《Long Nights》


 Chapter I: Wolf Eyes

    The evening was crisp as leaves crackled underfoot as Clark Estman strode through the wood. A thin glaze of frost lined the beaten path, the wind whispered among the branches overhead. The air smelled of chimney smoke and rotting wood. Clark tipped his hat and the accumulated snow fell to his feet, he returned the old five gallon to his grizzled silver hairs and turned the final crooked joint of the trail to meet the town gates of Deepgrove. The wall had a broken hinge and etchings of wolf eyes across the breadth of the exterior palisade. Clark pushed through the broken old door, which coughed sawdust and ash as the one good hinge squealed weakly. The high street was empty, devoid of life. A horse wandered halfway across the lot. Wolf eyes were drawn on any door and above each window, even those, long bricked over. Clark walked forward a single drop of rain riding down the brim of his hat and down the back of his leather trench coat. Clark pushed through the saloon door. The hinges groaned behind him. Chained hounds outside growled low but did not bark. Inside, the dimly lit room smelled of stale tobacco, whiskey and damp wood. Behind the bar, a frail man with a coppery shock of hair and sunken eyes polished a glass. Two patrons lingered. One, a heavyset man perched on a stool with a cigar balanced on the edge of his cracked lips, watched Clark with dark, unblinking eyes. The other lay slumped in a booth, rose-colored glasses crooked on his face. A leather-bound journal rested under his pale fingers, surrounded by an untidy sprawl of ink pots and pens. ¡°Barkeep,¡± said Clark, stood before the dried up man, ¡°I¡¯ll have whatever knocked out the doctor.¡± The bartender stared at him for a moment, then reached for an unlabeled green bottle. He poured a watery liquid into a tall, thin glass. ¡°Three,¡± he muttered. Clark dropped four gray coins onto the counter. The bartender¡¯s brow furrowed, and the heavy man snorted from his stool. ¡°You ain¡¯t from round here,¡± the man said. He leaned back, cigar smoke curling around his scalp. ¡°Those ain¡¯t nothing but paperweights in Deepgrove.¡± Clark tilted his head, his expression unchanging. ¡°Any collector could tell you these are worth two shillings apiece.¡± The big man shrugged. ¡°Hell do I know? I don¡¯t work here.¡± He turned away, disinterest clouding his face. ¡°¡®Sides, I ain¡¯t interested in foreign gossip.¡± Clark slid onto a stool three seats away, the rainwater still trailing down his coat. The bartender¡¯s sullen eyes turned first to the stranger, then the hulking man and returned to the gray mound of coins, he swept them into a drawer. He then grabbed the glass and slid it to the gloved hand of Clark. The interception was brief. The drink smelled of juniper and decay. Clark¡¯s eyes wandered back to the drunk alchemist laying in the booth. The hollow bartender took notice of him, ¡°Don¡¯t mind doctor Walz, he¡¯s¡­ tired.¡± Clark grinned and the shadows lifted from his tightened face and he took a long sip. The drink burned and had a metallic aftertaste. ¡°Careful with that,¡± chimed the old timer at the bar, ¡°Stuff¡¯s got a kick, last outsider drinking that wandered up to the churchyard and never stumbled on back. Believe that?¡± He dashed his cigar against the counter as ashes danced to the floor. ¡°Maybe he didn¡¯t want to come back.¡± Clark grinned coyly. The large man laughed, his behemoth frame quaking at his seat. The bartender smirked loosely, taking the insult of his establishment as lightly as he could muster. Deeper in the evening¡¯s silence, the group had parted ways to rooms of the inn. They weren¡¯t being charged for them. That¡¯s how it works in Arizona, they help you out. Alcohol''s for sale because you can¡¯t be alive without it. Clark¡¯s been around long enough to know, they¡¯ll let you stay in at night. Makes cleanup easier in the morning. The hounds were brought inside at dusk, fed and watered by MacKenney, the bartender. MacKenney also left a mouse on a string to a bell on the porch. ¡°Hell that for?¡± Asks Clark, looking at the strange little alarm. ¡°When something eats it, we know something that¡¯s hungry is around. Then we hide or fight or whatever the fuck you want until it¡¯s either us humans or them creatures left standing.¡± MacKenney closed the door so that the string to the bell was stretched through the small gap under the door. ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Says the curious Clark, ¡°And what if some normal coyote scoops up your mouse?¡± Reasons Clark. MacKenney says, ¡°Then I catch us dinner.¡± Clark smiles and ascends the stairs to his room. He sits and looks out the fogged over window into the street. Nothing around. In casual conversation earlier, he¡¯d learned there were two other families in the town. Ferguson and Mansard. The other six had died or fled. Clark¡¯s thoughts were stirred by a knock from the door, ¡°¡®Ey, Estman was it, was kinda awake downstairs earlier; try forgetting what I know but it all comes back, second I¡¯m sober.¡±  Walz sat on the bed across Estman. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re in the ¡®they don¡¯t trust us yet¡¯ room.¡± He tossed a notebook haphazardly across the nightstand. ¡°They don¡¯t got none reasons to trust me yet. I never had a reason to trust no one,¡± Clark tossed open the curtains and blinds and pulled an old wood chair to sit by the sill. ¡°Why are you in Deepgrove?¡± Asks Doctor Walz. Clark thought for a moment, gazing at the chestnut horse grazing in the streets, ¡°Where else would I go? The whole world¡¯s a shitshow, Ireland¡¯s the only place somewhat unaffected and I¡¯m stuck across an ocean of leviathans and a countryside of abominations.¡± Doctor Walz scratched his bald cheek and looked over the room and proceeded to sigh, ¡°You want to be the hero don¡¯t you. I do too, the one to fix it all. Scare off the monsters; I¡¯ve been painting wolf eyes. God knows what they do but rumors say they help. That¡¯s all we got left, rumors and hope.¡± Doc Walz leaned into his pillow, ¡°You should sleep though. We¡¯re all alive the way we are for a reason. You get sleep and you might live another day, who knows maybe in a week you¡¯ll kill a monster or save some kid that goes on to kill a monster. Just keep living, man. Just keep going.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Clark grit his teeth and sighed pushing back from the window, ¡°Bye Doc. I¡¯m heading to the bathroom.¡± Clark turns and goes through and out the room, through a dusty hall that was dehydrated. Clark enters and lays his hands on the bathroom counter and stares into his own eyes. His mother¡¯s eyes. His mother¡¯s wolf eyes. Clark¡¯s hand begins shaking, he remembers what he did, what needed to be done. Clark washes his face and opens his eyes, but the face in the mirror is always the same. Clark leaves and back down the hall, catching sight of a painting that has yet to be seen on his way there. A portrait titled Doctor Sep Walz, but it was a different man than Doc Walz though, similar looking but much older but older, gaunt, and a sunken face marked by a protruding nose. Sep smiled back down to Clark. Probably a father or something. Doc Walz held his eyelids squeezed shut in the room, Clark is either a long-term drunkard, but even if he was,  that drink would do something. One basilisk brew kept Doc Walz asleep for four hours once. But Clark didn¡¯t even show the slightest signs of drunkenness and didn¡¯t even mention the visions. Eventually, Doctor James Walz slips into a deep sleep just as Clark Estman returns to the room. Clark strides to the bed stand as quietly as he can, making sure Doc Walz is asleep. Clark finds the dehydrated hide of the book, fingering through the warped yellow pages. Clark opens the book and sees drawings. Thousands of images of animals, pages full of them. There are those familiar, horses, sheep, goats, bears, cats, and many more. But as the pages go on, the animals are more and more contorted, extra limbs after a certain point. After that, they begin having growths, bulges, extended limbs, limbs of other species, webbed flesh, scales. Clark grimaces, he knows what¡¯s happening, the only question now is what side is he on and how understanding can he be. The dogs circle at Clark¡¯s feet, smelling him up and down, Clark narrows his eyes and closes the book, replacing it to where it had been stolen. Clark sits back onto his bed, The dogs follow. A long low pitched trumpeting comes from outside, a creaking moan like a tree being bent follows. Clark stands and looks out the window, drawing the curtains and staring at the horse in the yard. A slight bulge forms on the haunches of the horse and disappears just as fast. Clark knows this horse needs to go, but even with what he is in mind, there is no way he is going out there at night, and alone. The dogs circle and press against the door to the hall, preparing to kill anything that may try to come through. Clark closes the blinds, and trusting the three large hounds, lays in a shallow sleep until the break of dawn.


