u/Blue27ESF

I pushed the flowers atop the waters with a knotted stick to watch the ripples dance. A melody of chirping encouraged the symphony of the bog to chant alongside the beautiful display. Many a time I had admired the prose of nature which blessed such things. Bog lilies and cat tails swirled as westward winds provoked their dance. An old magic, they say, had beckoned these attributes to carry on with such delight. A hunger deeper still moved the throngs of nature to carry a tune with provocation and purpose. Yet I found much joy in the simpler things. My sister made hasty steps towards the muddy shores I knelt on, spurned by enthusiastic discovery. 

“Mothan!” She called my name. “A toad rests just behind where you set your basket! An omen, to be sure!” I stood from my perch and gave her a smile. 

“Aye!” I responded smiling. “A good omen, at that! Find ye the prey it sought, and perhaps it shall add to the melody of our search!” Clauran, my sister, lent her eyes to and fro. With an audible gasp she rent a cricket from the mud. 

“Here! I found the whelp nestled amidst the fronds! What do ye reckon it means?” She inquired most curiously. I fancied to kindle her imagination and met by her side. The insect was lackluster in strength, though fully grown, and I couldn’t help but to notice its discoloration. Still, I offered a smile and gestured to the bog. 

“We’ve much more to find! The flowers will do us much good. Set aside yer cricket and help me with the blooms; our basket has room for them yet!” Gleefully she danced about, careful not to step in the muck. Together we collected what we could of the available flora and set it neatly in our basket. A dross mist began to rise from the bog. I took note in my head and made sure the content of our collections was secure.

“Out with us then, I think. Supper will soon be on. Mother would want us home.” 

“Aye!” Clauran agreed. “With the giving so soo, she’ll have our arses if we are late again!” Just then a familiar voice hollered from afar. 

“Mothan! Claura! Lassies, be you in the bog?” I met his greeting with a shout of my own. 

“Aye, Laochra! My sister and I harken! We’ve just filled our basket for the giving! We’d not want to offer anything less than a full parcel.” His efforts through the rough terrain sloshed ever closer as he strode. The green markings of his tabard and metallic shine of the chainmail he wore glinted off the sunset rays. Laborious as his journey was, he still smiled upon seeing us ahead. 

“I fancy you’ve had quite the outing!” He laughed. “Yer mother has requested I bring you home. She doesn’t have the stomach to afford you being out so late. And quite frankly, nor do I. It isn’t the season to be taking such risks.” 

“We’ve not come into winter yet!” I retorted. “First the harvest comes, the leaves will fall and even then we’ve still got a fair bit of time before the snow befalls us.” Laochra shook his head. 

“You know just the same as I it's not right to be out in the dark. Much less in this unsavory mess.” He gestured to the bog. 

“We don't wade into the water.” I laughed. “Mother would have our heads if we dirtied our dresses.” 

“Well then your heads she shall have.” He pointed to the mud caked along the hem of my skirt. “You won't be hiding that mess from anyone, much less your mother. Eyes like a hawk, she has.” 

“It's just a bit of dirt, that.” I offered. “We play in the woods and farmer Gaylen’s fields often enough. Nothing some warm water and scrubbin’ won't fix.” 

“Aye, whatever ye say. Get along then lassies, and make haste. I’ve got a shift tonight and I won't be having you late for supper. Or it's *my* head yer mother will have.” He put his hands on my shoulder and that of my sister. “And don’t forget yer basket.” Claura fetched our harvest and trotted ahead. 

“Last one home is a rotten egg!” She called back, delighted with her jab. 

“Better a rotten egg than a broken one!” Laochra shouted back. He looked at me and shook his head. “Wish I still had that kind of vigor. The older ye get the less runnin’ is fun.” 

“Yer not even yet to your thirties.” I challenged. He shrugged and led me onward. 

“I suppose not. That doesn't mean shite when ye wake with aches and pains you didn't have in your youth. What I wouldn't do for a warm bath, I tell ye.” We made our way through the bushes and onto the familiar trail home. Pressed grasses surrounded by tall trees, the occasional bushel of cat tails and various wildflowers which danced in the wind. I took a moment to break away and admire the thistle. Laochra beckoned me to press on after a short while. 

“They’re so beautiful, yeah?” I asked, pointing back to the violet blooms. Laochra nodded and sighed. 

“I don't have the time to wander the woods like I used to. Joining the guard has proven a time consuming venture, albeit worth the while.” 

“Ye get yer time to rest though, yeah? A day here and there at the least?” 

“Aye, we do. All the same, the days go by ever faster. And when I *do* have time to rest, that's all filled up with the tasks I don't have a chance to tend to while working. With the harvest comin’ up I wager I'll be using most of that time to help Gaylen with the crops. Ever short of hands, he is. A man his age shouldn't shoulder such a burden alone.” 

“Papa told me I'm old enough to help this year.” I started. “I don't know if I'm strong enough to do all the work his usual farmhands do, but I've a good arm for a girl my age and a good eye for produce. Ma says I'm just as good at sortin’ potatoes and cabbage as she was when she was 14.” 

“i’ll bet you are. You’re also quite the forager.” He gestured to my basket. 

“Oh, I can't take much credit for this lot. Ma told me it's pretty much anything that is green and grows that can go in the basket. I like to put more colors together, you know? Though I understand it’ll all wind up in a big pile, it just makes sense that whatever is eatin’ it all up might like the food to look nice.” 

“A baked potato is more appealing with herbs and spices.” Laochra agreed. “That's mighty thoughtful of you, Mothan.” He paused for a moment and looked me in the eyes. A stolid expression overtook his previous smile. “You’ll be soon to join yer folks for the ritual, yeah? This next go round you’ll be of age, if I remember rightly.” 

“Aye, I'll be fifteen come harvest.” I replied. “I look forward to seein’ what it's all about. I’ve had it described to me a time or two by Papa, once by ma. We go verily by nightfall up the hill in the center of town and add what we’ve got to a heap. It's an offering of sorts so that the crops may grow.” Laochra nodded slowly. His eyes searched mine for a moment but he didn't say nothin’ immediately. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his chin with the top of his hand. 

“There's a bit more to it.” He whispered. “Something sinister lurks behind the story of our ritual. Now don't ye be going around tellin’ no one I told you this, aye?” I nodded eagerly. “Good. After the Giving is over and everyone has gone home, lock your door tight. Do what you can to make sure the windows are blocked, nothing gets in or out. Someone gets sick after the heap is fed, you see? Someone is always marked. Whatever they’re feeding in that heap demands a heavy price. I don’t know much else about it, but I do know what the guard and the council have sworn not to tell. What secrets they keep in the dark.” Before he could continue, Clauran came racing around the bend. 

“You two get stuck in the mud?” She teased. “Slow as a tortoise, the both of ye! Papa is out cutting wood, told me to turn back and beckon ye both hurry up!” she scampered off again towards the house, singing as she left. Laochra grimaced and loosed a breath between gritted teeth. 

“Best we get going.” He sighed. “I’ll tell ye more when I get the chance. But heed what I've said. And don't trust the council. Respect them, of course, as ye ought to. But be mindful what questions ye ask, and where your little feet tread.” 

“Why are ye tellin’ me all this?” I asked, grabbing his arm. Laochra turned with a pitiful grin. 

“Yer family has been nothing but kind to me since I lost my kin. Once father died, I had no one left. Joined the guard and was put on the rounds outside the village walls. Yer mother and father fed me now and then, let me sleep in their abode when I needed the warmth of company. Let's just say I count you as kin. The sister I never had. And you deserve to know the truth. Naught but lies, we’re told growing up. And someday, this has all got to end.” 

I pushed the flowers atop the waters with a knotted stick to watch the ripples dance. A melody of chirping encouraged the symphony of the bog to chant alongside the beautiful display. Many a time I had admired the prose of nature which blessed such things. Bog lilies and cat tails swirled as westward winds provoked their dance. An old magic, they say, had beckoned these attributes to carry on with such delight. A hunger deeper still moved the throngs of nature to carry a tune with provocation and purpose. Yet I found much joy in the simpler things. My sister made hasty steps towards the muddy shores I knelt on, spurned by enthusiastic discovery. 

