It is surprising the stories one may stumble upon while enjoying a bracing walk on the beautifully rugged Somerset coastline....
Pigash Island, an uninspiring spit of grey rock in the muddy, turbulent waters of the Severn Sea. It lay deserted and unused until 1864, when Henry Pigash commissioned the construction of a pier to house his private club. A place for ‘gentlemen of quality’ to relax in decadent luxury, indulging a proclivity for pastimes they preferred to keep hidden from their families and the general population.
Local folklore tells of Hafren, a water nymph, a usually benevolent creature enraged by the presence of this depraved establishment within her element, who destroyed The Malacoda Club in a furious storm, shattering the jetty and razing the buildings, killing all inside.
The Pigash family quickly erected signs forbidding trespass on the island, leaving what remained of the club to crumble in deserted isolation.
150 years after the destruction of the pier, Jamie Clutterbuck zipped up his wet-suit and waded into the coiling waters he knew so well, the undertow was strong, more so than usual, but he felt confident, he had done this countless times, being a wild swimmer of considerable experience.
Recognising his miscalculation too late, and in the merciless grip of the current, he struggled for twenty minutes until he tangled in the decaying iron stanchions of Pigash pier. Exhausted and shivering in the November chill, and in no condition to risk the swim to the mainland, he plunged back into the frigid water, allowing the current to drag him onto the rocks of Pigash Island where he lay on the shoreline gazing up at the decomposing East Pavilion.
He heard a splash and the crunch of shale, shifting his gaze toward the sound, he saw laying partly in the water within inches of his feet, a young woman, her bloated, opaque flesh peppered with hundreds of bites. She opened her mouth impossibly wide, bearing down on him, maw bristling with dozens of blunt, nail like teeth.
Jamie scrambled away, kicking his feet desperately, digging into the sharp scree with his elbows, he had no doubt what the cavernous mouth with its rows of teeth meant, what her intention was. He gained his feet, scrambling up to the cluster of broken buildings above. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw she was not pursuing, remaining on the beach, glaring at him.
He reached the top and stumbled into a courtyard, where a group of indistinct men dressed in dank evening suits were engaged in some raucous entertainment. As Jamie watched, a dazed woman fought her way from within their midst, she ran at the stone safety wall, and without breaking her stride, leapt over it.
‘NO!’ Jamie shouted instinctively.
The men turned to face him, their hazy forms coalescing into something more solid, each one unhinged his jaw in the same impossibly wide manner as the thing on the beach, bearing rows of nail like teeth as they howled at him.
He didn’t run far, halted at the break in the wall where the jetty once connected to the island. He glanced behind, it seemed the dead did not shamble haltingly in the stereotypical manner of the zombie, they rushed at him with grim purpose. Jamie eyed the rocks and the churning water below as the bellowing ghosts drew closer.
His decision was made for him when a slender, sallow hand grasped his ankle, yanking him downward. Hitting the rocks, his skull cracked, and several ribs snapped, puncturing both lungs.
A final bubbling breath frothed over his lips and it was over.
Then it began.
He screamed in agony, the woman he had first seen was stripping the flesh from his arm using a flint knife, more of his body was being peeled in a similar fashion by other young women. He watched helplessly as they efficiently removed his skin in neat strips, shrieking as his tendons were stripped away, the fat and muscle scraped from his bones.
They cracked his skeletonised limbs apart at the joints with practised fingers, snapping ribs with ease, stacking his bones neatly next to his flesh. His head, now independent of its body, rolled slightly on the rock, and his dead eyes saw what he was unable to see in life. A bridge jutting from the island. It was composed of human bone, lashed together with strips of flesh and tendons, and studded at uneven intervals with the heads of countless men, women, and children, each one returned his horrified stare, wailing in agony and terror as their bones and tissues ground against one another’s under terrible strain as they projected out over the water.
The pain in his dismembered body, which was now ready to join the shrieking bridge, was an all-encompassing white noise of torment, something that made no sense, yet already seemed perfectly natural. One of the women, the one he had first encountered on the beach, picked his head up by the hair, bringing his face level with her own.
He blinked at her proximity, trying to focus on her face, she helpfully moved him a few inches back.
‘Thank you’. She said. ‘Your contribution is appreciated.’
‘Fuck you.’ Jamie said, feeling incongruously, but profoundly offended at being dangled in such a tactless manner.
The dead woman smiled indulgently. ‘This is the only way, we cannot leave this cursed place by any means created by the living, this bridge is our only way out.’
Jamie rolled his eyes upward, indicating the men watching from above. ‘You think they will ever let you go?’
Her face registered a moment’s hesitation before she flung his head at the feet of the other women.
‘Get him lashed on girls, only a few more and we’ll be free.’