    By the next morning Clark was out first, inspecting the horse which stood and grazed idly on the lawn. Its muscles were like sinew, its eyes lay tired, drifting about the frosty grass. Clark kicked a tree at the stump and snow fell over him. The sky was still purple and swirling with crisp sunshine. Clark tipped his hat back, taking in the cold air which burnt at his lungs. Clark fell back to the ground, leaning against the old tree beside the horse. He thought of how there had always been something wrong with him. The onset of the changes have been slow to say the least. But they were noticeable. He decided the least he could do was chop some firewood for the townsfolk before drifting into the woodlands for his own sake. He might even take the horse off their hands; better to have the two monsters together rather than in the town square. When Clark found an axe, with a hilt of softwood and a blade of a sleek gray metal in a barrel which smelled of sweet hay and old tobacco, he carried it on his side to a woodshed.


    He¡¯s an early riser. Thought Dr. Walz, watching Estman cut wood in the yard. Sadly, he must be killed, it¡¯s for the good of everyone. A pang of sympathy filled the heart of Walz, this man deserves not death! Regardless, the good doc notched a long sleek rifle with his shoulder. And a marksman¡¯s eye lined up the head of the man splitting wood in the shed across the road. But he couldn¡¯t do it. The gun was dropped, Doctor Walz grit his yellow teeth, this man had yet to kill. There was nothing he could push himself to do to find some sick retribution for what other monsters have done; then he¡¯d be the inhuman one, ¡°Lucky you, Estman,¡±  Walz tells himself, ¡°I¡¯m sick in the head not killing you. But, there are some things I simply can''t do.¡±  Walz closes the window, its rickety frame protesting as the twin panels of glass come to meet the sill once more.

 Chapter II: The Mansards

    ¡°I¡¯m Harland, we didn¡¯t talk much personal in the pub yesterday,¡± Says the heavyset man, outstretching a large dirty palm.


    ¡°Yeah. About that,¡± Clark rested the axe on a stump, he looked up as he turned to shake the man¡¯s hand. However, he caught the prying eyes of Doc Walz in the window lined with frost. Clark firmly clung to Harland¡¯s hand and repositioned himself so that the back of Harland¡¯s large smooth head was facing the window, obscuring Walz¡¯s view.


    ¡°Nice seeing you,¡± Says Walz, eyeing the doctor who now had left to be inconspicuous but only further criminalizing himself.


    The handshake eventually broke and Harland spoke, ¡°The Doc ain¡¯t nothing but a little creep. He¡¯s smart and has his perks when someone ¡®round town gets sick. Otherwise he¡¯ll shake you up with his glances and drunken stupors when he assumes you¡¯re his brother or such. Ignore it.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t avoiding no one, sun¡¯s in my eyes,¡± the second part was true, Clark had lied though and Harland knew.


    ¡°Of course,¡± He said, glancing at Clark who busily carried lumber to a suitable resting place.


    ¡°Fuck.¡± Clark says after lifting wood onto the stack under the shed¡¯s cover, ¡°Nipped me, got a splinter.¡±


    ¡°Rid yourself of it,¡± Harland laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not,¡± Grins Clark, ¡°Reminds me to wear gloves tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re staying another night?¡± Asks Harland, now carrying wood in his gloved hands.


    ¡°No. But I¡¯m making a firepit tomorrow, thought I¡¯d remind myself then.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re joking,¡± Grins Harland, crossing his big robed arms.


    ¡°Not in the slightest, got memory issues.¡±


    ¡°Memory issues, huh? Maybe all that basilisk brew from yesterday,¡± Harland tries for something but Clark responds late, ¡°No. It¡¯s a family tradition.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t how traditions¡ª Nevermind, you got some issues in the head.¡±


    ¡°Long-standing ones, from when I was a kid.¡±


    The horse whinnied in the distance, ¡°Shut up Marin!¡± Shouts Harland, shaking his head, ¡°Useless horse, all the old thing gets up to is eating.¡±


    While Harland was gesturing toward the horse out of sight, Clark flicked the splinter from his index finger with his thumb. He proceeded to hide his hand in his pocket.


    Harland turned back and noticed the hand in the pocket, ¡°say it¡¯s awful cold now is it? You sure you are up to help me get the rest of this wood in the shed?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the least I can do for sleeping here.¡±


    Clark took up wood with his left hand, leaving the right in the pocket; knowing it wasn¡¯t worth making a fool of himself, he took it out and lifted a second piece of wood to throw to the stack. There was no cut where the splinter had nestled itself into his hand just a second before. The slight cut had healed that fast from when the wooden intrusion had been removed.


    Eric Mansard lit a cigar and stood in the field, the wind billowed through his white hair, and stained plaid shirt. They are nocturnal. That means they sleep, that means they are mortal. Eric wrapped his fist in tall yellow grass, the beige tips were dead and full of their seeds. Eric pulled and the grass snapped from its rooty stalk.


    Fucking horse. Marin, old things just have to be put down. His eyes followed the dandruff snow through the blond hair of the grass and to the edge of the plains where it met the forest.


    ¡°Dad?¡± Calls out the voice of Eric¡¯ daughter from behind, she had orange hair which curled and blue eyes, and was in her early teenage years.


    ¡°Yes, Sue?¡± Eric turns to her.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been out for a while, Mom wanted me to come find you, make certain you¡¯re safe.¡±


    ¡°Well mom doesn¡¯t know me, I¡¯m never in danger. You just need to be brave like dad and show the world how much of a fighter my little Susan can be.¡±


    ¡°Fighter? Dad I¡¯ve never even seen a monster! Are you sure they¡¯re even real?¡± Asks Susan.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Said Eric, not wasting time on hesitation, ¡°The monsters are real. They¡¯re always just out of sight, moving at night and haunting our little town; horrible things.¡±


    The cigar now hung idly in his hand and he buried it in the snow and watched the steam drift away.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± Eric led his daughter to the center of town, eyes focused on the horse, ¡°Ride him to the woods out back of town,¡± Susan kicked the sides of the horse, it whinnied and shouting could be heard downhill.


    ¡°Nevermind that now hon¡¯,¡± Eric'' face grew anxious and his eyes were dim, he handed his daughter a knife, she was still on the horse¡¯s back, which was now growing very still.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Um dad, what is the knife for?¡±


    ¡°Our own good,¡± Eric replied, ¡°Cut.¡± The command was brief and simple.


    ¡°What?¡± Asks Susan, ¡°Cut what, why?¡±


    ¡°The horse¡ª cut its head off,¡± responded Eric, shrugging off some cold. ¡°Here, I¡¯ll help you,¡± Eric guided the knife to the back of the horse''s neck. ¡°I¡¯m hunting a monster, teaching you how to. How to spot one where it doesn¡¯t belong, early signs of infection, how to get rid of them.¡±


    Susan pulled her hand and the knife away.


    ¡°Marin is not a monster, he is our horse! He tilled the fields for us back in the day and¡ª¡±


    ¡°There are no fields!¡± Eric outbursts falling up against the horse¡¯s side, ¡°There is no home, no town, my brothers are dead and it¡¯s all because of Doctor Walz. I just need to right one wrong.¡±


    ¡°Mansard?¡± Called a voice from the porch of the inn, MacKinney stood just out of view, ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± The worried barkeep leaned on the doorframe.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Eric lies, ¡°My daughter wanted riding lessons, I had to oblige for my own peace of mind, right hon¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Uh huh,¡± Says Sue, forcing a smile. Eric smiles back.


