January 20, 2025
Short Story: The Haunted Beach
Sun mercilessly beat down on the lone traveller. He had another name, given by his parents at the time of his birth, but he came to be known as Akbar. Buckler made of tough leather hide on his back, wearing chain-link armour and his shamsheer at his side, he walked from the port towards the nearby fishing village.
Debal was said to be the greatest port of this world and Akbar felt it wasn’t far off. He had seen great ports of Europe and of Ottoman lands, and Debal had its own charm. The road he walked on was well trodden, forests rising on both sides of the road. A cart laden with fish passed by and the driver, an old man with arms like barbed wire, stopped to give Akbar lift up to the village.
“What’s your name traveller?” The fisherman asked.
“Akbar” Traveller replied
“Your accent … you sound like desert dwellers across the sea. What brings you here?” Fisherman asked
“I hunt witches, and I am here for that purpose” Akbar replied.
Fisherman looked at him askance, noticing several rings adorned in Akbar’s fingers.
“Witches? Which ones do you mean?”
“The one who haunts the western beach.” Akbar replied.
Fisherman went silent. Akbar noticed his unease.
“Do not be afraid, I have spent two years hunting witches in Europe.” Akbar said. “The Duke hired a mercenary company which I was part of, and we killed nearly a hundred of them.”
“Do not speak of the evil,” Fisherman mumbled.
“I kill evil, and here to do just that,” Akbar said. “Where is this beach?”
The fisherman remained silent.
Akbar felt angry at his silence.
“I am here to liberate the land, will you not lend aid to the cause of just? Have you been bewitched by the evil?”
Fisherman looked up indignantly.
“You are young, and young men are foolish. You think your sword will kill a witch?”
“It has killed witches, a dozen of them”
“And how did you recognize a witch?” Fisherman asked.
“I have learned the ways of their trickeries. It is mine to know, no concern of yours.” Akbar replied.
The fisherman frowned and kept his eyes on the road.
The travelled in silence for a while until the village appeared.
The fisherman met the village council while Akbar sat under the shade of the large banyan tree. The council deliberated, then asked to hear Akbar’s objective. Akbar appeared in front of them, unarmed, and explained his witch hunting. The council members discussed amongst themselves, then the eldest member addressed Akbar.
“Traveller, you are not the first one to journey here for witch hunting. In past few years there have been many a fighters, some of them locals, who went to the western beach. None ever returned”
“I know of some of them” Akbar said. “Lohal, a member of my own mercenary group, left for witch hunting a month after witch hunting in Europe. He vanished in his witch hunt here. He knew very little, his ambitions too high. I am not naive like him.”
“Witches of Europe are not the same as witches found here. The witch plays games you can’t fathom.” the elder warned.
“They die the same way, elder one” Akbar replied.
The council members looked at each other, conceding defeat.
“No one goes to the western beach at sunset, the witch haunts the shore” Elder continued. “Our boys will take you close but beyond that the journey is yours. Know that you are warned, peril waits at the end.”
“I am willing to face it, just take me there” Akbar replied.
There was enough sunlight remaining, the days were long. A wagon was called that carried Akbar with 3 local boys, all armed, towards the western beach. It was a two hour journey which they made with little rest. The boys left him at the beginning of strange outcropping, trees bend at an awkward angle towards the shore, with food and fresh water for two days and turned back. Another wagon came from the other end and ran past him towards the village, no one seems to want to stay here with sunset approaching fast.
Akbar began walking, his hand on the hilt of his shamsheer. The road was made of hard rock, running parallel to the shore that was calm at this time. Cool air blew from the sea, saltish feel hung about. Most of the trees bent towards the sea. He kept walking as the sun approached the sea line, its light dimmed and sky slowly adopting shades of red.
A few steps later Akbar saw a figure standing at the beach. Tensed, he gripped his sword and moved fast towards it. The figures clothes blew in the air, black with streaks of red, and it kept looking towards the sea.
A few feet away Akbar dropped his supplies, drew out his shamsheer and gripped his buckler tightly.
“YOU, SHOW YOUR FACE” Akbar yelled.
The figure turned, startled. It was a woman, wearing traditional clothing of the fisherfolk. Bangles adorned her arms all the way to her elbow, sun-burned skin partially hidden by locks of her hair, big eyes looking at him in panic. She gasped at the sight of his sword.
“WHO ARE YOU?” Akbar yelled, advancing towards her. “NAME YOURSELF, WITCH”
The woman, clearly afraid of the sword, seemed offended.
“Witch? How dare you call one of the fisherfolk a witch? Who are you to walk here with foul accusations?”
“Your lies won’t affect me, witch” Akbar said. “No one walks here at sunset except evil.”
The woman seemed startled by that, then relief clearly flooded on her face.
“Oh, so have come finally. I was wondering when will you arrive.” Woman said, her tone calm and gentle.
Akbar felt surprise but he suppressed it.
“Yes, I am here to kill you witch”
The woman laughed. Her laugh was most musical, most genuine Akbar had ever heard. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes on her every move.
