《Skin Walker》


 Chapter 1: A Dark And Stormy Night

    The rumble of distant thunder can be heard through the flowing spring rain. Sven, trusty hound of the Helland family farm, remains mostly unbothered by the noisy weather. Mostly unbothered. He has noticed the steady stream of water running by the edge of his little dog house is inching closer to where he¡¯s resting his snout. He gently opens his eyes an inch and notices the stream has crept into his bed and is now soaking through his raggy pillow. What a bother. With a yawn and a stretch he gets up from his position of comfort, steps in a short circle, then another one, and bites down on the worn edge of his pillow dragging it to the back of the little square that is his house. In his ten years of service, he has long since gotten used to his home''s unfortunate weather conditions, but tonight seems like a particularly nasty case.


    There¡¯s the rumble again. It¡¯s getting closer. Sven pokes his snout into the rain and sniffs the air. Cold droplets pelt his fur and he takes a second drag of the moist air. He huffs and sneezes. Nothing out of the ordinary. There¡¯s the rain, the faint scent of sheep droppings, and the freshly painted deck by the door, now surely ruined by the rain. Still, the aging dog can¡¯t shake the feeling something¡¯s different tonight. The feeling started moments ago, but now he can¡¯t shake it. A subtle gnawing in the back of his mind stretching into his bones and making his neck hair tingle.


    *CRACK*


    Lightning flashes and Sven yelps in surprise. Too close. Too loud. He quickly scoots back into the corner and burrows his head under the pillow, all sleepiness chased from his system. Not comfortable at all. He waits there, huddled in the back, while the seconds become minutes. A second, milder crack comes from just to the right of where he is sheltered. Not thunder? It¡¯s the door! Oh, thank god, it¡¯s the door to the farmhouse creaking open.


    ¡°Sven? Sven, are you still out there?¡±, a girl''s voice rings out through the splashing rain.


    Wasting no time Sven takes his pillow in his mouth, skitters out of the dog house, and hurries through the rain. With a muffled, appreciative yipp he meets the warmth and light of the comfortable inside.


    Sven shakes the wet out of his fur to a less than pleased, ¡°Hey, wait!¡± and unhurriedly trots over to his favorite place in front of the glowing fireplace. Warmth. Silence. Peace. He shuts his eyes and begins to drift off. A minute passes, then several.


    Sven kicks his legs and rolls over. His ears peak and swivel as the window lights with distant lightning and the floorboards vibrate with the rumbling weather. There¡¯s no peace. The feeling in the back of the hound''s mind is still there, gnawing at him. Warmth be damned, he drags the pillow under the bench in the kitchen nook and lays down. With a huff containing all his silent discontent, he lies in his little bunker of safety and tries to achieve some level of comfort yet again.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Outside the window, the wind continues to howl and rainwater flows in angry streams. They stretch along the twisting country-side road, turning earth into mud and pushing all kinds of debris this way and that. Great clumps of grass, dirt, and pebbles will travel further on this night than they have in centuries. Most of this muddy substance will pass down the shallow incline and eventually into the river called The Grime by locals, and from there will take the express route to the sea.


    Through the clouds lightning spears and crackles violently. Thunder rumbles as the energy streaks off to scorch a hole halfway up the mountain called The Little King. Streaming water soon fills the hole and begins its tedious, and largely unhelpful, work of turning the soggy mountainside even more treacherous. It doesn¡¯t take long before the sandy mountain dirt gives way and in seconds several square meters of topsoil slides down the mountainside and just over the displaced dirt a now much more precariously placed boulder starts to reach for open air.


    The boulder sits there for another hour, seemingly undecided as to whether it really wants to vacate its position of comfort before the water makes the decision for it. Another piece of the dirt that makes up its foothold goes sliding after the first and the back of the boulder smells fresh air for the first time. At first a slow lean. Then, rapid tumbling. The massive rock goes careening down the mountainside, building up speed as it flies and rolls. It begins digging deeper and deeper with each touch of the ground as the incline begins to level. With an ear-splitting crack stone meets wood. The base of the telephone pole is obliterated in an eye-blink. Splinters go flying in all directions as what remains of the pole tears loose from its brethren and flies through the air, burying itself next to a tree. A family of terrified hares skitters out from their hole next to the still-swaying pole, deciding to brave the weather rather than remain in their pierced home.


    Halfway up the Little King, the rain continues its assault on the ground like it has been personally insulted. The ditch in which the large boulder recently rested grows deeper by the minute until the bare rockface kisses open air. Undeterred by its progress the drizzling water washes the surface of gravel and crust until a crack is revealed between the shingles. As if by invitation a gust of musty air burst forth from the crack shoving aside plates of rock and gravel. Moist fresh air seeps into the unveiled hole and with it the pitter-patter of rainwater follows. Deeper and deeper these lifegiving substances make their way into the mountain until the trickle meets something unusual.


    *Drip* *Drip* *Drip* Droplets of cold fresh water fall from the ceiling and gather in a hollow of bleached white bone. The water pools for a minute, serene in its new resting place, content to moisten this dark and dry cave.


    A brush of warm breath makes the droplets quiver where they lie. Ancient eyes blink open. Orbs of the deepest black observe the curiosity before extending a spiny tongue to lap up the spill of delicious fresh water.


    More. It needs more. The creature uncoils and begins moving. Limbs, stiff and withered from underuse shift its weight forward, towards the sweet smell of fresh air, and with it a second need makes its presence known. A feeling that never left the creature and had only strengthened with its endless captivity. It needed to have it, to feel it caress its skin yet again.


    Warm. Wiggling. Flesh.

 Chapter 2: Uneventful Pastime

    Between two tardy rainclouds the gentle rays of dawn peak down on the valley below. The turbulence of the night has left large pools of water everywhere and the forest floor has been left a swampy hazard for all but the most desperate of animals. Still, a long and cold winter leaves few options for hungry critters and a rumbling stomach will force anyone out of hiding after enough time.


    A pair of stumpy, fur-clad antlers peak up from the brush between two birch trees. A pair of ears and two glassy eyes soon follow. With careful movements, the stag scans the horizon and smells the air. After confirming the coast is clear it rises out of its hiding place and begins the quest to fill its rumbling belly.


    The stag walks down to a stream of passing water and bites down on a piece of loose foliage. After a couple of chews, it thinks better of it, leaves the rest alone, and takes a drag of the freshwater instead.


    Quick as a flash the stag''s head shoots up from its drink. Frozen in indecision it scans the forest once more. There is nothing there, but an eerie feeling has taken hold of the animal making it want nothing but to flee back to its flock. Hunger wars with instinct as the stag remains rooted in place.


    Instinct wins as the stag makes to jump back into the safety of the forest.


    *BANG*


    A shaking barrel is lowered and a victorious smile forms on Garm''s face, ¡°I hit it!¡±


    The stag stumbles briefly, then turns around in a dead sprint and disappears between the trees.


    ¡°No, wait! But, I¡­¡± Garm makes as if to run after the animal and takes a long step towards the direction it left. With a loud *slorp* his boot sinks through the boggy underbrush. After a series of choice words, all while trying to yank his rapidly filling footwear out of the muk, the gangly youth accepts his fate and sits down in the wet moss.


    Garm affixes his most disapproving look and slowly peers to his left. He spots a mound of red curls where he expected them to be.


    ¡°Oh, sweet beloved sister of mine¡­¡± he begins, ¡°...do you mind?¡± he says, and gestures down to his situation while stretching his hand out for aid.


    ¡°No,¡± Hannah replies and gets up from her crouch, ¡°I don¡¯t mind at all.¡±


    She wipes her knees of twigs and dirt while trying, and failing, to hide a smirk. ¡°You hit it, huh?¡± she asks while grabbing for Garm¡¯s hand and the two begin hoisting the sunken leg out of the bog.


    ¡°Don¡¯t rub it in,¡± Garm grumbles under his breath. With another *slorp* the leg comes loose and the two stumble back onto dry land under the pine serving as their hiding spot. ¡°I¡¯m already in trouble as is, I can do without you getting on my back as well.¡±


    Hannah¡¯s taunting smirk is gone, replaced with an expression of light concern, ¡°Without that stag or even a rabbit to show for it, what will you say to¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll think of something,¡± Garm says and pulls off his boot, watching the brown water trickle out while pointedly ignoring his sister¡¯s skeptical stare. Even now just holding up his boot he can see the tremble caused by his shaking hands. He knows Hannah¡¯s noticed as well, though she¡¯s too polite to point it out.


    ¡°Time to go home,¡± he sighs, pulls the soggy mess back on, and gets up to leave. Pulling back the lever on the rifle he pops out the empty shell and pockets it. ¡°We should¡­ Hannah? What are you doing?¡±


    The freckled girl had walked off and was crouched, rummaging through a bush of wet blueberry heather. After a couple of seconds, she lets out an affirmative, ¡°Mhm!¡± as if all is right once more, and gets back up, seemingly ready to leave.


    ¡°Hannah, put that back.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Hannah, please. It¡¯s gross and you¡¯ll get sick.¡±


    ¡°I will not. It¡¯s mine now.¡±


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The girl was holding out a severed hare¡¯s paw. To Garm¡¯s disgust, the limb was still dripping with gore.


    ¡°It¡¯s lucky,¡± Hannah started while wrapping the severed appendage in a piece of cloth from her pocket, ¡°besides, Ma will like it.¡±


    Garm sighed and decided there would be no point in explaining that this was, in fact, not a rabbit¡¯s paw, but belonged to a hare. Nor did he point out that however much luck was hidden away between the hare¡¯s digits it had not helped the poor creature when it mattered the most. Resigning himself to the situation he simply replied, ¡°Yeah. Yeah, She will like it,¡± and began walking back towards the forest path.


    After half an hour of walking the two come upon the bridge that separates the forest, christened The Plug by locals, from the rest of the valley. It is just as precarious as when they crossed it earlier that morning, but with the sun high in the sky they stride across the log bridge with confidence. The rainwater added to the meltwater has made the river start licking the bottom of the logs they tread on. The old log bridge has fared worse weather and in seeming defiance of the frothing stream lets the siblings over with no more than wet soles.


    On the other side, they spot the Madsens are hard at work on the mill.


    Garm points at the water wheel, ¡°Looks like the storm¡¯s taken a toll on the old mill.¡±


    From where they stand it looks like several planks on the wooden wheel have come loose during the night.


    ¡°Yes, but Birk and Grim will have it up and running in no time. Look, there they are now.¡±


    It is Hanna''s turn to point as two men come running around the corner carrying planks and tools. The older of the two gestures animatedly at the damage and the younger nods meaningfully between his father''s breaths.


    ¡°Joohoo!¡± a familiar female voice calls them over.


    Sandra Madsen carries a large wicker basket brimming with newly washed clothes while waddling in the direction of the clothesline strung up in their garden. She puts down her load and wipes her forehead before gesturing them over.


    ¡°Hannah and Garm? You¡¯re up early today. Been doin¡¯ some huntin¡¯ have ya?¡± she asks and looks at the rifle slung over Garm''s back.


    ¡°Not recently, no,¡± Garm replies, ¡°just out practicing is all.¡±


    ¡°Ah, out makin¡¯ your old man proud then. And you Hannah? Just taggin¡¯ along today?¡± Mrs. Madsen turns to Hannah expectantly, missing the shade of discomfort on Garm¡¯s face.


    ¡°Just looking out for my brother,¡± Hannah answers with a short nod.


    ¡°Keepin¡¯ him out of trouble? I¡¯m sure Garm needs all the help he can get,¡± Mrs. Madsen says with a good-hearted smile. ¡°You two stick around for a bit. I just made sugar buns this mornin¡¯ and I can¡¯t leave you two empty-handed.¡± Then, looking like she¡¯s just remembered something, she adds ¡°How¡¯s the lamp oil over at the Helland farm?¡±


    Garm thinks for a bit and tells her they haven¡¯t stocked up in a while. The comely woman nods, then walks back to the house.


    ¡°What do you think that was about? Why ask about our lamp oil?¡± Hannah wonders out loud and begins fishing socks out of the basket and hanging them on the clothesline.


    ¡°Beats me, but I¡¯m always happy to taste Sandra''s baking,¡± Garm says while waving to Grim who has just noticed their presence.


    The large boy puts down his tools and trots over to greet them, ¡°Mornin¡¯, Garm. You been out huntin¡¯ I see.¡±


    ¡°Just practicing,¡± Garm shrugs, ¡°And you? The water wheel looks pretty busted up.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Dad¡¯s been shoutin¡¯ about it all mornin¡¯,¡± Grim says with an easy smile and looks over as his father, Birk Madsen, huffs around the corner holding boxes of nails and screws.


    Garm gestures to a couple of planks that barely hang onto the side of the large waterwheel, ¡°Looks like it¡¯ll be a hell of a job.¡±


    ¡°Me n¡¯ dad will have it sorted by sundown. It¡¯s nothin¡¯ we haven¡¯t seen before,¡± Grim explains while scratching his ear. ¡°Well. Anyway. I see mom coming over and I gotta get back to helpin¡¯ dad get the wheel back up.¡±


    Grim stretches his arms into the air followed by a long exhalation, ¡°See you around, Garm. And, eh¡­ nice to see you too, Hannah,¡± with a small wave and a sheepish smile in Hannah''s direction, Grim jogs off.


    ¡°See you around, bud,¡± Garm replies as his friend goes back to work. He looks back to where Hannah is seemingly busying herself with hanging up Mrs. Madsen¡¯s laundry, ¡°Too busy to say hello to our neighbors?¡±


    Hannah remains silent in her work, but Garm notices her face redden a shade.


    Mrs. Madsen is breathing heavily as she returns to them, ¡°Oh, thank you, Hannah. You didn¡¯t have to,¡± she says with a smile, but they can see she¡¯s clearly appreciative of the help. She hands each of them a pair of steaming sugar buns and gives Garn a pitcher of sloshing oil. ¡°You just send the pitcher back when you are done with it, won¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Thanks a lot, Mrs. Madsen, we will, but why lamp oil?¡± Hannah says with her mouth full of baked goods.


    ¡°Oh, you haven¡¯t seen... You know what? It¡¯ll be a surprise for when you get home,¡± Mrs. Madsen replies unhelpfully and gives Hannah a wink, dimples showing in her wide cheery smile.


    The siblings look at each other and return a smile of their own before waving goodbye to their neighbors.


    Despite having his cheeks full of sugar bun, Garm''s mood falters soon after they leave. His mind spins with what will happen when he gets home.

 Chapter 3: On Tiptoes

    After a bit of walking Garm and Hannah approach the white-painted farmhouse, the little red barn, and the raised storehouse that make up the Helland farm. As soon as they walk off the main road Sven, their wild-haired, aging farmdog, spots them. His tongue pops out and his tail wags, although he seems hesitant to come out of the safety of his doghouse.


    Hannah begins walking off towards the garden behind the main house, ¡°See you inside.¡± She gives Garm a knowing look and disappears around the corner.


    Garm sighs and looks down at Sven, ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you would take this one for me?¡±


    Sven just stares up and gives him a doggy grin while wagging his tail.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t think so¡± he says, bends down, and gives the dog a few pats before opening the door and heading inside.


    The door opens with a low creak. Garm pulls off his boots and hangs them up to dry, takes off his coat, and gets ready to sneak his father''s rifle back to its rack in the kitchen. He may have told Hannah he had a plan, something to say to his father to mollify his anger at Garm taking his beloved rifle without asking, but in truth, he is gambling his father hasn¡¯t gotten out of bed yet. It¡¯s still morning after all, and their father isn¡¯t the early riser he once was.


    Coming out of the foyer, Garm sneaks through the living room on his tiptoes and enters the darkened kitchen. He sneaks past chairs, making sure not to move anything that could give his presence away and, with shaking hands, lifts the rifle and places it on the rack hung on the far wall. Seeing it like this invokes so many memories in Garm. Memories of a better time, of him and his father out in The Plug walking carefully through the brush. Memories of him taking aim at a deer, of his father urging him to take the shot. He remembers the overwhelming pressure of expectation on his shoulders making his hands tremble. Then, bitter memories of the beating he had gotten when they returned home emptyhanded. The next hunting trip hadn¡¯t gone any better. Nor had the one after that.


    Garm brushed a hand through his sandy hair, pushing down bitter thoughts, and turned around to see his father come down the stairs. Jonas Helland looked gaunt despite his age and walked with a slight limp. He shared Garm''s lanky build and sported a pair of thick eyebrows emphasized by the scowl he had taken to wearing at all times. Garm noted he wasn¡¯t using his cane today, meaning there was a chance his mood wasn¡¯t going to be as stormy as last night''s weather.


    ¡°So. You didn''t catch anything?¡±


    It wasn''t a question, but a statement. A whip to crack over Garm''s back. He had seen him place the rifle back on its rack then, or perhaps he saw them come back through the window.


    ¡°Just out practicing,¡± Garm said in a small voice.


    Damn it all, he really should have thought of something to say. Anything to make him sound less pathetic, or just get him out of this room quicker.


    His father lets out a derogatory, ¡°Heh,¡± under his breath, and sits down on his chair next to the table. ¡°Well, kid, if you¡¯re not gonna feed us then at least you can put on some eggs.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Jonas, I¡¯ll do that,¡± Garm replies quickly, trying to hide the tremble in his hands by keeping them busy. He fumbles around for a bit, trying to find all he needs to boil some eggs while the silence hangs in the room like a choking cloud.


    Garm puts the eggs in the pot, fills it with water, and fumbles with the matches to light their gas stove. After a couple of tries, during which he can feel his father¡¯s stare trying to pierce the back of his head, he gets it to light. Only then does Garm realize the kitchen is still darkened, barely lit by the flames under the pot and the morning rays of sunlight peaking through the window.


    He is about to go turn on the light, maybe use that as an excuse to leave the kitchen until he has to come back for the eggs when Hannah can be heard opening the door. They hear her put away her clothes, take off her shoes, and then enter the living room. Several muted clicks come from her direction before she peaks into the kitchen.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°Hey, the light switch isn¡¯t working!¡± Hannah scans the dimly lit room and notices their father sitting beside the table. ¡°Morning, Da,¡± she says with a smile, walks over to Garm, and starts fishing through one of the cabinets.


    After a minute, three empty lamps sit on the counter and Hannah begins filling them with the pitcher they received that morning.


    ¡°Lamp oil,¡± she states and gives Garm a meaningful look, ¡°just what we needed.¡±


    Hannah looks around the room and just now seems to pick up on the sour mood. Their father is wearing his usual scowl and has taken to stare directly out the window, while Garm is holding on to a boiling pot of eggs like it¡¯s going to run off if he lets it out of his sight. The two of them have also, she notes, not said a single word since she walked in.


    Hannah looks at her father, then looks over at her brother. Finally, she sighs, puts on her best sheepish look, and says, ¡°Listen, Pa. I was the one who asked Garm to borrow the rifle. I should have known¡­¡±


    ¡°No! No, you did not,¡± Garm interrupts, before grabbing her arm and saying under his breath ¡°and I don¡¯t need you to help.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Hannah retorts in an irritated whisper-shout, ¡°Because to me¡­¡°


    *SLAM*


    The fist of Jonas Helland makes the table shake and the cups jump, ¡°I don¡¯t care whose fault it is!¡± he says, with barely contained rage, ¡°I have told you, kid, the Krag stays on that rack, and under no circumstances are you to take it down!¡±


    Their father makes as if he¡¯s about to stand up before three short knocks can be heard from the front door. Garm notices the interruption has created a brief lull and grabs the opportunity like a lifeline.


    ¡°I got it,¡± he says and moves to receive their new guest.


    Garm tries not to jog out of the kitchen while hiding a sigh of relief. He ignores his father''s look as he makes his way across the room, through the kitchen door, and on through the living room.


    The door creaks open to reveal the smiling face of Birk Madsen. The overweight man seems a little winded from his walk, but looks to be in otherwise good spirits.