    ¡°Seeing as Marin is one lazy son of a bitch of a horse, surprised y¡¯all are even trying,¡± Says MacKinney.


    ¡°Always give your all, until you have none more to give.¡± Responds Eric, lifting his daughter from the back of the horse.


    MacKinney Nods, ¡°Walz wants to know why you were touching his horse.¡±


    ¡°Christ sake man, use his first name too. You know with¡ª Josep.¡±


    MacKinney furrowed his face, ¡°Right¡ª James.¡±


    ¡°Fuck James. He¡¯s a weird man. Worst monster there is.¡±


    ¡°He saved your son¡¯s life,¡± Protests MacKinney.


    Susan slips away from the scene and back home. James didn¡¯t pay much mind, ¡°What difference does it make? His father is the worst monster of all. His keeping my horse living like this is one in a long line of failures, I intend to end it.¡±


    ¡°Proceed as you wish,¡± MacKinney conceded. These aren¡¯t my affairs.¡±


    James looks at the ground, ¡°Your son. Remember that MacKinney, he was your son that Mister James Walz saved. Not mine, so these are your affairs. What difference does it make, he¡¯s probably dead now regardless.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Go home now, take the horse for all I care, stay out of my pub though; I don¡¯t want to see your ugly face ever again.¡± MacKinney goes inside and closes the door behind him.


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± thought James at noon, sitting in his backyard, his hands soaked in horse blood, ¡°Good Job Sue, get the fire ready,¡± James Mansard smiled as he was finally what he was meant to be, the hero.


    Daverick Ferguson and his wife Louisa arrived at the Mansard house in the mid-afternoon, the sky was clear and it had warmed up a bit, but the air was still brisk.


    Susan answered the door, ¡°Oh hello miss Ferguson.¡± She paused, ¡°Dad! The neighbors are here.¡± The two walked into the room.


    ¡°Fergie,¡± James lay on the couch, his hands in big gloves, his feet were on the ground and a gun was in his hand.


    Daverick and Louisa exchanged worried glances.


    ¡°Hey, Jim, you don¡¯t look too good,¡± grimaces Daverick.


    ¡°Fine, I am just swell.¡± James stands and gets drinks from the kitchen.


    ¡°Are we having a feast? I could smell that you¡¯re cooking meat, all across town,¡± Pressures Louisa. Susan looks away and Daverick shakes his head at his wife and holds up a finger.


    ¡°I was trying to ease the mood,¡± replies Miss Ferguson.


    ¡°The horse finally moved, I know how you didn¡¯t ever like it,¡± Tried Mister Ferguson.


    ¡°I killed the horse.¡±


    All eyes in the room turned to Susan, ¡°What?¡± Asked the elderly Ferguson couple. Eric returned to the room with three steins of beer for him and the guests and some water for his daughter.


    ¡°I don¡¯t drink anymore.¡± Says Miss Ferguson, nodding idly from the couch.


    ¡°Drink the beer.¡± Says Eric, narrowing his eyes at her. Louisa stopped speaking.


    The wood in the fire crumbled loudly.


    Louisa took a sip from the stein and Mister Ferguson gripped his stein, ¡°What the hell is going on here, why did Sue say she killed Marin? Why do you have us here? What is going on!¡±


    ¡°Fergie, I¡¯ll be honest while Anise is sleeping, Sue is lying, I killed Marin,¡± Replied Eric, gripping Daverick¡¯s shoulders and rubbing them.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you called me when we were little. Oh how time flies,¡± He tries changing the subject.


    ¡°I killed the monster the old Josep Walz helped start. I killed it.¡±


    ¡°The horse?¡± Asks Daverick, ¡°Well I suppose, if it was a monster.¡±


    ¡°It may have been, we¡¯ll never know, but I sure am.¡±


    Fergie stood and grabbed Susan by the arm, ¡°Come on I will get you out of here, something¡¯s wrong he pulled the girl toward the door. A single gunshot exploded through the room and Daverick fell, covered in blood, Susan and Louisa screamed. Eric stood, emotionless, ¡°I cut up the horse and am burning the head where the infection lives, I buried the rest of it.¡±


    Louisa slowly walked back, avoiding provoking Eric by going near his daughter. Susan was stood right by Daverick and she couldn¡¯t comfort her husband in his dying breaths without being forced to join him in the afterlife.


    A long spindly leg of flesh came from the fireplace, it had one joint and punctured the stone floor, behind Eric, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, hon¡¯. This world failed you. And as a father I am meant to be this world.¡±


    Another tendril came from the fire and flipped around lazily on the floor.


    ¡°I like a good basilisk brew for us all,¡± Smiles Eric, ¡°Things get real weird when they smell it on your breath.¡±


    Another thin red tentacle from the fire wraps around Eric¡¯s leg. Susan is now pressed against the door which is locked trying to open it. Louisa is pounding on the window and screaming. On charred tendrils the coaly horse head of Marin rose from the fire.


    ¡°I¡¯m the monster. I¡¯m the hero.¡± Says Eric being quickly dragged into the fire and merging rapidly with the burnt remnants of the horse, the tentacle creature lunged onto the body of Daverick and started fusing his arms into what remained of the horse¡¯s eye socket.


    ¡°Dad.¡± Cries Susan punching at the locked door. Anise comes into the room and picks up the gun and shoots the monster three times in the central mass. Blood was flung from this mass but it quickly regrew shoddy replicas of the two bodies and horse¡¯s head which all the limbs and organs protruded from, grasping in all directions as the tentacles and arms dragged the burnt monster towards Anise who kept shooting from the revolver, twice more but little changed and there was no longer bullets left.


    Anise ran into the bedroom and the creature groaned as it dragged itself after her, long arms reaching for the next spot on the floor to keep dragging itself inward.


    Louisa, close the door! Louisa closed the door and barricaded it as Sue cried. ¡°Save her.¡± Susan tried pulling at the door, ¡°She did this for you. I am not willing to lose you too.¡±


    There were sounds of slapping and groaning and popping and punching coming from the bedroom as Anise struggled with the monster to just buy more time.


    Louisa picked up Susan and ran through the street and exploded her way into the pub.


    MacKinney was shocked, ¡°Misses Ferguson?¡± He asks. Doctor Walz stumbled downstairs and saw that the horse was gone from in front of the bar, ¡°Where¡¯s Marin? And where the hell is Clark?¡±

 Chapter III: Botezatu

    The sky gently whistled, the air was hazy and the clouds were pushed along by the limp hand of a god long forgotten. Alesha Karawetzkich sat on the dock and watched the wind turn the waves slowly. She breathed in the air, eyes closed and sat in the wind pushing her white hair behind her ear. She opened her eyes, not the wind, but something just as constant, Botezatu.


    ¡°Alex?¡± She asked, the man by her side was tall and pale, with blue eyes and black hair which curled just under his eyebrows. His gray swirled in the wind, as shifted the pressure slowly to his other foot.


    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s my name.¡±


    Alesha laughed, stood and pushed him, ¡°Alexandru Botezatu.¡±


    ¡°More like it,¡± He said grinning.


    Alesha smiled and they stood facing each other on the pier, ¡°So did Sheryn come back yet?¡± She asked, ¡°Guessing that¡¯s what you¡¯re here for.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s two confirmed anomalies in the town, one of them¡¯s our guy, the other won¡¯t be an issue.¡±


    ¡°Really? Why is he even in this general area?¡± Asked Alesha.