“Mothan!” She called my name. “A toad rests just behind where you set your basket! An omen, to be sure!” I stood from my perch and gave her a smile. 

“Aye!” I responded smiling. “A good omen, at that! Find ye the prey it sought, and perhaps it shall add to the melody of our search!” Clauran, my sister, lent her eyes to and fro. With an audible gasp she rent a cricket from the mud. 

“Here! I found the whelp nestled amidst the fronds! What do ye reckon it means?” She inquired most curiously. I fancied to kindle her imagination and met by her side. The insect was lackluster in strength, though fully grown, and I couldn’t help but to notice its discoloration. Still, I offered a smile and gestured to the bog. 

“We’ve much more to find! The flowers will do us much good. Set aside yer cricket and help me with the blooms; our basket has room for them yet!” Gleefully she danced about, careful not to step in the muck. Together we collected what we could of the available flora and set it neatly in our basket. A dross mist began to rise from the bog. I took note in my head and made sure the content of our collections was secure.

“Out with us then, I think. Supper will soon be on. Mother would want us home.” 

“Aye!” Clauran agreed. “With the giving so soo, she’ll have our arses if we are late again!” Just then a familiar voice hollered from afar. 

“Mothan! Claura! Lassies, be you in the bog?” I met his greeting with a shout of my own. 

“Aye, Laochra! My sister and I harken! We’ve just filled our basket for the giving! We’d not want to offer anything less than a full parcel.” His efforts through the rough terrain sloshed ever closer as he strode. The green markings of his tabard and metallic shine of the chainmail he wore glinted off the sunset rays. Laborious as his journey was, he still smiled upon seeing us ahead. 

“I fancy you’ve had quite the outing!” He laughed. “Yer mother has requested I bring you home. She doesn’t have the stomach to afford you being out so late. And quite frankly, nor do I. It isn’t the season to be taking such risks.” 

“We’ve not come into winter yet!” I retorted. “First the harvest comes, the leaves will fall and even then we’ve still got a fair bit of time before the snow befalls us.” Laochra shook his head. 

“You know just the same as I it's not right to be out in the dark. Much less in this unsavory mess.” He gestured to the bog. 

“We don't wade into the water.” I laughed. “Mother would have our heads if we dirtied our dresses.” 

“Well then your heads she shall have.” He pointed to the mud caked along the hem of my skirt. “You won't be hiding that mess from anyone, much less your mother. Eyes like a hawk, she has.” 

“It's just a bit of dirt, that.” I offered. “We play in the woods and farmer Gaylen’s fields often enough. Nothing some warm water and scrubbin’ won't fix.” 

“Aye, whatever ye say. Get along then lassies, and make haste. I’ve got a shift tonight and I won't be having you late for supper. Or it's *my* head yer mother will have.” He put his hands on my shoulder and that of my sister. “And don’t forget yer basket.” Claura fetched our harvest and trotted ahead. 

“Last one home is a rotten egg!” She called back, delighted with her jab. 

“Better a rotten egg than a broken one!” Laochra shouted back. He looked at me and shook his head. “Wish I still had that kind of vigor. The older ye get the less runnin’ is fun.” 

“Yer not even yet to your thirties.” I challenged. He shrugged and led me onward. 

“I suppose not. That doesn't mean shite when ye wake with aches and pains you didn't have in your youth. What I wouldn't do for a warm bath, I tell ye.” We made our way through the bushes and onto the familiar trail home. Pressed grasses surrounded by tall trees, the occasional bushel of cat tails and various wildflowers which danced in the wind. I took a moment to break away and admire the thistle. Laochra beckoned me to press on after a short while. 

“They’re so beautiful, yeah?” I asked, pointing back to the violet blooms. Laochra nodded and sighed. 

“I don't have the time to wander the woods like I used to. Joining the guard has proven a time consuming venture, albeit worth the while.” 

“Ye get yer time to rest though, yeah? A day here and there at the least?” 

“Aye, we do. All the same, the days go by ever faster. And when I *do* have time to rest, that's all filled up with the tasks I don't have a chance to tend to while working. With the harvest comin’ up I wager I'll be using most of that time to help Gaylen with the crops. Ever short of hands, he is. A man his age shouldn't shoulder such a burden alone.” 

“Papa told me I'm old enough to help this year.” I started. “I don't know if I'm strong enough to do all the work his usual farmhands do, but I've a good arm for a girl my age and a good eye for produce. Ma says I'm just as good at sortin’ potatoes and cabbage as she was when she was 14.” 

“i’ll bet you are. You’re also quite the forager.” He gestured to my basket. 

“Oh, I can't take much credit for this lot. Ma told me it's pretty much anything that is green and grows that can go in the basket. I like to put more colors together, you know? Though I understand it’ll all wind up in a big pile, it just makes sense that whatever is eatin’ it all up might like the food to look nice.” 

“A baked potato is more appealing with herbs and spices.” Laochra agreed. “That's mighty thoughtful of you, Mothan.” He paused for a moment and looked me in the eyes. A stolid expression overtook his previous smile. “You’ll be soon to join yer folks for the ritual, yeah? This next go round you’ll be of age, if I remember rightly.” 

“Aye, I'll be fifteen come harvest.” I replied. “I look forward to seein’ what it's all about. I’ve had it described to me a time or two by Papa, once by ma. We go verily by nightfall up the hill in the center of town and add what we’ve got to a heap. It's an offering of sorts so that the crops may grow.” Laochra nodded slowly. His eyes searched mine for a moment but he didn't say nothin’ immediately. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his chin with the top of his hand. 

“There's a bit more to it.” He whispered. “Something sinister lurks behind the story of our ritual. Now don't ye be going around tellin’ no one I told you this, aye?” I nodded eagerly. “Good. After the Giving is over and everyone has gone home, lock your door tight. Do what you can to make sure the windows are blocked, nothing gets in or out. Someone gets sick after the heap is fed, you see? Someone is always marked. Whatever they’re feeding in that heap demands a heavy price. I don’t know much else about it, but I do know what the guard and the council have sworn not to tell. What secrets they keep in the dark.” Before he could continue, Clauran came racing around the bend. 

“You two get stuck in the mud?” She teased. “Slow as a tortoise, the both of ye! Papa is out cutting wood, told me to turn back and beckon ye both hurry up!” she scampered off again towards the house, singing as she left. Laochra grimaced and loosed a breath between gritted teeth. 

“Best we get going.” He sighed. “I’ll tell ye more when I get the chance. But heed what I've said. And don't trust the council. Respect them, of course, as ye ought to. But be mindful what questions ye ask, and where your little feet tread.” 

“Why are ye tellin’ me all this?” I asked, grabbing his arm. Laochra turned with a pitiful grin. 

“Yer family has been nothing but kind to me since I lost my kin. Once father died, I had no one left. Joined the guard and was put on the rounds outside the village walls. Yer mother and father fed me now and then, let me sleep in their abode when I needed the warmth of company. Let's just say I count you as kin. The sister I never had. And you deserve to know the truth. Naught but lies, we’re told growing up. And someday, this has all got to end.” 