    ¡°Good mornin¡¯, Garm,¡± Mr. Madsen begins, ¡°Sandra told me you and Hannah came by earlier, I''m sorry to say I didn¡¯t notice ya.¡±


    ¡°No worries, Mr. Madsen, you and Grim looked busy and we were only passing by.¡±


    ¡°But, ya did get a piece of my wife¡¯s bakin¡¯ while you were there, yes?¡± Mr. Madsen strokes his belly and looks like he can smell the sugar buns still, ¡°Best buns around!¡± he says and lets out a brief laugh.


    ¡°That they are,¡± Garm replies while trying not to think about Mr. Madsen¡¯s euphemism.


    Noticing Garm¡¯s discomfort makes the jolly man smile even wider, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, kid, I didn¡¯t come here to discuss my wife¡¯s baking. Is your father home?¡±


    ¡°He is,¡± their father grumbles while halting around the corner to the kitchen, ¡°What¡¯s this about, Birk?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Mr. Madsen begins in a now much more businesslike tone, ¡°you have probably noticed the power is out?¡±


    ¡°That we have.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been the same everywhere since the storm, I reckon. Maria came by earlier with one of her kids. Told us one of the poles down the south side of the Little King fell last night.¡±


    ¡°That damned storm,¡± their father mumbles to himself before asking, ¡°That means no phone either?¡±


    ¡°Afraid so. No phone and no lights. Good thinkin¡¯ on my wife¡¯s part to send some extra lamp oil with your kids earlier.¡±


    ¡°Kind of her.¡±


    ¡°So, yeah. I¡¯m about to head over with my tools. Give that pole a look and see if I can¡¯t get it up again with some elbow grease.¡±


    ¡°You do that, and thanks for taking the time to tell us, Birk,¡± their father says with a nod and begins shuffling his way back in.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothin¡¯,¡± Mr. Madsen says, returning the nod, ¡°see ya around, neighbors.¡±


    Mr. Madsen begins walking back down the road before Garm grabs his coat and pulls on the first shoe.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Hannah says.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go see the broken pole, what else?¡± Garm replies and huffs, struggling with the other shoe. ¡°Who knows, maybe Mr. Madsen needs help?¡±


    ¡°An the sheep? We still have duties, remember?¡±


    ¡°Shit. Fine! I¡¯ll feed them first, then I go after him.¡±


    ¡°Good. And I¡¯m coming with,¡± Hannah states matter-of-factly while putting on her own clothes.


    Garm gives her an inquisitive look, ¡°Oh, come on. Why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not every day these things happen and I¡¯m also curious,¡± Hannah says and gives her brother a nonchalant shrug.


    Garm thinks about just running for it, leaving Hannah to deal with the sheep, but dismisses the childish idea as quickly as it came. ¡°Fine,¡± he sighs, before quickly adding, ¡°but, you¡¯re helping me feed the sheep.¡±

 Chapter 4: No Can Do

    ¡°This won¡¯t do. No, this just won¡¯t do,¡± Maria mumbles with a frown and leans down to pick up a large splinter poking out of the mossy ground.


    The woman they call Widow Maria is a well-built farmer¡¯s wife in her late forties. She would usually be milking her cows about now, but due to her farm''s location, she was the first to discover the aftermath of last night¡¯s storm. After finding her lights not working, she sent her oldest to ask the Thompsons for advice while running over with their milk. Imagine her surprise when, not twenty minutes later, Henrietta returned, milk pail in hand, to tell her of a ¡®broken telephone pole¡¯ just down the hill. After that it was a simple matter of sending the word around, her two daughters running to the Plug and back to tell their little community the news.


    ¡°What won¡¯t do, Ma?¡± Henrietta asked her mother while trying to pull loose her own splinter.


    ¡°She means¡­¡± Gunhilda Thompson starts, and leans down to aid Henrietta while supporting her toddler¡¯s neck with a hand, ¡°...that we¡¯ve only had this here powerline for five years.¡±


    She grunts and the two of them pull the wood loose. Mrs. Thompson lets the kid have her prize and checks on little Theodor¡¯s well-being. After confirming her son sits comfortably, tucked in the shawl tied over her neck and back, she finds a suitable rock and sits down.


    ¡°I mean¡­ would a couple more years be too much to ask for?¡± Maria says in a sour tone, clearly not expecting an answer.


    The four of them fall back into silence, their work only interrupted by brief outbursts of indecipherable noise from little Theodor. After extracting the most vicious, or most inconveniently placed, splinters in a pile the little group spots Birk Madsen on the road coming towards them. The miller has a box of tools under his arm and looks to have worked up a sweat.


    The young Henrietta waves excitedly in Mr. Madsen¡¯s direction. As he notices them in turn, the man waves back.


    ¡°Good afternoon, ladies,¡± Mr. Madsen says and wipes his forehead with an oily rag from his toolbox.


    The rag leaves a brown smear across his forehead, making Henrietta chuckle and cover her mouth.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Birk,¡± Maria greets him, her mood brightening as she notices the miller''s mischievous glint at her daughter''s reaction.


    Mr. Madsen gets down on one knee and looks at Henrietta, who smiles with childlike glee.


    ¡°And a very good day¡¯ to you, Henny,¡± he says, returning her smirk, ¡°Why are you laughing? Do I have something on my face?¡±. With that, he wipes his forehead again, leaving a second brown smear under the first. Seeing this, Henrietta loses her composure, and the girl howls with laughter into her mother''s skirt.


    His job done, Mr. Madsen gets back on his feet and meets the gaze of the two women.


    Widow Maria looks to have gotten some of her daughter¡¯s good spirit, but Gunnhilda Thompson is in no mood for jests.


    ¡°How nice of you to come,¡± Mrs. Thompson says, and gestures to the area past the road, just under the incline up to the Little King, ¡°As you can see, the valley has seen better days.¡±


    Mr. Madsen follows her gesture and sees that, indeed, the mess he noticed walking over is a little worse than he imagined. The ground between the road and where the mountain begins is riddled with bits of telephone pole, large and small. Where the pole once stood there¡¯s now a rock the size of Mr. Madsen''s outhouse resting in a muddy crater. The poor pole looks to have been shattered and launched in all directions, the biggest remaining piece having lodged itself next to a birch tree fifteen meters away.


    Mr. Madsen scratches his newly shaven face and puts his toolbox down on the road, ¡°This, I¡¯m afraid, is a little beyond my abilities.¡±


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Mrs. Thompson, who looks to have reached that conclusion a long while ago, nods her head in sympathy, ¡°Yes, we figured, but what to do about it now?¡±


    ¡°With the phone down someone¡¯s gonna have to travel all the way to Brunvik to explain the situation,¡± Maria adds with a huff.


    Mrs. Thompson nods in sullen agreement, ¡°And that¡¯s just to get the process started, remember how long it took them to get these poles up?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, they blocked the roads that entire summer.¡±


    While the two women descend into squabbling about the ins and outs of construction work and the good old days before they got electrical lighting, Mr. Madsen notices two familiar forms jogging in their direction.


    Mr. Madsen turns to greet the two new arrivals, ¡°Nice to see you two again, and so soon.¡±


    ¡°Hello again, Mr. Madsen,¡± Hannah greets him with a smile, before sitting down on the road while taking in heavy breaths.


    ¡°We thought you might need some help¡­¡± Garms starts before looking over at the crater where the telephone pole used to stand proudly. ¡°...but, that is¡­¡±


    ¡°A little above my abilities to fix,¡± Mr. Madsen finishes for him with an undeterred look.


    Hannah and Garm look around the devastated thicket, taking note of the bits of formerly-a-pole jutting out at odd angles. The road seems to have been cleared. They look over to see little Henrietta drop another splinter on a pile of them. She beams with pride as she comes running over


    ¡°Hey, Garm! Hey, Hannah!¡± she smiles and takes Garm¡¯s hand, then begins dragging him over to where her mother and Gunnhilda are observing them. ¡°You come too, Hannah! We have cleaned all day, come see.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m coming, I¡¯m coming,¡± Garm says and lets the girl guide him to the pile.


    He gives the two women a wave as they approach while Hannah saunters after them.


    Widow Maria and Mrs. Thompson see the siblings coming up to them and return the wave.


    ¡°Good afternoon. What are the Helland kids doing around these parts?¡± Maria asks.


    ¡°We heard about the situation from Mr. Madsen and figured we¡¯d come see for ourselves, maybe lend a hand,¡± Garm explains, not mentioning that the real reason he was so eager to help was to not be near the Helland farm for a bit.


    ¡°How thoughtful of you two,¡± Mrs. Thompson smiles, ¡°as you can see we spent all morning clearing the road. Now that you¡¯re here we¡¯ll clear the rest in no time.¡±


    Henrietta tugs on Garm''s hand, ¡°I helped!¡± and points at the wood they piled up in the ditch. ¡°I did all of that¡­¡± she brags and looks up at her mom before finishing, ¡°...almost alone.¡±


    ¡°That you did, sweety,¡± Maria says and gives her a reassuring nod, ¡°but, it¡¯s time for you to run and check on your sister.¡±


    Henrietta gives her a sour look. She¡¯s not done telling of her exploits yet and could do with some more praise.


    ¡°Can¡¯t I stay a little longer? I¡¯ll help out,¡± Henrietta begs and gives her mother the best doe-eyed stare she can muster.


    Widow Maria, who looks to have developed an immunity to this, gives her a patient look in return. ¡°I need you to go see if June¡¯s been all right by herself. I¡¯m coming home in just a bit to make dinner.¡±


    Henrietta squirms for a second, then turns to do as her mother says.


    As her oldest daughter runs back home, Widow Maria turns to the gathered crowd and says, ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this done. Wouldn¡¯t do to have this place look like a warzone once the experts get here.¡± She then stomps down into the swampy terrain and starts picking up scattered debris.


    ¡°Looks like we got a job to do after all.¡± Mr. Madsen says while smiling at Hannah and Garm. Before joining Maria he turns to Mrs. Thompson, ¡°About informin¡¯ them construction people over in Brunvik¡­¡±


    Gunnhilda Thompson, who had sat down to feed Theodore, looks up and asks, ¡°You¡¯re thinking of traveling there yourself? You don¡¯t have to do that, my husband and I will have to go in a couple of weeks anyway.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know, but I¡¯m not takin¡¯ a two-day carriage ride out of charity to my kind neighbors,¡± Mr. Madsen gives her a wink, ¡°In two, maybe three days'' time, I''m takin¡¯ a large order of flour to Brunvik. I¡¯ll get it done then, no problem.¡±


    Before Mrs. Thompson can thank him, the heavy man hops into the mire and hobbles after Hannah and Garm who have gone to help Widow Maria clear the area. Gunnhilda stares after them and chuckles as she notices Hannah throw a glob of mud directly into the back of Garm¡¯s head before leaping behind the miller''s large frame. This disturbs Theodore out of his feeding and he lets out a low, ¡°Geh,¡± before returning to his task. She stifles the next laugh as a grinning Garm frantically tries to make Mr. Madsen move out of the way of his own mud projectile.


    Another misfortune has rammed their little community, but looking at the carefree display Mrs. Madsen can¡¯t help but let the jovial atmosphere affect her as well. Sure, they have suffered a setback, but this is nothing they can¡¯t handle.

 Chapter 5: Night Stalker

    Dusk is setting in over the valley. The sun¡¯s warming rays have all but disappeared behind the hill, and now only faint light crest the treetops of the Plug. With the retreating sun, the moist air forms condensation on leaves and pine needles as the wet spring climate makes itself known once more.


    A hanging Rowan tree, bent over with its roots exposed, benefits little from this. The storm and rushing water of the previous night dug around its base, drowned its roots, and to add insult to injury, the wind bent it over into a puddle. A near-perfect arch, not that the Rowan tree has the mind to care.


    The tree sits there in silence, as trees tend to do, droplets starting to form on its wilting leaves. Then it¡¯s day gets worse.


    A brown-furred creature staggers into the already-damaged tree and the force bends it further before its trunk snaps. Droplets of moisture fly off in all directions, splattering its uncaring neighbors, or falling to the ground where they intermingle with the red trail the creature left in its wake.


    The stag is breathing heavily, huffing and drooling, as it pulls itself forward. The bleeding from its hind leg has only gotten worse as the day wore on, but it has no time to stop and rest. Fatigue clouds the creature''s vision as it hobbles along, but it has an unmistakable glint of animalistic panic in its eye, driving it to push on.


    Through the tall grass, past that mound, splashing through the soggy mire, onwards, quickly! Behind the fleeing animal, red streaks taint every surface, turning boggy water scarlet, but adrenalin pumps through muscle like its life depend on it.


    Suddenly, the stag steps into a depression in the ground, stumbles, and lets out a yelp of fear as it sprawls out on the wet grass. Getting back on shaking legs, it slinks under the lowest branches of the nearest pine and slumps down by its base. Weakness has finally started to spread through its body, cold creeping from where the puncture wound in its leg emits a now steady stream of blood.


    Did it get far enough? The stag¡¯s head pivots left and right before its gaze is drawn upwards. Through the branches, a final ray of sunlight paints the sparse clouds in crimson. Eyes locked on the twilight sky, the animal stares transfixed as this last bit of light begins to dim.


    Slowly¡­ Ever so slowly, the light disappears behind the horizon, leaving only darkening blue behind. Throughout the change the stag¡¯s head has been pointed firmly skywards, instinct telling its foggy mind to cherish this moment of serenity. In it¡¯s weakened state it can do little but hide here in the protection of the pine and hope that it did enough.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Minutes pass and the wounded stag lays there, not making a sound, stilling its breath, scanning the forest with hazy eyes.


    Another minute. Then five. Then ten. Nothing. Silence. It¡¯s like the forest itself is waiting in anticipation of¡­ something.


    Its pulse spiking, the stag conceals a bleat of pain and stirs from its constant vigilance to lick its wound as a spasm runs through the leg. Breathing heavily once again, its stare returns to the night sky.


    Stars reflect on huge black pupils as the dying animal stills its mind. Soon this will all be over. Soon it can rest peacefully. These thoughts run through the stag''s mind as its eyes return to the forest.


    What¡¯s that? It¡¯s head turns in sudden panic to the direction it came from. Ears pivot and eyes scan. It sees nothing, hears nothing, yet thrums of panic rush from nose to tail every heartbeat.


    Suddenly, the stag freezes in place. Its ragged breath halts, and even the spasms of pain go ignored, as its eyes focus on a spot in the deep darkness.


    To the stag''s mounting horror, the darkness seems to stare back at it.


    With unblinking orbs of the deepest black, the spot between the trees radiates a sickening energy. Malice and hunger joined in terrible harmony wash over the stag in waves as it lies there unable to control its damaged body.


    With painful slowness the terrible visage pushes out between the trees, looking for all the world like it is bringing the empty darkness along like a cloak spreading behind it.


    The stag wills its body to respond, but it is no use, it has lost too much blood. All it can do now is wait for the end.


    The creature looms over the wounded stag and licks up its helplessness. It revels in the look of absolute fear it has inspired in this lowly critter before a sharp pang of pain runs through its ancient flesh. Its decrepit body making itself known, the creature looks down at its captive with renewed intensity.


    Damaged flesh. It will have to do.


    With a final burst of will, the stag lets out a yelp of desperation, but it is too late. Far too late, as the force of hungering darkness falls upon the stag.


    A light drizzle begins to coat the forest in wet. The aftermath of the storm making its presence known. Raindrops hit treetops, running down in rivulets, and filling puddles with fresh water.


    Droplets fall from pine needles, staining miscolored fur, running down tearing seams in writhing flesh.


    *click* *click* *click*


    Malformed bones refit themselves into position as best they can. A sound like breaking wood cracks out as legs elongate and stubby spring horns split into sharp spikes, spearing out like a jagged crown.


    *click* *click*


    Minutes roll by as the process finishes.


    *click* *click*


    The creature unfolds fresh limbs and, with experimental movements, gets up to take in its new world of possibilities. It runs a spine-covered tongue over its bloody, stretched-out gums, once again feeling the bottomless hunger make its presence known.


    The night is still young.

 Chapter 6: Duty Calls

    ¡°Careful, you¡¯ll bend them!¡± Hannah says and moves her hand to right the rod where the wicks are tied.


    Garms looks up and moves the rod away from Hannah¡¯s helping hand, bending the rightmost candle even more as it leans on the edge of the pot of hot wax.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± he replies in mild annoyance, while pointedly ignoring the bending candle.


    The movement and the fresh layer of wax make some of the candles stick together. Seeing this development, Hannah hands Garm the knife without comment. Accepting the instrument Garm begins separating the fused candles.


    The two of them had arrived back at the Helland farm barely an hour before sundown. Their father, who had been doing some work in the barn, seemed less than pleased the two had run off. Jonas had sternly reminded them of duties the two had neglected in their rush to aid their neighbors. He couldn¡¯t be outright mad at the two for showing such neighborly spirit, but Garm had noticed he looked to be far from done with the ¡®talk¡¯ they had started that morning.


    Garm would not admit it openly, but he was glad Hannah had come with him earlier. Reading the sour mood, she had deftly diffused the situation by suggesting they made up for it by getting out their candlemaking supplies from the storage room. ¡°After all,¡± she had pointed out, ¡°With the lights dead, and no fix in sight, we should get a head start preparing lights like they used to.¡±


    Their father had seemed no happier for being reminded of the past, although he agreed it was a good idea. The two then spent the evening getting supplies, heating wax, and tying wicks. When the sun finally sank behind the hills, they had stacked twenty brand new candles on the table, the next batch Garm was carefully separating as they spoke.


    Hannah begins preparing the next series of wicks while looking over at her brother, who is engrossed in the work of carefully dividing his fused candles. She hums an old song their mother taught her as she smiles in subtle satisfaction at their work. The menial labor brings its own kind of peace to their home. In the dim light from the lantern, the kitchen becomes a sanctuary from the day¡¯s strife and worries.


    Garm¡¯s hands have been still since they began, Hannah notes. Keeping his mind on what¡¯s in front of him lets her brother still his thoughts, or maybe just occupies them for a bit. Being honest with herself, she¡¯s not sure what goes on inside Garm¡¯s mind, but glad nonetheless for the brief reprieve.


    ¡°That¡¯s another set done,¡± Garm holds up the rod, showing off the ¡®finished¡¯ product.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Hannah examines the candles and gives Garm a skeptical glare. Their sides have become jagged and uneven from the treatment, and many have taken on a distinctly angular shape.


    ¡°What?¡± Garm asks, but can¡¯t hide a slight grin. ¡°Oh, fine,¡± he eventually says and dips the candles a final time in the hot wax, giving them a more rounded texture.


    The two keep at it for another half an hour before their father comes in. His work done and the barn locked, they hear him grunt as he hangs his jacket on its rack. After struggling off his shoes he makes his way across the living room and into the kitchen where they¡¯re working. Jonas pointedly ignores them and slowly makes his way up the stairs to the second floor. Not long after, they hear a metallic click as he enters his room.


    Hannah notices Garm staring at his candles like he can will them to cool. The room has gone quiet and hands idle in the brief moment. The rod with the candles shakes slightly. When Garm notices, then sees that Hannah has noticed too, he claps his other hand on the first to still the faint tremble.


    ¡°Let me¡­¡± Hannah begins.


    Garm shakes his head and puts on a grin, ¡°No, no, there''s no need.¡±


    Hannah seems unconvinced by her brother¡¯s reaction, but doesn¡¯t insist. In the span of a moment, she saw Garm go from slack contentedness to being visibly on edge. She¡¯d rather avoid an argument, and so decide to observe in silence.


    Garm puts down his candles, balancing the rod between the table and a chair. He then begins untying and stacking them neatly along with the others. looking like he¡¯s wanting for something to say, he scans the kitchen.


    ¡°Hey, Hannah, have you seen Sven around?¡± Garm eventually says.