    ¡°Nobody could guess, but the guild desperately wants us to bring in everyone in the town. All of them could have information on the prodigy child and if that falls through, we still would have Clark Estman and James Walz.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you serious?¡± Asks Alesha.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Replies Alex Botezatu, ¡°You should follow suit.¡±


    There had been six gunshots from the Mansard house and plenty of screaming to Warrant Harland and Clark to go to the door, Harland holding the Axe defensively and looking through windows while Clark casually made his laps around and looked in windows, finding nothing. Dr. Walz was at the door nailing boards over it when the two made their way back around.


    ¡°James,¡± Says Harland bluntly, ¡°What¡¯s up, Eric okay?¡±


    ¡°Two confirmed casualties,¡± James Walz leaned on the door, ¡°One is assumed. Eric and Daverick are dead for certain and Anise is iffy.¡±


    ¡°Eric?¡± Harland¡¯s Wavered, ¡°The fuck? And where is your horse?¡±


    ¡°It killed them. This is what I¡¯ve heard from Daverick¡¯s wife and Eric¡¯s daughter. However they may be wrong, it must¡¯ve happened fast.¡±


    ¡°Wait, your horse killed them?¡± Asked Eric, ¡°The same horse that does nothing, Marin?¡±


    ¡°It was petrified at the town square, wolf eyes kept it still, but something disturbed it.¡± James glared at Clark.


    ¡°I, how could I have? You know what. Let me go in there before you board it up. With a gun. I have a wrong to right.¡±


    ¡°You know, what is in there?¡± Asked Harland, ¡°Maybe this is your fault.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care who¡¯s fault it is, I¡¯m a little special, I can deal with it.¡±


    ¡°No. You can¡¯t, it¡¯s far more mutated than you, you¡¯ll never survive.¡± Replies James.


    ¡°Mutated?¡± Harland stumbled back and pointed the Lumber Axe at James.


    ¡°Besides, you aren¡¯t even a guild hunter. You would have no idea what you are doing.¡±


    ¡°Who is a better option?¡± Asks James.


    ¡°I wanted to keep my horse alive, his infection was in stasis from the winter that never ends, and the wolf eyes that had petrified its nerves. Marin was much easier to document, when it could do nothing.¡±


    ¡°Alright?¡± Asks Harland, ¡°Why¡¯d you not tell us?¡±


    ¡°Then someone like Eric would kill it, we would lose all that data I had been working towards, a cure for the disease my own father unleashed upon this world.¡±


    ¡°You should kill the monsters before it¡¯s too late,¡± Said Clark, ¡°And that¡¯s why I¡¯m volunteering.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Harland pleads, ¡°This is all wrong.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°It¡¯s always been all wrong,¡± Clark takes the axe and breaks through the glass of the front window in one swing.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Says Doc Walz, gesturing to Harland to follow him back towards the tavern.


    Glass lay in piles on the floor and Clark stepped through the window, bracing the axe. Estman pushed step after step deeper, past the fire of charcoal and to the edge of the barricaded bedroom. He pulled the heavy bookshelf back and opened the door, preparing for the worst. It was worse than what he expected. There was nothing there. No blood, but signs of intense struggle with upturned beds broken lamps and damaged floorboards. How was there no blood, Anise died here?


    ¡°Anise?¡± Asked Clark, ¡°Marin,¡± he whistled after the horse¡¯s name. Then he saw the decapitated body of the horse rubbing itself against the bedroom window, smearing across it. Clark stumbled back, it was still living. Then the closet door burst open and a fleshy mass with many tentacles stumbled across the floor, it inflated and deflated as if it was a giant lung. The ball was around the size of a bear, and the face of Eric came out from the inside and smelled the ankles of Clark. Clark stood still, debating what to do, he might get out of this fine if he does nothing. Then the ball rolled away on its tentacles to the door, the face descending back into it. One tentacle reached back and pulled the axe from Clark¡¯s hands and slammed it through the window, climbing back to where the head of the horse should be attached. The two beings had now merged to where the neck of the horse ended. The ball of flesh and tentacles returned into the skin of the horse and the head was again visible; it now appeared to be a normal horse again. Clark stood in the window sill and stared down the horse which collapsed to the ground. Clark reached for his gun and pulled it out, aiming at the monster and shooting it repeatedly in the forehead. The animal screeched and split out from the horse¡¯s skin, apparently now having assembled enough mass to reach a final form; swollen and broken mixes of horse and human traits erupted out. A hoof kicked Clark in the jaw, throwing him back and his jaw throbbed in and out in a matching cadence to the lungs of the monster. Blood dripped to the floor as Clark fell to his knees, he twisted and with his second revolver shot another six bullets to the hunched beast clawing at the window and climbing back in, now bent over but still towering over Clark it rushed and holding an axe with two hands, the horse-faced abomination swung the axe and it sliced open the chest and upper arms of Clark. Clark shouted from the pain and fell, holding the wounds, the monster stepped on Clark and slammed him into the ground, bruising his face. Clark pushed with all his might, but couldn¡¯t move himself. With an explosion of buckshot the head of the horse which protruded from the horrible chest of the beast was flung off and onto the ground. Its tendrils are shot out and wrapped around Clark¡¯s neck, compressing.


    Harland climbed through the window, cocking a shotgun, ¡°You suck at fighting.¡± Soon, Peter Ferguson, the son of Daverick and Louisa followed him through.


    The monster swung the axe around and threw it, Harland dropped down and the axe flew straight through the chest of  Peter, splattering blood on the ground and piercing the brick wall like nothing had happened. Harland kept shooting but to no avail, Clark lay limp under its foot, pushing and fighting but his face was still being shoved deeper into the floorboards. Peter, blood pooling over his hands as he pressed on the wounds, cried, ¡°Sorry. Dad.¡±


    Harland screamed at the futility of his gunfire, the monster picked up Clark and slammed him through the bedroom wall and into Clark¡¯s living room.


    ¡°You,¡± moaned the creature through strained vocal cords, the voice seemingly coming from every hole in its torn body, the voice fades from Daverick and to that of Eric, ¡°Will feel,¡± It wheezed holding the kicking Clark over the still hot coals, ¡°What I have.¡± A spike was shot through Clark¡¯s chest protruding from a wrist of one of the creature¡¯s five arms and slammed him into the coals burning his face, Clark screamed in agony. ¡°Harland, you aren¡¯t helping. Please leave, evacuate,¡± Clark cried, being shoved deeper into the charcoal.


    ¡°I,¡± Coughed the animal, groaning in the voice of Eric, then into the bleat of a deer, ¡°Am looking for,¡± It grabbed Clark with another arm and threw him smashing through the front door and rolling through the snow, staining it red. With incredible speed it reached him and pushed him down. Daverick Ferguson¡¯s voice came back, ¡°My wife.¡± Then a twisted smile formed on many gaps in the monster, smiling with previously unseen teeth, ¡°We¡ª I,¡± The animal now lay close to Clark¡¯s ear, ¡°Need to reunite with her.¡±


    Clark groaned and punched the long red hand which held him down, ¡°No,¡± He tried to gather more but was completely outmatched.


    ¡°Then I take out each of your organ, make house¡ª I,¡± It paused and sputtered, shaking, ¡°It is here. He is here.¡±


    ¡°The hell are you saying?¡± Asks Clark through grit teeth.


    ¡°If can¡¯t have what is I require,¡± The monster picked up Clark and flipped him over, slamming him into the ground, ¡°Then I will just want to make you have pain.¡± Its brain functions decreased as more of the monster affected the human minds that remained trapped within.


    The beast with hooves and claws ripped open the rib cage of Clark. Clark lost all conscious thought as the pain paralyzed him. His bones, blood, and organs were thrown in all directions.