“Stop playing games, I know I am in your territory. I am here because I want you to kill me, so why the act?” Woman said with a smile.
“I am not a witch, you are” Akbar snarled. The woman smiled, this time gentleness reflecting in her eyes.
“I don’t care what you say, I know my time is up. He hasn’t returned, the sea has claimed him. Nothing remains for me in this world.” She turned away, facing towards the sea. There was longing on her face as she looked at the sea.
Akbar straightened. His grip on both shamsheer and buckler still tight.
“The witch of the lake played the same, and she had killed two men before I ran my sword through her. I won’t fall for your trick”
The woman seemed to have not heard him.
Akbar inched closer.
“What is the price of silence?” The woman asked.
“Your death” Akbar replied.
The woman faced him.
“And what price did you pay for your silence?”
“I have no price, witch” Akbar replied. She smiled.
“Why do you keep calling me witch? You can stop pretending”
“You are a witch”
“How? What proof do you have?”
“Your presence here”
“So are you, so who is the witch among us?”
Akbar snarled, then raised his shamsheer close to her face.
“Show your full face”
The woman pulled back her hair. Akbar looked for spots, the first indication of a witch. He didn’t find any.
“Show your arms” He said.
The woman began to slide bangles from her arms. With deft fingers she removed them in short time, both arms bare till the elbows. Compared to her face her arms were less sunburned and he spotted a mole on her wrist.
“THERE!” He indicated triumphantly. The woman seemed confused as she looked at it.
“A mole?” She asked. Akbar nodded. Woman raised her finger towards him.
“Then what about the mole on your neck?” She asked.
“I am a man, and men are never witches” Akbar said.
“But witches can take any form, is it not? Aren’t you taking the form of a man to play tricks?” The woman asked.
“Moles of the witches bleed, straighten your hand” Akbar commanded. She straightened his arm, the mole facing towards him.
Quick as lighting, Akbar jabbed the shamsheer point on the mole and raised it back at her face.
Nothing happened. The mole didn’t bleed.
He kept sending glances at her wrist as darkness began to make it difficult to see. He didn’t see any blood coming out.
“Now you, show if your mole bleeds or not” The woman asked calmly.
Akbar kept his sword arm up, retrieved his knife from his belt and jabbed the point at the mole on his neck.
He triumphantly looked at the woman … until he felt wet trickle down his neck.
The mole was bleeding.
Surprised, he nearly dropped his sword. The woman laughed.
“You witches are amusing. You come here to kill, and entertain before killing” She kept laughing.
“I AM NOT A WITCH” Akbar roared as he put a hand on his neck to stop the bleeding.
“Stop joking, the fun is over now. I am here to mourn and to submit. Just send me to him, I ask nothing more.” The woman said as she turned back towards the sea.
Akbar didn’t know what to say. He was startled by his own bleeding, and the witch didn’t attack nor did she bleed. Is she really a witch? Or is she a woman here to mourn, and die?
“Who are you? And why are you here?” Akbar asked, bringing the sword to his side.
“Someone who is here to mourn. I hear you witches kill painlessly. Suicide is not my way, so I hoped you would help” The woman said.
“I hunt witches, not a witch myself” Akbar said irritably. He put the shamsheer away. The blood flow seemed to have stopped.
“What will you do when you find the witch?” The woman asked. Akbar began wrapping the buckler back on his back.
“I’ll kill her when I do.” He replied.
Sadness pass through her face.
“So you are on a journey?” She asked
“I am.” Akbar replied.
“When our men go out on a journey, we tie a knot on their wrists. For good luck and safe return. If you truly aren’t a witch here to kill me, will you allow me to tie a knot on your wrist?”
Akbar stood motionless for a while. His indicators had failed, but he was a suspicious man. Still, there was no point in denying the woman when she proved she wasn’t a witch. He nodded his head.
The woman took out a thin black ribbon and approached him. He raised his right hand and she began to tie the knot. As she did, tears welled in her eyes and began to flow down her cheeks.
Akbar felt ashamed. Her emotion was genuine and he had assumed a woman to be a witch.
Once tied, the woman hid her face in her hands. Akbar felt emotionally drained, as if he just carried a mountain over his shoulders. She began to vigorously rub her face, attempting to clear the tears from her eyes and face.
Akbar sighed, raised his arms to tell her to calm down when she stopped rubbing her face and removed her hands.
Her face no longer had eyes nor nose, just a mouth with red lips turned into a wicked smile.
Akbar stopped dead in his position, feeling fear creeping up through his spine. The faceless woman began to laugh, an eerie sound that sent chills through bones. Akbar began to back away but his legs began to fail. He tried to grab his shamsheer with his right hand, but his wrist felt heavy as a boulder, fingers lifeless. He fell backwards as the faceless woman approached him, walking with the wicked laughter.
She stood above him, continuing with the laugh as consciousness escaped him and Akbar’s eyes closed as darkness completely encircled the sky.
