Week 2 Story: A Shuffle in the Night

In the distance, he hears laughter. He ponders, who would be laughing out here? The sun is setting on the path, an unofficial path he has made from the numerous trips taken on the same route, to the same destination. The laughter is closer now, and he looks up, oh - it's just a crow. There are not normally crows on this path.

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It is a two day trip, and it's getting too dark to see anymore. The forest is less comforting tonight, he feels that he is being watched and builds a fire a little dimmer than usual in the small cove of the forest, just mere feet from the path.

***

Not much time had passed when he awoke to hear the shuffling of feet. Who would be walking here, who even knows this path is here? Through his blanket and past the snuffed fire, he sees, thinking, an old woman?, dragging a large bag. He could lay still, hide beneath his covers - but she would see him in passing. Rather than wait to be found he decides to approach her - but not without finding out as much as he can beforehand.

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She is in rags, a mix of hides and fur, and upon further observation, carrying a knife still wet with blood. 

This discovery sends the hair on his neck straight up. But what else can he do? Beyond the path, the forest is too dense to travel through... and besides, she is getting closer.

Any attempt now to leave would be clearly heard by her. Thinking fast, he jumps on to the path to create an illusion of control. What are you doing, on this path, in the middle of the night? After several moments, his question is responded too - but the woman still does not show her face. My child is in this bag, he has succumbed. 

He is stricken, frozen, unable to respond. Is she telling the truth, and does he want to know, if not, what is the truth? Eyes never leaving the knife, he says I... am sorry... Can I do anything to help? More silence, more awkward moments that feel like eternity. He realizes that in all this time his adrenaline hasn't allowed him to notice the foul smell present, the bag? he wonders - but suddenly she attacks him.

She lunges with the knife and as he falls the hood comes off, this is no woman but the shredded remains of what was once a person. She has only one eye, the other an exposed socket and no nose, her lips are gone and only show bloodied teeth. Shreds of the skin left flail during the assault, he takes her arm holding the knife right as it is about to be plunged into his chest and her arm comes off. He wrenches the knife from her somehow still grasping hand and cuts off her head, or what was left of it.

The air is suddenly still, the only noise is his heavy breath. He stares at the few stars he can see past the tree. After several moments, he stands. Legs wavering, he manages to walk to the bag and cut it open - what he finds, makes bile rise in his throat. A child, a boy, but with flesh ripped from his body. Bites taken out of his limbs. He is not the one who was rotting, he was not the source of the smell, he has been too recently killed.

*** 

He is exhausted, having run for the rest of the trip home with no stopping. How can he rest, or ever feel safe again on that path. He sees the clearing, the familiar opening to his village they will know what to make of what happened he thinks. In the distance, he sees the backs of his mother and brother. Relief floods him as he finds comfort in their presence, until the wind brings a smell to his nose that runs his blood cold. Before they turn, he already knows what awaits him. His hands clench the knife.

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Authors Note

I started by writing the story in the same fashion, changing the bird and sound the protagonist thought he heard. My intent was to write the same story, but instead of hiding and lying he would approach and tell the truth. After I reached the approach part, the story changed with the antagonist being one person and a combination of the two. I also removed the conversation and went straight for the attack.  I really couldn't think of a way to bring a second character or extend the protagonist's stay for another night on the path - so I made the encounter darker so he would be encouraged to leave. While writing, I changed and added more details - keeping the knife - but adding the smell and bringing the son the woman was screaming about in the original story into this one. There was going to be a moral in this story, but in the end it just turned into the beginning of a zombie apocalypse.

Bibliography. "Supernatural: A Teton Ghost Story" from the Teton Lakota tribe. Myths and Legends of the Great Plains by Katharine Berry Judson (1913). Source.

On a lighter note - here is a picture I took of my dog. She was protesting me doing schoolwork by laying awkwardly across my legs, until she forgot about the protest and fell asleep.