    Before Hannah can reply they see a snout poke out from under the kitchen bench Garm is sitting on. Having heard his name, the aging dog lets out a yawn, sniffs the air a few times, and then disappears under the bench again.


    Hannah lowers her head and stretches out a hand towards Sven¡¯s hiding spot. While making calling motions with her fingers, she explains, ¡°Da says he¡¯s only been outside to do his business. He¡¯s refused to go further than the flowers by the door, then runs back in like he¡¯s being chased by the Thompson¡¯s cat.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Garm grunts in response before following Hanna¡¯s arm with his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s unusual, don¡¯t you prefer staying in your dog house?¡± he asks in the direction of the dog''s hiding place. Sven just lets out a brief, near inaudible, jowl at the prompting, then returns to being silent.


    Failing to get a reaction out of Sven, Hannah sighs and goes back to finishing her batch. Garms shrugs and helps out. After another hour the two have a stack of candles they agree is an acceptable start, then they begin cleaning up their mess. Pots are emptied and scrubbed, unused wax is stored, and not long after the kitchen looks as it did before they started


    By the time they are done, both of them are yawning and feeling the strain of a day spent in constant motion. They blow out the lantern and start walking up the stairs to a well-deserved night¡¯s sleep.


    To the chorus of a shared, ¡°Good night,¡± the siblings return to their rooms. Within minutes both are knocked out cold, dreaming of candles and sugar buns.

 Chapter 7: Harsh Reality

    Hazy fog clouds Maria¡¯s vision as she lies bobbing in the water. She turns her eyes to her right. An endless expanse of dark murky water stretches out before her, disappearing into a thick fog. She turns her eyes to the left and sees the same. She appears to be floating on her back in the middle of a body of water. A lake perhaps? A faint voice in her head tells her she should be worried about this, but the thought finds little purchase in her flickering consciousness and slips away as soon as it arrives.


    Maria continues to float there in the wet darkness, her mind going in and out of focus. The details of her situation blur, reappear, and then blur again, changing in subtle waves as she drifts through the fog. Once, when her focus returns, she sees her two daughters drifting there beside her, naked and looking so very cold. Unconscious nothing takes her again, and when she returns they are gone like they were never there.


    This goes on for what feels like days, yet also minutes. Uneasy shivers have started making their presence known upon the return of consciousness. The water feels cold against her skin, and the eerie fog forms an impenetrable box around her, making her feel isolated and vulnerable. Maria looks around, her mind truly alert for the first time. Where are her children? She wants to shout their names, but her body doesn¡¯t respond. Henrietta! June! They are nowhere to be found, but they were right there, weren¡¯t they?


    A vibration runs through the cold water, making rings form and splash against Maria¡¯s head. She can feel it, a strange presence moving just outside of her sight. Panic grips her as she feels the malevolent gaze of the unknown being circle where she bobs helplessly in the water. It¡¯s out there, watching her, just beyond the fog.


    Maria strains to move her body, begs her muscles to stretch, open, do something. For all her begging, she continues to lay there, only the turning of her eyes allowing her to look helplessly out into the fog as whatever lurks there waits to strike.


    The water, previously boiling with movement, grows still again. The presence, so keen in Maria¡¯s mind, disappears. Mind reeling in anticipation, she stills her panicked breaths and waits for the inevitable conclusion. She imagines teeth clamping around her head, claws reaching out and ripping into her flesh. Anytime now something horrible is coming out of the mist to kill her.


    Moments pass in silence, Maria readying herself for the worst. Then it begins.


    Slowly, millimeters at a time, the water begins to rise. Maria can feel it as it happens. No, that¡¯s not right, the water isn¡¯t rising, she is sinking. Trapped on her back, she can feel it creeping up her skin, covering her neck, working its way towards her ears. Panic returns in full, her efforts redoubling to force a response from her paralyzed muscles. She strains, but her body¡¯s like a corpse. Soon, she knows, that¡¯s what she¡¯ll be.


    The slow descent continues, the water entering her ears, then covers them entirely. Now there¡¯s only her face left before she¡¯s completely submerged. Before the water runs into her eyes, Maria¡¯s flickering gaze looks upon a pair of eyes peering at her through the mist. Orbs of absolute darkness meet her desperation with¡­ mirth? It enjoys seeing me like this, are Maria''s last thoughts before the water fills her eye, enters her nostrils and all she can feel is pressing coldness.


    Maria awakens, throwing her arms out while heaving for breath, her bedsheets covered in sweat and clinging to her skin. She then sits there, in her bed, letting reality wash over her as her racing pulse slowly returns to normal. Sanity returning, she looks around the dimly lit room. She feels cold, wet, and more tired than when she went to sleep. Hoisting herself out of bed, she figures the moist rags are the most likely culprit for the bone-deep shivers making her arms run with goosebumps. Letting out a dissatisfied yawn and a stretch, she leans over and picks up yesterday''s work clothes. She¡¯ll get a fresh set after she¡¯s done with her morning routine, followed by a proper scrubbing.


    Feeling a sudden urge to check on her girls, Maria opens the door and leaves her room. Although she knows they must be fine, her dream left her with a sense of uncertainty she can¡¯t quite shake.


    She walks down the hallway to the room where Henrietta and June are sleeping and opens the door. Peering in she sees her children still slumbering in their beds. Feeling a little foolish for worrying in the first place, she stands there in the doorway just looking at their peaceful sleep. Or, perhaps not so peaceful after all? June lets out a faint squawk and stretches her hands out towards the ceiling. Looking at Henrietta she also seems in motion as she lays in her bed, clearly asleep, shivering in a fetal position.


    Moving into the room, Maria lays a hand on June¡¯s chin, ¡°It¡¯s okay sweety, Ma¡¯s here.¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    June¡¯s eyes flutter open and her arms come down to rest at her sides. Still half asleep she looks towards her mother like she can¡¯t quite believe she¡¯s there. Not saying a word, June lays her hand on top of the hand Maria is gently stroking her hair with.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Maria repeats, comforting her youngest daughter, ¡°you¡¯re awake now, nothing¡¯s going to hurt you.¡±


    Moving to check on Henrietta, Maria leans over her bed to soothe her awake, only to find her eyes already open. Henrietta looks up at her mother with haunted eyes, streaks of tears flowing down her chin. She opens her mouth to call out, but all that escapes is a sob as she reaches for her mother. Maria takes her in an embrace and spends the next couple of minutes consoling, soothing, and comforting her children.


    Fifteen minutes later, Maria¡¯s making breakfast. They are all tired, but in a farmer''s life, there¡¯s little time for slacking. There are things to be done, cows that need milking, and errands to run.


    The night''s horrors grow more distant and hazy, as dreams tend to do, and Maria¡¯s glad to see Henrietta and June have regained most of their spirit.


    ¡°Ma, can we go visit Teddy today?¡± June asks through a mouthful of porridge.


    ¡°Maybe after your chores,¡± Maria says, ¡°we shouldn¡¯t bother the Thompsons this early, and you know Theodore needs his sleep.¡±


    June looks sullen for a moment, but nods in understanding. ¡°Yeah, I know, but I can''t wait to play with him.¡±


    Maria smiles to herself and suppresses a yawn. Her girls have asked to visit the Thompsons almost daily since Theodore was born the previous autumn. The Thompsons were family friends and had been there to support them back when her husband passed away. Gunnhilda was more than happy to let the two girls play with her son for a bit. ¡°It lets me take a breather,¡± she would say and chuckle when Maria asked if they were a bother.


    Finishing off her porridge and downing her glass of water Maria got up from her chair, readying herself for a day¡¯s work. Before leaving she looks over at Henrietta, who¡¯s halfway done eating an apple. ¡°Did the Thompsons actually get their delivery yesterday?¡± she asks while looking at her oldest.


    ¡°Ehm¡­¡± Henrietta begins uncertainly, ¡°After I saw the telephone pole I kind of¡­ forgot.¡± She looks down at her feet, but when meeting her mother''s eyes again is relieved to see she¡¯s not mad at her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, I''m sure they¡¯ll understand,¡± Maria says with a nod to her daughter. ¡°Really, I should have said something when Gunhilda was helping us clear the forest. No matter, she¡¯ll get her milk today. After you two are done with your chores, bring her milk pail when you¡¯re running over to visit them.¡±


    After finishing instructing her girls, Maria pulls on her coat and kisses the two on their foreheads. Heading out the door she immediately feels the cold morning wind tussle her hair, the moist breeze making her long for the warm kitchen. She fetches a wheelbarrow from their shed and wheels it down towards the barn. Making a short stop to fiddle with her keys, she looks down at the barn and notices the hatch leading into the loft swaying in the wind.


    Swearing under her breath, Maria walks down the rest of the short incline. She¡¯s certain she closed it and it¡¯s been weeks since they needed to hoist something into that loft. The darn thing must have come open during the storm and she just hadn¡¯t noticed until now. The cows better not have gotten too cold, the last thing they need is cattle falling sick.


    The old lock rattles then gives, and Maria walks inside. Closing the door behind her she can¡¯t help but notice an eerie silence permeating the barn. Where she would normally be met with loud mooing and the noise of shuffling cows awaiting their breakfast, there¡¯s stillness so absolute she can hear her own heartbeat. Putting her wheelbarrow aside, the rattle ringing throughout the space, she slowly moves from the foyer and into the aisle where her livestock are kept.


    The creeping sensation of uncertainty gropes at the edges of her mind, images of water rising to cover her face returning in force. With a huff Maria masters herself. This is no dream, she tells herself, but this is her barn!


    Peaking through the aisle there¡¯s nothing out of the ordinary. That is, except she can see no cows poking their heads out of their stalls. Growing concerned, she moves inside and looks into the first stall. There, on the floor, lays a cow. It looks alive, and otherwise unharmed, its eyes are open and staring at her when it notices her walk over. The cow is taking in rapid, shallow breaths like its pulse is racing. Upon seeing a familiar face the cow visibly calms, but makes no move to get up or call out.


    Moving from stall to stall Maria discovers the same scene again and again. Then a new sensation assaults her senses. Getting further into the aisle what started as a faint scent, overpowered by the natural odors of the barn, begins to stand out the further into the room she gets.


    Arriving at the final stall, Maria is overwhelmed by a putrid stench. Covering her mouth and nose with a rag from her pocket, she looks over the edge of the stall. Clutching one hand over the rag and the other on her stomach, she bends over and heaves in revulsion. The stall is drenched in red, innards splatter the floorboards and scattered bits of cow hang loosely from the sides. Struggling to keep her breakfast down while shuffling back outside, one nagging thought presses its way to the forefront of her mind. Despite all the blood and gore, there were mostly just bits of scattered viscera left of the 900-pound bovine. Where did the rest of her cow go?

 Chapter 8: Grave News

    Garm was in a less-than-stellar mood when he woke up that morning. Yesterday''s toils had left him exhausted, which would normally lend itself to heavy sleep, but instead, he had tossed and turned all night. Several times he would wake up, memories of a turbulent dream quickly fading, and just lay there for several minutes staring at the ceiling. Soon exhaustion would retake him, he¡¯d fall asleep, and then the pattern would play out again. On and on the cycle continued until morning came.


    Garm walked downstairs to find his sister already rifling through cabinets, getting breakfast ready. She¡¯d already found bread, cheese, jam, and butter, and looked to be boiling eggs on the stove.


    ¡°Morning,¡± Garm grumbles and lets out a gaping yawn before he can stifle it. He finds himself a chair and begins slicing bread.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Hannah says while taking the eggs off the stove and putting them down on the table, ¡°you missed Mr. Madsen.¡±


    Garm adds butter and cheese to his slice, takes a large bite, swallows, and then asks, ¡°Mr. Madsen was here again? Did he have any updates on the telephone pole situation?¡±


    ¡°No, nothing like that. He came to see Da about something that happened at Widow Maria¡¯s farm. I only caught a little before they left, but he seemed quite rattled.¡±


    Garm takes a moment to absorb the news while chewing on his bread. After a few seconds, he replies, ¡°So Jonas just left? As in walked? All the way to Widow Maria¡¯s farm?¡±


    ¡°He took his cane with him,¡± Hanna shrugs.


    Garm mulls over the situation for a bit. ¡°He¡¯s gonna be in a hell of a mood when he gets back,¡± he mumbles and stares into empty air.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Hannah begins while filling her own plate, ¡°but there¡¯s nothing we can do about that. Besides, it seemed important.¡±


    Hannah starts peeling an egg, then stops to hide a yawn of her own. Garm looks her over and notices she seems a little out of it as well. She slouches on her chair just a little, and he can see there are bags under her eyes.


    ¡°You slept poorly too, huh?¡± Garm says, more like a statement than a question.


    Hannah nods in accord, ¡°Weird dreams.¡±


    The two sit and enjoy their meal and let the rays of morning sun shine warmth into the little kitchen. Finishing off their breakfast the two get to cleaning dishes and putting away the food. They put the final knife back in its drawer when Jonas Helland enters the house, red in the face from the trek and breathing heavily.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Welcome back,¡± Hannah begins carefully, ¡°how was Widow Maria?¡±


    Their father leans on the kitchen doorframe and lets his breathing calm down while looking uncertain and, Garm notices, a little haunted. After several moments Hannah looks like she¡¯s about to ask again when their father stutters, ¡°We believe¡­ no¡­ erm¡­¡± He looks around the room like the words will come to him any time now. ¡°There¡¯s been a bear at Maria¡¯s farm. Took one of her cows.¡± Jonas looks like he has more to say, but he descends into silence again.


    ¡°A bear? Are Maria and the girls alright?¡± Hannah says while looking concerned.


    ¡°There haven¡¯t been bears around here since Granddad was around,¡± Garm adds.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s here now,¡± their father grunts, ¡°and I¡¯m gonna have to deal with it. We can''t afford to lose any of our sheep to bears. What would we do without them?¡±


    Garm tries not to scowl at Jonas¡¯s jab. Besides, he could help, couldn¡¯t he?


    Jonas halts over to the rack by the window, leans his cane by the wall, and raises his hands to reverently take the Krag down from its perch. With no support from the cane, he carefully works his way back to the living room. He scowls at Garm as he notices him eying the rifle in his hands, making Garm quickly look away. With great effort not to stand on his bad leg, Jonas hobbles over to his rocking chair and sits down before fishing a rag out of his pocket.


    Not saying a word Garm and Hannah eye their father where he sits, polishing the rifle¡¯s barrel. The news is concerning, but they¡¯re both restless to do something rather than just sit on their hands. The story of the bear attack must have made its way through their little community by now. Surely their neighbors must know more about the happening at Widow Maria¡¯s farm.


    Noticing their expectant glances Jonas puts down the rifle. ¡°What?¡± he asks, eyeing them back.


    Rattled out of his stasis Garm thinks fast and says, ¡°We¡¯re out of flour, I thought Hannah and I could run over to the Madsens for a refill.¡±


    Giving him an inquisitive stare, their father nods slowly and gestures over at his coat. ¡°Take some coin from my pocket and bring the bag Sandra gave us last time.¡±


    Being reminded of old gifts, Hannah quickly rummages through a cabinet and pulls out the pitcher, now empty of Mrs. Madsen¡¯s last gift. While she gathers her things, Garm gets some money from the coat, puts it in his pocket, and starts pulling on his clothes. After a minute, the two are ready and raring to go.


    ¡°Listen, you two,¡± Jonas begins, losing his regular scowl for a moment. After a brief pause to make sure they are listening he continues, ¡°Stay on the road, you hear, no detours.¡±


    Jonas looks like he has more to say, but after waiting for him to continue he adds no further comment. Garm and Hannah look at one another uncertainly. Their father¡¯s brief display of genuine concern makes them stop for a moment and consider him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child anymore¡­¡± Garm tries.


    ¡°No detours!¡± Jonas restates firmly, his trademark scowl planted back on his face.


    Seeming to be done with the conversation, their father goes back to polishing the rifle. Hannah looks at Garm, gives him a look that says, ¡®Guess we better listen to him,¡¯ and ties her shoes. Garm, a little dazed, just nods and opens the door.


    Garm and Hannah leave the Helland farm trying not to rush as they walk towards the mill. Wild speculation and unlikely theories already forming in their minds. Nothing ever happens out here, so far from civilization. Now a bear has shown up for the first time in who knows how long and is stirring trouble. It makes the blood pump just a little bit faster than usual.

 Chapter 9: Another Day

    Squatting down on his haunches Grim Madsen picks up another sack of grain and swings it over his wide shoulders.


    ¡°Jeez, boy, you know it¡¯s okay to just take more trips?¡± Birk Madsen says with a grin as he hoists distinctly fewer bags onto his own shoulders.


    Grim answers his father with a grin of his own and begins lugging the load from the cart back towards the mill. While carrying, he¡¯s reminiscing on his youth, of the days he would spend fantasizing about being big and strong like his father. He knows it¡¯s a bit petty, but can¡¯t help but feel some pride at not only reaching his father''s strength but surpassing it. It¡¯s a simple joy, but helping out and feeling needed makes him smile ear to ear.


    Grim half-jogs up to the large building that makes up the old mill. He passes through the door, and down the stairs to the storeroom. Smelling the dry air of the cellar, he walks in a straight line to the same nook for the fourth time that morning. He places down the bags of grain, picks up two smaller bags of finely ground flour from the table in the middle of the room, and makes his way back outside.


    Meeting the huffing form of his father at the door Grim says, ¡°I¡¯ve got it, Dad,¡± and swaps his bags of flour for Birk¡¯s grain.


    ¡°Oh, thank you!¡± His father replies, glad to exchange his sacks for a lighter load.


    Grim just nods and takes the grain downstairs, putting them down with the rest. Having sent the last two sacks of flour with Birk the table is empty, and so he begins jogging back up the stairs for the last of the grain.


    When he gets outside he meets his mother carrying a basket of hay, waddling over to the little shed where Timothy, their one and only horse, is stabled. Seeing Sandra Madsen¡¯s weary look, Grim takes a detour and comes over to her.


    ¡°You need some help, Mom?¡± he asks, reaching for the basket.


    ¡°No, no,¡± she says, waving him away, ¡°thanks for askin¡¯, but I got this. You should go help your dad, Grim. Make sure he doesn¡¯t ruin his back before tomorrow.¡± Then she wipes some sweat from her forehead and waddles on to prepare Tim for the trip he and her husband would soon have to go on.


    Figuring there¡¯s little he can do, Grim walks back to the wagon. Sometimes he worries for his mother. He would never say so out loud, but Sandra Madsen has taken on several pounds over the winter and looks to be in worse physical shape than usual. She really does like to bake, Grim ponders to himself, his father¡¯s protruding belly was proof of that. Shaking the unkind thoughts from his mind he refocuses on the task at hand. There are sacks of grain to carry, and he will do so without complaint.


    God knows today is a good day for hard labor, Grim muses. He thinks back to that morning, waking up to see his father returning home from Widow Maria¡¯s farm with a haunted look in his eyes. Since then it¡¯s been all work, getting ready for tomorrow''s big trip to Brunvik. Thankfully his father¡¯s good spirit eventually returned, evidenced by a determined glint Grim spotted while the two were carting grain earlier.


    Coming back to the wagon, Grim sees his father pick up another sack, ready to bring it inside. Grim raises a hand and says, ¡°That¡¯s alright, Dad, I¡¯ll carry the rest. You should take a breather.¡±


    Putting down his load with a grateful sigh, his father replies, ¡°You got it, son. I need a little break anyway.¡± Leaning on the wagon while Grim works, Birk looks thoughtfully towards the ladder resting beside the rose bushes. ¡°I¡¯m gonna take a look at that leak in your room. Best do it before I leave.¡±


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°You know you should get some real rest,¡± Grim says and gives his father a meaningful look, ¡°while you still can.¡±


    ¡°Plenty of time for rest after dinner,¡± his father replies with a dismissive gesture, ¡°Your Mom¡¯s making pies for dessert.¡± Patting himself on the belly and sporting a gleeful grin thinking of the feast Sandra was making them, Birk sets off to gather his tools.