August Poetry Submission

I found you in the dirt

You closed in with a smile

We danced until morning light

But it only lasted a while

I looked for you the next day

The filth had rinsed you clean

The only thing left was a song

And the grass laden jewelry, a ring

I sulked for days on end

I couldn't bear the parting true

After hours of digging through earth

The only piece missing was you

It pains me to see this as fault

Reprehensible, weak and dross

Your face left a mark most potent

Yet you remain only as moss

I dig every day in the light

I seek every motion I see

The better part left in the dust

The evidence resides within me

My memories fade like a kiss

A moment to treasure with time

The sifting of earth fades away

I am left with the rhythm and rhyme

Whether or not you ever were true

I cling to the dance we once shared

I head back to my lowly estate

And admit I am finally scared

This love was nothing to note

Your temporal form was a curse

I write now with penitent remorse

Of the kiss I know wasn't there

At long last I accept defeat

You'll never be in my arms again

And the next time we finally meet

It will be in the realm of pretend

Yet I dig all the same every day

Hoping to see your smile

Whether or not we come face to face

I will die like the rest in the bile

Where or not we come face to face

I will wait for you with a smile

Whether or not we come face to face

I will wait for you in the bile

A small step towards the door was all I needed to recognize I had been found. Shadows danced interrupting the slanted beams of light which shone underneath. A silent song of inspiration no doubt fueled their chaotic form. My memory escaped for just a moment taking me back to childhood; watching my eldest sister perform at her recitals. She moved with such elegance and precision, an entrancing display of human expression practiced to perfection. These devilish guests made no efforts to impress. 

A drift of red pooled into the light. I feared the worst and knew better than to hold fast to hope. I would receive no aid from others in this trial. Deep breaths were all I could afford to keep the pounding of my own heart from bursting out of my chest. This was not the time to panic. 

“Splendid feast! Splendid libation!” A cackly voice uttered beyond. “To health! To health!” The wet slurp of ravenous mouths descending on the mess followed. It was left to my imagination to picture the grotesque banquet being made of my house mate. Cracking bones, ripping sinew, sloppy pops of organs and a chewing most savage were all I could hear. This went on for some time. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks, the steadying of my breath to match the unfavorable orchestral horror would keep my presence masked. Or so that was the hope. After some time, the sound of wet footsteps no doubt armed with unnatural claws clattered about the room beyond. 

“More! There is more!” The voice exclaimed. “Two came in, none came out! We search, we find, we look about!” The speed at which the strangers moved throughout the house was alarming. We did not live in a mansion by any means, but the three bedroom single floor home was combed rapturously. It was to my good fortune that they hadn’t yet bothered with the closet in which I hid. Be it some strange enchantment or otherwise mysterious magic that protected me, I did not know. I kept considering producing my phone and risking a call to emergency services. Any noise beyond breathing seemed incredibly foolish. I would wait. 

After some time, shadows danced upon the light under the door again. I couldn’t describe with adequate eloquence precisely what their presence felt like but know this- a sense beyond typical human capacity gave warning in my heart so dire that it would have shaken a dead man from the grave. Even in near darkness, the corners of my vision tunneled. A single red stained toenail of unsavory length dug into the tile just beneath the doorway. Hungry sniffles and snorts investigated all around the handle and lock. 

“A door! A door!” The voice proclaimed. “Another room perhaps! Another room with snacks!” Shuffling and the clatter of claws on hardwood approached. More sniffs. More grunts. yet no attempt at the knob nor lock. Fear turned into puzzling. My curiosities were not so strong as to remove the caution which guided my actions, however I could not help but to wonder now if these guests could see. In the event that they were blind, I could safely operate my cellphone without giving away my position. A tempting avenue of potential escape. It occurred to me that police services had recently made posts on the city website revealing that they now had a text option for occasions such as this. Not \\\*exactly\\\* like this mind you, but for times when speaking aloud would endanger the caller. As the grunting continued, I chanced a reach for my pocket. I had been wearing long sleeves and even the brushing of their fabric against the side of my coat seemed to excite the uninvited investigators. 

“A sound! A sound! A rat perhaps! Small or big, a tasty snack!” Cackling followed the poetic outburst. Their persistent sniffing was now accompanied by scratches at the door. Even with this new found excitement they did not try the handle. I now held my phone and heaved a silent sigh before activating the screen. A light to rival the sun lit up the small room. It took a great deal of self control not to drop the damn thing. I had been showing my housemate some videos I had taken of a job site earlier and had the brightness all the way up. The panic that had otherwise set in was eased somewhat as I took note that the flash of light hadn’t spurned the ghouls at my doorway any further. They continued as they had been in their questionably effective investigational methodology. 

Taking this opportunity now, I tapped as lightly as I could and navigated through the city services app for the emergency tab. The mobile version was not as intuitive as one should hope but I found my way to the page I searched for. 

“Alone it lingers! Tap, tap, tap!” This voice was lower but no less enthusiastic as the other. “Fingers on something flat I hear within the trap!” Another bout of shuffling. The first voice spoke again; 

“Idle as it is, perhaps it needs some help! Open this door now, and let us see the whelp!” I paused. I waited. I stared directly at the handle. Nothing. No movement, no turning, no sign of any effort on their end. Furrowing my brows, my eyes drifted back down to my phone screen. I typed out a vague description concerning my present circumstances, my address, and the rather urgent need for immediate intervention. Having now sent my request, I turned the light of the screen to the door handle and continued to watch. Their sniffing had ceased, the shadows under the doorway were now still. My mind temporarily entertained the idea that perhaps a broom or mop handle would suffice as a melee tool. In the event that I had to fight for a short while before help arrived, it would be better than nothing. As careful as I could, keeping my feet still, I swiveled my torso about and peered behind me. I knew we kept a broom in here but it was shorter than I had recalled. No matter- it would do. I reached a free hand behind me and wrapped my fingers tightly around the handle. The excitement of my guests now roused once again. 

“It waits! It waits! Perhaps for us to leave! The tapping now has ceased, yet it hasn’t ceased to breathe!” A rather harsh shoving sound followed by a gasping breath moved the shadows beneath the door. 

“Give it no ideas, give it no escape! Lest we miss our meal and face such a terrible fate!” The lower voice chided. What I could only describe as a voiceless bicker now ensued. The patting of skin on skin, odd chirps, grunting, wordless murmurs made by scratching on tile and carpet. An entire conversation without a single word mixed with physical altercations. I did not particularly wish to see what was happening however it would be a lie to claim I was not at all curious. A loud thump nearly caused me to leap from my bones. One of them had been forced into the door quite violently. A terrible smell accompanied the impact to which I repressed a gag. Wet ashes, urine stains, fecal aromatics and animal rot filled my nostrils.  And iron. The fresh stench of pooling red iron no doubt from my housemate's blood they now danced in. Finally, they spoke. 

“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do!” The higher voice shrieked. “If it were up to me, I’d have already eaten you!” Another squabble and melee intermission occurred before the lower voice responded. 

“Eat me? Oh you wish! I’d be the finer dish! But you would taste like fish! Now instead, you’ll taste my fist!” Needless to say their brawling continued. I switched my phone now to photo mode, turning the selfie camera on. I had the idea to angle the screen beneath the doorway and hope the camera could show me as to what the fiends looked like, where in the next room they were, etc. To my misfortune and disappointment, the lights were too bright in juxtaposition to the dark of the closet I hid in to allow the camera to focus clearly. I messed around with some of the settings, finding a brightness compensator of sorts and adjusted it accordingly. I tried again, kneeling down and aiming the camera into the room. 

A pair of dark eyes looked directly into the lens, a long crooked nose hooked just off the screen. I jumped up in fright, having failed to notice their tiff had come to a halt. 

“It sees us now still waiting, its magic mirror sees!” A growling whisper breathed under the doorway. “Perhaps it thinks we are cursed? Or that we carry a disease! No matter what it's thinking, no matter if it flees, our tongues into its eyeballs will be the last thing that it sees!” A chorus of cackling much louder than before filled the air, their jubilant expressions beginning to tear away at my sanity. But still, I waited. Their breathing increased more excitedly in the otherwise silent moment. I began to wonder if perhaps there was something preventing them from just opening the door themselves. The temptation to say something was now growing evermore fervently. I could just wait. Undoubtedly within a few minutes, emergency services would be at my door and draw their attention. All it would take is time, and time I seemed to have. Surely the sound of approaching sirens would be enough to cause them a panic and leave me be. But curiosity got the best of me. 

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice far less confident than I would have liked. 

“A voice! A voice! It finally responds!” One replied. “It must be like the other, to a man this voice belongs!” A shared laugh echoed between the two before the other spoke. 

