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The Lighthouse’s Glass-Eyed Horror - The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane - A Pink Necromancer Short Story
Quaraun’s hand hovered over the iron keyhole, knuckles tight, breath shallow.
The Black Tower, his lighthouse, loomed over him, spruce beams groaning under some unseen weight, reeking of saltwater and rot.
The glass lens above, green-lit and blazing in the dark, stared down, judging. The tower’s velvet shadows trembled along the walls, fluttering like bats, alive yet not. Glass windows rattled under the force of a windless night.
A distant whisper stirred, twisting words into shapes too vile to understand.
“Quaraun,” the voice hissed from inside the walls, soft yet vicious, drifting into him with the damp chill of moss and mildew. “Welcome home.”
Inwardly he cursed himself for leaving BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn.
He’d meant to check a flickering light.
Now the tower held its breath.
The spruce floorboards groaned beneath his silken shoes, yielding secrets with each step. Shadows shifted — a presence somewhere close, skittering behind the walls like a swarm of beetles.
And that light, an eldritch green, cast a twisted reflection, painting the walls with images both moving and still, forcing the air thick with dread.
Claws scratched at glass above, a noise raw with hunger.
Quaraun’s spine straightened as his gaze flicked to the spiral staircase ahead. He moved slowly, each step grinding under him. The sickly glow stained the stair’s velvet carpeting an ominous black.
Midway, he felt something rush past, cold and whispering.
The fable of the Lighthouse’s keeper.
Driven mad by its light, flitted through his mind — a tale of devouring eyes, consuming all who entered.
“Foolish mage.” The voice twisted around him, neither in the walls nor air but embedded within the very glass lens above. “Come to claim your tower, yet lost already.”
Quaraun gritted his teeth and ascended further, ignoring the prickling dread. Shadows crowded him, velvet against his skin, pressing him, shifting with each step.
At the tower’s top, the circular room stretched before him, blanketed in darkness save for that cursed, blinding glow.
The source lay before him: the massive lens, warped with cracks and fractures, was pulsing, something alien clawing from within.
A skeletal hand appeared in the reflection.
Quaraun twisted, heart pounding.
Behind him, a translucent figure, long-dead eyes pale and milky, stretched its thin fingers toward him. Its hand — flesh clinging to bone — grazed the lens with a scraping scratch, its eyes filled with unending hunger.
Quaraun recoiled, stumbling back, forced to brace against the cold glass walls.
Yet the ghost persisted, tapping, grinning with a crooked mouth that stretched too wide.
“Who summons spirits to his own doom?” The figure sneered, voice cracking. “Who enters the dark willingly?”
The walls pulsed, alive. Spruce panels bulged, splitting, shivering. Glass crackled, fracturing outward as shadows seeped from the fissures, writhing into twisted, tentacled shapes.
An impossible maw formed in the glass, gaping, serrated teeth lined its edges, biting at the light as if starving for it.
Quaraun knew, then, this creature, twisted and mad, was born of his own spells — a fable he’d unleashed from beyond the veil.
An ancient spirit now lodged within his tower.
Behind him, the skeletal figure slid its hands from the lens, reaching for him. He shrank back, but hands grasped his shoulders, fingers like brittle twigs, cold and hollow.
“Die for me, wizard.” The voice curled around him, gnashing. “Die, and I feast.”
Quaraun yanked free, heart hammering as he stumbled down the steps. But the shadows followed, unyielding, curling around his legs, clinging with desperate, wet suckers that tugged, slowed.
Green light flashed, blinding him.
A thousand hollow eyes stared back, twisting through cracks in the glass.
Desperate and deranged.
Deranged and desperate.
The lens now a cage of spirits.
Swirling.
Trapped in gnashing silence.
“Quaraun!” GhoulSpawn’s voice burst through the shadows, his figure silhouetted in the green light’s eerie hue. “The tower — it’s cursed!”
Quaraun grabbed GhoulSpawn’s arm, jerking him toward the stairway. They descended, feet pounding the steps, as behind them the whispers intensified, each step matched by shadows that clawed closer, writhing against velvet walls and glass.
“Where’s Unicorn?” Quaraun’s voice not masking his fear.
GhoulSpawn’s eyes flickered upward, haunted.
“He went below — to the archives. Something in the glass — no idea what. It trapped him.”
“Trapped him?”
“Yeah. Like what the Sun Elves did to him.”
“He is a Lich. A powerful one. We are dealing with a necromancer. Only a necromancer can trap a Lich.”
“Well something trapped him. Encased him in this weird glass thing. You weren’t here. I don’t know what to do.”
“Show me. Quickly.”
No thought.
No pause.
Only action.
Quaraun flung himself down the remaining stairs, heart a drumbeat in his throat.
At the archives’ door, the air soured with an ancient rot, velvet shadows forming walls, thick as smoke. And the glass — the thick door pane — had taken on an unnatural gleam, alive with shifting, screaming faces pressed within it.
There in the depths, BoomFuzzy’s face appeared, lips moving, silent, one hand stretched against the glass as if seeking escape. His dreadlocks dangled, pulled and stretched by something behind him, a monstrous mass of eyes and fangs, all trapped within the tower’s twisted heart.
Quaraun smashed his fist against the glass, its green sheen spidering with cracks.
“A barrier for containing Liches. By the gods! Who would build such a thing? And in my lighthouse of all places!”
“HellBorne?” GhoulSpawn said. “I mean this lighthouse used to be his.”
“HellBorne. Yes. It is his type of spell.”
Quaraun drew his wand, tracing intricate sigils into the air, ancient words dripping from his lips.
The shadows shrieked, pulling back, the glass shattering outward in a jagged spray.
BoomFuzzy’s hand shot through, grasping Quaraun’s wrist, his own hand trembling.
