To Save A Village

A wizard and his apprentice try to save a possessed village.

To whoever may find this letter,

this may very well be the last time anyone hears of me or of this village. I know now I was doomed ever since the old man and his abomination arrived. Oh, how I wish I could have foreseen what their cursed presence would bring to our peaceful hamlet! Had I known, I would have escaped while I still had time; but I was oblivious of the evil forces that would come to dominate my life, and so I stayed, unaware and unafraid. And now it’s too late for me, and my only hope is that this letter reaches you, so you will know our fate.

Where should I start? The two men’s arrival was not the beginning, sadly. It was merely the consequence of an Evil that had infested this town long before, hidden from us, yet attracting more evil and despair as though it were a magnet.

Just like the sun’s movement in the sky, the curse that set upon us was slow and gradual, invisible to those who lived it every day. One doesn’t notice how he’s aged, until he looks back and realizes with horror that he cannot do things he was able to just yesterday; because yesterday was years ago, and in those years he has changed, not taking any notice of it. In the same fashion, we thought it natural that pestilence would start wiping away our cows, that mother’s cries for their stillborn baby would fill the night, that the dog’s howls would turn to whimpers and then vanish, because it happened slowly, over the course of years, gradually increasing.

It did not help that Beeswick is an isolated village. We have few foreginers and travelers here, so for the most time we lived isolated in our small microcosm, and no one passing through could notice that there was something awful hiding amongst us. The eventual traveler would come, but no one ever remained for more than two nights. We assumed it was in the nature of travel to always be on the move; we did not predict that these travelers were terrified of some unimaginable dark power that they could sense, although no one could ever put a finger on it nor articulate the peculiar and profound dread that spurned them on. I learned much later that this evil was isolating us even more to complete its deed without interference.

We’d grown used to pestilence and misery; indeed, we could not remember a time where our village was not cursed with the death of our cattle and the rot in our grain. Stillbirths were so common that more children died in the womb than in infancy, and few people grew old. The nights were eerily silent and cold, and the moon rarely shone through the thick layers of clouds that always hung in the sky.

It was during the seventeenth year of this evil plague that they arrived. There were two of them: a tall, slim old man (and yet, not entirely man, for he was somewhat different from my or your neighbour: his ears were too pointy, and his face had some inhuman features that I could not properly describe; yet I know they weren’t human. The other one was smaller, and not yet even adult. But most importantly, he was an abomination. Born out of the sin of woman and devil, his skin was of dark red complexion, his skin somehow a mix between leather and human. I distinctly remember his dark hair barely covering his horns. He was clearly the man’s apprentice: he kept in the background, and let the man do the talking. Indeed, the elder of the two approached us, and strangely every one of us felt compelled to gather around him, ready to listen to him.

“People of Beeswick!” he proclaimed, and his voice sounded much stronger than his corporature would suggest. “I have been told that evil lurks in this village, has made its way between you, and is conquering your community from within! I have come to liberate you before it’s too late.”

His words were met by questioning murmurs. Our village was not haunted, could not be. We would have noticed long ago if it were. He took notice of that, but it didn’t deter him.

“How many of your cattle survive? How much of your grain can you salvage every year?” His questions were again unwelcome. What did this stranger care about our  harvest and livestock? It had been average, just like last year and the years before.

“How many children live to sleep in the cradle? How many live to crawl out of it?”

This time his words struck deep within the hearts of the women. As if hit by a sudden realization, they started wailing, all at once, as if they had been harboring the thought for a long time but never dared to speak it out aloud before now. I suspect it was indeed so, for a man’s beasts and grain are a number on a ledger and meal on the table at the end of the day, yet a woman’s child is part of herself, and the unnatural loss of it will leave an indelible mark on her; and if enough are marked enough times, they will begin to wonder if the fault lies not in them but in something more powerful. 

The men looked uneasy and eyed the stranger with even more suspicion. How could this stranger and his horned beast know what happened in the village? Were they the cause for all the lost sons? When the man spoke again, his tone was laden with authority and knowledge.

“Your village is home to a beast, a demon so wretched and evil it will not blink at the thought of stealing your unborn children, at taking away your bread in the night, and make you slowly perish in grief and misery, for it feeds on it. Once this settlement is consumed, it will travel to the next and start anew.

“I am here to defeat it and banish it into the realm of shadows from where it came. I will not ask you for payment, nor gratitude. I will only ask for bed and meal for myself and my apprentice. You are free to turn me away, but bear in mind the state of your lives far from normal, and misery plagues your homes.

“I know I am unwelcome, and this entity will poison your minds and convince you to drive me out to protect itself. I do not seek your friendship and good disposition: when I will have completed my work, I will leave you and you will never see me again. I am here to banish evil and nothing more. I will not touch you or any of your belongings, and you will not see us until after our work is done. We seek only to improve your lives, for we are hunters of evil.”

