START OF 'DARK TIDINGS' ARC

10. Evangel

Pell waited on the porch, head in his hands.

“Stumpy, hurry up and finish already!” he said.

The black and brown-speckled dog lifted up his leg and let loose against a bush in the garden. Once he was done, he kicked at the ground with his back legs and trotted off to repeat the process a meter or two to the left.

Pell rolled his eyes. It was dark outside, almost pitch black. The waxing moon shone bright, and a sea of stars winked at him. Deep shadows veiled the village. He would have brought a candle, but if Mother found out he’d wasted any, he’d get smacked upside the head.

A breeze set a chill to the air. The wind sounded almost like a woman’s wail. He shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around him. He suddenly remembered all of Mother’s stories, about the monsters who lived in the dark. They were all ridiculous, of course.

But…

“Stumpy, come on! Let’s get back inside!”

The dog ignored him, sniffing a particularly interesting patch of grass.

Pell caught movement in the distance. He curled up inside the blanket and whimpered to himself. He peeked out of the folds of rough fabric and looked closer.

There, by the river.

The Elder still hanged from the oak tree on the other side of the road, a dark shape silhouetted against the blackness. He swung with the wind, spinning slowly at the end of the rope.

He deserved it, Pell repeated to himself. He must’ve. Otherwise, the Hero wouldn’t have hanged him. Heroes never make mistakes.

Right?

Pell screwed his eyes shut, but he only saw the Elder’s smiling face. About a year ago, he’d come down from the city with a whole basket of sweet cakes. Every child in the village had gotten one, and he’d laughed while they ate.

There he was, now, swinging. He’d never laugh again.

A loud yelp made Pell start. Stumpy was barking out into the night, punctuated by intermittent growls.

“Quiet, boy!” Pell said. “You’ll wake up half the village, groaning and moaning like that!”

The speckled dog didn’t listen.

Someone muttered from down the road.

Oh, great. I bet I’ll get in trouble for this.

“Stumpy!” Pell got up to quiet the dog, blanket still wrapped tightly around him. He petted the dog between the ears, and Stumpy let out a sullen whimper before going down on his belly, head between his paws.

Pell listened intently at whoever was out there.

“…Hurtsss…” a shrill voice rattled. “Need… flesh…” Each word was forcefully expelled, as if the speaker did not quite possess the talent of producing them.

Pell stiffened. Stumpy let out a low growl. He clamped a hand around the dog’s muzzle.

That’s not human. No one speaks like that.

A twisted shape came into view, shambling up the road. It walked on two legs, but those shapes and edges did not match a human. The thing made its way towards the oak tree, snorting and muttering to itself.

Pell didn’t dare to run. He crouched next to Stumpy and held the dog tight.

“Please be quiet,” Pell whispered. “Please don’t make a sound.”

“Ah…” the thing spoke. “Puppet… fresh meat…”

It crawled up the tree, an indistinguishable tangle of limbs in the darkness, and reached the branch where the Elder had been hanged. It slid down the rope and wrapped itself around the dead man head to toe. The silhouette became grotesquely deformed, fleshy appendages sprouting from the chest and arms. They quickly receded, and only the hanging man remained.

Pell blinked and rubbed his eyes. Was I seeing things? Maybe I’m just too tired. Mom was probably right when she said I shouldn’t get up during the night.

The Elder sprang to life and clawed at the noose around his neck. The rope came apart in his hands and he fell to the ground, landing on one knee and catching himself with his hands. There he remained, twitching and shuddering.

“Where am I?” Maxim wailed, his voice hoarse and dry. “Is this…?”

Stumpy tore free of Pell’s grip and rushed to the edge of the garden. He barked out into the unknown, showing teeth.

No! No, no, no, no, no.

Pell crawled back to the porch on his hands and knees and hid behind an old chair. He put a hand over his mouth to cover his breathing and pulled the blanket over his head.

Stumpy continued barking.

Slow, dragging footsteps sounded up the road. Maxim kept muttering, the exact words just beyond Pell’s hearing.

Pell wanted to cry out for Mother, but he didn’t dare make a noise. He didn’t open his eyes, even as the footsteps got closer.

Stumpy’s barking stopped.

“Good dog,” Maxim said. He had the same inflection as that time he had given out sweet cakes, brimming with simple joy.

Pell opened his eyes and peeked around the corner of the chair. The dead man stooped before the dog, petting its head. His neck was bruised black from the rope, and his lips had been peeled back in a nasty, toothy grimace.

Maxim turned away from the dog and continued going up the road, walking in an even, almost relaxed gait.

“Now we can bring them back,” Maxim said.

“As soon as the offering has been made.”

“Yes, of course. It will be a fine offering, indeed.”