“Ae you all right?”
“Aye. I will be.”
“What happened?”
“The tower knows,” BoomFuzzy rasped, voice broken. “Black Tower knows everything we fear.”
Behind him, the mass churned — tentacles sprouting eyes, suckers like glass fragments, mouths yawning open. Shadows bled from it, coating the air in the stench of damp velvet, of rotting wood and glass fractured underfoot. The fable came alive, the lighthouse’s horror unleashed.
“Out!” Quaraun shouted, pulling BoomFuzzy through the broken frame. “Get out of the tower! Glinta! Protection spells. Now! Unicorn! Out! The Tower is a Lich trap. You are not safe inside it!”
But shadows lunged, gnashing, dragging BoomFuzzy backward. Their touch ice, their hunger endless.
“No!” Quaraun screamed. “He is mine! You can’t have him!”
Velvet whispers called, promising pain, tempting him with twisted words.
Quaraun slashed with his wand, incantations spewing forth; each curse tearing shadows into shreds that splintered into fine mist.
GhoulSpawn flung holy salt, shards of spruce needles; the ancient protections snapping through the air, scattering shadow-beasts back into walls.
Together, they tore free, racing from the tower.
At last, the cold night air hit them, sharp and clear, the lighthouse pulsing behind them, angry and unsatisfied.
“Close it,” BoomFuzzy choked, blood on his lips, his hand trembling in Quaraun’s. “Seal it shut.”
With a final chant, Quaraun pressed his hand to the door, the glass lens above cracking, the green light fading into pitch. Shadows shrieked from within, faces pressed against glass, fingers clawing hopelessly, caught in the sealed void.
GhoulSpawn stood trembling, starring at BoomFuzzy.
“I thought… he’s a Lich. I thought nothing could hurt a Lich.”
“No,” Quaraun said, hugging BoomFuzzy close. “Lich’s live just like the living. They hurt, they suffer, they hunger, they bleed. And they die. They just don’t stay dead. Kill a Lich they come back to life. But if you hate a Lich, and trap them. You can torture them. Over and over. Torture them to death. Watch them suffer to death. And then their life resets. They live again. And you can kill them again. Torture them a thousand ways. Kill them a thousand times. Lich’s are stronger then mortals. It takes a lot to break. A lot to kill them. But they suffer and bleed and die just like anyone else.”
In the silence, they staggered back, staring as the tower settled, the light extinguished, silence claiming the night once more.
Quaraun felt BoomFuzzy’s hand grip his arm, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill within him, and together they left the twisted fable behind, stepping into the first light of dawn.
This story was written as part of NaNoWriMo 2024
(The goal is 1,667 words a day or 50k words in 30 days)
This year I used the following Daily writing prompt List:
This set includes the following stories:
Other stuff written this week, but it's non-fiction so I've not included word counts:
Also published this week:
![]() King Gwallmaiic aka BoomFuzzy the Unicorn: Quaraun's husband, BoomFuzzy aka King Gwallmaiic, a Scottish Phooka, who is King of The UnSeelie Court. BoomFuzzy is a "classic fantasy type" Necromancer who uses sorcery to raise the dead. Being a Faerie he is also an illusionist and master of trickster magic. By profession, he is a Master Chef, owning the global monopoly on restaurants, taverns, pubs, and food trucks. Until his death, BoomFuzzy was regarded as the world's most powerful wizard. He is now a Lich. BoomFuzzy is also half-Human. His mother was a Mongolian/Chinese Human, which is why he wears distinctively Asian outfits, along with a great kilt worn as a cape. Known as BoomFuzzy the Unicorn, he often takes the form of a purple Unicorn. BoomFuzzy's exact age is unknown, though he was well over two thousand years old at the time of his death, and Quaraun resurrected him as a Lich around 500+ years ago, making him close to 3,000 years old. In his BlackBird form he is fifteen thousand years old. Art by Wendy Christine Allen |
![]() Quaraun aka The Pink Necromancer: The F2M transgender Persian Moon Elf main character: The Pink Necromancer, Quaraun The Insane, with BoomFuzzy the Unicorn. F2M for those unaware = Quaraun was biologically born female, but transitioned to live as a male; this is why there are stories where Quaraun is sometimes pregnant, in spite of being male and using he/him male pronouns. Quaraun is a Necromancer by the actual dictionary definition of the word, meaning he is a psychic medium who sees and hears ghosts, and uses tarot, spirit boards, and seances to communicate with the dead. By profession he is a silk weaver/tailor/silk merchant. Quaraun is an Elder God JellyFish who takes the form of an Elf to blend in with society. His 12 foot long hair is made out of venomous, stinging jellyfish tentacles. Quaraun is BoomFuzzy's apprentice and regarded as the world's most powerful still living wizard. Quaraun's exact age is unknown, but he is somewhere around 750 years old. In his SunTa form he is twelve thousand years old. The Scared Pink JellyFish that lives in him, is stated to being over two million years old. Art by Wendy Christine Allen |
Links To The Quaraun Stories Can Be Found Listed Here
This Story was cross published on:
Medium
Blogger
Tumblr
Vocal
You can find even more Quaraun novels, novellas, novelettes, short stories, poems and drabbles at these locations:
| Amazon AC1 | Amazon AC2 | Blogger | DeviantArt | FB Profile | FB Page | FB Short Story Writers Group | FictionPress | Google Business | Google Developers | Gravatar | GumRoad | Instagram | Itch.io | LinkedIn | Medium | Myspace | NexusMods | Notd | OnlyFans | PayPal | Pinterest | Quora | Reddit 1 | Reddit 2 | Spoonflower | Steam | TikTok | Tumblr | Twitch | Twitter-X | Vocal | YouTube | Zazzle | Google+ |