“A rat trapped in a corner! A finer feast indeed! Let’s now hear how it begs us, how it beckons and it pleads!” I could hear them sniffing quite fervently around the door again. While their words weren’t exactly calming, my suspicions that they, for some reason, weren’t able to get to me felt reassured. I drew a breath and tried to calm myself before speaking again. 

“I don’t know who you are, obviously, but I also don’t recall inviting you in. What the hell are you doing in my house?” They both seemed to gasp and mutter some guttural nonsense to one another. 

“It’s rude! How rude! And such an attitude! The first was full of screaming, but this rudeness shall not do!” The lower voice chided. 

“We must get it to open the door before us now! And cease this filthy language, but how? But how?” More scuffles followed and I couldn’t help but notice they were bumping the door and scratching at it with whatever claws they had. It didn’t make sense- why couldn’t they just turn the knob? They had gotten into the house when my housemate initially answered the front door thinking it was our food being delivered. I had presumed, after hearing a chorus of screams and cackling, that we had an intruder and hid myself in here. I hadn’t gotten a good look at them, save for the glance just recently from my phone camera, so whatever physical build they possessed on the whole still remained a mystery. I’d gamble another go of inquiry, confident rescue was soon to arrive. 

“Whatever you are doing clearly isn’t working so why don’t you just fuck off?” I called. Silence. A huff or two followed. One of them seemed to clatter away for a moment then the screaming started. 

“It taunts us, it insults, it fights with its words! Such prattling is needless, these ill meant words do hurt!” The higher voice shrieked. 

“Impenetrable is this fortress which leaves us in this plight! At first we feasted like queens of old, shall we now hunger for the night?” The other cried back. 

“We dare not ask it questions, as it now does to us! Unless you think it wise, shall we ask like it did first?” They both began to hum and grumble. After some time, the lower voice cleared its throat. There was an odd warbling noise that followed after then in a softer tone it began to speak. 

“Down in the dark you seem to be hid, but we both know what resides behind this lid, smooth, made of wood, a barrier great! So open, open, open! Open your castle gate! And join your lost companion, you can see what else we ate!” I could feel, needless to say, that this was a trap. Part of me wanted to continue this game but the resolve to survive and take advantage of their inability to work a door handle prevailed. 

“No.” 

My response wasn’t met well. Scurrying, screaming, scratching at the floor, at the door, curses in a language I didn’t recognize, etc. Oddly enough, as terrifying as the racket was, I felt relieved. That is until there was a knock from afar. No sirens had accompanied it so I knew it wasn’t law enforcement. The front door hadn’t been shut again after our unwelcome guests entered the home since my housemate was dead. They had clearly gotten in and the last thing I heard from my friend was “Holy shit, what the fuck? Run! Hide!” Or something to that effect. Whoever this was must have knocked on the wall next to the door. Then it occurred to me- our food order. 

Why I didn’t think to text our driver and cancel is beyond me. The whole ordeal was short. I heard a panicked “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Followed by cackling and a terrible cacophony of chaos. As dark as this is, I was grateful to have a moment without their persistent pursuit. I thought to leave the closet and head for the backdoor but the new found security of staying there overtook the instinct to run. Nevertheless it wasn't more than a few minutes till they returned. I could hear the clawed clatter of their feet approach once more, gasping and heaving breaths filled the air. 

“A nice meal, a better feel, the bags were gross but we await our host!” The lower voice growled. 

“True this is, I feel most fine! I cannot wait till this new flesh is mine!” And then nothing. Silence. There’s no way they had left. Surely they just stood there waiting for me to make another noise. I figured, since help was surely on the way, what was the harm in entertaining my present circumstances?

“How’d that go?” I offered. 

“It speaks! It squeaks! Within it remains! Even after our feast, it continues to entertain!” This was the higher voice again. Some shuffling followed. The lower now answered; 

“Patient we must be, for more friends it may bring. With some time in passing, they will too feel our sting.” 

“An excellent point! This feast will be strong! The longer we wait, the more meals come along!” 

It was at this point that I began to ponder if indeed the inevitable bullet storm that would follow the arrival of the police would suffice to slay these intruders. Clearly they were of some fantastical origin, the rules of their existence foreign to me. I ran the tropes of slaying anomalies through my head (from a traditional understanding) and quite frankly I doubted that silver, iron, holy water or oils would be within the arsenal of my supposed rescuers. The thought to text the help line again with more accurate details of my situation crossed my mind but not before I heard the sirens. They’d be here soon. Dispatch would no doubt have more questions and God knows the odds of them actually taking whatever warnings I offered seriously were next to none. Ah well. I chose to stand there and let events play out for themselves. 

The roar of vehicles growled to a halt. Several doors opened and feet clamored about the pavement outside. A loud speaker beckoned shortly after. 

“This is Clatsop County Police Department! We know you are in there! Come out with your hands up!” My visitors gasped excitedly. 

“New friends! New meals! How many draw near? Let us go and see what food has come here!” Shuffling. Shouting. Shooting. Lots of shooting. Some strange noises and predictable swearing. Then quiet. I heaved a sigh. I reached for the door accepting that this was it. Either the police had killed my assailants or the assailants had eaten their fill. As I turned the knob I heard heavy footsteps enter the house. I could choose to stay in this closet for what could be forever or just face my fate and be done with it. I chose the latter. With a twist of the knob, one final prayer, I stepped out. 

My eyes were met with a blinding light. Within moments I was forced to the ground and cuffed. I felt more relieved than I think I ever had in my life, even with the amount of pain that accompanied these actions. Several individuals flooded into the house, darting this way and that. Once they had cleared the place I was lifted to my feet and a rather perplexed officer looked me in the eyes with a vexation I mirrored just minutes ago. 

“Are you the one who sent the emergency text?” He asked short of breath. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you the home owner?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you aware that there is a dead body in your kitchen?” 

“I assumed as much.” 

“Do you know what the fuck we just shot dead in your driveway?” 

“I was hoping you could tell me.” 

“Ok. Come take a look. I’m not banking on you having more information for us here, but I will need you to come to the station for an interview so we can file a report.” I nodded and we headed for the door. 

To my good fortune, bullets did seem to work. There was a great deal of blood and bits of flesh decorating the garage door. Two figures of a most grotesque design lay in red pools. Long legs and pale flesh, stringy hair and ghastly faces. But no arms. I couldn’t help but to laugh. The talons on their feet were atrociously vile. Killing tools of a nature most foul. But no arms. No hands. No fingers. No wonder they couldn’t open the door. 

A small step towards the door was all I needed to recognize I had been found. Shadows danced interrupting the slanted beams of light which shone underneath. A silent song of inspiration no doubt fueled their chaotic form. My memory escaped for just a moment taking me back to childhood; watching my eldest sister perform at her recitals. She moved with such elegance and precision, an entrancing display of human expression practiced to perfection. These devilish guests made no efforts to impress. 

A drift of red pooled into the light. I feared the worst and knew better than to hold fast to hope. I would receive no aid from others in this trial. Deep breaths were all I could afford to keep the pounding of my own heart from bursting out of my chest. This was not the time to panic. 

“Splendid feast! Splendid libation!” A cackly voice uttered beyond. “To health! To health!” The wet slurp of ravenous mouths descending on the mess followed. It was left to my imagination to picture the grotesque banquet being made of my house mate. Cracking bones, ripping sinew, sloppy pops of organs and a chewing most savage were all I could hear. This went on for some time. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks, the steadying of my breath to match the unfavorable orchestral horror would keep my presence masked. Or so that was the hope. After some time, the sound of wet footsteps no doubt armed with unnatural claws clattered about the room beyond. 

“More! There is more!” The voice exclaimed. “Two came in, none came out! We search, we find, we look about!” The speed at which the strangers moved throughout the house was alarming. We did not live in a mansion by any means, but the three bedroom single floor home was combed rapturously. It was to my good fortune that they hadn’t yet bothered with the closet in which I hid. Be it some strange enchantment or otherwise mysterious magic that protected me, I did not know. I kept considering producing my phone and risking a call to emergency services. Any noise beyond breathing seemed incredibly foolish. I would wait. 