    ¡°Never a moment¡¯s peace, huh Dad?¡±


    ¡°Such is the life of a miller, Grim.¡±


    ¡°Right you are.¡±


    Like that, the Madsen family worked throughout the morning. Birk carrying around produce and materials, Birk hammering away at the roof, and Sandra preparing Timothy before going inside to make lunch.


    When the final sack of grain has been stored away in the cellar, Grim comes outside to hear his father calling for him from the roof.


    ¡°Yohoo, Grim! You there?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Dad. Did you forget one of your tools?¡± Grim shouts back, shielding his eyes from the sun.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got company. Reckon it might be your friends.¡±


    Garm was coming over? Wait. Friends? That means Hannah¡¯s here too. Grim strolls around the house and towards the road. Sure enough, Garm and Hannah are coming towards him. He gives them a wave, which they return.


    ¡°Mornin¡¯, you two!¡± Grim shouts when he thinks they are close enough to hear him.


    Closing the distance with a brief half-jog, Garm returns the greeting and asks about the water wheel.


    ¡°Done fixed it up yesterday. Like I said, it was an easy task for me and Dad,¡± Grim says with an easy smile.


    Hannah looks a little flustered as she comes up behind Garm, but gathers herself and asks, ¡°Have you been working all morning? You look tired.¡±


    Grim looks sheepish for a second and answers, ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ve been gettin¡¯ the wagon ready for Dad¡¯s trip to Brunvik tomorrow morning. Can¡¯t say I slept too well either, but work waits for nobody.¡±


    ¡°You too, huh? Garm and I also had problems getting sleep last night,¡± Hannah says and looks thoughtful for a moment. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s something in the air?¡± she shrugs.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably a coincidence,¡± Grim starts, ¡°but you didn¡¯t come out here just to chat about work and missed sleep, did you?¡± Grims beams at them like he just thought of something funny and adds, ¡°As fun as it would be to play hide and seek as we used to.¡±


    Garm puts on an exaggerated sullen cadence, ¡°You never did share your best hiding spots¡­¡±


    ¡°He did share them with me,¡± Hannah adds under her breath while looking at her shoes.


    ¡°...but yes, we did come with ulterior motives,¡± Garm continues, ¡°Widow Maria and the bear attack. Do you know anything? Jonas told us next to nothing, but he¡¯s clearly hiding details from us.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I know more than you two,¡± Grim answers and looks over to where his father works on the roof. ¡°Heard about the same when Dad got home this morning. Bear must have climbed through a window, he said. Ate a cow and left. He got quiet after that. I asked, but he wouldn¡¯t share details.¡±


    ¡°Climbed through a window?¡± Hannah wonders out loud. ¡°The only window on that barn large enough for an entire bear would be the big hatch over the main door¡­ three meters above the ground.¡±


    Grim looks uncertain, ¡°Maybe Dad meant it wrecked its way through one of the little ones on the back wall?¡±


    Unsatisfied with what little information they have to go on, Hannah mumbles, ¡°Yeah, maybe,¡± in reply to his explanation


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose there¡¯s any point in asking our parents again,¡± Garm says, letting out a deflated sigh.


    ¡°No, I doubt diggin¡¯ will get us much,¡± Grim says before looking like he¡¯s remembered something and bluntly changing the topic. He looks almost ponderous for a silent moment, before going, ¡°Hey, Hannah? I¡¯ve¡­ uh¡­ got somethin¡¯ to show you. Come with me a sec, will you?¡±


    Caught off balance by Grim''s sudden shift in gear, Garm can only look at Hannah''s less-than-subtle attempt at gathering herself, before being led inside.


    Looking around, Garm realizes he¡¯s been left alone in the yard. the silence stretches on, only to be interrupted by Mr. Madsen hammering away on the roof. Garm looks back at the house where his best friend and his sister disappeared and registers a barely noticed fact he¡¯s uncertain how to feel about.


    Grim¡¯s ears were a shade redder than usual when he asked Hannah to come with him.

 Chapter 10: Silent Wilds

    In the forest known as the Plug silence reigns. There is no wind rustling treetops, no rain splashing into buddles, not a sound that could cover for a small critter looking for a bite to eat. Despite the eerie quiet that lies like a blanket over the land, there is no such life to be spotted. That is, besides the sudden cracks of old branches as a lone figure rises out of the underbrush.


    Harry Thompson Junior, the oldest of the Thompson boys, got to his feet, looking for all the world to be in a terrible mood. With a frustrated sigh, he unloads his rifle and slings it over his shoulder.


    Harry, who recently turned nineteen, had often been compared to his mother in appearance. While this made him less than happy whenever it came up in conversation, the similarities were hard to deny. Especially now, sporting a sour expression, the hawk-like features of his mother were more pronounced than usual. Muttering to himself in short, frustrated growls, he begins the journey back to the Thompson farm.


    The lanky youth had gotten up before dawn that day. Not that it was too hard, he thought to himself, after all, he¡¯d gotten shit for sleep. He had blamed it on the excitement he¡¯d felt to have a day off of the usual tilling of the fields or readying the seeds for planting. A day all to himself and he was going to spend it hunting. Caressing the stock of his birthday gift he felt another pang of irritation at the lackluster day.


    Shading his eyes, Harry looks up at the sky and sees it¡¯s almost midday. All those hours wasted crawling through the underbrush and sneaking over hills only to peer into the distance for hours, only to see¡­ what? A whole lot of nothing, that¡¯s what! No deer, no rabbits or hares, nothing!


    Harry stopped in his tracks and grew silent. He stilled his breathing, the way his father had thought him, and just listened for a minute. Seemingly confirming his suspicions he screwed up his face and walked on. Even the birds had stopped singing. Half a day skulking through the woods he hadn¡¯t even heard birdsong.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost like I¡¯m being mocked,¡± Harry says under his breath, knowing fully well nobody can hear him.


    Finding his way back to the path, he can soon see the Grime flowing before him. The river hadn¡¯t lost a bit of force over the last few days, Harry noted. Getting back to the old log bridge, he sees the water level has risen dangerously high. The water now flows at a point where the turbulent current, every so often, sends waves to wash over the wooden planks on top of the bridge.


    Undeterred by the raw natural powers hammering the wooden structure, Harry¡¯s about to step onto the first plank when he spots something out of the ordinary. Leaning down to get a better look he peers at the third plank before him and sees a faint red trail coming from a spot where the water recently splashed. Getting closer he sees there is, or was, a spattering of blood that¡¯s being washed away by the stream.


    Shrugging to himself, Harry gets up and begins strolling across the bridge. He figures an animal must have gotten hurt and wandered in this direction. Maybe it tried to cross the Grime, then fell in halfway across the bridge. Snickering as he imagines a halting fox slipping and falling into the turbulent river, Harry does not notice a wet patch on the planks, green with mossy growth. Stepping on the miscolored plank his foot shoots forward on the slimy surface. Before he knows it, Harry¡¯s vision rapidly ascends as his arms instinctively shoot out to his sides for balance. In a panic-stricken moment, it feels like he¡¯s free-falling through the air before slamming into the sturdy bridge, back first.


    Clutching one arm on each side of the bridge and breathing rapidly, Harry can¡¯t even sense the pain in his back from landing on his rifle. Laying there for several moments, letting the panic subside, he finally dares attempt to get up. Slowly getting back on his feet, feeling a tingle of pain shoot from ass to neck at every movement, he gets himself righted. Taking his time to study each step he slowly walks the rest of the way across the Grime and can''t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he¡¯s finally on the other side.


    Now that he¡¯s made it to safety, fear is slowly being replaced by anger. Harry begins loudly swearing and feebly stomping his feet. After running out of breath he has cursed the forest, the bridge, the Grime, and everything in between. This entire day has been nothing but terrible.


    After steaming off he begins trotting along the road again, a feeling of melancholy settling in as he makes his way back home. Walking along the road he soon spots the old mill in the distance. The smell of Mrs. Madsen¡¯s cooking floats gently through the air, and meets Harry¡¯s nostrils, reminding him of dinner. Maybe the day could be saved still. If just a little. He is looking forward to getting home, having dinner, and lazing around the house for a bit. Spirits slightly lifted and trying not to dwell on what could have happened if he hadn¡¯t caught himself on the bridge, he confidently strides on.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Not long after, Harry spots a familiar figure as he¡¯s about to pass the mill. Is that Garm standing alone in the Madsen¡¯s garden? Maybe today won¡¯t be such a waste after all? Hiding a grin of childlike cruelty and straightening his back, Harry begins walking in Garm''s direction. He¡¯s got more than a bit of frustration to work out and just spotted a volunteer.


    ¡°Afternoon, Shivers, you¡¯re looking a little lost,¡± Harry starts, startling Garm, who didn¡¯t see him come up behind him.


    Quickly regaining his composure, Garm greets the new arrival with a brief, ¡°Afternoon,¡± before putting his hands in his pockets.


    Noticing the nickname had the desired response, Harry continues, trying not to smirk, ¡°Where¡¯s Grim? You¡¯re here, but where¡¯s your big buddy?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s around. What are you doing here, Harry?¡± Garm answers, looking like he¡¯d rather be somewhere else.


    Not letting an opportunity to brag go by, Harry taps his rifle and gives Garm a haughty look, ¡°Oh, I¡¯m just out hunting, as you can see¡­¡±


    ¡°I can see that,¡± Garm says, giving the rifle a brief glance.


    Spotting the tint of longing in the glance, Harry thinks it¡¯s time to rub a little salt in old wounds.


    ¡°...yeah, my dad taught me,¡± Harry says, unable to hide his grin, ¡°real man''s job that¡­ hunting.¡±


    Wanting for nothing but the world to open up and devour him, Garm struggles to think of something to say before stammering out, ¡°Y-yeah, a real man¡¯s job.¡±


    As much as he wants to bask in tormenting his neighbor a little longer, Harry spots Grim coming out of the building, followed by Hannah carrying something wrapped in cloth.


    ¡°Afternoon¡¯, Harry. Good to see you,¡± Grim says with a friendly smile. ¡°How¡¯s your brother?¡±


    ¡°Good Afternoon, Grim. Teddy¡¯s still mostly crying or shitting himself, being a baby and all,¡± Harry responds, quickly exchanging his malicious grin with a more jovial one.


    Hannah comes up behind Grim and greets Harry with a wave and a short, ¡°Hello,¡± while looking over at Garm. Noticing her brother looking less than pleased, intensely studying a tuft of grass, she quickly picks up the mood of the conversation they butted into. ¡°What brings you all the way out here this morning?¡± she asks, keeping her tone neutral.


    Harry gives her a confident look and taps his rifle, ¡°As I was just telling your brother, I¡¯ve been out hunting.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Hannah replies curtly.


    Understanding what got her brother looking like he¡¯d been slapped isn¡¯t much of a challenge. This wasn¡¯t the first time the taller boy had taken the opportunity to prod Garm¡¯s sore spots to entertain himself.


    ¡°Oh, yeah, I¡¯ve been out since dawn,¡± Harry says, taking on the tone of a storyteller, ¡°I¡¯ve been skulking unseen through the forest for hours, spotting hares and capercaillie skittering around.¡± Picking up steam he continues, ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been trained by my father to track animals effortlessly, just waiting for an opportunity to¡­¡±


    ¡°Hares and capercaillie, huh? That sounds very impressive,¡± Hannah interrupts with a deadpanned voice, ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re bringing home quite the haul.¡± She peers over Harry¡¯s shoulder like she is looking for an entire elk strapped to his back.


    ¡°I¡­ No, I mean,¡± Harry stutters, having been pushed off his tracks.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that, Harry. Can¡¯t be lucky every time,¡± Grim, who¡¯s not picked up on any of the tension, says while giving Harry an understanding nod.


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ just been out practicing, is all¡­¡± Harry tries, clearly a bit flustered.


    ¡°Practicing in the forest?¡± Garm butts back into the conversation. He gives his sister a thankful smile before continuing to Harry, ¡°You know there¡¯s a bear prowling around the Plug now?¡±


    ¡°A bear?!¡± Harry expels in a moment of genuine shock, before composing himself.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, you¡¯ve been out since dawn so you haven''t heard yet,¡± Hannah says nodding along. ¡°There¡¯s been a bear at Widow Maria¡¯s barn. Took a cow and escaped back into the forest.¡±


    ¡°You should have seen the aftermath. Meat, blood, and bones spread everywhere, a real grizzly affair,¡± Garm explains in a grave tone, spotting Grim smile at the unintentional pun in his side vision.


    ¡°Must¡¯a been tired and full after the night,¡± Grim says and gives Harry a friendly clap on the shoulder. He¡¯s decided not to comment on his friends'' newfound knowledge of the incident and simply rolls with it. ¡°Still good to see you in one piece. You never know.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I suppose not,¡± Harry says quietly before excusing himself.


    The trio watches Harry jog back home in silence before being called inside by Mrs. Madsen. Hannah and Garm then spend several minutes kindly rebuffing Mrs. Madsen¡¯s insistence they need to stay for dinner, before eventually accepting a piece of apple pie each. After that, they relocate to Grim¡¯s room where they descend into friendly banter and reminiscing about the mischief the the three of them would get up to in their youth. An hour flies by before Hannah, ever the responsible one, points out they really should get back home. They get ready to leave, saying goodbye to Grim and his family and thanking Mrs. Madsen for the pie. Not long after they are back on the road to the Helland farm.


    They may not have learned much about recent events, but the two are satisfied nonetheless. Nothing¡¯s as good for the spirit as good company, and who¡¯s to say there won''t be another opportunity to gleam some information another day?

 Chapter 11: A Graceful Return

    ¡°And then he led me to his room and I thought I was going to faint,¡± Hannah says with a goofy grin.


    The moist evening air has set in and only faint rays of sunlight peak over the mountains, making the temperature in the valley drop rapidly as the night approaches.


    ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t really know what he meant by it, but what else could it be?¡±


    Despite the gloomy atmosphere turning gloomier by the moment, girlish giggling rings out from the garden side of the Helland farm.


    ¡°Just look at it, Ma!¡± Hannah daintily holds up a small wooden bull, showing it off in the handkerchief she got it in. ¡°Grim carved it himself, just for me. Can you believe it?¡±


    The cold granite is as talkative as can be expected. A stiff breeze blows past and scatters the little bundle of crocus placed in front of the gravestone. Quickly gathering the flowers back up, Hannah returns them to their proper position. Readjusting a string draped on the stone so the rabbit foot hanging from it doesn¡¯t cover the last couple of letters, she holds the bull back up to give it another look.


    The oil Grim had coated it in can still be smelled on the little figurine. Damn fine work, if Hannah were to be the judge. She bundles it back into the handkerchief and holds it close to her chest, careful not to damage its thin wooden legs.


    Sitting in the garden for another minute, Hannah spots her father come around the corner leading the last two sheep by their ears. They bleat in protest, but let themselves be led back to their barn for the night, the evening chill making them want for the warm inside.


    Hannah notes that Sven isn¡¯t helping her father with herding the sheep back in for the night. The old dog usually loves guiding them wherever they were needed, but it seems like he still refuses to come outside. Instead, Jonas is doing the job by hand, leading them in pairs, making his leg worse in the process. When Garm had suggested he¡¯d do it, the two had nearly gotten into a fight. The siblings had forgotten to bring back the flour they went out to fetch, their father correctly surmising they had left intending to ¡®goof off¡¯, as he put it. After that, he would hear nothing of bad legs and left the house grumbling words like ¡®useless¡¯ and ¡®ungrateful.¡¯


    As he comes out of the barn, Hannah can see he¡¯s halting worse than ever as he shuffles back into the house, a tirade of muttered curses flowing from him like a faucet. Not long after, he comes back out, supporting himself on his cane. He¡¯s got his rifle slung over the shoulder and with a determined walk, returns to the barn. Minutes go by, with no sign of Jonas coming back out. It looks, to Hannah, like her father¡¯s plan to protect the sheep from bears was simply to stay in the barn during the night.


    ¡°It¡¯s like he¡¯s punishing himself,¡± Hannah says under her breath, the joy she felt earlier quickly fleeing. ¡°It¡¯s only been two years, and look at us,¡± she says while trying to hide a bitter grimace.


    Sitting in the garden, watching as the reddening clouds slowly gray, a spell of sadness falls over Hannah. She does not cry. She will not cry. Not when she knows her family needs her. If only I knew how to help them, she thinks to herself.


    ¡°We still need you,¡± Hanna says to the gravestone, with a sullen, almost begging tone.


    The cold granite does not respond.


    ¡°You¡¯re right¡­¡± Hannah says after seconds spent in silence, ¡°...I can¡¯t help anyone sitting here feeling sorry for our situation.¡±


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Hannah wipes at a wet streak that snuck its way onto her chin and gets up to leave. She walks back to the house in a hurry, the chill becoming more than noticeable. A jacket would have been nice, she thinks to herself, getting a cold now wouldn¡¯t be ideal.


    Jogging the final couple of meters, Hannah gets inside and closes the door. After a brief internal debate, she decides not to lock the door for the night. If her father came to his senses during the night, he¡¯d be outraged if he discovered the door locked. Better safe than sorry, she shrugs and moves inside to see Garm tending to the fireplace.


    ¡°Did you see Jonas?¡± Garm asks while prodding a burning log.


    Hannah shuffles over to him and sits down, letting the heat wash over her. Breathing out a content sigh, she answers, ¡°I don''t think he¡¯ll be coming back in. At least not for a bit.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I figured¡­¡± Garm sighs and leans back on his elbows, ¡°...when he got back he went straight to the kitchen and fetched the Krag, then left without so much as a word.¡±


    The two sit in quiet contemplation, watching the embers turn to ash, the silence interrupted by the occasional crackling from the fire.


    ¡°I should have remembered the flour,¡± Hanna mumbles.


    ¡°We should have remembered the flour,¡± Garm corrects, ¡°besides, it was my idea.¡± He leans back further to see into the kitchen and shakes one of the smaller logs in his hand, calling for Sven.


    Paws can be heard tapping over the floor before the old sheepdog peeks his head into the living room. He scans his surroundings as if he¡¯s uncertain how safe his little excursion away from his hiding place under the kitchen bench really is. Seemingly deciding that the cold of the kitchen floor can wait for him he carefully paws his way over to them, takes the log from Garm¡¯s hand, and settles in between them. Garm scratches Sven behind his ear as the dog begins contentedly gnawing on the piece of wood.


    ¡°I knew I could trick you out of hiding. All you needed was some warmth and a nice stick, huh?¡± Garm says while giving him a thorough rub-down. Sven looks up at him and turns his head in a doggy grin.


    Garm and Sven are having a tug-o-war with the stick when Garm notices his sister looking at something. He lets the dog win and peers over at Hannah, who¡¯s admiring the bull tucked in a bundle of cloth. ¡°Hey, what do you have there?¡±


    ¡°This?¡± Hannah says with a dreamy smile, ¡°Just a gift.¡±


    ¡°A gift, huh?¡± Garm says and returns a half-smile. He looks closer and sees the head of the wooden bull peaking up from the handkerchief. ¡°So that¡¯s why you and Grim left me all alone. Outside. In the cold.¡± He gives her a teasing grin, but pauses when he sees Hannah''s blissful expression remains unmoved. After receiving no reply he continues in a more genuine tone, ¡°It¡¯s, uh¡­ a cool gift.¡±


    ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it?¡± Hannah says and lifts it out of the handkerchief to give Garm a better look.


