed to take on the hue of the setting sun, as she walked through a doorway and the veranda surrounding the lighthouse.
Lois Fields held the rail, looking down to rocks and, the foaming waters below.
“There is a dark-side within us all,” she thought smiling, “and tonight mine shall awaken and bring forth mine.”
Lois reached up, toward the rising full moon, that appeared almost blood-red and closing her eyes, she began to chant, words that had not been spoken for decades.
She gave a snort of derision at the behaviours of people, which she had little understanding of. ‘Yet, after tonight,’ she thought, ‘that will not matter.”
And, as the moon raised higher, light glistening on her toned curvaceous body, she began to change, the fingers fusing, her limbs lengthening and, her flesh morphing into something new, yet something so-very old.
Though she had left Porthneal as a child, Mrs Fields had returned to be herself and it was during that transition that the hideous fusion of flesh, bone and teeth slid over the rail and into the waters below.
Blood would flow and fishing would return to the waters around the bay; as The cult of Cthulhu had a new Queen and, all would be well.
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