After some time, shadows danced upon the light under the door again. I couldn’t describe with adequate eloquence precisely what their presence felt like but know this- a sense beyond typical human capacity gave warning in my heart so dire that it would have shaken a dead man from the grave. Even in near darkness, the corners of my vision tunneled. A single red stained toenail of unsavory length dug into the tile just beneath the doorway. Hungry sniffles and snorts investigated all around the handle and lock. 

“A door! A door!” The voice proclaimed. “Another room perhaps! Another room with snacks!” Shuffling and the clatter of claws on hardwood approached. More sniffs. More grunts. yet no attempt at the knob nor lock. Fear turned into puzzling. My curiosities were not so strong as to remove the caution which guided my actions, however I could not help but to wonder now if these guests could see. In the event that they were blind, I could safely operate my cellphone without giving away my position. A tempting avenue of potential escape. It occurred to me that police services had recently made posts on the city website revealing that they now had a text option for occasions such as this. Not \*exactly\* like this mind you, but for times when speaking aloud would endanger the caller. As the grunting continued, I chanced a reach for my pocket. I had been wearing long sleeves and even the brushing of their fabric against the side of my coat seemed to excite the uninvited investigators. 

“A sound! A sound! A rat perhaps! Small or big, a tasty snack!” Cackling followed the poetic outburst. Their persistent sniffing was now accompanied by scratches at the door. Even with this new found excitement they did not try the handle. I now held my phone and heaved a silent sigh before activating the screen. A light to rival the sun lit up the small room. It took a great deal of self control not to drop the damn thing. I had been showing my housemate some videos I had taken of a job site earlier and had the brightness all the way up. The panic that had otherwise set in was eased somewhat as I took note that the flash of light hadn’t spurned the ghouls at my doorway any further. They continued as they had been in their questionably effective investigational methodology. 

Taking this opportunity now, I tapped as lightly as I could and navigated through the city services app for the emergency tab. The mobile version was not as intuitive as one should hope but I found my way to the page I searched for. 

“Alone it lingers! Tap, tap, tap!” This voice was lower but no less enthusiastic as the other. “Fingers on something flat I hear within the trap!” Another bout of shuffling. The first voice spoke again; 

“Idle as it is, perhaps it needs some help! Open this door now, and let us see the whelp!” I paused. I waited. I stared directly at the handle. Nothing. No movement, no turning, no sign of any effort on their end. Furrowing my brows, my eyes drifted back down to my phone screen. I typed out a vague description concerning my present circumstances, my address, and the rather urgent need for immediate intervention. Having now sent my request, I turned the light of the screen to the door handle and continued to watch. Their sniffing had ceased, the shadows under the doorway were now still. My mind temporarily entertained the idea that perhaps a broom or mop handle would suffice as a melee tool. In the event that I had to fight for a short while before help arrived, it would be better than nothing. As careful as I could, keeping my feet still, I swiveled my torso about and peered behind me. I knew we kept a broom in here but it was shorter than I had recalled. No matter- it would do. I reached a free hand behind me and wrapped my fingers tightly around the handle. The excitement of my guests now roused once again. 

“It waits! It waits! Perhaps for us to leave! The tapping now has ceased, yet it hasn’t ceased to breathe!” A rather harsh shoving sound followed by a gasping breath moved the shadows beneath the door. 

“Give it no ideas, give it no escape! Lest we miss our meal and face such a terrible fate!” The lower voice chided. What I could only describe as a voiceless bicker now ensued. The patting of skin on skin, odd chirps, grunting, wordless murmurs made by scratching on tile and carpet. An entire conversation without a single word mixed with physical altercations. I did not particularly wish to see what was happening however it would be a lie to claim I was not at all curious. A loud thump nearly caused me to leap from my bones. One of them had been forced into the door quite violently. A terrible smell accompanied the impact to which I repressed a gag. Wet ashes, urine stains, fecal aromatics and animal rot filled my nostrils.  And iron. The fresh stench of pooling red iron no doubt from my housemate's blood they now danced in. Finally, they spoke. 

“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do!” The higher voice shrieked. “If it were up to me, I’d have already eaten you!” Another squabble and melee intermission occurred before the lower voice responded. 

“Eat me? Oh you wish! I’d be the finer dish! But you would taste like fish! Now instead, you’ll taste my fist!” Needless to say their brawling continued. I switched my phone now to photo mode, turning the selfie camera on. I had the idea to angle the screen beneath the doorway and hope the camera could show me as to what the fiends looked like, where in the next room they were, etc. To my misfortune and disappointment, the lights were too bright in juxtaposition to the dark of the closet I hid in to allow the camera to focus clearly. I messed around with some of the settings, finding a brightness compensator of sorts and adjusted it accordingly. I tried again, kneeling down and aiming the camera into the room. 

A pair of dark eyes looked directly into the lens, a long crooked nose hooked just off the screen. I jumped up in fright, having failed to notice their tiff had come to a halt. 

“It sees us now still waiting, its magic mirror sees!” A growling whisper breathed under the doorway. “Perhaps it thinks we are cursed? Or that we carry a disease! No matter what it's thinking, no matter if it flees, our tongues into its eyeballs will be the last thing that it sees!” A chorus of cackling much louder than before filled the air, their jubilant expressions beginning to tear away at my sanity. But still, I waited. Their breathing increased more excitedly in the otherwise silent moment. I began to wonder if perhaps there was something preventing them from just opening the door themselves. The temptation to say something was now growing evermore fervently. I could just wait. Undoubtedly within a few minutes, emergency services would be at my door and draw their attention. All it would take is time, and time I seemed to have. Surely the sound of approaching sirens would be enough to cause them a panic and leave me be. But curiosity got the best of me. 

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice far less confident than I would have liked. 

“A voice! A voice! It finally responds!” One replied. “It must be like the other, to a man this voice belongs!” A shared laugh echoed between the two before the other spoke. 

“A rat trapped in a corner! A finer feast indeed! Let’s now hear how it begs us, how it beckons and it pleads!” I could hear them sniffing quite fervently around the door again. While their words weren’t exactly calming, my suspicions that they, for some reason, weren’t able to get to me felt reassured. I drew a breath and tried to calm myself before speaking again. 

“I don’t know who you are, obviously, but I also don’t recall inviting you in. What the hell are you doing in my house?” They both seemed to gasp and mutter some guttural nonsense to one another. 

“It’s rude! How rude! And such an attitude! The first was full of screaming, but this rudeness shall not do!” The lower voice chided. 

“We must get it to open the door before us now! And cease this filthy language, but how? But how?” More scuffles followed and I couldn’t help but notice they were bumping the door and scratching at it with whatever claws they had. It didn’t make sense- why couldn’t they just turn the knob? They had gotten into the house when my housemate initially answered the front door thinking it was our food being delivered. I had presumed, after hearing a chorus of screams and cackling, that we had an intruder and hid myself in here. I hadn’t gotten a good look at them, save for the glance just recently from my phone camera, so whatever physical build they possessed on the whole still remained a mystery. I’d gamble another go of inquiry, confident rescue was soon to arrive. 

“Whatever you are doing clearly isn’t working so why don’t you just fuck off?” I called. Silence. A huff or two followed. One of them seemed to clatter away for a moment then the screaming started. 

“It taunts us, it insults, it fights with its words! Such prattling is needless, these ill meant words do hurt!” The higher voice shrieked. 

“Impenetrable is this fortress which leaves us in this plight! At first we feasted like queens of old, shall we now hunger for the night?” The other cried back. 

“We dare not ask it questions, as it now does to us! Unless you think it wise, shall we ask like it did first?” They both began to hum and grumble. After some time, the lower voice cleared its throat. There was an odd warbling noise that followed after then in a softer tone it began to speak. 

