The Hearkening

Flash Fiction Friday

Photo by Kristina Kutleša on Unsplash

Author’s note: This piece was inspired by the wonderful Sarah Faxon’s latest round of prompts for Flash Fiction Friday. I went with number one: The act of singing summons…

The ruined church sat, as it had down the aeons of waking memory, squarely among the cursed copse near the bounds of the village. Constructed in a singularly Cyclopean style which no healthy mind could have conceived nor normal hand hewn, it served as a testament to a primeval past which the rustic denizens were content to leave buried. There were, naturally, the usual expeditions of intrepid youth who ventured out as a test of bravado - only to conduct a tactical withdrawal at the first unnerving sound to emanate out from the shadowed threshold. But all such efforts ceased with the coming of the summer solstice, which brought The Hearkening with it.

With unfailing regularity it issued forth from the bowels of the structure, in tandem with the phantom bell which tolled from the sunken tower, as the last rays of that longest of days dipped below the horizon. Even with shutters closed and ears stopped, the villagers could hear the infernal rhythm of that blighted chant, rising with Dionysian delight into the onrushing night:

“Death is the door, once entered is open evermore!”

On and on it went, punctuated with increasingly orgiastic shrieks. Children cowered beneath their covers, men sought to drown their senses in drink, and the women all joined in a countervailing litany to withstand the onslaught - for naught.

On one such night - the exact date lost to the vagaries of time - a worldly traveler had stopped at the inn, seeking respite from the road. A cunning warrior he was, straight from the pages of an elden epic, returning from a long siege abroad in the service of his liege lord. He was comfortably situated at a corner table, tankard full and a serving girl in his lap, when the merry minstrelsy around him came to a sudden halt. The long dreaded call usurped the silence:

“Death is the door, once entered is open evermore!”

Setting the lass aside, the warrior took a meditative sip of ale as the droning summons turned his fellow patrons into whimpering dogs. With a stretch of his considerable frame he rose and strode to the bar, where he inquired of the keeper regarding the source of the abomination. Met only with reticent mumbles, he reared his long maned head back with a hearty laugh. How could they let themselves be fooled by such obvious trickery? Downing the last of his tankard he girded his sword belt before marching out into the growing gloom, bent on extirpating the source of such brazen impudence. None tried to check him.

A few daring souls peeked from out their windows, following the champion’s path toward the edge of the copse. Illuminated by the crimson glow from the church he leapt down from his charger, blade drawn as he entered that den of pandemonium-

The delirious chanting crashed to a halt, a damnable quiet smothering the scene. It was just as quickly broken by the furious clanging of steel, then -

A bellowing curse, rising into a blood curdling cry -

The charger dashed thunderously away, its bit covered with foam as it disappeared into the darkness.

The song resumed, a fresh voice added to that eternal chorus of the damned.

“Death is the door, once entered is open evermore!”

© Conor MacCormack, 2026. All rights reserved.