    After Garm gets to look at, then hold the gift for a bit to examine the handiwork, the siblings remain seated by the fireplace. It¡¯s getting quite late, but they expect their father to burst in any second, likely followed by a litany of curses. Nights are still long and cold, surely he didn¡¯t mean to stay in the barn until morning? Maybe when he returned they¡¯d get him seated by the fire and find him a chair to rest his leg on. Their father could be a right bastard at times, and as sour as an aged lemon, but that morning they¡¯d taken advantage of a moment of goodwill. Jonas had seemed genuinely concerned at the prospect of a bear in the valley, yet he¡¯d allowed them to leave on an errand. An errand Garm had made up on the spot as an excuse to go chat with a friend. An errand they¡¯d failed to complete despite how very easy it would have been.


    Despite their intent to make up for the mistake, the hour dragged on and there were no signs their father would return from the barn. Soon Sven snores happily between them, looking like this is the first real rest he¡¯s had in days.


    Hannah¡¯s the first to stir. Careful not to wake Sven from his slumber, she whispers a brief, ¡°Good night,¡± before retreating to her room.


    Garm remains seated, but not long after he too feels his eyelids grow heavy. With slow movements, he carefully scoots away from their dog, as to avoid disturbing him, and gets up to leave. Yawning as he walks up the stairs, Garm hopes this night will bring better dreams than the previous one.

 Chapter 12: The First To Fall

    Night falls over the valley under the Little King and every man, woman, and child are sleeping soundly in their beds. The mill lays dormant, its water wheel gently swaying with every throw of the breeze flowing past.


    The silence lays thick in the air, every creak of settling wood, every crack of branches seemingly afraid to disturb the tranquility of the night.


    All is still. Still and dark. All, that is, except a light flickering from a second-story window in the miller''s house.


    Sandra Madsen has stirred awake. Somewhat annoyed at her restless sleep, she¡¯s decided to satisfy one of her nightly needs before going back to sleep. Her annoyance is further reinforced as she fumbles with a set of matches, trying to light a candle. After another couple of tries, she finally gets the candle lit and she gets up to leave the room.


    As she opens the door her husband begins stirring as well. Sandra puts down the light, then leans down to caress Birks''s hair, and whispers, ¡°I¡¯m just off to use the pot. You just get back to sleep now.¡±


    Birk sleepily lays his hand on hers and squeezes it before closing his eyes again. Seeing her husband returning to sleep Sandra gets back up to fetch her candlestick, but before she picks it up, moves over to the window. Their little bedroom is sweltering despite the cool outside. She undoes the hinges and opens the window a smidge, figuring she¡¯ll close it again before going back to sleep. Feeling the cold night air seep in she latches the window in place and takes the candle, now flickering slightly in the breeze.


    Sandra opens the door and sneaks out into the hallway, careful not to make a sound. A tall feat for a woman of her stature, she smiles to herself. Her protruding belly has become somewhat obvious over the last month, making her movements more encumbered than they had been since she carried Grim all those years ago.


    Thinking of Grim as she waddles down the stairs she thinks it might be time to break the news to her son that he¡¯s about to get a little brother or sister. He¡¯s bound to figure it out soon if he hasn¡¯t already, and there¡¯s little point in keeping it a secret any longer.


    Sandra snickers to herself, covering her mouth with a hand. Her big boy is prone to worrying over his parents'' health, insisting on working extra hard so they won''t strain themselves too much. She imagines this behavior will only get more intense when they break the news to him. Grim means well, but Sandra and Birk would carry their weight until they could do it no longer.


    Getting to the bottom of the stairs, she break out of her musings with a strained huff. Finding her way to the kitchen using the sparse light from the candle, she locates the tall cabinets she keeps the nightpots. She¡¯s already decided against going outside, braving the freezing night, to get to the outhouse. Squatting, she quickly does her business, then carries the pot to the door. With haste, she undoes the lock, opens the door, disposes of the waste into her flowerbed, and before the cold can settle into her skin, she closes, then locks the door again.


    Muttering to herself about terrible weather and freezing temperatures, Sandra returns the pot to its closet and waddles back to the kitchen proper. It¡¯s time to satisfy a different craving. Opening the left-most locker she pulls out a wooden box, laying it on the counter. Humming a soft tune, she opens the box and undoes the cloth knot covering the remaining sugar buns.


    Sandra didn¡¯t usually feel the need to eat during the night, but ever since her pregnancy started to show, she just couldn¡¯t help herself sometimes. One big bite, maybe two, then she¡¯d be right back in bed, she promised herself.


    Finishing off the slightly stale pastry in one, maybe two bites, she re-does the knot and returns the box to its spot. With a yawn, Sandra figures it¡¯s time to get back to her warm bed and goes to grab the candle she left on the countertop. Fumbling in the dim light, she accidentally pushes it over and the candle goes sailing onto the floor, where it lands with a soft thud. As it hits the floor the flame snuffs out, casting the kitchen back into darkness.


    Swearing softly, but trying not to cause more of a stir when everyone¡¯s asleep, Sandra gets down and feels around until she finds the candle again. Slowly getting back on her feet, groaning a bit as her belly makes its presence known, she looks around the room trying to get her bearings.


    The night is dark, but faint light peaks through the windows. A crescent moon hangs low over the mountains, shining just enough light into the kitchen to see its outlines. Calming down after the brief accident, Sandra waits in her spot for another minute before her vision has gotten used to the darkness. Slowly but surely, one foot in front of the other, she begins feeling her way back to the stairs.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Remembering the pack of matches resting beside the fireplace, she makes a course adjustment and shuffles further toward the right side of the room. Feeling the coarse stone of the fireplace she quickly locates the hemp basket where they keep old newspapers and other easily burnable material.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Sandra can¡¯t hold down the brief outburst as she holds up a small paper matchbox.


    Trying to fish out one of the unused matches her movements suddenly lock in place as as she hears a muffled sound. It was faint, barely perceptible, but sounded almost like the clicking you might make by cracking your knuckles. Frozen like a statue, Sandra remains in her position, clutching the candle and the matches. Seconds tick by, but there¡¯s nothing. Thinking it might just be the night playing tricks on her, the silent darkness making her jump at the creaks of an old house settling, she begins fiddling with the matches again.


    There, finally. The match, then the candle, is lit and Sandra hurries towards the stairs, trying not to make too much noise in her haste. She¡¯s uncertain why, but the night has started to feel oppressive.


    Taking the first step up the stairs, Sandra is in the middle of reprimanding herself for her childish jumpyness when she hears it again.


    Click, then a wet popping. It¡¯s coming from somewhere just above the stairs.


    Standing on the second step with a white-knuckled grip on her candlestick, ripples of fear shoot throughout Sandra Madsen¡¯s mind. Indecision grips her as she struggles with whether to go check on the ominous sound emanating from where her family slumbers, or do as her instincts are screaming at her, and run away as fast as she can.


    Coming to a silent conclusion Sandra readies herself and lets out a cautious, ¡°Hello?¡± into the darkness. ¡°Birk, is that you?¡±


    The wall of darkness at the top of the stairs does not answer her, nor does another sound present itself.


    Steeling herself, Sandra begins walking up the stairs. To her, it sounds like every step rings out into the night like an alarm blaring, ¡°Here I am!¡± making her cringe with each creak of floorboard. Despite feeling worse with every movement, she pushes forward, step by step.


    At last, she reaches the top of the stairs. Holding up her candle, with its tiny, impotent flame to ward off the darkness, Sandra sees the door to her bedroom stand before her. Letting the moment stretch on, listening carefully for any hint something¡¯s off, she slowly reaches for the handle.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± Sandra whispers reassuringly to herself before lowering the handle, hearing the metallic click as the door opens, ¡°just Birk knocking something over in his sleep.¡±


    Sandra feels anger at herself for the quiver in her voice. It¡¯s nothing. This is nothing. She¡¯s going to open this door and find her husband sound asleep and a lamp on the floor. Then she¡¯s going to lay down, forget all about these foolish emotions, and fall asleep holding onto Birk¡¯s warm back.


    Swallowing her uncertainty, Sandra swiftly pulls the door agape, not caring that the draft she creates makes the flame on her candle flicker and snuff out.


    Darkness fills the room, a pale beam of moonlight shines through the window, bouncing off Birk¡¯s eyes. A glimmer of warmth reaches Sandra''s heart as she sees the familiar form of her husband lying in their bed.


    Standing in the doorway, looking into the bedroom, the warm feeling leaves as a cold breeze from the wide open window blows through. Mounting horror dances in Sandra¡¯s mind as she sees the eyes of her beloved are still and his stare is one of glassy coldness. She takes a step back, voice caught in her throat, streaks of tears rushing down her cheeks, as she spots movement from Birk¡¯s neck. With a sickening crunch, a pair of bone white jaws tears loose from his jugular, spurts of crimson outlining the hitherto unnoticed mound of blackness in liquid, gleaming in the moonlight. The creature unfurls where it lies, turning from an indistinct mass of darkness into a beast of nightmares. As it moves, the sound of malformed bones clicking together spreads throughout the room. Gangly, clawed limbs stretch out to hold onto the floor, walls, and ceiling, lifting its mass into the air as it turns its head towards Sandra, fixing her with eyes made of the deepest void. The ¡®face¡¯ looks like a deformed and elongated stag skull with a jaw filled with needle teeth and gnarled, jagged antlers seemingly unfold from within the creature to scrape the ceiling.


    The living nightmare observes Sandra¡¯s frozen form, waves of unmitigated hunger and malice washing over her, making it hard to draw breath. The mix of emotions threatens to overwhelm Sandra, making her vision blur. She wants to scream in terror, but primordial instinct keeps her locked in place, unable to prevent her fate.


    Sandra feels like it¡¯s observing her. Those terrible eyes are piercing her skull laying her brain bare for it to examine. Seemingly satisfied with what it has found, the horrid entity turns its attention back to its original prize, the dead form of Birk Madsen.


    The creature opens its maw, revealing rows and rows of mismatched white fangs, before it tears a large chunk of flesh from Birk¡¯s torso.


    Seeing her husband be further mangled in front of her, Sandra feels something break in her mind. Released from her frozen state she falls to her knees and lets out an ear-piercing scream, releasing all her hurt and fear. Looking at the creature, eyes overflowing with tears, she lets out a final wail before she passes out.


    The last thing she sees before unconsciousness takes her, is the creature, holding a piece of her husband in its jaws, twisting its mouth into an unmistakable smile.

 Chapter 13: Discovery At Dawn

    Sweat runs freely down Garm''s forehead, pooling in the corners of his eyes before continuing down his face and dripping onto his shirt. He blinks rapidly, trying to make the itching stop as the salty stream assaults his vision. having dealt with this predicament for the past ten minutes, he¡¯s slowly coming to terms with his uncomfortable state of being. putting mild aches aside, Garm continues to move his legs like pistons on a mad rush along the muddy road.


    ¡°Faster, kid! Move your legs!¡± Jason shouts through gritted teeth as he pushes off the ground, uncaring of the abuse he¡¯s putting on his bad leg. His words are sharp and angry, but the tone of his voice has a pleading edge Garm has never heard before.


    Hearing his father urge him on, Garm bites back a venomous retort and gets a firmer grip on the arm he¡¯s supporting. He grits his teeth and pulls his hobbling father even faster. Despite the burst of effort, Garm and Jason are barely keeping up with Hannah and Harry Thompson senior, who sound like they are having a heated back-and-forth.


    ¡°...They are all at the house, ask them when we get there!¡± Mr. Thompson says defensively.


    Hannah, clearly not satisfied by the answer, nearly shouts back, ¡°But you were there, right? surely someone must have seen him?¡±


    ¡°Like I said¡­¡± Mr. Thompson begins to explain, not for the first time, ¡°I came straight to fetch you after we got there.¡± The old farmer is sweating nearly as much as Garm, keeping up the pace while being questioned thoroughly by Hannah.


    Garm hears the barely contained fear in his sister''s voice. She¡¯s keeping it together admirably, but only just. Through eyes swimming with pain, Garm sees there¡¯s more than sweat running down her chin. He can¡¯t blame her for the reaction, as it is only through the exercise of supporting his father while they run that keeps him from dwelling on the news.


    A disaster has struck the Madsen¡¯s home. That¡¯s what Mr. Thompson had told them that morning. The way he told it his family had come to see off Mr. Madsen before he was to travel to Brunvik while handing over another delivery of dried grain. When they arrived the wagon had not been horsed yet and the family were nowhere to be seen. After that, Harry Senior, and Junior had started carrying the bags of grain to the mill, while Mrs. Thompson went to the house to ask the family if they needed help getting ready. Shortly after entering Gunnhilda, looking white as a corpse, returned and in panicked bursts told them there had been a gruesome accident. That¡¯s as much as Mr. Thompson had been able to tell them, as this is where he and his son ran to fetch the neighbors.


    At last, they are close enough to see their neighbors clustered outside the Madsen¡¯s house. They get off the road, taking a shortcut through the garden, and soon they are standing in the yard huffing and puffing.


    Standing there bent on their knees, the respite doesn¡¯t last long as they can hear a loud commotion from inside the house, making everyone jump. Hearing what sounds like manic screaming, Mr. Thompson quickly accompanies the others inside, their father letting go of Garm follows shortly behind them.


    Breathing in a lungful of air Garm gets up, ready to follow as well. ¡°You coming?¡± he asks Hannah, whose look of worry and uncertainty makes Garm hesitate.


    ¡°In a second,¡± Hannah replies with a distant stare, ¡°I just¡­ need to gather myself first.¡±


    Following his sister¡¯s eyes, Garm spots the younger Harry Thompson bent over next to an apple tree in the garden. Holding onto a branch to steady himself, Harry looks visibly woozy, streaks of vomit painting the grass in multicolored sick. Seeing his tormentor in this state would normally bring Garm a degree of satisfaction, but the circumstances conjure nothing but fear at what he will find inside. What¡¯s happened to the Madsen family to bring out this reaction? Is Grim alright?


    Another ear-piercing shriek escapes the house. Garm steels his nerves and walks inside, mind spinning with images of what he will find.


    Walking slowly into the foyer, Garm¡¯s nostrils are immediately assaulted by a terrible scent. Ammonia and¡­ something else? Covering his nose, he moves further into the house. Hearing loud discussion and boots on wood Garm enters the living room into a scent that takes his breath away. Another shriek rings out, and he sees the noise is coming from a restrained Sandra Madsen, who¡¯s being held down on a table by Mr. Thompson, Widow Maria, and his father. They are struggling to hold the woman down as she fights against them, jerking violently from side to side, trying to break free. She looks to be in a blind panic as she cycles between screaming herself horse and staring manically around the room. The smell has only worsened and Garm sees the struggling Mrs. Madsen has soiled herself.


    ¡°Did you find them?¡± Widow Maria shouts towards the kitchen.


    ¡°Got them right here!¡± Mrs. Thompson comes out of the kitchen with a mortar and pestle, grinding down several white pills.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t use too many, did you? The baby¡¯s already in danger as it is,¡± Widow Maria asks, strain audible in her voice as she¡¯s barely able to hold down one of the arms.


    Mrs. Thompson pours the content of the mortar over into a glass of water and brings it over to the table while stirring it with a spoon, ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing, now hold her still and open her mouth.¡±


    A brief struggle to get Mrs. Madsen''s mouth open ensues before Mrs. Thompson pours the content down her gullet. It¡¯s wet and messy, much of the liquid ends up on the floor, but they successfully feed her most of it. It doesn¡¯t take long before Sandra¡¯s movements grow dulled, her screaming sounding distant and her eyes dazed.


    ¡°No. No. No,¡± Mrs. Madsen mutters between desperate gasps of air, tears streaming like rivers down her face.


    Moments later, she¡¯s completely knocked out, the people holding her down slumping tired to the floor or leaning back in chairs.


    Garm¡¯s been staring at the scene in muted horror. As the old-timers begin discussing what to do next, he moves slowly to the stairs and sits down, staring at the chest of the unconscious Mrs. Madsen rise and fall. His father says something about moving her, but Garm¡¯s barely listening. Leaning back on the stairs, ignoring the pain as he props himself on the sharp edges of the fifth and sixth steps, he tries to center his mind.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The chaos quickly proves too much to wrap his head around. None of this makes sense to Garm. How could any of this have happened? Where the hell is Mr. Madsen and Grim, and what¡¯s got Mrs. Madsen like¡­ this? Garm looks over to the table where the resting form of Sandra Madsen stirs in its forced sleep. The horrid smell makes its presence known again, and Garm considers making a break for fresher air. The terrible scent of waste makes him move to get up and leave the house when he notices something different about the scent. Bracing himself for the stomach-churning sensation, he opens his senses to the room and after a reluctant drag of air a second, stronger smell makes its presence known.


    Garm is no bloodhound, but from his position, at the bottom of the stairs, there¡¯s an unmistakable reek of something strong and putrid coming from the second floor. Thinking of little more than to escape from the terrible scene before him, he begins scaling the stairs. The curious scent is little better than the one downstairs, but at least this way he wouldn¡¯t have to continue looking at the aftermath.


    Emotions roiling in his mind, the implications of the scent don¡¯t hit Garm until he¡¯s at the very last step. The putrid stink has slowly been taking on an iron-like tang as he moved up the stairs, bringing Garm memories of helping his mother slaughter and gut sheep. As he looks at the door before him, images of what may have happened to Grim and his father roil through Garm¡¯s head like a locomotive. Feeling hard of breath he sees the door is slightly ajar, leaving a small crack for the miasmic odor to waft through. Reaching for the handle with a trembling hand, he allows the need to know what¡¯s causing this sensation to overtake his disgust and fear for what he might find. Like he¡¯s ripping off a band-aid Garm takes the handle and tears the door wide open.


    ¡°Hey, kid, we need to¡­ What are you doing?!¡± Jonas Helland says as he spots his son, but he has to step back as Garm bolts past him, seemingly blind to his surroundings.


    Looking a shade between white and green, Garm bursts out through the door and throws himself on the fence by the flowerbed. Holding it in this long had been a herculean undertaking, but now that he¡¯s outside his breakfast forces its way up and out, spraying the flowers liberally in bile. Feeling a lot more sympathy towards Harry, he hangs over the wooden fence for another minute.


    Finally feeling empty, and no longer dry heaving, Garm wipes at his face. After most of the snot and tears are gone he slumps down heavily on the porch and stares off into space with an intensity like he can conjure an explanation out of thin air. After sitting for another couple of moments, no answers materializing, Garm notices that he¡¯s hyperventilating. Trying to calm his mind enough to get control of his breathing again, he slaps his cheeks with both hands. The brief pain allows him to change focus, if only for a moment, but it¡¯s enough to let him slowly return his breathing to normal.


    Holding out his hands, Garm sees, to his frustration, that they are shaking uncontrollably. Denying the little voice in his mind that tells him this is a perfectly rational reaction to what he¡¯s just seen, Garm instead allows the anger to take hold, if only for a bit. Images from the bedroom threaten to worm their way to the forefront of his mind, but Garm does not let them linger. Staring at his hands, he finds sanctuary in the anger and bitterness he feels while looking at the evidence of his weakness.


    Voices are coming from inside the house, loud discussion, and after a while, shouting and screaming. Minutes go by on the porch. Eventually, Jonas comes outside looking as pale as Garm feels.


    ¡°Find your sister, we¡¯re leaving,¡± Jonas says in a dry monotone. ¡°The Thompsons are taking care of Sandra, now move!¡± he continues in a stricter tone.


    Garm does not answer, but gets up and walks towards the garden. It doesn¡¯t take long before he spots a bush of orange curls poking out from behind the outhouse. Moving with a bit more haste he wonders distantly what his sister¡¯s been doing all this time.


    Garm turns the corner and a knot in his stomach unfurls as he sees his sister sitting next to a familiar form.


    ¡°Grim?¡± Garm whispers, holding back a tide of emotions.


