"Ckrymater" by Sebastian Westbrook

Ckrymater

by Sebastian Westbrook

I’m at the beach, and have got most things I need in my canvas bag, except a book. I know if I’m spending the afternoon here I’m going to need something to read, and I’m almost considering driving back out to see if I can pick up magazines from somewhere, when I see it on the fringes of the sand. It’s a tired-looking beach hut with its shutters raised. Painted on the side it says: Beach Library.

I stroll over and step inside. There’s only enough room for two people at once. It’s all battered paperbacks, spines broken and pages curled. I’m a horror geek and I’m disappointed, but not surprised, that they haven’t got anything for me.

Except for one volume. Bound in cracked leather and fastened with a frayed ribbon. It proclaims The Other Side on its spine. I decide to give it a go.

Two hours later and I’m still engrossed. It’s not a novel but a reference book: all manner of demons, entities, Old Ones, supernatural beings…

Out of all the entities in this strange book, one has caught my attention. I’ve read its page over and over again. All the others pale in comparison to the absolute power this creature’s mere presence commands.

Ckrymater.

There’s no physical description, but its presence is heralded by three signs. Dark clouds, strong winds, and a portal opening from a body of water. Ckrymater will then rise from the water and just looking at it enslaves you to its will. This is why its appearance can’t be described, I surmise. No one sees and tells the tale. 

Complete control, simply by existing. I’m impressed.

I shut The Other Side and lie back in my deckchair, sipping a coke. I’m on the beach. I should enjoy the sun and focus on getting my tan instead of losing myself in a fantasy of otherworldly entities. Maybe a cute guy will see me sunbathing and try his luck. I throw a towel over the crusty old book: it’s probably not a man magnet.

I can’t feel the sun on my skin anymore. I lift my sunglasses to see a heavy clump of dark cloud blocking the sun. Typical. I’ll just have to wait for it to pass.

But the clouds seem to freeze in the sky for a solid ten minutes. I’m unnerved. Clouds do not just stop. What’s going on?

Suddenly a strong breeze picks up. I shiver. First the sun is hidden behind static clouds, and now this? I know British weather is unpredictable but... 

Everyone else around me seems to be disappointed, too, their beach day ruined. However, what happens next ruins more than just a day at the beach. 

The sea seems to open up, and a green glowing beacon of eerie light reaches into the sky. The realisation of what is about to happen suddenly hits me. Dark clouds. Check. Strong winds. Check. A portal opening from a body of water.

Oh shit…

I turn around. I’m not spending another second looking towards the sea. I don’t care how curious I may be. I am not risking Ckrymater being real. I can see everyone else staring blankly towards the waves. Mindless, empty, obedient. They look almost as fixed as the clouds. I decide the best thing to do is to just leave. Run and don’t look back. I grab the book that warned me of this and head for the top of the beach. Don’t look back. 

The enslaved hordes being to stagger towards the sea. Some of them murmuring to themselves, others completely silent. Male, female, old, young. All meaningless in the moment. All bow to Ckrymater but not me. I was ready. It pays sometimes to have an interest in the unusual, especially when the unusual takes an interest in you. I’m still gripping the book as I reach the concourse. It’s not going back to the ramshackle hut of the beach library.

An old man with a grizzly, grey beard and sunken eyes freezes as I pass him. I pay him no mind, that is until he grabs me and pulls me back. 

“Where are you going, my dear? Mother is this way. Witness her,” he growls, trying to twist my head towards the sea. I writhe in his grip, attempting to break free, but others join him in his endeavours to halt my advance to safety. A large middle-aged woman, a young boy, and all manner of other once ordinary people. 

I feel my hopes draining as more hands grapple every part of me, and the chant of “witness her” becomes louder and louder. My strength is waning and it seems that the slaves to Ckrymater have almost endless endurance. No matter how much I struggle, they don’t tire. They just keep coming, determined to make me one of them.

I’m starting to lose energy, and eventually it’s impossible to resist the grip of the masses. I fall limp and the mob have me, but suddenly they’re uncertain. A young woman steps in front of me and lifts my chin to look into my eyes. Her expression is completely emotionless. She signals to the others with a sombre nod and they start to spin me around. I have no energy to stop them, but if I keep my eyes to the ground, they can’t force me. I’m facing the sea now, but my eyes are glued to the sand. The woman who checked on me whispers in my ear.

“Gaze upon mother’s form, sweetheart. It’s beautiful.” 

She lifts my head and I shut my eyes tightly. I won’t look. I won’t. 

The crowd continues to chant. “Witness her! Witness her!”

I start to wonder if resisting is worth it. I’m caught. These aren’t people anymore: they’re robots. They won’t give up. They won’t get bored or lose their desire.

Ckrymater.

The book that warned me lies on the sand. I can’t escape. I have to look. I open my eyes. 

Mother is beautiful.