“Down in the dark you seem to be hid, but we both know what resides behind this lid, smooth, made of wood, a barrier great! So open, open, open! Open your castle gate! And join your lost companion, you can see what else we ate!” I could feel, needless to say, that this was a trap. Part of me wanted to continue this game but the resolve to survive and take advantage of their inability to work a door handle prevailed. 

“No.” 

My response wasn’t met well. Scurrying, screaming, scratching at the floor, at the door, curses in a language I didn’t recognize, etc. Oddly enough, as terrifying as the racket was, I felt relieved. That is until there was a knock from afar. No sirens had accompanied it so I knew it wasn’t law enforcement. The front door hadn’t been shut again after our unwelcome guests entered the home since my housemate was dead. They had clearly gotten in and the last thing I heard from my friend was “Holy shit, what the fuck? Run! Hide!” Or something to that effect. Whoever this was must have knocked on the wall next to the door. Then it occurred to me- our food order. 

Why I didn’t think to text our driver and cancel is beyond me. The whole ordeal was short. I heard a panicked “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Followed by cackling and a terrible cacophony of chaos. As dark as this is, I was grateful to have a moment without their persistent pursuit. I thought to leave the closet and head for the backdoor but the new found security of staying there overtook the instinct to run. Nevertheless it wasn't more than a few minutes till they returned. I could hear the clawed clatter of their feet approach once more, gasping and heaving breaths filled the air. 

“A nice meal, a better feel, the bags were gross but we await our host!” The lower voice growled. 

“True this is, I feel most fine! I cannot wait till this new flesh is mine!” And then nothing. Silence. There’s no way they had left. Surely they just stood there waiting for me to make another noise. I figured, since help was surely on the way, what was the harm in entertaining my present circumstances?

“How’d that go?” I offered. 

“It speaks! It squeaks! Within it remains! Even after our feast, it continues to entertain!” This was the higher voice again. Some shuffling followed. The lower now answered; 

“Patient we must be, for more friends it may bring. With some time in passing, they will too feel our sting.” 

“An excellent point! This feast will be strong! The longer we wait, the more meals come along!” 

It was at this point that I began to ponder if indeed the inevitable bullet storm that would follow the arrival of the police would suffice to slay these intruders. Clearly they were of some fantastical origin, the rules of their existence foreign to me. I ran the tropes of slaying anomalies through my head (from a traditional understanding) and quite frankly I doubted that silver, iron, holy water or oils would be within the arsenal of my supposed rescuers. The thought to text the help line again with more accurate details of my situation crossed my mind but not before I heard the sirens. They’d be here soon. Dispatch would no doubt have more questions and God knows the odds of them actually taking whatever warnings I offered seriously were next to none. Ah well. I chose to stand there and let events play out for themselves. 

The roar of vehicles growled to a halt. Several doors opened and feet clamored about the pavement outside. A loud speaker beckoned shortly after. 

“This is Clatsop County Police Department! We know you are in there! Come out with your hands up!” My visitors gasped excitedly. 

“New friends! New meals! How many draw near? Let us go and see what food has come here!” Shuffling. Shouting. Shooting. Lots of shooting. Some strange noises and predictable swearing. Then quiet. I heaved a sigh. I reached for the door accepting that this was it. Either the police had killed my assailants or the assailants had eaten their fill. As I turned the knob I heard heavy footsteps enter the house. I could choose to stay in this closet for what could be forever or just face my fate and be done with it. I chose the latter. With a twist of the knob, one final prayer, I stepped out. 

My eyes were met with a blinding light. Within moments I was forced to the ground and cuffed. I felt more relieved than I think I ever had in my life, even with the amount of pain that accompanied these actions. Several individuals flooded into the house, darting this way and that. Once they had cleared the place I was lifted to my feet and a rather perplexed officer looked me in the eyes with a vexation I mirrored just minutes ago. 

“Are you the one who sent the emergency text?” He asked short of breath. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you the home owner?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you aware that there is a dead body in your kitchen?” 

“I assumed as much.” 

“Do you know what the fuck we just shot dead in your driveway?” 

“I was hoping you could tell me.” 

“Ok. Come take a look. I’m not banking on you having more information for us here, but I will need you to come to the station for an interview so we can file a report.” I nodded and we headed for the door. 

To my good fortune, bullets did seem to work. There was a great deal of blood and bits of flesh decorating the garage door. Two figures of a most grotesque design lay in red pools. Long legs and pale flesh, stringy hair and ghastly faces. But no arms. I couldn’t help but to laugh. The talons on their feet were atrociously vile. Killing tools of a nature most foul. But no arms. No hands. No fingers. No wonder they couldn’t open the door. 

A small step towards the door was all I needed to recognize I had been found. Shadows danced interrupting the slanted beams of light which shone underneath. A silent song of inspiration no doubt fueled their chaotic form. My memory escaped for just a moment taking me back to childhood; watching my eldest sister perform at her recitals. She moved with such elegance and precision, an entrancing display of human expression practiced to perfection. These devilish guests made no efforts to impress. 

A drift of red pooled into the light. I feared the worst and knew better than to hold fast to hope. I would receive no aid from others in this trial. Deep breaths were all I could afford to keep the pounding of my own heart from bursting out of my chest. This was not the time to panic. 

“Splendid feast! Splendid libation!” A cackly voice uttered beyond. “To health! To health!” The wet slurp of ravenous mouths descending on the mess followed. It was left to my imagination to picture the grotesque banquet being made of my house mate. Cracking bones, ripping sinew, sloppy pops of organs and a chewing most savage were all I could hear. This went on for some time. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks, the steadying of my breath to match the unfavorable orchestral horror would keep my presence masked. Or so that was the hope. After some time, the sound of wet footsteps no doubt armed with unnatural claws clattered about the room beyond. 

“More! There is more!” The voice exclaimed. “Two came in, none came out! We search, we find, we look about!” The speed at which the strangers moved throughout the house was alarming. We did not live in a mansion by any means, but the three bedroom single floor home was combed rapturously. It was to my good fortune that they hadn’t yet bothered with the closet in which I hid. Be it some strange enchantment or otherwise mysterious magic that protected me, I did not know. I kept considering producing my phone and risking a call to emergency services. Any noise beyond breathing seemed incredibly foolish. I would wait. 

After some time, shadows danced upon the light under the door again. I couldn’t describe with adequate eloquence precisely what their presence felt like but know this- a sense beyond typical human capacity gave warning in my heart so dire that it would have shaken a dead man from the grave. Even in near darkness, the corners of my vision tunneled. A single red stained toenail of unsavory length dug into the tile just beneath the doorway. Hungry sniffles and snorts investigated all around the handle and lock. 

“A door! A door!” The voice proclaimed. “Another room perhaps! Another room with snacks!” Shuffling and the clatter of claws on hardwood approached. More sniffs. More grunts. yet no attempt at the knob nor lock. Fear turned into puzzling. My curiosities were not so strong as to remove the caution which guided my actions, however I could not help but to wonder now if these guests could see. In the event that they were blind, I could safely operate my cellphone without giving away my position. A tempting avenue of potential escape. It occurred to me that police services had recently made posts on the city website revealing that they now had a text option for occasions such as this. Not \*exactly\* like this mind you, but for times when speaking aloud would endanger the caller. As the grunting continued, I chanced a reach for my pocket. I had been wearing long sleeves and even the brushing of their fabric against the side of my coat seemed to excite the uninvited investigators. 

“A sound! A sound! A rat perhaps! Small or big, a tasty snack!” Cackling followed the poetic outburst. Their persistent sniffing was now accompanied by scratches at the door. Even with this new found excitement they did not try the handle. I now held my phone and heaved a silent sigh before activating the screen. A light to rival the sun lit up the small room. It took a great deal of self control not to drop the damn thing. I had been showing my housemate some videos I had taken of a job site earlier and had the brightness all the way up. The panic that had otherwise set in was eased somewhat as I took note that the flash of light hadn’t spurned the ghouls at my doorway any further. They continued as they had been in their questionably effective investigational methodology. 