    Neither of the two speaks a word, but Hannah gestures for Garm to come to sit with them. Making no move he simply stares at his large friend, curled into a ball behind the outhouse. Garm had secretly always been a little jealous of Grim¡¯s size, being a head taller than him and nearly twice as wide across the shoulders. Now though? Grim looked small and frail, huddled next to Hannah. He had a thousand-yard-stare and his swollen eye sockets spoke of hours spent crying. Looking at his friend in this state only made the torrent of emotions worse, uncertainty and anger taking up most of his mind. Garm wants to help, but with no means of doing so, he eventually settles next to Grim, him and Hannah forming a wall on either side of their friend.


    ¡°Do you remember the summer I turned thirteen?¡± Hannah eventually says in a musing tone.


    Hearing the unconvincing calmness in his sister''s voice, Garm takes a deep breath and matches her tenor, ¡°You mean the one with the heatwave?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that one. It was after we got back from swimming in the Grime.¡±


    ¡°And Mrs. Madsen had made carrot muffins for Harry¡¯s birthday, I remember. She¡¯d put them on the veranda to cool off.¡±


    ¡°So you suggested we steal them for ourselves.¡±


    ¡°Harry was an asshole, even back then. He had it coming.¡±


    ¡°And the possibility of tasting Sandra¡¯s baking got me and Grim on board real quick.¡±


    ¡°You were so easy to convince,¡± Garm shrugs.


    ¡°We were, weren¡¯t we?¡± Hannah says with a smile that¡¯s only slightly misshapen. ¡°Anyway, we ran over and stole the tray, and, not knowing where to go next, we ran here, behind the outhouse.¡±


    ¡°I still remember the taste of those muffins. How much did we eat? Two, three each?¡±


    ¡°Three, before the guilt kicked in. You were crying like our little heist hadn¡¯t been your idea.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember that part,¡± Garm mumbles.


    ¡°You did,¡± Hannah nods, some of her usual warmth returned to her, ¡°then Mrs. Madsen found us.¡±


    ¡°The nicest stern talking to I have ever received.¡±


    ¡°How could she be angry when you looked like such a sobbing mess.¡±


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s not like you were any better. Little Miss Prim and Propper committing such a terrible crime? You were at least as soggy as me.¡±


    ¡°Grim though? Not a tear in sight. You were standing there looking sullen, ready for whatever punishment you¡¯d get,¡± Hanna says while gently stroking Grim¡¯s arm.


    Garm nods and gives them a brief smile, ¡°Good thing she only had us help bake a fresh batch.¡±


    A brief silence falls over the trio where they sit behind the outhouse, feeling the moist morning air blow past them. The cheer feels forced, but at least for Garm, it helps keep his mind from being overwhelmed by today¡¯s horrors.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Grim starts in a dry whisper, ¡°I found them,¡± he inhales sharply, ¡°Dad.¡±


    That is all Grim can manage before a sulk escapes his mouth. Having already spent his tears he simply clutches his legs tighter, knuckles white with strain, and sits there shaking. Hannah takes the large bulk of Grim and gently leans onto her neck, supporting him as best she can.

 Chapter 14: What Will You Do?

    The struggle to get home had been nearly as bad as when they left that morning. Although less rushed, the trek was less arduous as Garm and Hannah both had to support their father for him to move. The leg looked swollen and was visibly pushing against the pant leg when they finally arrived at the Helland farm. They settled Jonas into his chair and Hannah quickly got to tending his leg.


    ¡°Don¡¯t, I don''t need¡­¡± their father starts, but lets out a grunt of pain as he settles his leg on a stool.


    Hannah picks a glass bottle down from one of the upper shelves and seeing it, Jonas¡¯s frown deepens and he looks like he¡¯s about to protest.


    ¡°I know, they¡¯re expensive, but take one or two, just for the pain,¡± Hannah begs, holding out the bottle of ether.


    Jonas rests his eyes on the pills, then on his leg, then back to the pills. Letting out a low grumble, unmistakable as anything but cursing, he takes the bottle and reluctantly bites off half a pill. Garm hands him a glass of water, which he snatches out of his hand, and lets the cool liquid wash down the bitter painkiller. Hannah tries to lean down and examine the leg further but is dismissed with an angry wave and a hard look.


    After that, their father grows somber and unresponsive. The dose wasn¡¯t nearly enough to knock him out, but it seems the mood has carried well from the Madsen¡¯s farm to here. Jonas¡¯s eyes swerve around the room, his mind seemingly occupied, but he does not bless them with its wisdom. This continues for several moments, but the silence does not break, the atmosphere of the house feeling dense and mute.


    The melancholy continues throughout the day, the siblings feeling like they¡¯re moving through a dense mist as they do their chores. A brief argument ensues when Hannah¡¯s about to go outside to feed the sheep. Jolting out of his daze when he sees his daughter about to go outside, their father forbids her from going outside alone. He did, in fact, shout it loud enough for Garm to hear and promptly come running to see what the fuzz was about. Being unused to receiving the brunt of their father¡¯s anger, Hannah¡¯s frozen like a mouse spotting the shadow of a hawk.


    Seeing his sister¡¯s situation Garm quickly tries to mollify their father by suggesting he joins her outside. ¡°We¡¯ll get the chores done quicker,¡± he explains, ¡°and we can watch each other¡¯s backs.¡±


    Jonas shakes his head and wipes at bloodshot eyes. The ether blunts some of his pain, but he looks tired and like he has some difficulty focusing. Garm sees his father¡¯s erratic behavior and prays he¡¯ll accept his suggestion.


    ¡°We¡¯ve all had a difficult day,¡± Garm says like he¡¯s calming a wild animal, ¡°but the sheep need to eat, and a clean place to sleep. We¡¯ll be quick, I swear.¡±


    With that, Jonas sways his head in an affirmative nod. ¡°Half an hour,¡± he says while glaring at them, ¡°I want to see you both inside in half an hour.¡±


    Garm returns the nod and looks at his sister who stutters out a ¡°Y-yes, Dad,¡± and the two leave for the barn.


    The siblings work in silence, cleaning the booths, shoveling away the droppings, and replacing the hay. Every time Garm looks over at Hannah, she looks like she wants to say something, but decides otherwise and quickly returns to her tasks.


    Garm doesn¡¯t mind the work, the hard labor letting him focus on the sweat and ache of his arms. The day¡¯s events are still settling in his mind and the constant struggle not to dwell on any individual part of it continues.


    Not long after, their chores are done and they return to the farmhouse where, after coming inside, they meet Jonas¡¯s steely glare. He seems to have returned to his contemplative state, however and lets them pass without comment.


    After making a brief dinner, mostly made up of reheated stew and the latter half of a loaf of bread, Hanna comes back to the kitchen to see Garm is still there.


    ¡°Dad¡¯s still not hungry,¡± she says and looks at Garm whose attention is fully consumed by the rifle on the wall.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Garm simply returns an inattentive ¡°Hm?¡± and continues his stare-off with the Krag.


    Sliding a plate of boiled bits of potato and sausage under the kitchen bench, Hannah soon hears a soft yawn followed by content chewing noises. Making her mind up, she prods Garm in the side, breaking him out of his trance.


    ¡°What was that for?¡± he asks and rubs his ribs.


    Hannah gestures for her brother to follow her upstairs and leaves the room. Garm sighs, but after a second he¡¯s walking up the stairs as well.


    When Hannah believes they are out of earshot, she crosses her arms and gives Garm an incredulous stare.


    ¡°The house. Tell me what happened,¡± she asks firmly, but her conviction softens when she sees the hollow eyes that meet hers. ¡°You told me not to go inside,¡± she continues in a more careful, almost pleading, voice, ¡°I did as you asked because I trust you, but I need to know what you saw.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better if you don¡¯t know,¡± Garm replies in a horse whisper, his sister¡¯s request bringing him straight back to that terrible scene.


    ¡°Was it really that bad?¡±


    ¡°It was¡­ Mr. Madsen, he was in so many¡­¡± Garm tries, but he chokes on his words as they come out. ¡°I mean¡­ I don¡¯t know what¡­¡±


    Hannah continues to observe him with worried eyes. She sees her brother stutter and go silent, while he¡¯s holding on to his wrist with the grip of someone desperately clutching onto a cliff edge. Seemingly finding enough answers in Garm¡¯s attempts at talking about that morning, she sighs and embraces her brother. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she soothes, feeling his breathing slowly still. In her side-eye she sees Garm look down at his trembling hands before balling them into fists and hiding them away in his pockets.


    ¡°If¡­ I only could have done something,¡± Garm mutters sullenly, ¡°Grim, he¡­¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing any of us could have done, Garm,¡± Hannah interrupts before her brother can continue down this path of reasoning. She lets go and looks him directly in the eyes, ¡°Nobody knew this was going to happen.¡±


    Seeing Hannah¡¯s intense look, and hearing her put on a brave front despite the moist corner of her eyes, Garm is brought out of his state of melancholy. He sniffs and says, ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± then he wipes his nose and restates more firmly, ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    The moment over, the two soon walk back downstairs and into the kitchen. When Garm comes to the bottom of the stairs he glances up at the rack on the wall only to see that the Krag¡¯s not there anymore. The implications of this observation hitting him, he quickly continues into the living room. Hannah, seeing his haste, follows shortly behind.


    Standing before the door, grunting as he¡¯s pulling on his jacket, is Jonas Helland holding the rifle.


    Seeing their father standing upright in his current condition, Hannah calls out, ¡°Dad, you shouldn¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t what?!¡± their father shouts, ¡°Protect our property? Our only source of income and food?¡±


    The words are slurred and he¡¯s wearing a pained expression as he fastens the buttons of the jacket. They spot the bottle of ether on the floor next to Jonas¡¯s chair. The cap¡¯s still undone and the painkillers spilling out.


    ¡°Jonas,¡± Garm tries carefully, ¡°You¡¯re in no condition to go outside.¡±


    ¡°No condition? Kid, I¡¯m the only one in any condition to do anything in this house!¡± Jonas shouts with a dismissive sneer.


    ¡°Please!¡± Garm repeats with more force, ¡°I¡­ at least let me help you.¡±


    The plea only seems to make Jonas angrier as he roars, ¡°What will you do?! Huh, kid?!¡±


    Garm tries to defend himself, but before he can get a word out his father continues, ¡°Look at your hands! Look at them and tell me what you will do to help!¡±


    The words are practically spat towards Garm, who tries to look his father in the eyes. Hands trembling worse than ever, he balls them into fists. ¡°Then what do you want me to do?!¡± he shouts back, tears forming in his eyes.


    Jonas readies himself to bellow at his son again, but he briefly looks uncertain how to respond. Soon the red returns to his forehead and he growls, ¡°I want you to stay out of my way,¡± then he halts out the door, slamming it behind him.


    Garm remains standing in the middle of the living room, shaking hands, red in the face, tears streaming down his cheeks. Hannah, who¡¯s remained silent since the fight started, comes up and tries to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Head swimming with unresolved anger, Garm swipes her hand away.


    ¡°Garm?¡± Hannah asks in a low, uncertain whisper.


    No longer anchored to the floor, Garm turns to his sister. His eyes are filled with sadness, anger, and above all, helplessness. Not saying a word, he disappears into the kitchen. Rumbling footsteps can be heard as he runs up the stairs and into his room.


    Now alone in the living room, Hannah swallows, feeling her dry mouth. She walks over to the window and stares up at the Little King as the sun slowly disappears behind the horizon. Much like her brother, Hannah¡¯s feeling helpless. Her family¡¯s tearing at the seams, and she has no idea what to do.


    ¡°Oh, Mom, what do I do to fix this mess?¡± Hannah says in a nearly inaudible whisper, as the last light disappears, plunging the valley into a deep, murky night.

 Chapter 15: Suffer

    Garm throws his fists against the table with all his might. With a loud boom, pencils, clothes, and a small wicking knife fly throughout the room. He lets out a sob of anguish before furiously wiping at his eyes.


    His anger only grows as he gets another look at his hands, still shivering like leaves in the wind. Letting out another sobbing roar Garm continues to hit the table in an attempt to¡­ an attempt to do what? His mind clouded by sadness and anger at his father, but mostly at himself, he just wants to feel anything but what he feels right now. At the final hit, pain radiates through his arms, letting him escape from his thoughts for just a moment.


    Laying down on the floor, Garm focuses on the pain, letting its waves of relief wash over him as tears drip from his nose to the cold planks below. Soon, however, the pain dims and the voices make their presence known yet again. They whisper to him that he¡¯s not good enough, that he¡¯ll never amount to anything, his father hates him and it¡¯s all due to those weak, pathetic hands of his.


    In a moment of madness, Garm spots the moonlight glint off of the blade of the small wicking knife he sent flying earlier and scuttles over to it. Picking up the razor-sharp blade, he holds it before his eyes and examines it. Breathing heavily, he lays his other hand down on the ground, sizing it up like a piece of meat. Spotting the tell-tale shiver in his fingers he brings the blade slowly down on the base of his hand.


    The blade rests in its spot another moment, then another. Without the pressure to let steel rend flesh, the knife simply rests on Garm''s skin. Another handful of moments pass like this, Garm trying to will his hands to move, to cut, to do anything at all but shake in a feeble rhythm. Droplets of salty moisture soon drip down on the knife and the hand it¡¯s pressed against.


    Letting the knife drop to the floor, Garm rocks over and lets the tears flow. Reason finally returning to him, he can''t help but feel even worse at his pathetic state.


    How in the world would cutting himself have solved anything? Through his sobbs, he lets out a hollow, raspy laugh. In his mind''s eye, he imagined his father coming up to his room the next day only to spot the mangled mess he¡¯d made of his arms. Would he fall to his knees in horror, begging Garm for forgiveness for bringing him to such a state? In his childish madness, he¡¯d imagined something like that. But, he knew better, didn¡¯t he? ¡°Kid can¡¯t even cut straight,¡± Jonas would mumble and close the door on him, walk back downstairs, and drink his morning coffee. That is if he didn¡¯t bleed to death shortly after making the first cut.


    Laying crumbled on the floor in the moonlit room became Garm¡¯s world for what felt like hours. Unable to sleep from the emotions tumbling through his head, he simply lay there on the cool planks, letting the day''s events wash over him.


    Mrs. Madsen''s bout of madness and subsequent drugging. The gory stain that he soon learned was what remained of Mr. Madsen. The terrible fight with his father. The scenes replay again and again, faster and faster, and through it all, his complete inability to do anything at all. He feels haunted by a bone-deep helplessness that¡¯s been following him for a very long time, years maybe, but only coming together in its glorious crescendo over the last few days.


    Feeling absolutely spent, garm remains sleepless on the floor. He¡¯s out of tears, yet the chill claws of melancholic emptiness are still buried in his scalp. As time passes, all other emotions eventually give way to the growing hollowness that accompanies him now. ¡°I should get off the floor,¡± a distant voice, he recognizes as his own, tells him.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Finally getting to his feet, he nearly stumbles on a mug that¡¯s lying on its side. Through tired eyes, he notes that it¡¯s thankfully not broken. Looking around the little square that is his room, Garm sees the mess he¡¯s made of it. Not feeling the energy necessary to berate himself further, he simply bends back down and begins picking up his belongings and placing them back on the desk.


    There¡¯s no light in the room, the sun¡¯s long since taken leave for the night, but the moon shines with pale radiance, highlighting every surface. In the moonlit room, Garm picks up scattered pencils, placing them neatly back into the mug. After stacking a newspaper and leaning down to grab an old sketchbook of his, Garm holds up one of the pages. He angles it so he can see his old creation in the sparse light. It¡¯s a crude sketch of himself holding the Krag J?rgensen rifle he made when he was younger. Sighing to himself, he puts down the sketchbook and leans back onto his chair.


    Placing both hands over his eyes Garm lets out another long-suffering sigh. Letting the self-imposed darkness swallow him for a few moments, he focuses on his breathing while rocking gently back and forth on the chair. ¡°When are you gonna learn?¡± he mumbles to himself, ¡°when are you gonna learn that life¡¯s not going to turn out like in your dumb fantasies?¡±


    Finishing the mantra with another deep breath he takes his hands away from his face and opens his eyes. While Garm stares at the wall, letting his eyes get used to the light yet again, he notices something off about the room. He looks down at his hands, then at the wall and his sketchbook. He¡¯s tired, so very tired, but doesn¡¯t the room seem darker than before?


    Stumbling out of his chair, nearly tripping again in the previously moonlit room. Garm rights himself and turns, ever so slowly, towards the window. His legs nearly fail him as he glances out into the night.


    Black orbs, darker than dark, set in an ivory visage, hovering right outside his window, and staring directly at Garm.


    Summoning all of his breath, Garm wants to scream in fear, but he finds he¡¯s frozen like a statue. Ripples of absolute terror flow through his body as he looks into the abyss that is those eyes. Not a muscle is responding to his command as he remains motionless where he stands, facing the monstrosity on the other side of his window. He can faintly sense that even his hands refuse their usual tremble in the presence of this being, instead remaining still in lockstep with his other limbs.


    The ¡®face¡¯ Garm vaguely recognizes as a twisted and elongated stag''s skull, remains hovering in position as the seconds slink by. Garm gets the sense it¡¯s sizing him up like he¡¯s a mouse caught in a barrel, being observed by a hungry cat.


    Praying the windows will somehow be enough to deter the creature, Garm¡¯s hopes turn to sorrow as a thin dark tendril extends from its form. The tendril snakes its way through the gap between the window and the frame and in one smooth motion, hooks around the latch and undoes it as Garm stares on in silent horror.


    The creature¡¯s eyes have been locked on Garm during the entire maneuver, seemingly drinking in every instance of hope draining from him. Desperately trying to will his body to move, Garm can only stare as the window creaks open. Looking for all the world like a predator lurking over its captured and helpless prey, the creature¡¯s head finally begins to move. Slowly, only millimeters at a time, the creature pushes into the room. Soon it crests the edge of the window, then it¡¯s inside.


    ¡°Move, move, move!¡± Garm screams at himself, but still, no words escape his mouth, his body remaining frozen like ice.


    Looking like it¡¯s played with him long enough the monstrous maw opens revealing rows and rows of jagged needle teeth. Any second now, Garm thinks to himself, those teeth will clamp around my body and it¡¯ll all be over.


    After pausing mid-motion, seemingly to let Garm understand his fate, the jaws descend on him in a powerful thrust.


    BANG

 Chapter 16: Here Be Monsters

    Jonas awakens with a groan of pain. Shivering slightly, he pulls his woolen blanket up and massages his leg. He carefully pulls back his pant leg, wincing with every touch. The skin is swollen and in several spots has taken on an unhealthy, bluish hue. Every second, he feels ripples of pain lancing from the tip of his sole to the top of his brow.


    Clenching his teeth, Jonas wishes he¡¯d brought the ether, or maybe some whiskey to dull the pain. Speaking of ether, while the painkiller¡¯s worn off, the headache left in its wake seems like it¡¯s just getting started.


    One hand on the leg, the other on his forehead, Jonas nearly jumps out of his seat as the unattended Krag slides down his side and with a ¡®Clack,¡¯ bumps against the wooden beam of the booth he¡¯s resting against. He scrambles to grab his rifle before it can slide further away from him and get damaged from hitting the stone floor. His arms outstretched, he barely manages to snatch the rifle before it can bump into something else.


    Frowning to himself, Jonas holds the rifle close to his chest, trying to ignore the protests of his body. The mad scramble having brought back hazy memories of that evening, his frown deepens as he breathes out slowly. ¡°When¡¯s that kid gonna learn?¡± he mumbles, thinking of their first hunts, all those years ago. He remembers the elation he¡¯d felt when Garm came of age, old enough to learn his trade. Then, of course, the crushing defeat when he had to admit to himself that his only son would never use a rifle with any proficiency. A hunter with the hands of an aging widow? Jonas grunts to himself in mock amusement.


    Leaning back, Jonas sighs while bearing the pain. The fury he felt against his son having dulled as he rested, it¡¯s been replaced with an anger much older. As he sits there, alone in the barn, stewing in his own misery, the feeling that slowly creeps up on him is a deep frustration and disappointment in himself. His mind lingers on the gravestone that rests in the garden and how directionless he¡¯s felt after the burial.


