Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Bleakman's Bog Pt. 2
Read Part 1
Part 2 begins here...
Duncan had been a woodsman at the time. His family lived deep inside the Fourcoin Forest. That was before the bog had eaten the forest, back when times were prosperous. He was hunting a stag that day. It was wounded; the blood was a rich red and foamy. He knew he must have hit a lung. Yet the trail kept going. He was just reaching the bog, which was quite small at this time. However it still had the thick mists and wise men knew to stay away. He thought of leaving, but Duncan knew he couldn't return home empty handed. He dismounted and left his horse at the edge of the bog. As he went ahead on foot, the blood trail grew thicker. He knew it wasn't far now. He reached a stone wall. Going through a partially hanging gate, he saw the deer collapsed in the door of a small, barely standing hut. His every instinct was to flee. Still yet, he approached. Drawing near the house, he was overwhelmed by the stench of decay. The deer dead on the ground at his feet was already greatly decomposed. Maggots and flies were all over. The flesh was crawling and collapsing as he watched it. It was at this time he heard the voice.
“Come in, come in. I have been so want for company.” come an other sounding voice.
“I'm sorry. I must be going.” his voice was tight, every muscle was constricted ready to flee.
“You will sit with me.”
Every fiber of his being tried to resist, yet he could not. Walking over the now bleached bones of the deer he entered the hut. Two chairs faced each other in one sat the withered dried form that had once been woman.
“Tell me of your wife huntsman. Is she beautiful?”
His voice came against his will, “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” His eyes were his own, but nothing else. All they could do was watch as the skin, dry as leather, began to curl its gnarled fingers, drawing his body forward.
His lips touched hers. It was against his will. He screamed and smashed the creature before him, yet his body did not allow it. Against every ounce of will he had, he kissed the dry, dusty lips and felt something come into him.
The villagers now huddled together in the common room of the towns only tavern. It had been closed for years, but it was filled once more. Duncan saw the fear in everyone's eyes. He dare not speak what he knew. What he had done. He watched children cry for food and mothers with dead eyes. No one could do anything. It was his task. He had started this. He must return to the dilapidated hut, or else live in fear of what was once his Anne the rest of his wretched life.