Once his speech was over, Elder Garrick approached him, and the questioning began. Everyone’s gaze was fixated on the pair, not a word was uttered. The stranger and Master Garrick spoke in hushed tones, and after a few minutes all was settled. The stranger was to take the abandoned cottage that had belonged to the widow Erndel, beyond the edge of the village. Meals were to be delivered to the cottage twice a day, and no other interaction was to occur. They could not predict the lenght of their stay, but they did not plan to stay for more than a few days. This decision was met with dissent, but the Elder had the final word, and so it would be arranged.

The crowd quickly parted as the stranger and his beast made their way to the cottage. As they walked past me, I was suddenly struck by a fierce desire to leap forward and srike the old man down. I took a step, my hand reaching for the dagger at my  belt, and was frozen in place. Not matter how much I strained my muscles, I could not move. The murderous intent in me flared up, and my eyes were shooting flames at the couple, yet I couldn’t move. I saw that the old man’s face was disfigured by strain, as if he were wrestling something… as if he were wrestling me. It must have been that way, for as soon as he was at a safe distance the desire to murder him and his apprentice died, and I found myself free to move again. 

That night the hounds started howling again. I needed some time to understand what kind of beast could emit such a sound, as no dog in this village had more than whimpered for years. But that night, every single dog barked and howled, and if I didn’t know better I could swear some screamed like a man would, and when the morning came they were all gone. Something in the night had made them crazy and given them the strength to rip free of the leashes, and they had run away. A few of the men went looking for them, but not a single one was found.

Elder Garrick had died that night. Nobody could tell what happened: his wife had slept through the whole night as if dead herself, and when she woke up, she found him lying on the floor, a hand to his chest. It seemed like his heart had decided to stop beating and he had fallen, never to stand up again. He was buried quickly, without too much care: we had grown used to tragedy and lost most of our ability to grieve.

We didn’t see the two outsiders that day. A few brave souls ventured out to their shack, but returned in great hurry and discouraged anyone they could see from attempting the same. They could feel an evil presence lurking there, a feeling of cold and heat at the same time that made the blood freeze and boil in your veins. I have never had enough courage to be worth mentioning, yet that day I found myself compelled to spy on our proclaimed saviours. Armed with a long knife that I felt would be necessary I made my way to their lodging. What my companions had told me was true: the closer I came to the cottage, the more I froze and burned. A sense of fear washed over me, made my spine tingle and my muscles tense up. I knew that I had jumped from stalker to being stalked. I knew my life would be forfeit if I stayed here one minute longer, so I turned around and ran home as quickly as my malnourished legs could carry me. I will never know how my sudden courage was so quickly turned to cowardice, but I am sure it saved me my life that day.

By now, the rumour of the evil aura had spread through the village, and it was decided that it had been a mistake to ever welcome these two strangers into our community. A small mob gathered in the village, comprised of most of the still able bodied inhabitants. I joined them, confident that whatever beast had given me such a fright before could not get to me when protected by all these men. Together we marched back to what seemed to be the very birthplace of evil, and though many of us shuddered and slowed, no power was strong enough to stop the entire village. Rocks shattered the windows, and flaming torches were thrown into the now open holes to drive the couple out. But they never appeared. When the flames first started breaking through the roof, we assumed that the two had chosen to die by the fire rather than face the mob. We felt the chill in our bones as it was swept away by the fire, and the manic fear that had been torturing most of us vanished. Whatever beast or spell they had summoned to protect them had died with them in the fire. Satisfied by the result of our heroic expedition we returned home, certain that we had gotten rid of the two nuisances that had appeared the day before. 

Our women were less pleased than us men. They couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man had spoken some truth when reminding us of our dying children. How could life sustain such a high failure rate when it came to propagating itself? It didn’t make much sense to them; but to the men it didn’t matter much. We had lost sons and daughters as well, but we hadn’t suffered as much as the women to bring them to this world. We were told that it did not feel natural to grow something in you for nine months, just for it to die when it saw the light of day. The old man’s appeal had touched them deeply, and they held on to the belief that he could deliver them from some unseen evil that was plaguing us. Their thoughts were dismissed rapidly though: most of the men did not believe in any supernatural presence festering in our village, and it was decided that the old man and the abomination had come to exert their own evil powers on us.

We found out that night that the two strangers had not perished in the cottage fire. There were no howls, for there were no more dogs left to cry; but a cruel wind rose, bending the trees and wrestling with the roofs of our houses. A great chill came over Beeswick and couldn’t be won through fire or blankets. We huddled together for warmth, our breath forming warm clouds in front of us. But the greatest chill was one of fear and terror when we heard mad, demonic screams echo through the night, worse than the cries of the dogs the night before. Nobody slept that night.

Sunrise was still a few hours away when all of us knew we had to seek out the source of the screams. Men and women poured from their houses into the streets, making their way towards the still smoldering ashes of the cottage. Not a word was spoken; nothing needed to be said. We all knew that our presence was required, the great confrontation that was about to begin needed everyone to bear witness. One by one, we formed a circle around the moonlit ruins. A thick smoke hid the remains from our eyes. The chill was almost unbearable, but everyone pressed on without a thought about turning back.