    ¡°I just¡­ never could crack it with them,¡±  Jonas mutters into the darkness, ¡°not the way you could.¡±


    His failing to be a father to his children was a topic that often lingered in the back of Jonas¡¯s mind. In the past, he could lean on his wife to tell him the way of things, but the creeping sense that he¡¯d learned nothing over all those years had long since turned into a dull self-loathing.


    With a half-smile, Jonas thinks back to the evening after his last attempt to take Garm hunting with him. He¡¯d always thought of his Sarah as soft-spoken and conflict-shy, but the words she¡¯d thrown at him that night. He will never forget her face when she walked in on him hitting Garm. It hadn¡¯t gotten any better when she¡¯d learned this wasn¡¯t the first time. In his mind¡¯s eye, Jonas can still see her spitting fire and brimstone as she cursed him out for what he¡¯d done.


    Jonas had never hit his son after that, but it was too late by then. The damage had been done and since then, every time he looked into his son''s eyes he saw the same hurt. He¡¯d caused that, he thought to himself every time he saw it. He was no closer now, to figuring out how exactly he should deal with that look and all the feelings that bubbled up whenever he saw it.


    Leaning on the Krag for support, Jonas hoists himself up from his chair. The pain¡¯s gotten to be too much and just sitting here stewing on his failings has done nothing to help his situation in the slightest.


    ¡°When are you gonna learn, old man?¡± he mumbles before a sharp intake of breath from bending his bad leg too fast.


    Leaning heavily on the side of the booth as blood rushes back into the leg, Jonas scans the room. It¡¯s been oddly quiet since he started rummaging around after waking. Sure, it¡¯s well after midnight, but usually he¡¯d at least get a  sleepy ¡°baa,¡± and some of the younger ones looking around to see what the fuzz is about. Still, he¡¯d heard not a peep from the flock, and that¡¯s a curiosity that¡¯ll let him distract himself for a minute.


    Looking into the booth, Jonas can¡¯t see much in the dark. Surely they¡¯re just sleeping, he muses to himself, but the next moment he¡¯s reaching for his lantern. Thanking Mrs. Madsen for restocking them earlier that week, and sending the woman a silent prayer for what she¡¯s going through right now, he lights it with a match.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    At first glance nothing seems out of place, all the sheep are sleeping soundly next to one another in the corner. Jonas is about to leave when he spots an odd reflection of the lantern light. Leaning closer and moving his lantern slightly to get a better look, he sees the dim flicker from the lantern flame reflect from the opened eyes of several sheep. Looking around in confusion he sees the sheep are all awake and every last one of them is staring at him with large dilated pupils. Despite their wakeful state, none of them are moving or making a sound. The flock is simply huddled in their corner, leaning on one another or lying against the floor, trying to look as small and insignificant as possible while taking shallow breaths.


    Feeling a sense of unease come over him, Jonas checks the next booth, and the next, finding the same scene every time. Something¡¯s wrong, but what? He remembers hushed conversations with Widow Maria after the incident some nights before. He remembers the panic in her voice as she told them every detail from the morning she discovered what became of her cow.


    As he moves, he bumps his swollen leg into the wooden edge of a booth, sending a spasm of pain shooting throughout his body. Clenching his teeth while the agony shoots through him, all he can do for the moment is hold himself upright.


    Feeling the original reason for his discomfort return with a vengeance, Jonas leans down to grab after his cane before he remembers he left it in the house. Muttering curses at his short-sightedness, he leaves the lantern in favor of the Krag. Holding onto the wooden beam running atop the boots with his free hand, he hobbles carefully towards the door, streaks of pain running up his bad leg every time he puts weight on it.


    When he finally makes it to the large barn door he carefully unlatches the lock and gives it a little push. The door opens effortlessly and the cold night breeze sends a shiver down Jonas¡¯s spine as he stands there, leaning in the doorway. For a brief moment, he debates whether or not he should lean on the rifle for support to get back to the house. Shaking his head at the idea of sullying the Krag with such misuse, he starts hobbling along the cobblestones. The first few steps are absolute misery, and all he can do to not scream in pain is focus on the rhythm of his steps and keep the house in his sights.


    The house isn¡¯t far away, yet something urges Jonas to stop. Wiping tears from his eyes he glances up at the house, barely twenty meters before him. Although his vision is swimming with moisture, he can see through the blur that there¡¯s something very wrong with the image before him. There is¡­ a large glob of darkness that looks very much out of place, seemingly stuck to the upper right corner of his house. As his eyes clear, the shape gains more detail, and the sense of dread that started in the barn slowly becomes like an all-consuming flame. As all other concerns are pushed to the back, Jonas no longer notices the pain in his leg, and he can do nothing but stare at the creature before him.


    The black mass is suspended by a series of jagged limbs, none of which are uniform in shape, that streak off in multiple directions. They hold on to the roof, and the drainage pipe, and some even reach down to the ground. The display oozes a wrongness that burns itself into his memory, imprinting him with its festering mark.


    Much like the sheep in his barn, all Jonas can do is stand there and take shallow breaths, hoping against hope that the creature simply won¡¯t see him. After several moments in his unmoving state, he hears a sound ring out in the silent night. It¡¯s the creak of a window slowly opening.


    A terrible realization hits Jonas at that moment. That¡¯s Garm¡¯s window. Whatever this monstrosity is, it¡¯s after his son. The creature begins to move into the house and panic stronger than anything he¡¯s previously felt fills every corner of his mind.


    In a motion as instinctual as his frozen immobility the Krag is at Jonas¡¯s cheek.


    BANG!


    The shot thunders through the night and leaves only silence in its wake.


    For a moment Jonas fears he missed the fateful shot, but then he sees one of the creature''s limbs come loose. The very next second another limb lets go, then another. With a shriek that makes Jonas¡¯s bones vibrate, the creature comes slamming down into the dirt below.


    Standing in stunned silence Jonas watches as the horrid tangle of bleached bone and tangled, jet-black limbs writhe on the ground. As he lifts the rifle to put another bullet in it, the limbs quickly right the creature. With surprising speed, it begins rushing away from the farm.


    As another shot rings out, followed by loud cursing, Jonas begins running after the fleeing mass of darkness. He¡¯s overcome with anger at all the things this creature has done, and all the hurt it¡¯s caused. His friend and neighbor is dead, the whole valley¡¯s in panic, and now it¡¯s come for his family. In his heart, Jonas is consumed by only one thought.


    By the end of this night, that monster will be dead.

 Chapter 17: Dire Path

    The roar of gunfire pierced the stunned acceptance that had consumed Garm at the moment of his death. The maw of a thousand jagged teeth inches from his face begins to retract out the window. With an ear-piercing shriek, that Garm fears will shatter his eardrums, the monster and its terrifying visage flow out of his room and with a loud thud, slam into the ground below.


    A torrent of thoughts flies through Garm¡¯s head, but amongst the shock coming from the last-minute rescue, warring with the remaining terror, a single thought elbows its way to the front.


    ¡°I am alive!¡±


    Garm falls to the ground, the spell finally broken and blissful movement returning to stiff muscles.


    The jubilation of his continuing existence fills Garm with warmth, every breath he takes feeling like a blessing. His bliss, however, is short-lived as reality takes back the reins once more. This is not over yet, and there¡¯s only one person he can think of who could have fired that shot.


    Against his better judgment, Garm gets back up and skitters over to the window. He carefully peaks over the edge, fearing that at any moment a cascade of fangs would ascend out of the night to perforate his skull. Finally looking down from his window, into the garden below, he sees the creature flail its limbs in seeming pain. Several meters to the monster''s right he spots his father aim another round in its direction.


    To Garm¡¯s dismay, the monster hurls its bulk over, and before the next shot can ring out it¡¯s bolting towards the Grime. Watching the scene play out in horror and amazement, he looks on as Jonas begins running after the fleeing form of the creature like his leg isn¡¯t even bothering him. With rifle in hand and a furious trot, he seems intent on pursuing until he has its hide in his hands. At least, that seems to be his intent, given the continuous tirade of vile obscenities escaping his mouth.


    Seeing his father rush after the terrifying monster, Garm takes one look down at his hands before sneering and turning towards his door. Snagging the knife on his way out, he rips the door open and throws himself out into the hall, then sprints over to the stairs.


    Standing at the door to her room Hannah calls out in a worried voice, ¡°What¡¯s going on Garm? I heard gunfire!¡±


    ¡°You stay here!¡± Garm shouts back to her as he runs down the stairs, ¡°Jonas shot it, and I¡¯m going after them!¡±


    ¡°After them? What do you mean?¡± Hannah tries to call out, but Garm is already rushing down the stairs and isn¡¯t stopping.


    Down into the kitchen, then through the living room, Garm runs. Stopping for neither shoes nor jacket, he throws open the door and bursts into the cool night air. Orienting himself briefly in the moonlit landscape, he soon spots the silhouette of his father running through the open fields. He briefly registers a ¡°Garm, wait!¡± coming from inside the house, but there¡¯s no time to lose so he sets off after his father.


    Keeping the moonlit outline of Jonas centered in his vision, the excitement, and adrenaline is pumping through Garm¡¯s veins as he¡¯s chasing across the soggy terrain. Noticing neither the cool wind on his cheeks nor his socks soaking through, Garm can only think of one thing as he runs. Redemption!


    At last, he could be something more than the burden his father could only spare looks of scorn and resentment. Years of shame will be washed away this night, and all he¡¯ll have to do is help track and kill that wounded monster. He will show Jonas he can help, that he can be useful and that he is more than just an anchor to this family.


    Through the howling wind and his own ragged breathing, Garm can hear him already. For the first time in years, his father will praise him once more, and tell him how proud he is to have him for a son. And then, finally, he will look down to find his hands still and steady, and steady they would remain.


    Suddenly, Garm is ripped forcefully from his fantasizing as he steps into a depression between two tufts of grass. He goes careening through the air and hits the ground in a tumble of limbs and wet earth. Although there were days since the great storm had torn through the valley the landscape had yet to recover. The barren grassland forming the middle of the valley remains pock-marked with muddy holes, snaking trails left from rainwater, and the occasional ditch of swampy mud. These facts make up the bulk of Garm¡¯s ire as he heaves himself out of one such ditch.


    Now half-covered in mud and aching from the fall, Garm resists the urge to scream his anger into the night. Instead, he bottles it all up and scans the direction he thought his father was running. Checking to his sides just in case he¡¯d gotten disoriented in the fall, he finds, to his dismay, that there¡¯s a distinct lack of his father anywhere in sight. How could that be? Looking around for something that could obscure his line of sight, Garm sees nothing unexpected, the landscape is as flat as always.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Feeling the cool wind on his skin for the first time, now made even colder by his soggy clothes, Garm begins walking. Following the direction he¡¯s the most sure he¡¯d seen Jonas run towards, he¡¯s soon back to a steady trot. Finding himself coming down from his emotional high, he¡¯s having to maintain his pace to keep up the warmth of his body. Suddenly, and brutally, he¡¯s been dragged out of his daydream and once more faces the harsh reality before him.


    What the hell is he doing out here? Feeling in his pocket for his knife, he finds that taking it out offers less comfort than he needs right now. Still, he holds on to the much too-short knife like his life depends on it. His confidence evaporating before him, all that fuels Garm now is the desire to find his father.


    What was he thinking, going after him? He was struck, for the second time that night, with his own childish notions and how quickly they¡¯d turned to ash between his fingers. How would he even have helped? Holding up his monster-killing weapon, he eyes a blade smaller than his little finger like it¡¯s at fault for his shortsightedness.


    Garm feels like he¡¯s about to be overwhelmed by his emotions again, but with a valiant effort, he holds them back. This is not the time for tears. He has to find his father. Thinking of Jonas¡¯s bad leg and the terrible condition it was in earlier that day, he increases his pace.


    As he runs through the moonlit valley, Garm skids to a halt when he spots something hidden in the grass. Angling his run, he¡¯s soon hovering right over it, looking down as a growing feeling of distress fills him. Before him, moonlight glinting off polished metal is his father¡¯s beloved Krag sticking out from the foliage.


    Growing more panicked by the moment, Garm daintily lifts the closest thing to a family heirloom they have out of the dirt. Looking over it for damage, he finally takes a deep breath seeing it¡¯s undamaged from the fall. He slings it over his shoulder before hearing a faint ¡°Garm!¡± coming from behind him. It seems Hannah¡¯s followed him after all.


    Garm¡¯s about to call out to his sister, her presence more reassuring than he¡¯ll ever let her know, when he spots a small movement in his peripheral vision. ¡°No, wait!¡± he hears Hannah call out, but he¡¯s already running again. Focused entirely on the spot he saw stir, Garm soon sees, to his relief, that it belongs to a very human shape lying on the ground by a small pond.


    ¡°Jonas!¡± Garm calls out with relief evident in his voice.


    Coming up behind him Hannah calls out, ¡°Dad, is that you?¡±


    The two approach the prone form of their father when he finally turns to them. He inhales sharply and lets out a ragged ¡°No!¡± while looking at them with a mixture of panic and sorrow.


    To their horror, Garm and Hannah see rivulets of blood running down from a cut on their father¡¯s scalp, then along something seemingly propping his head up. Tracing the strange object, Garm sees it run under, or into, what he previously had thought of as debris swimming in the small pond. Looking closer at his father¡¯s neck he sees that when he¡¯d turned his head to look at them, the sharp edge of something white dug into his skin. Seeing Hannah is about to run over to Jonas, he holds out a hand to stop her.


    As if waiting for its cue, the black mass with its bleached white death mask rises from the murky water. With the appendage it has kept under Jonas¡¯s head, it hoists him up as if to display its prey to its captured audience.


    And captured they truly are. The dread, so familiar, yet impossible to get used to get used to, fills Garm¡¯s every cell. Behind him, he can hear Hannah¡¯s breath getting caught in her throat as she, for the first time, experiences the primordial terror that comes with looking upon this monster¡¯s gruesome visage.


    Through the bone-deep fear that keeps him locked in place, Garm can hear his father choking where he hangs. The creature eyes them in what Garm distinctly feels is something akin to rye amusement. Looking fearfully at the creature, there¡¯s little that gives away its emotional state, yet the thought that it¡¯s putting on a show becomes the center of Garm¡¯s impression. The idea that it¡¯s simply playing with its food, doesn¡¯t make Garm¡¯s situation any lighter, and all he can do is watch on in horror as several more clawed appendages move towards his father.


    Lifting him from the brutal chokehold, the limbs hold Jonas up in a much more gentle carry. Gasping for air between choking sobs, Jonas stares with wild eyes as the creature opens its gaping maw and a tongue-like tendril covered in bony barbs slithers out to hover before him. Trying to fight against the hold, he finds he¡¯s completely restrained.


    Seeing death staring him in the face, Jonas looks to his children and with his last breath shouts, ¡°Son! Take your sister and run!¡±


    The barbed tendril plunges like a biting snake, pushing down into Jonas¡¯s throat. Forced to look on as his father¡¯s eyes bulge while his skin reddens in pain, Garm finds that although he¡¯s drowning in terror, his father¡¯s words shine like a beacon of light in the darkness that consumes him.


    It feels like he¡¯s moving through molasses, but before he can think about it, the little knife clutched in his hand jabs into his thigh. Pain streaks through his body, but with it comes clarity. Finding he can move again, Garm hasn¡¯t got a moment to spare. He turns on a dime, grabs his sister by the hand, and with all the effort he can muster he runs for the farm.


    It¡¯s slow to start, Hannah is unresponsive and feels like a block of stone dragging behind him, but that only makes Garm haul even harder. The thought that any second now, the monster would give chase and tear them apart drives him on, his legs pumping even faster. After another ten meters, he feels Hannah wordlessly start running as well.

 Chapter 18: Gutless

    Bursting through the front door, Garm scrambles to lock it behind them. When the lock finally clicks shut, the two move from room to room in silent cooperation, barricading windows with chairs, bookshelves, and anything they can find. The mad rush of overturning furniture, spurred on by their fear, is quick, efficient, and loud enough to make Sven peek out from under his bench to see what¡¯s up.


    Not long after, the two are sitting back to back in the middle of their darkened living room. Only sparse beams of moonlight can be seen peaking through their makeshift barricades before Hannah lights her lantern with a match.


    In a hushed whisper, Garm asks, ¡°Are you sure we should light that? We¡¯re really visible, you know?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sitting here in the dark,¡± Hannah whispers back, some panic still evident in her voice. ¡°The corners, Garm, I can barely stand to look at them.¡±


    Feeling his sister shiver against his back, Garm nods and mutters a brief, ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± Looking at the barely illuminated corners of the room, he also can¡¯t shake the feeling that something might leap from them at any moment.


    Remaining seated in their little sanctuary in the middle of the room, they sink back into silence. Hannah clutches a kitchen knife to her chest, and Garm holds the recovered rifle tight, checks it, and sees only a handful of bullets left. A measly haul, they knew, but none of them felt like volunteering to find something more substantial, whatever that might be.


    Feeling around in his other pocket, Garm asks Hannah to hold out her hand. Obliging, she receives a handful of the only other thing Garm had thought to grab.


    ¡°Be careful, they¡¯re sharp,¡± Garm says as he hands over half his push-pins.


    ¡°These are Mother¡¯s¡­¡± Hannah starts but is interrupted as her brother tries to explain.


    ¡°Earlier, when we saw that monster take¡­ Dad¡­¡± Garm pauses, but quickly gathers his thoughts again. ¡°When I couldn¡¯t move, he shouted that we needed to run and suddenly I could move again. It wasn¡¯t much, but enough so that I could jab my leg with my knife.¡± Feeling the red splotch on his pant leg, he thanked god that it wasn¡¯t too deep, now merely a faint ache. ¡°It helped me move again, to focus on something other than what it was doing to¡­¡±


    Tracing off again, Garm closes Hannah¡¯s hand over the sharp metal. Seeing his sister wince as one of the pins jabs into her skin, he puts his hand gently on top of hers. Holding her hand shut, Garm looks his sisters in the eyes, ¡°I don¡¯t know how much it¡¯ll help, but it¡¯s better to be in pain than dead,¡± then he lets her hands go.


    Giving her brother an uncertain look, Hannah pockets the push-pins. Breathing out a shuddering breath, she sits back up against Garm¡¯s back, the possession meant as much for covering every angle, as it is for comfort. None of them felt like being alone at the moment and being cornered in their separate rooms felt like a decidedly bad idea.


    A slight spasm goes through Hannah¡¯s back, making Garm turn to her in question.


    ¡°We came face to face with a nightmare¡­¡± Hannah lets out something between a choke and a cackle, ¡°And you decide to stab yourself?¡± Leaning forward, she holds on to her sides as she shakes uncontrollably, the emotional high of their situation seemingly overwhelming her for the moment.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Frowning to himself before realizing how much stress they¡¯d both been feeling all night, Garm¡¯s lips slowly form into a manic smile. The laughter comes slowly, beginning as a choked hiccup, then becoming louder, working its way up to a raucous cacophony. A laugh, entirely free of cheer or happiness, but drenched in pain and desperation spreads throughout the house.


    Images from earlier come to Garm one at a time as the two lose themselves in the madness of it all: Mr. Madsen¡¯s mutilated corpse, his Father¡¯s dying face, and his final words. Tears begin coming down like rain staining his shirt in between gasps of air. Sounding more like sobs now, the laughter slowly peters out. Soon both siblings are sitting upright again, breathing hard.


    After another minute of gathering themselves back up, Garm wipes at his eyes with a sleeve and says in a low voice, ¡°I don¡¯t know why I did it. It felt right at the time, pain to replace pain, and it wouldn¡¯t have made anything worse if it didn¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you did it,¡± Hannah says, her tone somewhat back to normal again, ¡°If you hadn¡¯t¡­¡±


    With Hannah¡¯s final statement hanging in the air, Garm¡¯s about to reply when three sharp knocks of knuckle on wood ring out from the front door.


