A small town in Poland had had to deal with a nuisance
beyond squalor and taxes one late autumn – the local graveyard was being
disturbed by what appeared to be a wild animal. Every morning the citizens
would wake to see the earth in front of a grave torn asunder, like a wound in
the world. The beast didn’t appear to have reached the bodies, fortunately, and
the town posted a watch in order to capture the strange creature.
The first night, a huge shape lumbered through the
streets of the town. An uncanny fog had settled over the town, and the militiaman
could only see the small silhouette of the beast as it lumbered into the
graveyard. The man’s senses were overcome by the reek of acrid smoke, and
doubled over coughing as the beast tore through the ground yet again. He
recovered moments later to see that the headstone was smashed to bits, and a
trail of viscera lead out of the gaping hole and down the muddy streets. He
gave chase, and followed the trail to the town’s bakery. Nailed to the front
door with her own ribcage was the corpse of an adolescent girl. The man recognized
her – she had been murdered three weeks
previous, the killer never found.
The man quivered, and called for the rest of the militia.
Within half an hour the twenty of them were gathered at the front of the cemetery,
crossbows in hand and dogs at their sides. The dogs whined and tugged, and
absolutely refused to follow the scent of the beast. Fortunately, they did not
need to – the stench of smoke was still in the air, and the man knew that the
beast remained in town. After an hour of searching, they returned to the bakery.
They were cold, wet, and directly below the beast as it stared down from the
rooftop. With an almost human shriek, it leapt down onto the muddy path, ruby
eyes glinting and greasy black fur shining in the dull moonlight. It paused, and that was just enough time for the militiamen to fill
it with iron crossbow bolts.
It twitched and collapsed, and the men all breathed a
sigh of relief. That is, until they heard the sound of dragging behind them.
The corpse of the girl tore itself from the wall and was pulled towards the
corpse of the dog as if being pulled by a meat hook. The girl’s corpse met that
of the dog, and they twisted together in a sick dance as the clammy flesh
melted together. The beast rose, convulsing as the bones of the girl popped
into place and her dirty hair sewed itself throughout the dog’s skin as it
formed a new coat of fur.
Then two of the man started gurgling as flesh was
stripped from their bodies as if torn by an invisible hand, muscle torn out
without breaking the skin and their bones splintering and slipping through like
medical needles. The process was over in ten seconds and the beast loomed, now
the size of a bear. Its new left eye, appropriated by the man’s best friend
since childhood, stared at him pleadingly before being overtaken by a tide of
red. The beast shivered and opened its mouth full of human teeth, smoke pouring
out of its throat as it looked upon the terrified militia. Then it strode past
them, the guards shrieking in agony as the arms holding their weapons simply
[i]fell off,[/i] the mud becoming to become inundated with as much blood as
water. As the militiamen bled to death in the dirt they heard the sound of the
screaming baker as he was dragged out of his home above the bakery and into the
streets. Then they heard the sounds of a man confronted with his secrets. Then
they heard the sounds of a man being buried alive, and then finally the sounds
of their own heartbeats slowing to a peaceful stop. Only the first man survived long enough to tell anyone what had happened.
Sometimes they don’t have anything against you, see. You’re
just there. Wrong place at the wrong time, and you become meat.
This is why the correct response to anything is to just duck down, cover your head and let things solve themselves.
ReplyDeleteThe average person would end up feeling guilty about letting others suffer, and end up being the next one dragged out of the bakery. It's a difficult road, and if you disagree with myself and my compatriots, a thankless one when you get to the end.
ReplyDelete-facepalms-
ReplyDeleteThis is why pitchforks and fire just don't work in every instance. The Runners have it right, sometimes..
That Beast is fucking disgusting, by the way.