Two figures emerged from the smoke: the old man and the beast. We were convinced they had died in the fire, but none of us were surprised to see them there before us. It was only natural: tonights encounter was bound to happen, and nothing could have prevented it. They did not acknowledge us as they turned towards the smoke, their faces solemn and calm. Then the smoke began to move, forming unnatural, twisting shapes, pulsating as it coalesced into a humanoid form.

So you have come to face me, the smoke said. It did not have a mouth, but we knew it had to be him talking.

Your arrogance brought you to believe that you could banish me. Do you know how long I have been residing here? For seventeen years I have been growing stronger, and an old elf and a child think they can win against me? Foolish mortals. Always too proud to recognize certain defeat when it stands right in front of them.

The old man removed his hood from his head and took a step forward.

“We have come to banish you from this place, evil demon! No longer will you feed on this village! Return to your domain, or be sent there by us!” With every word he seemed to stand taller and prouder, and a subtle glow radiated from his body. The smoke figure was not impressed.

But my domain is so boring! No humans to feed on, no misery! I believe I will stay right here, and I shall feast on your dead, cold bodies!

As the demon spoke, more smoke from the embers coalesced into a smaller shape: a spear. Too fast to be seen accurately, it shot forward, aimed at the old man’s heart, but it was struck by a stray lightning bolt before it could reach him and burst into amorfous smoke again.

“Begone, vile demon! Begone, and do not come back!” More lightning shot out, this time from the man’s staff. It hit the smoke figure in the chest and spread around its ethereal body before dissolving. The demon laughed, and the sound echoed in our skulls.

Do you think that will be enough? Fool! Your weak magic cannot hurt me. It was then that he was hit by a white hot flame, a streak of fire emerging from the palm of the young abomination’s hand. The laughter turned into a pained scream that brought most of the bystanders to their knees, myself included. Our voices joined the demon in denouncing our pain. The smoke burst apart and all was quiet for a few moments, but it quickly resumed its humanoid shape. It appeared darker now, and bigger.

No more words were spoken. The rest of the fight happened too quickly for our eyes to truly comprehend what was happening. Lightning, fire, smoke and other materials I could not name shot through the air, leaping from one party to the other. Shouts, grunts and screams filled the silent night, and our noses were overwhelmed by a myriad of differents smells, some of them familiar, most of them unknown to us. It seemed to us that the fight would go on forever, as none of the fighters seemed to be tired, and the intensity never diminished. The longer the fight dragged out, the more the frustration amongst the spectating villagers grew. We thought we had killed the strangers already, yet they proved far more hardy than we could have expected, and the longer they survived, the more our discontent grew. The circle started closing. I realized my hand was toying with the knife I had brought with me. As I became more and more frustrated, I started to move towards the battle faster and faster. The last rational part of my mind screamed at me to turn around and leave, but something had come over me, a frenzied rage, the desire to draw blood. The old man’s blood, to be precise. I broke out into a run, as did everyone around me. We had only one objective: to thrust our blades deep into the two outsiders, to make them scream in agony and pain, to rid our village of their presence and life forever. I had almost reached the abomination when I stumbled on a rock and fell to the ground. I hit my head on a stone and was momentarily dazed, and that saved my life. A few moments after my fall I heard a shout of pain, followed by a loud fireball erupted from where the outsiders were standing. It engulfed all of the men storming towards them, and I was saved only by the mass of bodies that had charged ahead of me, shielding me from the fiery inferno. The sickening smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils, and my ears were plagued by the agonizing screams of dozens of men burning brightly. Above all, a furious growl resounded inside my head, as if a giant beast were shouting its rage into my mind; its intensity enough to make me lose consciousness.

When I opened my eyes again the sun had risen. I stood up, my whole body aching, and surveyed my surroundings. The battlefield was covered by the charred bodies of my companions, their dying poses suggesting the terror and agony of their last poses. A cloud of smoke resembling a crouching man or a four legged beast stood over one of the cadavers, but as I moved it dissolved into thin air. Curious, I examined the body it had been floating over. It was smaller than the rest, and through the blackness of the burned flesh I thought I could see some lighter, red colored skin. A knife was embedded in its skull, right between two small horns.

Two days have passed since that night, and since then I have learned that not a single one of my fellow villagers survived the battle we witnessed and later took part in. I am now alone here, and will die soon. I cannot leave my home: an invisible force ties me to this place, and all strength escapes me if I get too far. The two outsiders were right: evil had befallen Beeswick, and it had slowly poisoned us over the years. When they arrived, it poisoned our minds, led us to believe that their words were nothing but lies, coerced us to dispose of them before a confrontation was unavoidable. We failed in this, and now the whole village has paid the price, as have our attempted saviours. I am alive through sheer luck, and even that only delayed my death by a few days. I believe the demon was weakened in the battle, but if I can believe my eyes, the cloud hasn’t left us yet, and will soon return. But I don’t know what I can believe anymore.