    A giant lance punctured the chest of  the monster and ran it through town, the monster was dragged through the snow as the horseman rode faster. Botezatu let go of the lance which flew through and out the other end of the monster, leaving a smoking hole in the chest, where it wouldn¡¯t regenerate. Botezatu took out two swords of Sterling Silver, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, master,¡± He mutters, ¡°But Eric is gone, it is time for me to make this final.¡±


    Alexandru ran forward slicing the neck and ankles of the creature, kicking it as its long fingernails failed to grace his face. Alexandru sliced off the attacking arm and rolled away from another stumbling swing which sent snow flying. Alex ran and swung his blade in an arc, separating three limbs from the elbow down. The monster writhed and hissed as it dragged on the ground with one arm. Botezatu opened a vial of holy water and poured it onto the monstrosity which shriveled into a husk and hardened into gray inanimate scales.


    ¡°Goodbye, Commander.¡±

 Chapter IV: Prodigy Child

    It all started nineteen years before the arrival of Clark Estman, the air was warm with hope, as the first child was born in Deepgrove since the world collapsed. The son of Georgia Laughlin and Eric Mansard, Eric Mansard Jr. One man did not rejoice at the news, Donald MacKinney stood disappointed on the brink of town, knowing his son would be safe in the powerful hands of Eric.


    From his porch, Donald muttered, ¡°I am so sorry, Eric.¡±


    During the second month of the child¡¯s life, Eric Jr. grew increasingly ill. Peter Ferguson, who was once a biologist before things went south, showed up, being the most qualified in town to provide medical advice. Peter after long hours trying to decipher the symptoms concluded something impossible.


    ¡°Ms. Mansard,¡± He began, ¡°Your boy has Avian Tuberculosis.¡±


    ¡°He¡ª wait, avian?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and so do the wheat fields. My best guess is the wheat was afflicted with mutations associated with bird genetics. You ate the bread while pregnant with your son.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª Tell me you can fix him. Tell me Petey, tell me there''s a chance to save my son,¡± Georgia fell to her knees cradling the infant.


    ¡°Not me. Not here. But I know a doctor who specializes in this kind of thing.¡±


    Peter Ferguson rode on horseback for days, on Marin he arrived in the distant city of Walzenhaim with the child in his arms. The city was gilded with guilt, punctuated by white columns of lies. Peter placed his horse in a stable with money given to the stable hand, no sense in tipping the young clerk, it would just reach the wolves at top¡¯s hungry eyes either way. Peter Ferguson carried Eric Mansard Jr. down the high street lined with fountains and endless splendor. He turned and entered a lab, pointing a pistol into the midway atoll of James Walz, ¡°You have to cure my son.¡± He spat, not over-complicating with whose son it really was.


    ¡°He is three months old and was infected with some form of bird mutations from bread made with infected wheat during his mother¡¯s pregnancy. He has Avian Tuberculosis now.¡±


    The infant sputtered as it lay before James Walz.


    ¡°Take away your pistol,¡±  James smiled, ¡°I have been seeking for a way to atone for my father for a long time. I think I, as the prince of Arizona, can save your son.¡±


    Petey returned the pistol to its holster with a brief movement.


    ¡°His name?¡± Asked James, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to meet him again someday and not understand, and where¡¯s he from too?¡±


    ¡°Eric. Deepgrove.¡±


    ¡°Eric Ferguson of Deepgrove?¡± Asked James, inspecting the child and taking notes on his plans to cure it.


    ¡°Peter, stay with me, your horse is being moved to my private stables as we speak. If he is as interested in wheat as your wife, then he may be assumed to be infected as well.¡±


    ¡°Marin?¡± Asked James, he wavered, the horse had been raised in Deepgrove since a colt, a beloved horse by all residents.


    ¡°Peter, stay a while. Your son will be safe. I will send letters to Deepgrove describing the details of your wellbeing.¡±


    ¡°Just, don¡¯t fail.¡± Peter says, staring into James¡¯ eyes.


    ¡°I never intend to.¡±


    ¡°He is all my town has.¡± Responds Peter turning to leave up the wood staircase at the back of the room.


    James looks into the eyes of the child and sees something he has read about many times, but never witnessed or fully understood, this boy, Eric Jr. had wolf eyes. From then on Dr. James Walz ignored all other patients, they were worthy sacrifices for the survival of this precious boy. Eric, this child, was to be the utmost important to the survival of humanity itself. Doc Walz outsourced his other doctoral duties to clerks and insubordinates as he believed them moderate in capabilities. Of course it was that he couldn¡¯t be their actual cause of death. After two months the child was cured of the Avian Influenza but James Walz kept the child with him at the office at all times and lied to Peter that he was still ill.


    ¡°Walz. You are a sick bastard like your father.¡±


    ¡°This child is not yours.¡± Says Dr. Walz.


    ¡°What?¡± Asks James, ¡°He¡¯s¡ª it was a lie, he is the child of Eric Mansard.¡±


    ¡°No that is not true either, in my career of maintaining all vital information of people in the general area, I have learned very much of  them from their mandated genetic tests. This child is not your own or that of the older Eric with whom he shares a name. He is the child of a certain Miss Laughlin and a certain Mister Donald MacKinney.¡±


    ¡°MacKinney,¡± Asks Peter, ¡°The bartender?¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°All evidence points to this statement¡¯s truth. I do ask, why lie about the boy¡¯s origin to a geneticist of global renown?¡±


    ¡°Simplicity. And¡ª I want to wish that someday I¡¯ll have a kid. I was playing the father because it seemed right to me, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°You raised him well. I have done all my curing, he is healthy, worst case scenario, the monsters ignore him, with those brave eyes of his, yes?¡± James turned the child back over to Peter.


    ¡°And if they don¡¯t?¡± Petey asked, ¡°It was dangerous enough for me to ride here alone with him. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll be so lucky heading back.¡±


    ¡°My bodyguard, Eugene Mulligan shall acquaint you on your return.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Peter held the nine month old child in his arms as he went back to the private stables. He climbed onto the back and set his horse into the streets, and soon a large man wearing leather which was layered and studded with steel bolts rode a horse which wore similar protections to him.


    ¡°Hi, Mr. Mulligan, I¡¯m Peter.¡±


    ¡°Yes you are. I feel no need to introduce myself, far my reputation has preceded me.¡±


    Peter winced, never hearing of the pompous man until last night.


    ¡°Anyway, to Deepgrove?¡± Asked Eugene Mulligan.


    ¡°Yes, we ride for a few days, are you armed?¡± Asked Peter.


    ¡°Well, can you believe me I remembered the silver bullets but no rifle to send them to my enemy? Hah!¡±


    Peter watched the man dismount and return to the small armory to return holding an automatic rifle which he proceeded to load with ammunition.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Asks Peter.


    Eugene cracked his neck, ¡°Ready? I¡¯m sir Eugene, captain of the West Regiment, Son of Hanley, Lord of Dormand, Rider of the North War, Angel of Grace, Wise Lord, and Man of the Wind, of course I¡¯m ready, I¡¯m always ready.¡±


    Peter was already halfway down the street, Marin trotted slowly away from the knight who spurred his horse to catch up, holding his large brown hat on as he did so.


