Jacob Prytherch Biography:
'I was born in 1980, leaving the splendour of
Derbyshire for the Midlands at the age of five. I started writing when I was
seven due to a love of Tolkien and have been writing ever since, studying
English at university and thoroughly enjoying every moment. I currently live in
Birmingham with my wife and two daughters, writing as much as I can in the
darkness before they wake up. Coffee is both my friend and my
enemy.
I don't do moody black and white photos, I don't pay to enter vanity competitions, and I have no interest in investing hundreds of pounds just so a couple of people will think I'm 'bonafide'. I self proof or occasionally force my stuff on long suffering friends, so there may be one or two errors for which I apologise. I welcome criticism as I am always looking to get better.
I just like writing and hope that one day I can support my family with it. If not, I'll just keep plugging away in the wee small hours for my own amusement. Either way, I'll be happy.'
Below are a few of Jacob's books, available from Amazon (click on image).
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| Just One Day |
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| Heal The Sick, Raise The Dead |
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| The Uncanny Mr. Bones |
From Afar by Jacob Prytherch
Must we go over this again, Doctor? I have
lost count of the times I have explained the events that led to my being
committed and since I know I am not mad, then recounting my experiences is
hardly going to relieve my fictitious mania! These words are the truth, though I
fail to swear it on God, as I now cannot believe in any deity save the malignant
presence that Marcus awakened with his ill-conceived actions.
So, to begin, once again…
I remember that day clearly, a miserable day
in March, where the sheets of rain arced down from the darkly overcast heavens,
soaking every part of my clothing within a minute of my stepping outside the
shipping office. I pulled my coat close around me and carefully jogged to where
Marcus was standing, gaunt and pale against the dark shape of the commercial
liner H.M.S. Majestic, with the rain breaking off his characteristic top hat and
long traveller’s coat.
Marcus could never have been called
“average”, even before his fateful trip to the darkest reaches of Egypt to
uncover some tomb or other, but when he returned there was an even more shadowy
facet to his character, though at the time I could not readily identify what it
was. His brooding eyes were perhaps a little darker, his voice a touch more
measured and that merest twinkle that had occasionally lit his stoic features
was now completely absent.
I gave him a nervous smile and enquired as to
whether I could help him with his bags, but he brushed my query aside with a
curt shake of his head.
“My companions have it all taken care of. But
thank you for your concern Joshua.”
His reply had a strange stilted quality to
it, but I put it down to the long journey and the fatigue that it must have
caused. Clearly he was in no mood to talk and I must admit, neither was I, as
the rain was chilling me to the bone. Just then the companions that Marcus spoke
of appeared on the gangplank, each carrying one end of a strange metal
container, perhaps a burial casket of some kind.
They both wore the decorative clothing of the
Arabs of the Middle East, voluminous robes with less practical value in the
weather of Boston than in the desert where they had no doubt hailed from. Black
silk covered most of their heads and faces, so that only their dark eyes were
visible. Their clothes were soon as sodden as both Marcus’s and my own and when
the silk started to cling to their limbs it revealed severely undernourished
bodies, no doubt due to the sparse diet that one had to endure in the poorer
regions of the East.
I wondered briefly why Marcus had taken to
socialising with men so obviously different to him and his standing, but the
rain pushed those thoughts aside, and I briefly greeted the Egyptians,
introduced to me as Mohamed and Sayed, both hailing from Cairo.
We walked for the rest of the journey to the
carriage in silence, with the only sound being the rain slapping on the
cobblestones and tapping the lid of the small and exquisite gold sarcophagus,
delicately inlaid with veins of silver, and the startling image of a huge
staring eye in darkest amethyst.
It was not until I later reached my home that
I realised that Marcus had brought back no other belongings from his three-month
trip…
Marcus, who had been almost a recluse before
his trip, keeping himself to his books and a small but close circle of friends,
was now if anything even more of an outsider, allowing only me out of his other
companions an occasional visit to his quarters deep in the heart of the poor
quarter.
From the outside, his apartment looked like
any other in the area. It was placed at the top of a crumbling and run down
tenement, with broken guttering channelling water directly outside the only
window and roof tiles patched over holes in a decidedly haphazard fashion, but
inside… oh, if only you could have seen it Doctor, the beauty of the place,
filled with the wondrous items of a lifetime’s fevered discovery!
With the wealth that he had inherited after
his parent’s tragic death on a dig in the Persian gulf, he could have bought a
lavish house anywhere in New England, but instead he chose to place his wealth
in artefacts, whilst keeping his housing to the bare minimum necessary to keep
such relics safe.
The floors were covered with carpets and rugs
coloured in lush reds and blues, interwoven with mesmeric winding patterns of
gold and green. On the walls hung tapestries, portraits, landscapes, and framed
scrolls recovered from the furthest reaches of the world. On the many shelves
were statues, urns, ancient pieces of masonry emblazoned with glyphs and all
manner of sculpted objects from both the heights of civilisation to the depths
of primitive cultures. And the books…piled high on shelves, loose in stacks,
interposed with notebooks and loose pages of scrawled notes and thoughts,
hundreds of volumes chronicling every nation under the sun. Stepping into
Marcus’s home was like stepping into a museum… no, to use a more accurate
simile; it was like stepping into his very mind. Truly, he was an intellectual
giant, a true great, and his thoughts were as varied and numerous as his
possessions.