One of the gentlemen above snorted derisively.
‘That’s correct Joan, if you ladies of the night continue your endeavours, we will all be able to move on soon enough. In the meantime, you have other obligations besides construction work, now bring your pretty little sit-upon up here, I have a use for it.’
Local folklore tells of Hafren, a water nymph, a usually benevolent creature enraged by the presence of this depraved establishment within her element, who destroyed The Malacoda Club in a furious storm, shattering the jetty and razing the buildings, killing all inside.
The Pigash family quickly erected signs forbidding trespass on the island, leaving what remained of the club to crumble in deserted isolation.
150 years after the destruction of the pier, Jamie Clutterbuck zipped up his wet-suit and waded into the coiling waters he knew so well, the undertow was strong, more so than usual, but he felt confident, he had done this countless times, being a wild swimmer of considerable experience.
Recognising his miscalculation too late, and in the merciless grip of the current, he struggled for twenty minutes until he tangled in the decaying iron stanchions of Pigash pier. Exhausted and shivering in the November chill, and in no condition to risk the swim to the mainland, he plunged back into the frigid water, allowing the current to drag him onto the rocks of Pigash Island where he lay on the shoreline gazing up at the decomposing East Pavilion.
He heard a splash and the crunch of shale, shifting his gaze toward the sound, he saw laying partly in the water within inches of his feet, a young woman, her bloated, opaque flesh peppered with hundreds of bites. She opened her mouth impossibly wide, bearing down on him, maw bristling with dozens of blunt, nail like teeth.
Jamie scrambled away, kicking his feet desperately, digging into the sharp scree with his elbows, he had no doubt what the cavernous mouth with its rows of teeth meant, what her intention was. He gained his feet, scrambling up to the cluster of broken buildings above. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw she was not pursuing, remaining on the beach, glaring at him.
He reached the top and stumbled into a courtyard, where a group of indistinct men dressed in dank evening suits were engaged in some raucous entertainment. As Jamie watched, a dazed woman fought her way from within their midst, she ran at the stone safety wall, and without breaking her stride, leapt over it.
‘NO!’ Jamie shouted instinctively.
The men turned to face him, their hazy forms coalescing into something more solid, each one unhinged his jaw in the same impossibly wide manner as the thing on the beach, bearing rows of nail like teeth as they howled at him.
He didn’t run far, halted at the break in the wall where the jetty once connected to the island. He glanced behind, it seemed the dead did not shamble haltingly in the stereotypical manner of the zombie, they rushed at him with grim purpose. Jamie eyed the rocks and the churning water below as the bellowing ghosts drew closer.
His decision was made for him when a slender, sallow hand grasped his ankle, yanking him downward. Hitting the rocks, his skull cracked, and several ribs snapped, puncturing both lungs.
A final bubbling breath frothed over his lips and it was over.
Then it began.
He screamed in agony, the woman he had first seen was stripping the flesh from his arm using a flint knife, more of his body was being peeled in a similar fashion by other young women. He watched helplessly as they efficiently removed his skin in neat strips, shrieking as his tendons were stripped away, the fat and muscle scraped from his bones.
They cracked his skeletonised limbs apart at the joints with practised fingers, snapping ribs with ease, stacking his bones neatly next to his flesh. His head, now independent of its body, rolled slightly on the rock, and his dead eyes saw what he was unable to see in life. A bridge jutting from the island. It was composed of human bone, lashed together with strips of flesh and tendons, and studded at uneven intervals with the heads of countless men, women, and children, each one returned his horrified stare, wailing in agony and terror as their bones and tissues ground against one another’s under terrible strain as they projected out over the water.
The pain in his dismembered body, which was now ready to join the shrieking bridge, was an all-encompassing white noise of torment, something that made no sense, yet already seemed perfectly natural. One of the women, the one he had first encountered on the beach, picked his head up by the hair, bringing his face level with her own.
He blinked at her proximity, trying to focus on her face, she helpfully moved him a few inches back.
‘Thank you’. She said. ‘Your contribution is appreciated.’
‘Fuck you.’ Jamie said, feeling incongruously, but profoundly offended at being dangled in such a tactless manner.
The dead woman smiled indulgently. ‘This is the only way, we cannot leave this cursed place by any means created by the living, this bridge is our only way out.’
Jamie rolled his eyes upward, indicating the men watching from above. ‘You think they will ever let you go?’
Her face registered a moment’s hesitation before she flung his head at the feet of the other women.
‘Get him lashed on girls, only a few more and we’ll be free.’
One of the gentlemen above snorted derisively.
‘That’s correct Joan, if you ladies of the night continue your endeavours, we will all be able to move on soon enough. In the meantime, you have other obligations besides construction work, now bring your pretty little sit-upon up here, I have a use for it.’
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