    After the first day of travel, Eugene had sputtered otherworldly stories of his service all of which had reeked of falsehood until they reached a first camp. Eric cried a lot and Peter made sure of his safety but Eric may also have been crying for the sake of crying. Then late at night, wind which had hummed the entire ride north quelled, the birds stopped whistling and Eric stopped crying. Peter drew his revolver and slowly walked toward the tent which Eric was to be asleep in, he pulled the tent curtain open ever so slightly. There, in the tent, perched over Eric was a large emancipated form, like a bird without feathers, the face was that of an owl but the shriveled pink animal was the size of a bear. Peter etched ever so closer, the animal stood idle, watching the face of Eric Jr., all without expression. Eric looked up with shock and joy in his face. Eric pointed his gun into the back of the bird¡¯s head and shot three times, parts of its face exploded outward, blood streaming down its chest. The bird collapsed, dead. Eugene entered the tent and choked in disgust, stumbling outside, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a dead animal before.¡± A giant featherless owl landed from the sky, crushing Eugene, his horse ran into the forest. Marin stood and watched, Peter grabbed Eric and wiped the blood off his face and hid him in his coat. Peter ran to Marin and kicked for him to run. More of the winged creatures varying in size flew after Peter, he drove the horse to run past its limits and all it took was one poorly placed step for Marin to roll down the hill. Peter protected the infant in his arms, Marin landed on Peter¡¯s left leg, breaking it almost immediately. A long low whooping echoed from a six foot tall owl¡¯s  beaks as it landed on the heavily breathing chest of Marin. It stepped forwards, claws outstretched. Peter cried as he held the child ever closer. The owl bent down and with the care never seen before in a monster plucked the boy from Peter¡¯s hands. With a turn of its head, the owl flew away with the boy, Marin struggled to his feet, the horse tired and hurt from the fall. Peter grimaced in pain and soon all the other massive owls, and those of normal size flew away alongside one another to wherever they were going. Peter struggled for half an hour to get back onto Marin as his leg ached and held no weight. Peter made it back to the town and collapsed off of Marin. Georgia hurried to him and brought him inside. In unending pain, Peter was forced to roughly fix his broken femur, performing the surgery on himself, sitting on Georgia¡¯s bed. The man came out of the room with Eric after hours of poorly performed bone realignment surgery, he was placed on the couch to sleep at home. By morning there was a conversation.


    ¡°Where the fuck is my son?¡± Asked Eric Sr.


    ¡°He¡ª¡± Peter tried, ¡°Doctor James Walz was successful in saving his life and curing the infections in him.¡±


    ¡°And so why is he not with you? Is he still in the capital?¡±  Eric clinged to what hope he had.


    ¡°No,¡± Peter looked into Eric¡¯s eyes, ¡°Monsters took him. Flying ones, they didn¡¯t kill him, they were tender, almost like they thought he was one of their young.¡±


    ¡°One of their young? And you didn¡¯t save him?¡± Eric was fuming, ¡°I will prove you wrong, be a monster hunter and I, myself were outdo your lackluster rescue efforts.¡±


    ¡°I was willing to give my life for your son,¡± Peter begged.


    ¡°And yet you made it back okay but seven of the nine months my son got of life, he was with you and the son of the fucking idiot that ruined the goddamn world in the first place instead of with me. Get the fuck out of my house. Now.¡±


    Peter Ferguson limped back to his home and collapsed into Louisa¡¯s arms, ¡°Mom. The baby didn¡¯t make it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°They got the Mansard baby, the monsters took him. I couldn¡¯t save him mom.¡±


    ¡°You did all you could, we are just humans after all, and you may not be a hero but you definitely aren¡¯t a monster.¡±


    Peter cried holding his mother tightly. She helped him reach his bed where he lay with his broken leg perched on a white pillow which did little to ease the pain and swelling.


    Two weeks later on the day of the funeral, James Walz arrived to watch the grave be placed and a sermon given by the Pastor Benito, many graves in Deepgrove had no person under them, most bodies couldn¡¯t be confirmed dead, many were eaten by monstrous creatures.


    Eric looked at the empty grave which read, ¡°Eric Mansard¡±  and a tear rolled down his cheek, he clenched his fists, rejecting any feeling, he was not rational now and so he swore the oath of the hunters a week from that day. In the tavern after a grueling mission, MacKinney told Eric the truth of his affair with Georgia and the illegitimacy of the child, Eric Jr.


    ¡°I thought now was fine. Enough time has separated us from grief, but your son, Eric, was born of my blood. An affair with your wife, Georgia.¡±


    Eric stood up, towering over Donald MacKinney and threw him against the bar, beating him for hours until James Walz convinced him to stop. Eric was arrested and expelled from the guild and placed in prison. After his behavioral release after two years he began dating Anise, whom he married and had Susan with, four years later.


    In fact, Eric Mansard had truly died when Peter returned that night, but Eric MacKinney¡¯s story had only just begun.

 Chapter V: Five Funerals

    In the present day, Clark Estman lay in a grave, they had managed to get most of his mangled body in the coffin. Harland looked at the man, they were burying him on the other side of town, nobody goes up to the graveyard anymore. James sat and stared into the grave, beside them were unfilled graves for Peter, Eric, Daverick and Marin. The townspeople gathered around the solemn scene and MacKinney took on the role of Preacher, nobody wanted anything to do with Benito, the old priest at this point. The air was hardened with the weight of the past day. The many organs and bones that the monster had torn from Clark were in jars of formaldehyde in James Walz¡¯s office in the basement of the inn. Botezatu sat on the bed in Harland¡¯s room, his forearm rested on a perched knee as the second leg was outstretched, his face lacked emotion as he stared outside at the five gravestones being erected below with all the people of Deepgrove watching, crying or blaming one another. Botezatu¡¯s face was illuminated by the white stripes of light which came through the half-closed blinds, there was still nothing. Two days passed and not a breath of the incident was spoken. Nobody knew what to say. Susan was adopted by Ms. Ferguson as she had nowhere to go.


    ¡°Louisa,¡± She said one brisk morning, ¡°I¡¯m going to kill every monster. Without a doubt, by the time I pass on, there won¡¯t be a single one of those hideous abominations left on this planet.¡±


    ¡°No. You won¡¯t. You are all that I have left.¡±


    ¡°Miss Ferguson¡­ you are all I have left either.¡± Sue¡¯s voice broke and she looked up at the elderly woman.


    Louisa smiled through tears and hugged the young girl, holding her tight to her chest. The two stood in an embrace for a while, and eventually parted their ways to continue cleaning and cutting firewood to push deeper into the biting cold of the winter which couldn¡¯t end.


    That same afternoon, yelling and banging could be heard from outside the inn. Harland grabbed his gun and slowly made his way around the corner to behind the inn but there was nothing but the wind. ¡°Hello?¡± He called out. There was more muffled screaming and banging coming from outside the wooden walls which stood three meters high. Harland inhaled deeply and moved carefully with his shotgun, not noticing Alexandru Botezatu watching him from the roof of the inn. Harland turned the corner and pointed the gun forward but saw nothing but the graves in a row of five solemn crosses. The crosses had wolf eyes painted at the center and were made of Silver.


    Botezatu jumped down from his new perch on the wall behind Harland who spun his shotgun around instinctively. Botezatu caught the barrel, pulled it from him and turned on the safety, handing it back.


    ¡°You?¡± Asked Harland.


    ¡°Yes, me.¡± Botezatu looked at Harland, ¡°Come back with a shovel. Then we talk.¡±


    Harland turned and left, the man pulled the burial cross from the ground and threw it aside.


    ¡°He¡¯s really the one? He¡¯s too old for plan A, but it¡¯ll be fine.¡± Botezatu muttered.


    Harland came back out of breath and began digging at Clark¡¯s grave, hoping. Harland knew not what he was hoping for, so much that he failed to notice Alexandru was gone. In that cold afternoon, Harland discovered that Clark Estman was strong enough to survive dying.


    When the soil was only an inch or two thick at the top, the screaming was louder, the coffin¡¯s lid cracked from endless punching and pushing the lid was opened, he stumbled to his feet and to the edge of the grave, in perfect health.


    ¡°Fucking Christ,¡± Muttered Harland, falling back, ¡°You aren¡¯t¡ª you are¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be honest,¡± Started Clark stood in his own coffin, looking out of the hole to see the face of Harland above him, ¡°I¡¯m here to find my godfather.¡±


    ¡°No, why are you alive?¡± Asks Harland.


    ¡°Because I am a mutant. My mom was¡ª I don¡¯t like talking about it.¡± Clark glanced at the ducks flying past in the sky.


    ¡°You, you¡¯re alive and that¡¯s important. And I understand the gist.¡± Harland reached down and Clark grabbed his hand as he climbed out of the grave.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t bury me in a graveyard, I expected more of you.¡± Clark asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you want to meet the freaks that live up there.¡±


    ¡°No, my godfather is one of them.¡± Clark responded.