Taking this opportunity now, I tapped as lightly as I could and navigated through the city services app for the emergency tab. The mobile version was not as intuitive as one should hope but I found my way to the page I searched for. 

“Alone it lingers! Tap, tap, tap!” This voice was lower but no less enthusiastic as the other. “Fingers on something flat I hear within the trap!” Another bout of shuffling. The first voice spoke again; 

“Idle as it is, perhaps it needs some help! Open this door now, and let us see the whelp!” I paused. I waited. I stared directly at the handle. Nothing. No movement, no turning, no sign of any effort on their end. Furrowing my brows, my eyes drifted back down to my phone screen. I typed out a vague description concerning my present circumstances, my address, and the rather urgent need for immediate intervention. Having now sent my request, I turned the light of the screen to the door handle and continued to watch. Their sniffing had ceased, the shadows under the doorway were now still. My mind temporarily entertained the idea that perhaps a broom or mop handle would suffice as a melee tool. In the event that I had to fight for a short while before help arrived, it would be better than nothing. As careful as I could, keeping my feet still, I swiveled my torso about and peered behind me. I knew we kept a broom in here but it was shorter than I had recalled. No matter- it would do. I reached a free hand behind me and wrapped my fingers tightly around the handle. The excitement of my guests now roused once again. 

“It waits! It waits! Perhaps for us to leave! The tapping now has ceased, yet it hasn’t ceased to breathe!” A rather harsh shoving sound followed by a gasping breath moved the shadows beneath the door. 

“Give it no ideas, give it no escape! Lest we miss our meal and face such a terrible fate!” The lower voice chided. What I could only describe as a voiceless bicker now ensued. The patting of skin on skin, odd chirps, grunting, wordless murmurs made by scratching on tile and carpet. An entire conversation without a single word mixed with physical altercations. I did not particularly wish to see what was happening however it would be a lie to claim I was not at all curious. A loud thump nearly caused me to leap from my bones. One of them had been forced into the door quite violently. A terrible smell accompanied the impact to which I repressed a gag. Wet ashes, urine stains, fecal aromatics and animal rot filled my nostrils.  And iron. The fresh stench of pooling red iron no doubt from my housemate's blood they now danced in. Finally, they spoke. 

“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do!” The higher voice shrieked. “If it were up to me, I’d have already eaten you!” Another squabble and melee intermission occurred before the lower voice responded. 

“Eat me? Oh you wish! I’d be the finer dish! But you would taste like fish! Now instead, you’ll taste my fist!” Needless to say their brawling continued. I switched my phone now to photo mode, turning the selfie camera on. I had the idea to angle the screen beneath the doorway and hope the camera could show me as to what the fiends looked like, where in the next room they were, etc. To my misfortune and disappointment, the lights were too bright in juxtaposition to the dark of the closet I hid in to allow the camera to focus clearly. I messed around with some of the settings, finding a brightness compensator of sorts and adjusted it accordingly. I tried again, kneeling down and aiming the camera into the room. 

A pair of dark eyes looked directly into the lens, a long crooked nose hooked just off the screen. I jumped up in fright, having failed to notice their tiff had come to a halt. 

“It sees us now still waiting, its magic mirror sees!” A growling whisper breathed under the doorway. “Perhaps it thinks we are cursed? Or that we carry a disease! No matter what it's thinking, no matter if it flees, our tongues into its eyeballs will be the last thing that it sees!” A chorus of cackling much louder than before filled the air, their jubilant expressions beginning to tear away at my sanity. But still, I waited. Their breathing increased more excitedly in the otherwise silent moment. I began to wonder if perhaps there was something preventing them from just opening the door themselves. The temptation to say something was now growing evermore fervently. I could just wait. Undoubtedly within a few minutes, emergency services would be at my door and draw their attention. All it would take is time, and time I seemed to have. Surely the sound of approaching sirens would be enough to cause them a panic and leave me be. But curiosity got the best of me. 

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice far less confident than I would have liked. 

“A voice! A voice! It finally responds!” One replied. “It must be like the other, to a man this voice belongs!” A shared laugh echoed between the two before the other spoke. 

“A rat trapped in a corner! A finer feast indeed! Let’s now hear how it begs us, how it beckons and it pleads!” I could hear them sniffing quite fervently around the door again. While their words weren’t exactly calming, my suspicions that they, for some reason, weren’t able to get to me felt reassured. I drew a breath and tried to calm myself before speaking again. 

“I don’t know who you are, obviously, but I also don’t recall inviting you in. What the hell are you doing in my house?” They both seemed to gasp and mutter some guttural nonsense to one another. 

“It’s rude! How rude! And such an attitude! The first was full of screaming, but this rudeness shall not do!” The lower voice chided. 

“We must get it to open the door before us now! And cease this filthy language, but how? But how?” More scuffles followed and I couldn’t help but notice they were bumping the door and scratching at it with whatever claws they had. It didn’t make sense- why couldn’t they just turn the knob? They had gotten into the house when my housemate initially answered the front door thinking it was our food being delivered. I had presumed, after hearing a chorus of screams and cackling, that we had an intruder and hid myself in here. I hadn’t gotten a good look at them, save for the glance just recently from my phone camera, so whatever physical build they possessed on the whole still remained a mystery. I’d gamble another go of inquiry, confident rescue was soon to arrive. 

“Whatever you are doing clearly isn’t working so why don’t you just fuck off?” I called. Silence. A huff or two followed. One of them seemed to clatter away for a moment then the screaming started. 

“It taunts us, it insults, it fights with its words! Such prattling is needless, these ill meant words do hurt!” The higher voice shrieked. 

“Impenetrable is this fortress which leaves us in this plight! At first we feasted like queens of old, shall we now hunger for the night?” The other cried back. 

“We dare not ask it questions, as it now does to us! Unless you think it wise, shall we ask like it did first?” They both began to hum and grumble. After some time, the lower voice cleared its throat. There was an odd warbling noise that followed after then in a softer tone it began to speak. 

“Down in the dark you seem to be hid, but we both know what resides behind this lid, smooth, made of wood, a barrier great! So open, open, open! Open your castle gate! And join your lost companion, you can see what else we ate!” I could feel, needless to say, that this was a trap. Part of me wanted to continue this game but the resolve to survive and take advantage of their inability to work a door handle prevailed. 

“No.” 

My response wasn’t met well. Scurrying, screaming, scratching at the floor, at the door, curses in a language I didn’t recognize, etc. Oddly enough, as terrifying as the racket was, I felt relieved. That is until there was a knock from afar. No sirens had accompanied it so I knew it wasn’t law enforcement. The front door hadn’t been shut again after our unwelcome guests entered the home since my housemate was dead. They had clearly gotten in and the last thing I heard from my friend was “Holy shit, what the fuck? Run! Hide!” Or something to that effect. Whoever this was must have knocked on the wall next to the door. Then it occurred to me- our food order. 

Why I didn’t think to text our driver and cancel is beyond me. The whole ordeal was short. I heard a panicked “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Followed by cackling and a terrible cacophony of chaos. As dark as this is, I was grateful to have a moment without their persistent pursuit. I thought to leave the closet and head for the backdoor but the new found security of staying there overtook the instinct to run. Nevertheless it wasn't more than a few minutes till they returned. I could hear the clawed clatter of their feet approach once more, gasping and heaving breaths filled the air. 

“A nice meal, a better feel, the bags were gross but we await our host!” The lower voice growled. 

“True this is, I feel most fine! I cannot wait till this new flesh is mine!” And then nothing. Silence. There’s no way they had left. Surely they just stood there waiting for me to make another noise. I figured, since help was surely on the way, what was the harm in entertaining my present circumstances?

“How’d that go?” I offered. 

“It speaks! It squeaks! Within it remains! Even after our feast, it continues to entertain!” This was the higher voice again. Some shuffling followed. The lower now answered; 

“Patient we must be, for more friends it may bring. With some time in passing, they will too feel our sting.” 