    Garm and Hannah both jump in sudden surprise before scrambling to their feet. Staring at the door in trepidation, Garm raises his rifle to point at it, and whoever¡¯s on the other side. Swallowing a mouthful of spit, he tries to center his aim, but as he holds it up the barrel jitters visibly.


    The siblings remain frozen in the middle of the room, eyeing the door like it just caught on fire, the moment stretching on without further disturbances.


    Gathering her courage, Hannah takes a half-step forward and calls out into the dimly lit room, ¡°Hello¡­ w-who¡¯s there?¡±


    Another pause and a familiar grumbling voice call back to them, ¡°Hannah, is that you?!¡±


    Seemingly breathing out a year¡¯s worth of worries, Hannah is about to take another step towards the door when Garm¡¯s hand catches her shoulder and gently pulls her back. Looking at her brother in brief confusion she peers back towards the door, her face going pale.


    ¡°Is Garm with you?¡± their father asks, ¡°What a night we¡¯ve had, huh? Are you safe in there?¡±


    As the door handle rattles, the siblings stare on unmoving. Memories of hazy trauma return in force, a dark form holding onto Jonas like a mother onto her child, a barbed tendril plunging into¡­


    ¡°Listen, kids¡­¡± the rattling stops, ¡°...I know I¡¯ve not been much of a father to you two¡­¡±


    A slow patter of paws breaks Hannah¡¯s gaze. Looking down, she sees Sven has decided to leave his hiding place under the kitchen bench and join them.


    ¡°...both of you came after me, chasing that monster through the night. My brave little children.¡±


    Placing himself in front of them, the loyal farm hound is shaking terribly, yet he raises his head high. Flaring his teeth towards the entrance, he lets out a low and continuous growl.


    A heavy weight slams against the sturdy wooden door, shaking the cabinet that¡¯s blockading the entrance.


    ¡°Especially you, Garm¡­¡±


    The breath catches in Garm¡¯s throat.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been unfair to yo¡­¡±


    Garm pulls the trigger. A loud boom fills the living room and splinters fly from the spot where the bullet lodges itself in the wall, two centimeters to the left of the door.


    A deep silence swallows the night as the moment stretches on. There¡¯s no more rattling in the door handle, no more words, only the flickering flame in Hannah¡¯s lantern can be heard.


    ¡°So be it¡­ the hard way, then,¡± Jonas says with finality, his voice barely recognizable as it seems to ring out interposed on a distinctly inhuman guttural echo.


    Eyes remaining locked on the door for another couple of moments, Garm finally remembers to breathe. The steely grip he¡¯d been clutching the Krag with finally loosens and goes slack in his hands.


    In a voice shaking with fear, Hannah whispers, ¡°What was that? It¡¯s not¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not Dad,¡± Garm agrees between large gulps of air.

 Chapter 19: To Ash

    Sighing to himself at having wasted a bullet on the wall, Garm fumbles with his hands, trying to find the bolt without taking his eyes off the door.


    That¡¯s when a loud crash of shattering wood and glass makes both of them turn around in a panic while Sven yelps and bolts out of the room. Wanting to curse his unstable hands, the words are caught in Garm¡¯s throat as he sees what just broke through their window.


    There¡¯s a clawed, gangly limb reaching through where the backmost garden window used to be. The gruesome appendage flails wildly from side to side before it grabs onto the displaced bookshelf that still partially blocks its entry. Soon, another clawed hand reaches through and the grip of the two limbs causes cracking noises as the creature they¡¯re attached to begins pulling itself inside.


    There, looking directly at them is the face of their father. That is, what little remains of it. Seemingly peeling off of an elongating skull, twisting and fraying into a vaguely crown-like shape made of gore-splattered bone, is what¡¯s left of Jonas¡¯s face. It hangs loosely, like a misfitting mask, at the bottom of its head. His eyes, dark pools swallowing the moonlight, peer at them with undisguised malice. A mouth splits into a hungry grin, sporting all too many sharp teeth.


    ¡°My children!¡± The monster masquerading as their father says in a mocking, sing-song voice, ¡°Why, you look like you¡¯ve seen a corpse!¡±


    Cornered mice. Garm tries to look away, but he can already feel the beginnings of his limbs locking up. Desperation and despair vie for dominance in Garm¡¯s head as he spots Hannah in the corner of his vision, helpless and frozen.


    No. He will not let them end like this. With the last vestiges of his will, Garm slams his hand down on the pocket filled with push-pins. Pain bursts to the forefront of his mind as the skin of his hand and thigh is pierced by multiple sharp needles. The sting of iron is soon replaced with relief as he can feel movement rapidly returning to him.


    Ignoring his instincts screaming at him to run away, Garm leaps to his sister¡¯s side. Pulling the still-immobile Hannah back, he sees the monster is thankfully still in the process of entering their home, the bulk of its mass on the other side of the window. Using the butt of the Krag he swiftly strikes Hannah¡¯s leg. She lets out a cry of pain and her hand shoots to the spot he struck, letting Garm know he successfully hit the pocket where she hid her share of the push-pins.


    ¡°Why struggle? We all know how this ends!¡± the creature asks in its stolen voice, seeming to be in no hurry as it watches them fight against their faith.


    Raising the rifle to point at the creature, Garm tries to reload. The tremble in his hands nearly has him fumble the practiced motions, but the next second there¡¯s a new round in the chamber.


    The gnarled and twisted face of Jonas spreads into a cruel grin at seeing Garm¡¯s frantic motions. ¡°How pathetic. You were never a son of mine,¡± it sneers at him, and rears back to swipe at him with an arm whose nails have grown into wicked talons.


    ¡°You¡¯re not him!¡± Hannah yells at the top of her lungs and throws her lantern directly towards the creature¡¯s face.


    Although the panic rings clear in her voice, her throw flies true and the creature uses its taloned hand to protect itself instead. The lantern shatters against the top of the protective hand, sending oil and glass shards spilling over its hand and back. The wick with the flickering ember goes tumbling to the side where it lights an oil spill that tentatively starts to spread towards the curtains.


    Seeing fire licking so tantalizingly close to their enemy Garm can see the opportunity that fate has presented him. Now, all he has to do is to not let it slip by.


    Garm takes aim at the leg-like limb the creature uses to hold up the part of its body that¡¯s inside, which at this point Garm sees is most of it. Trying not to let the consequences of failure cloud his vision, he focuses on his breathing while looking down at the sight. Already he can see that he¡¯ll miss, his unsteady hands disallowing him a clean shot.


    Spotting the doubt in his eyes, the mockery of his Father¡¯s flesh grins at him, ¡°Take the shot, Kid. I¡¯m going to enjoy tearing your sister apart in front of you, while you simmer in the knowledge that you could have changed her fate.¡±


    ¡°Garm¡­¡± Hannah puts a hand on his back and whispers in a half-sob, ¡°...he isn¡¯t here¡­ not really. Let¡¯s put him to rest.¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Garm can hear his heartbeat loud as day. He lets out a long breath. One¡­ Two¡­ before the third beat he gives the trigger a feather touch.


    The sound of gunfire consumes all other noise, followed by the chunky splatter of tearing flesh and splintering of bone. The creature howls in anguish as its weight bends the shattered limb and begins leaning towards the flickering flames spreading its destructive influence below.


    Seeing its destination, the creature tries to reach out, tendrils ripping from its core, tearing through its new flesh suit to find purchase. It flickers and spasms with jet-black tentacles, trying to stop its descent while the oil-drenched, taloned arm tries to bend out of the way, but it¡¯s too late.


    It strikes the oil-slick floor elbow first, skidding along the planks. The arm is followed shortly by a torso punctured by hundreds of wriggling tendrils that immediately go to work pushing away from the growing inferno. For a brief moment, it looks like the creature has evaded the flame before a flickering ember makes its presence known on its elbow. The candlelight then becomes an avaricious torrent as it seems every bit as hungry as the creature it¡¯s attached to.


    As the oil-covered surface of the creature bursts into flames it lets out a tortured wail, waking the siblings from their awe-struck study of their conflagrating father. The panic returns in force as they see the creature, now in a pain-induced rush, slither inside, its head swaying to eye them in fury.


    Garm turns, taking Hannah by the wrist, shouting, ¡°Upstairs!¡±


    They rush into the kitchen and up the stairs, hearing the horrid howls as the monster sets off after them. Taking the stairs three at a time they come upon the hallway to their rooms. Swiftly getting the lay of the land, desperate for an escape out of the house, they spot Sven in their Father¡¯s room at the very end of the hallway. They run to the scared dog, who¡¯s been trying to claw away the shelf they¡¯d used to blockade the window.


    Checking inside the capsule door of the Krag, Garm finds, to his dismay he¡¯s only got two rounds remaining. Positioning himself halfway into the room he reloads and aims down the hallway where the sounds of splintering wood are growing louder as the burning monster is forcing its way up the tight stairway.


    ¡°What are you doing? Help me with this!¡± Hannah begs, throwing what little weight she has against the shelf.


    With a crack, and a rupture of splinters, the flame-clad form of the monster bursts up the stairs. Crouching in a predatory stance, its head swiveling from side to side, it spots them and readies itself to leap.


    Briefly lighting up the dark room, Garm lets the first bullet fly. With another anguished howl, the creature¡¯s leap becomes a violent collapse, as the bullet buries itself into its hip. Skin cracking, the air smelling of rancid, burning meat, the creature roars as rivulets of inky liquid rush from every rent in its flesh. It reaches out with one appendage, digging it into the wooden floor, then another. One sloppy heave after another, it once again continues its advance.


    Garm reloads with haste, the gravity of this final round weighing heavy in his mind.


    ¡°You know I always hated you, Garm,¡± the echoing mockery of his Father¡¯s voice calls out. His words pierce seamlessly through the crackling fire spreading from the monster¡¯s pursuit.


    Breathing out and raising the Krag, Garm readies himself to take the shot. Looking to his right, he sees Hannah give him a nod and raise her knife with shaking hands. This is where it¡¯ll all end, one way or another.


    ¡°Imagine waking up, every day, to know my legacy died¡­¡± The monster lets out a guttural chortle as its ominous crawl takes it ever closer to them.


    As Garm takes another steadying breath, Hannah sees the tip of the rifle start to sway.


    ¡°...because my worthless wife birthed such a failure.¡±


    The sway has become a visible vibration, Garm clutching the rifle with a white-knuckle grip.


    Hannah, looks at her brother, ¡°Garm?¡± hesitation and fear written all over her face.


    Pausing, Garm looks at his sister, at their dog, frozen in fear, then at the nightmare thundering towards them, their end made manifest.


    ¡°Hannah¡­ I need you to hold it with me,¡± Garm whispers.


    Swallowing, Hannah gives him a determined look and grabs a hold on the other side of their Father¡¯s cherished rifle. She places one hand just behind Garm¡¯s on the forestock, holding it firmly, the other she places more gently under the trigger guard, letting him aim without fighting her for control.


    Both the siblings and the creature see the sway of the barrel reduce noticeably, Garm lets out a third and final breath before counting the beats of his heart.


    One.


    ¡°No!¡± the creature roars in anger, tearing toward them with even greater fervor, meat sloughing off its burning body in chunks.


    Two.


    ¡°I will not let two weak, sniveling little¡­¡±


    Before the third beat, Garm gives the trigger a feather touch.


    The Monster¡¯s skull is close enough that the first thing that hits is deflagrating gunpowder. The rotating spear of lead that follows, tears through the bone and fragments after impact. Scalding bits of metal and bone shards rip through flesh, through muscle and brains, leaving only a devastated crater behind.


    The creature, the living nightmare that had claimed their father, slumps to the floor, lifeless.

 Epilogue

    ¡°There¡­¡± Hannah adjusts the bundle of crocus into a formation she deems good enough, ¡°...now, that¡¯s better, huh?¡±


    The torso-sized boulder replies, as expected, with silence.


    ¡°Don''t take that tone with me, mister,¡± Hannah says as if the cold stone is wearing the habitual scowl of the person whose initials are carved into it.


    Their Father¡¯s grave is, compared to the more professional-looking sleek square of their Mother¡¯s stone resting next to it, a little shabby. After the dust had settled, Garm had found the best-looking boulder in their garden and they had taken turns using a hammer and chisel to slowly carve out his name, date of birth, death, and a small addition at the bottom. ¡®Died protecting his family.¡¯ The capitalized ¡®D¡¯ was a little bent, and Garm had said they¡¯d get him a proper one soon, but as the weeks wore on it had grown on them.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ very much like him, you know? Rough, uneven, and a little ugly¡­ but, hard, sturdy¡­¡± Garm had said one morning they¡¯d visited their parent¡¯s graves.


    ¡°And loves us with all its heart!¡± Hannah added with a little smile, ¡°...even if it¡¯s really bad at showing it.¡±


    ¡°...yeah, something like that,¡± Garm says through a sigh, the metaphor falling flat.


    And like that, any idea of swapping it out for another one disappeared from their minds.


    Reaching out and adjusting the rabbit¡¯s-foot hanging from their Mother¡¯s stone, Hannah sees the ornament-free surface of the boulder and frowns. ¡°Garm¡¯s promised to get another one, so just be patient, you hear?¡±


    Nodding at the rock¡¯s silent agreement, Hannah gets up from her crouch and picks up the now crocus-free basket where she keeps some of her supplies. ¡°See you tomorrow,¡± she tells them and begins walking back toward the ashen ruin of the farmhouse.


    Spotting a lamb gnawing at a flower-less rose bush, she calls out, ¡°Sven! You missed one!¡±


    The shaggy farm hound comes rushing around the corner and, spotting the runaway, bolts over and yips at it. The lamb, understanding the jig is up, gets a move on, and begins trotting toward the barn where the other sheep greet it.


    Hannah opens the barn door, letting the lamb inside and as she hooks the latch, the thunder of gunfire rings out from further up the hill, followed by the plink of metal.


    Garm pulls back the bolt handle, releasing the spent casing, and bends to pick it up. Pocketing it, he raises the rifle once more to peer down at the final can of beans, placed the furthest away from him. Breath, heartbeat, boom, pop. The can goes flying into the underbrush and disappears.


    ¡°Not bad!¡± Hannah says encouragingly, giving him a short applause.


    Garm nods and smiles as she approaches, ¡°Thanks, but it doesn¡¯t count for much until I can hit a real animal.¡±


    He leans down and greets Sven by ruffling his cheeks.


    ¡°Bah, we both know you can do it! Isn¡¯t that right, Sven?¡± Hannah says and Sven lets out a low woof in seeming agreement.


    Well¡­ yeah, you¡¯re right¡­ I can do this!¡± Garm gives them a crooked smile and begins strolling back towards the road. ¡°Time to get going?¡± he asks.


    ¡°The sheep are fed and housed, all stragglers accounted for!¡± Hannah nods and gives him a lazy salute.


    Garm laughs and begins walking down to the road, ¡°Then we better get going, Grim¡¯s starting to miss you, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Rapidly reddening, Hannah looks away, ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± she mutters under her breath, ¡°I¡¯m just helping Mrs. Madsen and the baby. You know¡­ chores and the like.¡±


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Grinning from ear to ear, Garm says, ¡°Fine, fine, you may keep your secrets¡­¡±


    "Just washing up. Baking. That sort of chores."


    Waiting a long moment for his sister to gather herself Garm adds, ¡°...a darn shame Grim can¡¯t keep them.¡±


    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t!¡± Hannah immediately returns to a shade of strawberry red, ¡°That big, oafish¡­¡±


    ¡°He really likes you, you know?¡± Garm interrupts Hannah¡¯s embarrassed tirade.


    Hannah¡¯s covering her face with her hands. Sven looks at her confused and gives her a concerned woof.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Garm continues in a nonchalant tone, ¡°you should hear him when it¡¯s just me and him. He can¡¯t stop talking about you. Ever.¡±


    Hannah eyes her brother between her fingers, ¡°Ever, huh?¡±


    ¡°Never ever,¡± Garm nods, ¡°and you won''t believe the details he¡¯s sharing. I keep telling him; ¡®Grim, that¡¯s my sister you¡¯re talking about!¡¯ but do you think that stops that doofus¡­ Ow, no. Hannah! Stop it!¡±


    Over the next moments, Garm has to duck a series of kicks and flying pebbles, all while cackling maniacally.


    ¡°You shut your¡­ He did not say¡­ You big dumb¡­ Asshole!¡± Hannah rages at him, but there¡¯s a playful undertone in the rant as she realizes Garm¡¯s yanking her chain.


    ¡°You¡¯re right! You¡¯re right!¡± Garm chuckles and dodges a final pebble, ¡°But, he truly does like you, Hannah. That¡¯s no lie.¡±


    Returning to a casual stroll, Hannah mumbles, ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± Her demeanor slowly shifts into giddy joviality as a blissful smile spreads across her face.


    Leaving the conversation there the two walk in silence until they come upon the old mill and the Madsen farm.


    Garm waves goodbye to his sister, then to Mrs. Madsen who sits in a chair in the garden, feeding her newborn son. Spotting Grim, hard at work chopping wood by the house, he waves in greeting to him as well, before walking on towards the Grime and the old log bridge. Smiling as he sees the elation on Grim¡¯s face when he spots Hannah coming towards him, he picks up his pace.


    This would be his third outing in the Plug since the incident and this time he was determined to bring something back.


    Trotting confidently over the old bridge, Garm follows the road until it slims into a forest path taking him deeper and deeper into the Plug. Slowing down once the sun is blocked out by the treetops, he leans down into a crouch. Stepping off the path he starts making his way through the brambles. He silently skirts by bushes and soggy mire, careful where he places his feet to not cause unnecessary noise. Prowling through the familiar terrain, he soon comes upon a yawning in the forest.


    Ducking his head as carefully as he can manage, Garm avoids the scanning gazes of a gathering of deer. Two does and one stag. The setup is perfect, he thinks to himself, slowly leaning down on the ground next to a large fallen tree. The uprooted giant forms a perfect cover, as Garm takes the Krag from his back. Chambering a round, the klink of metal on metal is just a little too loud for comfort, making Garm close his eyes in anticipation.


    Did he ruin it? He opens his eyes again. The does are walking off, deeper into the forest, their gate slow and casual. The stag remains standing, unbothered. It seems the distance was enough, Garm breathes a sigh of relief.


    Taking aim at the stag, Garm focuses on the spot where he knows its heart rests. The vital organ pumping life-giving blood throughout its body is all that stands between Garm and his prize.


    Staring at the stag through the sights, Garm focuses on his breathing. At any point now the stag will follow his companions, so better get this done quickly.


    Inhale. Exhale. The rhythm takes shape in Garm¡¯s mind.


    The stag moves. It¡¯s only a little, but enough to prickle at Garm¡¯s brainstem. It bends down for a bite, making Garm look directly into its face.


    The grotesquely shaped deathmask, like a malformed stag skull, stares at him from outside his room¡¯s only window.


    Garm¡¯s breathing grows uneven. He grits his teeth and focuses on his heartbeat, aiming back at the stag¡¯s torso.


    Birk Madsen lies in his bed, his mutilated corpse splattering every surface in chunks of scarlet.


    One. The beat thunders in his core.


    ¡°Take your sister and run!¡± His Father''s final words before the tendril burrows down his throat, its barbs tearing through soft flesh.


    Two. A nervous jittering goes through the barrel of the rifle.


    The mouth of his Father''s twisted face spreads into a malicious grin, showing rows and rows of wicked teeth.


    Garm throws himself back behind the trunk, leaning hard on its upturned base. Hyperventilating now, he shoves the rifle away to land in a pile of dead leaves. His heart is racing as he listens to the beat of cloves disappearing in the distance, the stag getting spooked by the distant outburst.


    Holding his hands up before him, the familiar tremble is unmistakable.