The true legend
of fRIday THE 13TH
of fRIday THE 13TH
A Short Story
by TOBIAS WADE
Copyright © 2017 by Tobias Wade
Slow is the smolder of fire igniting in flesh. The skin cracks and dries and powders to ash, incinerating extremities long before flame penetrates to vital systems. The eyes will boil from the skull and cartilage will melt and run like wax. The insulated brain will be protected all the while, still cognizant of the excruciating agony. Bones will splinter next, molten marrow liquefying like hot lead before exploding in shrapnel to puncture the insides.
The body will attempt to cool its essential organs by redirecting blood flow to the skin where it will evaporate into great clouds of steaming red. Finally the heat will become too intense and the organs will start to swell and explode one by one, sending supernovas of anguish through the dying victim.
The onlookers thought that Grandmaster Jacques de Molay was long dead when dry words spoke out of the inferno for a final time.
"Dieu sait qui a tort et a péché. Il va bientot arriver malheur à ceux qui nous ont condamnés à mort."
*God knows who is wrong and has sinned. Soon a calamity will occur to those who have condemned us to death.*
The legend of Friday the 13th began on October 13th, 1307. The Knights Templar, a prominent catholic military order during the Crusades, was betrayed by King Phillip who brought false charges against the Templar in order to seize their wealth. The Templar were arrested in mass, forced with torture to confess to blasphemous crimes against the church.
Grandmaster Jacques de Molay was burned alive, but not before he spat the curse of his dying words. Within a year, both Pope Clement and King Phillip IV of France who sentenced the Templar were dead.
The curse did not end with their death however. A number of Templars made the decision to save their own lives by fabricating lies about their comrades, assisting King Phillip in condemning the order. One of these cowards named Jean Malay was even richly rewarded from the Templar coffers for his false and treacherous testimonies.
Fearing repercussion, Jean Malay fled with his new wealth to Scotland. Far enough to escape the punishment for his crimes, but not far enough to be safe from Grandmaster Jacques' final curse. Within a year Jean would be dead as well, although not before he fathered a son to inherit his wealth.
710 years since that fateful day, Jean Malay's descendants have since spread across the globe carrying with them what remains of the Grandmaster's curse. I myself am afflicted, and I am writing this now to warn all those who may also be descendants without knowing it.
It will begin on a Friday, October 13th. An itching, burning sensation in your nose. Perhaps nothing more than a cold, at first, but wait to act and it will already be too late. The burning will spread down your chest, making it feel tight and difficult to breath. You'll sweat like you have a fever, and your body will start to feel warm as the blood evacuates your vital organs.
Once you've reached this point, it's already too late. The fire has lit inside you, and no medicine or artifice will be able to save you from your fate. This phenomenon has been recorded as "spontaneous combustion" in many accounts across cultures and times. It will only be minutes from here before you are reduced to ash, choking all the while on the noxious fumes of your own burning flesh.
You who bear this curse have strayed too far from God for him to save you. I don't want you to worry though, because there is another who listens to the desperation of a midnight prayer. Do not concern yourself with his nature; it is enough to know that you are in need and he has the power to help. Pray with all your heart as the fire rages inside you, and when the voice answers, you must do as it says.
The voice will tell you what you ingredients you need to gather. Blood is common, so it may be wise to have some ready before the 13th begins. Animal or human sacrifices are less common, but it all depends on the strength of the bloodline which ties you to the Grandmaster's curse. Once you have followed the instructions, you'll notice the pain begin to subside within a few minutes. There will be another presence in the room at this point, but that's an unavoidable side-effect of the ceremony.
Do not try to look at the presence. Do not talk to it unless it talks to you, and even then do not give it any information about yourself. If you are careful, and lucky, it will leave you alone. The curse will be lifted, and whatever happens after that... well at least it won't be happening to you.
* * *
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51 sleepless nights
Amazon Bestselling Author and winner of Reddit's /Nosleep Horror Award!
Horror/Thriller Stories Collection
A diverse collection of short horror stories including the grizzly confessions of a serial killer, parallel dimensions, becoming trapped in a virtual world, and encountering ancient aliens buried beneath the Earth's crust. Demons, monsters, psychopaths, undead, mad experiments and paranormal - no matter what makes your heart race, you're guaranteed to face your fear with these terrifying tales.
I felt her arms around me, but she wasn’t trying to choke me or restrain me. She was… hugging me. It was such an alien sensation that I immediately opened my eyes. That’s when I saw them. Hundreds – no thousands of gossamer spider webs holding up her body like a marionette doll. I recoiled immediately, and she let me without the slightest resistance.
The spiders were everywhere. Crawling across her face, through her hair. When she opened her mouth, I saw more of them inside her, pulling the threads to work her jaw. Her throat pulsed, and I knew more must be further down to vibrate her vocal chords.
“But he’s never going to hurt you again. You have our word.”
I was too shocked to fully understand what was happening. The alarm in my mind wouldn’t stop, and I still felt like I was about to pay for my rebellion. I didn’t want to stare, but couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to go and see, but my feet carried me there anyway.
I opened Jeff’s room and found him on his bed. His hands and feet were bound with countless loops of spiderweb. More of it was across his face, tying his tongue securely to the roof of his mouth. His skin was perforated with a thousand holes, and spiders were crawling in and out of them as they carefully partitioned and wrapped each piece for consumption. His eyes blinked at me, although I don’t know if that was a sign of life or simply the successful attachment of yet another internal strand. I quietly closed the door and let them finish their work.
-My Mother the Spider Queen
Early reader reviews:
- Well, that was horrifying, twisted, and great! (r/shortscarystories reader of the month April 2017).
- -~STANDING OVATION~- Well done, Good Man. (Anon. Reader).
- Excellent series! You need to contact a producer! (A. Dinozzo)
- Surreal, beautiful, haunting. (M. Ravin)
- I love how they don't follow the normal horror cliches. Great twists, kept me guessing till the end! (T. Wilson)
Former neuroscience researcher, born again writer. During my studies, it struck me as odd that I could learn so much about why humans behave without understanding the intricacies of human nature. It occurred to me I learned more about the depths of human experience from reading Dostoyevsky than I ever had from my text books, and I was inspired to write.
After several years of selling scripts in Los Angeles, I have turned my focus toward my own publications. Full-time novelist, script writer, and horror blogger.
Find my latest work at --->