    ¡°Who?¡± Harland asked as the two began walking along the path back to the town entrance.


    ¡°The priest. The only priest who matters. The priest that helped King Walz of Arizona create his cure to death. The one that went all wrong.¡±


    ¡°Benito. Don¡¯t trust him, we all run short on family, but just do me one thing and don¡¯t die again, I can¡¯t bury you again.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°I can¡¯t die.¡± Said Clark, ¡°And it¡¯s been forever, I thought if someone can cure me, it would be him.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­ luck.¡±


    In the midafternoon, the grave was filled again, the cross replaced at the head of the broken coffin. Harland carried on hoping that whatever Clark sought, he could find. Whatever he was, Clark just hoped Clark Estman found peace.


    Alexandru kicked Harland in the back, having arrived from the branches of the forest in an instant. Clark pressed his boot into Harland¡¯s sternum, ¡°You were supposed to convince him to not go up there, not let the old man go fulfill his death wish. Winston Horton Harland the Third.¡± Botezatu sneered and stood off of Harland, ¡°Now go and get him back. My people have work here to do. There¡¯s three of us living in your little village. Oh, and I don¡¯t specialize in hunting humans, but I make a few exceptions.¡± Harland stood backed away, dusting himself off, running with his gun. Botezatu deeply exhaled and leaned against the wall, ¡°I hate playing villains.¡±


    Harland caught up to Clark, ¡°Man there¡¯s a fucking crazy guy in the woods back there. He told me you were buried, killed the monster, told me I have to stop you from going to the church.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Clark kept walking briskly, ¡°And if he did?


    ¡°He¡¯s going to kill me if you die.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯d find a way to not be dead and kill him back for you; then die.¡±


    ¡°Then we are all dead,¡± Harland reasoned.


    ¡°It was a joke,¡± Clark knocked on the church doors, ¡°It¡¯s meant to be funny.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s stupid.¡±


    ¡°Look, we made it to the church.¡±


    The ancient brick cathedral looked over the entire town, the old stones had worn from so much time that they were blackened like charcoal on some points. Clark knocked again, again no answer. Botezatu was behind Harland again. Harland fell back against the door, ¡°Hey.¡± Smiled Botezatu.


    ¡°You are weird as hell man.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to make a portal there so I can beat the shit out of satan.¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± Alexandru pulled on both ends of the chain which held the mirrored wooden doors shut at the center. It snapped with a metallic pop.


    ¡°You saved me when I was fighting the monster.¡± Said Clark.


    ¡°It¡¯s a professional courtesy. If you weren¡¯t so important, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d have the time to do so.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Asked Clark, ¡°Thanks pal.¡±


    ¡°You''re welcome.¡±


    ¡°Oh fuck you,¡± Clark pushed the doors and the groaned as they strained to pull themselves apart. The room was coated in dust and old pews. The altar at the head of the church was empty.


    Harland made his way to the front of the chapel to wipe the dirt from the tabernacle.


    Alexandru entered the priest¡¯s quarters first and locked the door. Clark ran over and pulled at the door, ¡°Open up, buttercup.¡± The door shook but the attempts were futile.


    ¡°Benito Mariella, where are you?¡± Asked Botezatu walking through the dusty room which smelled of rot and saliva. He walked past old bibles, broken vases, wilted flowers and a painting of a man being sacrificed to a flying horned man before reaching the room where the priest¡¯s bedquarters were to be.


    ¡°Greetings from Transylvania,¡± Grinned Botezatu, opening the door.


    The priest lay with a sheepish grin etched across his face, his mouth was full of a black fluid which stained his teeth and ran down his face.


    ¡°They call me the basilisk. I¡¯m the man around here. And death fears me, just like you should be.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for riddles, you old fuck, sit down and tell me why you did it; how can you fix it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just a priest.¡±


    ¡°You are nothing. I have a warrant to kill you.¡±


    ¡°Not even just arrest?¡±


    ¡°Signed by the king, look here,¡± Botezatu produced a paper from the pocket of his shirt.


    A gunshot echoes around the church hall and Harland followed by Clark entering the room, ¡°I had to shoot the door off the hinges.¡± Harland pats the shotgun.


    Clark closes his eyes and leans his hat forward, ¡°Hello, uncle, long time no see.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my Clark, you have grown so much. You were so small when I last saw you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care how small I was. I want you to fix me. My best guess is I look about forty. It¡¯s been that way for twenty years now. If you fix me, I can live another forty or whatever years and have a life of a hundred, it¡¯s long for my taste but not beyond mortal.¡±


    ¡°My gift?¡± Asks the priest, more liquid, the color of oil running from his mouth, ¡°It is not right to return gifts so rudely.¡±


    Harland backed into the doorway, having no merit in the conversation. Alexandru stood opposite him now knowing that the death that that Clark sought wouldn¡¯t be immediate but at a relatively normal age, this was no longer his game either, he lingered for the sake of the discussion.


    ¡°You are cured.¡± Said Benito.


    ¡°You¡¯re sick in the head.¡± Clark leaned on the desk, staring into the man¡¯s eyes.


    A young woman wearing the clothes of a nun came into the room with a tray of tea, Harland let her pass, confused but not threatened.


    ¡°Hello Francesa,¡± Says Benito, nodding, ¡°And thanks for the kettle, Francesa is my compatriot.¡±


    ¡°Shut up, old timer.¡± Clark swung his arm and the tea kettle exploded across Botezatu who stood stoic as the scalding tea ran down his skin.


    ¡°Ew,¡± Said Benito, ¡°You see that? Freaky guild guy, that tea was hot and by hot I mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°Listen. I need you,¡± Clark pointed at Benito, and with his other hand, he pointed a knife at Benito¡¯s throat, ¡°to cure me.¡±


    ¡°You think I have a cure?¡± Asked Benito, laying back in the chair, ¡°Man, I¡¯ve got nothing.¡±


    ¡°Me neither, and I¡¯m legally dead so whatever I do can¡¯t be persecuted.¡± Clark threw his knife into his uncle¡¯s chest, Francesa came back and screamed, Harland picked up Benito and carried him over to Francesa.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Asks Harland.


    ¡°All those people in your village that died, and those outside it¡ª this guy¡¯s fault.¡± Botezatu stared at the man, struggling to breathe.


    ¡°And his stupidity is why I¡¯ll live long enough to see everyone I love die.¡± Added Clark, crossing his arms.


    ¡°If you can¡¯t see that this monster has a human somewhere at his core, then I can¡¯t see you for anything other than what you are Clark, another monster haunting Deepgrove.¡±


    Harland picked up Benito and carried him down the hill, Francesa following, all the way to James Walz¡¯s office in the basement of the Inn.

 Chapter VI: Prisoner

    Benito lay, his mouth agape, velvet blood dripped slowly across his face which was stained by the oily black which had previously drained from his parched mouth.


    ¡°My god?¡± Asks James, drunkenly standing from his chair and falling to his knees beside the old man.


    ¡°James, he¡¯s dying. Fix it.¡±


    Benito coughed blood across James¡¯ sheets and his own leathery chin.


    ¡°Why¡¯s he got to be dying on my bed?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll put him on Clark¡¯s bed. He can die there. To be honest this guy¡¯s awful, I don¡¯t want a guilty conscience.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Replied James looking at the man, ¡°Well see mister Mariella to an upstairs bed and all.¡±


    James followed Harland up the stairs and James kept muttering about the name being familiar under his breath.


    ¡°The priest from the church uphill and Eric Jr.¡¯s funeral,¡± Harland said bluntly, dropping the old man on the bed.


    ¡°My dad knew you.¡± Said James, he became far more serious and competent.


    ¡°What?¡± Asks Harland turning around.


