Free The Horror Stories of Robert E. Howard by Robert E. Howard Page B

Moll Farrell, for it was she that had given him the name of Lie-lip.
    Then John Kulrek lifted his drinking-jack, swaying on his uncertain legs. “A health to the wench’s ghost!”
    he bellowed, while all stood aghast.
    Then Moll Farrell spoke, and the words broke from her in a scream which sent ripples of cold up and down the spines of the throng.
    “The curse of the Foul Fiend upon you, John Kulrek!” she screamed. “The curse of God rest upon your vile soul throughout eternity! May you gaze on sights that shall sear the eyes of you and scorch the soul of you! May you die a bloody death and writhe in hell’s flames for a million and a million and yet a million years! I curse you by sea and by land, by earth and by air, by the demons of the oceans and the demons of the swamplands, the fiends of the forest and the goblins of the hills! And you”–her lean finger stabbed at Lie-lip Canool and he started backward, his face paling–“you shall be the death of John Kulrek and he shall be the death of you! You shall bring John Kulrek to the doors of hell and John Kulrek shall bring you to the gallows-tree! I set the seal of death upon your brow, John Kulrek! You shall live in terror and die in horror far out upon the cold gray sea! But the sea that took the soul of innocence to her bosom shall not take you, but shall fling forth your vile carcass to the sands! Aye, John Kulrek”–and she spoke with such a terrible intensity that the drunken mockery on the man’s face changed to one of swinish stupidity–“the sea roars for the victim it will not keep! There is snow upon the hills, John Kulrek, and ere it melts your corpse will lie at my feet. And I shall spit upon it and be content.”

    Kulrek and his crony sailed at dawn for a long voyage, and Moll went back to her hut and her clam gathering. She seemed to grow leaner and more grim than ever and her eyes smoldered with a light not sane. The days glided by and people whispered among themselves that Moll’s days were numbered, for she faded to a ghost of a woman; but she went her way, refusing all aid.
    That was a short, cold summer and the snow on the barren inland hills never melted; a thing very unusual, which caused much comment among the villagers. At dusk and at dawn Moll would come up on the beach, gaze up at the snow which glittered on the hills, then out to sea with a fierce intensity in her gaze.
    Then the days grew shorter, the nights longer and darker, and the cold gray tides came sweeping along the bleak strands, bearing the rain and sleet of the sharp east breezes.
    And upon a bleak day a trading-vessel sailed into the bay and anchored. And all the idlers and the wastrels flocked to the wharfs, for that was the ship upon which John Kulrek and Lie-lip Canool had sailed. Down the gang-plank came Lie-lip, more furtive than ever, but John Kulrek was not there. To shouted queries, Canool shook his head. “Kulrek deserted ship at a port of Sumatra,” said he. “He had a row with the skipper, lads; wanted me to desert, too, but no! I had to see you fine lads again, eh, boys?”
    Almost cringing was Lie-lip Canool, and suddenly he recoiled as Moll Farrell came through the throng. A moment they stood eyeing each other; then Moll’s grim lips bent in a terrible smile.
    “There’s blood on your hand, Canool!” she lashed out suddenly–so suddenly that Lie-lip started and rubbed his right hand across his left sleeve.
    “Stand aside, witch!” he snarled in sudden anger, striding through the crowd which gave back for him.
    His admirers followed him to the tavern.

    Now, I mind that the next day was even colder; gray fogs came drifting out of the east and veiled the sea and the beaches. There would be no sailing that day, and so all the villagers were in their snug houses or matching tales at the tavern. So it came about that Joe, my friend, a lad of my own age, and I, were the ones who saw the first of the strange thing that happened.
    Being harum-scarum