But something began to change over the next
few weeks, as his outside journeys ceased altogether. He started to become more
pallid as time went on and grew even more skeletal than previously, which was a
feat in itself. he no longer seemed to change his clothes. He even wore his hat
at all hours of the day, even when the sun was at it’s brightest.
The two Egyptians had taken up residence with
him, and constantly kept him company. They never revealed their faces,
preferring to keep their silk scarves close around their features. They chose to
sit quietly in the shadows whenever I visited, sometimes playing chess with
delicately crafted figures of ebony and ivory as Marcus and I talked. Slowly,
his apartments started to gain a semblance of order that had previously seemed
impossible. Books were now almost geometrically in line with their counterparts.
The previously loose notes were neatly filed away, and once I even checked
through them when Marcus had left the room to fetch a bottle of brandy and found
them meticulously placed in alphabetical order according to their subject. And
that sarcophagus… it now took pride of place in the most prominent corner of the
room, replacing the delicately crafted suit of samurai armour that had
previously stood there, which I found neatly packed away behind the new
addition.
It was late one Sunday evening, after the
horizon had obscured the sun’s blood red luminescence, when I decided to broach
the subject of the ancient relic and what it held.
Both Egyptians looked up from their
chessboard, with a curious look in their jet black eyes. A smile played across
Marcus’s withered features.
“So, finally he asks.”
I sat back in my chair, and tried to keep the
strange uncomfortable feeling that had crept over me absent from my
features.
“Marcus, if you don’t wish to speak about it,
then…”
“No, it is quite alright Joshua. You are,
after all, my oldest and dearest friend. I was going to show you sooner or later
anyway, and now is as good as any time. Mohamed, Sayed, if you
would…”
Before I could act, both Arabs had leapt from
their chairs, scattering the chess pieces across the carpet and had lunged for
my arms and legs, holding me fast to the leather armchair in which I sat.
“Marcus! What in God’s name? Have your men
unhand me!”
Marcus merely smiled, and crossed over to the
curtains, closing them slowly to obscure us from the outside world.
“Please Joshua, don’t struggle. We bring to
you a gift.”
As he moved behind me towards the trunk, I
continued to writhe in vain against the inhumanly strong Arabs, as a sense of
terror started to overwhelm me. What spell had these creatures laid upon my
dearest friend, and what were they driving him to do?
I heard the casket open with a creak, before
the room was filled with the sound of clicking and scratching, a frenzied sound
that had been muffled by the trunk’s lid. It sounded like a multitude of
cockroaches, and try as I might, I couldn’t move my head enough to see what
unnameable horrors were trapped in that container.
When Marcus spoke, he was behind my head, and
I heard a clicking separate from the others, close, very close, to my
head…
“My dear Joshua, you cannot imagine what
marvels I found in that dark tomb, the ancient burial site, lost for centuries
beneath the sand of the Egyptian desert… there are some things that can survive
far longer than our own species, and some things which can bless such
gifts…”
Something brushed my hair, and I yelled out
in desperation. One of the Arabs slapped his hand across my mouth and stifled
any sound I wanted to make.
“No one can hear you my friend. No one can see
you. And no one, soon, will even know you…”
Tears of fear ran down my cheeks in torrents.
My body started to shake with the amount of adrenalin coursing through
it.
“I found them, and they found me… the children
of a sleeping God!”
I felt knife-sharp fingers clutching at my
scalp, desperately clawing at my flesh and sending rivulets of blood down my
face. With a last effort I managed to pull my right arm free and throw my fist
into the face of the Arab holding my legs. He tumbled backwards as I struggled
free of the second Arab, whilst desperately grabbing for the only source of
light… the oil lamp on the table nearby. Blood started to obscure my vision and
I blindly hurled the lamp towards what I hoped would be a significant
target.
There was a blinding eruption of flame, and I
staggered away from it, luckily coming in contact with the door to the hallway.
I could hear an accursed screeching from behind me as I opened the door,and I
glanced over my shoulder, witnessing a sight which chilled my soul.
Marcus flailed his arms desperately, trying
to extinguish the flames that engulfed him, all the time emitting that obscene
howling. His hat for once was absent… and I swear Doctor, on the crown of his
head…there sat a hideous spider-like creature, covered in purple and blue veins,
with sharpened claws sunk deep into his skull, and one sole eye, staring at me
with vicious and eternal hatred…
I turned my back and ran, down the long and
winding staircase and out into the street, from where I watched the building
burn, a towering and purifying inferno! I do not know what evil Marcus released
from that tomb in Egypt, but it is gone, gone before it could spread, gone
before it could reign! I know that many people died that night, but they were a
necessary sacrifice! I am glad I saved us! I saved us! I saved us!
The End
Calling all indie authors!
If you would like to have your short story (up to 2000 words) featured on my blog to showcase your writing, then please send an email with your story as an attachment and a brief bio to: ethan.spier@o2.co.uk
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