    ¡°I like pretending to be drunk now and again. Nobody pays a drunk man mind, of course I often am drunk. But my father knew this man.¡± James Walz inhaled sharply.


    ¡°Doc?¡± Asks Harland.


    Walz presses a pillow over Benito¡¯s face and begins pushing. Harland shoves Doc Walz away from him, ¡°Stop it you fuck. Aren¡¯t you a doctor?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a farmer? Roles change when there¡¯s no social order remaining to keep them on track.¡±


    ¡°So, you are just going to kill him?¡±


    ¡°I think me and this guy are related.¡± Said James, beginning to treat the wound, ¡°Makes him a useful ace card.¡±


    ¡°Are you finally thinking rationally?¡± Asks Harland.


    ¡°I never am.¡±


    Clark stood in the church, alone. Francesa was walking back and Alexandru had left the scene pretty quickly. Clark wiped the blood off the table with a piece of old robes and took a small jar of silver powder from a shelf in the room. He poured a small amount of it on the cloth of his uncle¡¯s blood and nothing of interest happened to the worn stained robe. Clark dipped his finger into the vial and his skin burnt like a thousand needles being pressed into every corner of his body. Clark pulled his hand out quickly and tucked the powder into his coat. He came to the only sensible conclusion he had left to make, he needed a silver sword. In his exit, he noticed the baptismal font empty, Clark knelt beside it, questioning why it would be gone.


    A small woman was standing by the door out of the dusty ancient hall, Clark never had seen her before.


    Clark noticed her and said, ¡°Nobody¡¯s home.¡±


    ¡°Then who are you,¡± Replied the woman.


    ¡°Nobody,¡± Replied Clark, taking the silver out of his pocket and setting it in a pew.


    ¡°I¡¯m Sheryn.¡± Said the Woman.


    ¡°Nice to meet you Miss but I¡¯m heading out. Out of town.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re Clark Estman,¡± Sheryn added.


    ¡°Since when was I the king of the world, hell yeah I¡¯m Clark,¡± He walked up to the door frame, ¡°Now let me go.¡±


    Clark was ignored, ¡°You are as far from a king as it gets. But Clark, that¡¯s why we need you.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Who? And why do they need me?¡±


    ¡°The Guild. And we need you to sign your daughter¡¯s application.¡±


    ¡°My daughter? Shouldn¡¯t you have led with that?¡± Asks Clark, fishing for details.


    Before Sheryn could respond, Susan turned the corner and hugged him, ¡°Dad!¡± She called out.


    Clark hugged her back, playing along with whatever was going on, he wanted the best for Susan, despite not really knowing her.


    ¡°Hi, back from the academy  so soon?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± She said.


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t started yet,¡± Adds Sheryn, ¡°You need parental permission, something she doesn¡¯t.¡±


    Clark looked at Sheryn, ¡°I¡¯ll entertain your paperwork.¡± He handed his hat to Susan who took it confusedly. Clark sat in a church pew and reached over his shoulder for the curled yellow paper. It was damp and cold, tearing when the pen met it, ¡°Sheryn, this paper¡¯s awful.¡±


    Something cold and smooth pressed against the back of Clark¡¯s neck. A steel knife pressed into it.


    ¡°I have a silver one too,¡± Sheryn grinned, ¡°Monster.¡±


    ¡°Dad?¡± Asked Susan.


    Clark closed his eyes.


    ¡°Please, Sue, he¡¯s not your father, I read up on all recruits before I decide to train them. Your parents are both dead.¡±


    Susan clenched her teeth and stood back. Two sets of handcuffs were placed around Clark¡¯s Wrists, another pair at his ankles, he was then wrapped in chains which were locked.


    ¡°How strong do you think I am?¡± Asks Clark.


    ¡°Strong enough to fight a mutant which has three humans and a horse¡¯s worth of flesh to work with and survive.¡±


    Clark began to say something but was gagged, blindfolded and thrown into the back of a wagon. Sheryn turned to Susan, ¡°Kill him.¡±


    Clark Shook and writhed.


    Susan looked at Clark then to Sheryn,¡°Steel or Silver?¡±


    ¡°Guess,¡± Said Sheryn, looking the girl in the eyes.


    ¡°Silver?¡±


    Sheryn looked at Susan, ¡°Why would we go through all the effort of putting this guy in chains if the plan was to kill him anyways?¡± She asked.


    Susan took a Steel sword from the left side of her belt, the long black blade reflected the hazy sunlight back towards the heavens.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Susan whispered and stabbed Clark through the chains, choosing his heart to make it fast for him.


    ¡°Good.¡± Replied Sheryn, piling hay onto the main as he struggled for just a little longer, ¡°We are farmers Sue. Don¡¯t break your cover for anything.¡±


    Susan climbed into the wagon and Sheryn did the same, giving the reins to her, ¡°You know how farmers drive wagons. You drive.¡±


    Susan nodded and held the reins, casting them upon the two horses pulling the large wagon. The cart steadily made its way down the switchbacks to the bottom of the hill.


    The sweet smell of hay, the shaking of chains, the endless jarring of the wagon upon upturned rocks, this was Clark¡¯s world when he returned to it. Clark flexed his core trying to push up but the weight of hay and chains kept him pinned. There was no air and soon Clark began to asphyxiate and died once again. He knew the wagon was slow when he returned again, still in it. It took him roughly two days to return from death, so they had already traveled four days. Clark just began counting times he¡¯s died to measure time. When he was again on the brink of death for the thirteenth time, the hay was pulled from the cart, and the gag removed. Clark wheezed as he sought any air for his scorched lungs. The blindfold was pulled off and Clark was blinded by the noon sun, shining down on him. Clark was breathing heavily, ¡°You¡­ are just the worst.¡± He strained pushing the words out. The back of the cart was opened.


    ¡°Bring him over there,¡± Clark heard Sheryn demand ¡°To kill monsters, you must be able to lift at least four times your own weight.¡±


    Something pulled on Clark¡¯s ankles, he barely moved, assuming it was Susan, he struggled to sit up, seeing a different person, a boy, probably late teens. ¡°You¡¯re a Drill Sergeant?¡± Asked Clark.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Sheryn responded, ¡°You¡¯re the simplest task on the bounty boards, and decided to use you to train my apprentices.¡±


    Clark lay back down, ¡°Fine. You¡¯re making monster hunters for all I care. Do it well.¡±


    The boy in his late teens pulled on Clark and dragged him with all the strength he could muster for hours on end, but the futile effort only closed half the distance to a holding cell.


    ¡°Sergeant,¡± Started the boy.


    ¡°Keep going.¡± Sheryn snapped.


    ¡°I agree, hurry it up pal, I ain¡¯t got all day to be chained up. You¡¯re giving me too much time to plan my escape.¡±


    The boy pulled for another hour of excruciating squealing of steel chains on brick floors, before finally pushing Clark fully into the cell.


    Sheryn closed the door of silver on both of them. An unseen system of pulleys opened a second silver door, this one was not solid but a grate of silver bars.


    The boy kept pulling until Clark was at the center of the Steel plated containment room.


    ¡°Untie him¡± Sheryn said from outside. The child used a key to undo Clark¡¯s bindings. Clark lay still as the kid dragged the chains away from him.


    ¡°If you attempt to escape,¡± Began Sheryn.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to escape,¡± Said Clark, ¡°I was just trying to get him to go faster. Honestly, I deserve whatever this is.¡±


    ¡°As I was saying, you¡¯ll be bathed in holy water, if that fails, molten silver will be our resort.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Said Clark looking at the ceiling grates which could presumably have the door behind them opened to let molten silver run over him if they chose to do so. Clark¡¯s room had a fireplace with a similar vent system which could close, everything however, was plated in steel. The fireplace was empty, and the room was dark. There was a blanket on the ground but there was nothing else inside the room besides the gray blanket. Once the door fully sealed, Clark was once again plunged into darkness.