“An excellent point! This feast will be strong! The longer we wait, the more meals come along!” 

It was at this point that I began to ponder if indeed the inevitable bullet storm that would follow the arrival of the police would suffice to slay these intruders. Clearly they were of some fantastical origin, the rules of their existence foreign to me. I ran the tropes of slaying anomalies through my head (from a traditional understanding) and quite frankly I doubted that silver, iron, holy water or oils would be within the arsenal of my supposed rescuers. The thought to text the help line again with more accurate details of my situation crossed my mind but not before I heard the sirens. They’d be here soon. Dispatch would no doubt have more questions and God knows the odds of them actually taking whatever warnings I offered seriously were next to none. Ah well. I chose to stand there and let events play out for themselves. 

The roar of vehicles growled to a halt. Several doors opened and feet clamored about the pavement outside. A loud speaker beckoned shortly after. 

“This is Clatsop County Police Department! We know you are in there! Come out with your hands up!” My visitors gasped excitedly. 

“New friends! New meals! How many draw near? Let us go and see what food has come here!” Shuffling. Shouting. Shooting. Lots of shooting. Some strange noises and predictable swearing. Then quiet. I heaved a sigh. I reached for the door accepting that this was it. Either the police had killed my assailants or the assailants had eaten their fill. As I turned the knob I heard heavy footsteps enter the house. I could choose to stay in this closet for what could be forever or just face my fate and be done with it. I chose the latter. With a twist of the knob, one final prayer, I stepped out. 

My eyes were met with a blinding light. Within moments I was forced to the ground and cuffed. I felt more relieved than I think I ever had in my life, even with the amount of pain that accompanied these actions. Several individuals flooded into the house, darting this way and that. Once they had cleared the place I was lifted to my feet and a rather perplexed officer looked me in the eyes with a vexation I mirrored just minutes ago. 

“Are you the one who sent the emergency text?” He asked short of breath. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you the home owner?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you aware that there is a dead body in your kitchen?” 

“I assumed as much.” 

“Do you know what the fuck we just shot dead in your driveway?” 

“I was hoping you could tell me.” 

“Ok. Come take a look. I’m not banking on you having more information for us here, but I will need you to come to the station for an interview so we can file a report.” I nodded and we headed for the door. 

To my good fortune, bullets did seem to work. There was a great deal of blood and bits of flesh decorating the garage door. Two figures of a most grotesque design lay in red pools. Long legs and pale flesh, stringy hair and ghastly faces. But no arms. I couldn’t help but to laugh. The talons on their feet were atrociously vile. Killing tools of a nature most foul. But no arms. No hands. No fingers. No wonder they couldn’t open the door. 

A small step towards the door was all I needed to recognize I had been found. Shadows danced interrupting the slanted beams of light which shone underneath. A silent song of inspiration no doubt fueled their chaotic form. My memory escaped for just a moment taking me back to childhood; watching my eldest sister perform at her recitals. She moved with such elegance and precision, an entrancing display of human expression practiced to perfection. These devilish guests made no efforts to impress. 

A drift of red pooled into the light. I feared the worst and knew better than to hold fast to hope. I would receive no aid from others in this trial. Deep breaths were all I could afford to keep the pounding of my own heart from bursting out of my chest. This was not the time to panic. 

“Splendid feast! Splendid libation!” A cackly voice uttered beyond. “To health! To health!” The wet slurp of ravenous mouths descending on the mess followed. It was left to my imagination to picture the grotesque banquet being made of my house mate. Cracking bones, ripping sinew, sloppy pops of organs and a chewing most savage were all I could hear. This went on for some time. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks, the steadying of my breath to match the unfavorable orchestral horror would keep my presence masked. Or so that was the hope. After some time, the sound of wet footsteps no doubt armed with unnatural claws clattered about the room beyond. 

“More! There is more!” The voice exclaimed. “Two came in, none came out! We search, we find, we look about!” The speed at which the strangers moved throughout the house was alarming. We did not live in a mansion by any means, but the three bedroom single floor home was combed rapturously. It was to my good fortune that they hadn’t yet bothered with the closet in which I hid. Be it some strange enchantment or otherwise mysterious magic that protected me, I did not know. I kept considering producing my phone and risking a call to emergency services. Any noise beyond breathing seemed incredibly foolish. I would wait. 

After some time, shadows danced upon the light under the door again. I couldn’t describe with adequate eloquence precisely what their presence felt like but know this- a sense beyond typical human capacity gave warning in my heart so dire that it would have shaken a dead man from the grave. Even in near darkness, the corners of my vision tunneled. A single red stained toenail of unsavory length dug into the tile just beneath the doorway. Hungry sniffles and snorts investigated all around the handle and lock. 

“A door! A door!” The voice proclaimed. “Another room perhaps! Another room with snacks!” Shuffling and the clatter of claws on hardwood approached. More sniffs. More grunts. yet no attempt at the knob nor lock. Fear turned into puzzling. My curiosities were not so strong as to remove the caution which guided my actions, however I could not help but to wonder now if these guests could see. In the event that they were blind, I could safely operate my cellphone without giving away my position. A tempting avenue of potential escape. It occurred to me that police services had recently made posts on the city website revealing that they now had a text option for occasions such as this. Not \*exactly\* like this mind you, but for times when speaking aloud would endanger the caller. As the grunting continued, I chanced a reach for my pocket. I had been wearing long sleeves and even the brushing of their fabric against the side of my coat seemed to excite the uninvited investigators. 

“A sound! A sound! A rat perhaps! Small or big, a tasty snack!” Cackling followed the poetic outburst. Their persistent sniffing was now accompanied by scratches at the door. Even with this new found excitement they did not try the handle. I now held my phone and heaved a silent sigh before activating the screen. A light to rival the sun lit up the small room. It took a great deal of self control not to drop the damn thing. I had been showing my housemate some videos I had taken of a job site earlier and had the brightness all the way up. The panic that had otherwise set in was eased somewhat as I took note that the flash of light hadn’t spurned the ghouls at my doorway any further. They continued as they had been in their questionably effective investigational methodology. 

Taking this opportunity now, I tapped as lightly as I could and navigated through the city services app for the emergency tab. The mobile version was not as intuitive as one should hope but I found my way to the page I searched for. 

“Alone it lingers! Tap, tap, tap!” This voice was lower but no less enthusiastic as the other. “Fingers on something flat I hear within the trap!” Another bout of shuffling. The first voice spoke again; 

“Idle as it is, perhaps it needs some help! Open this door now, and let us see the whelp!” I paused. I waited. I stared directly at the handle. Nothing. No movement, no turning, no sign of any effort on their end. Furrowing my brows, my eyes drifted back down to my phone screen. I typed out a vague description concerning my present circumstances, my address, and the rather urgent need for immediate intervention. Having now sent my request, I turned the light of the screen to the door handle and continued to watch. Their sniffing had ceased, the shadows under the doorway were now still. My mind temporarily entertained the idea that perhaps a broom or mop handle would suffice as a melee tool. In the event that I had to fight for a short while before help arrived, it would be better than nothing. As careful as I could, keeping my feet still, I swiveled my torso about and peered behind me. I knew we kept a broom in here but it was shorter than I had recalled. No matter- it would do. I reached a free hand behind me and wrapped my fingers tightly around the handle. The excitement of my guests now roused once again. 

“It waits! It waits! Perhaps for us to leave! The tapping now has ceased, yet it hasn’t ceased to breathe!” A rather harsh shoving sound followed by a gasping breath moved the shadows beneath the door. 

“Give it no ideas, give it no escape! Lest we miss our meal and face such a terrible fate!” The lower voice chided. What I could only describe as a voiceless bicker now ensued. The patting of skin on skin, odd chirps, grunting, wordless murmurs made by scratching on tile and carpet. An entire conversation without a single word mixed with physical altercations. I did not particularly wish to see what was happening however it would be a lie to claim I was not at all curious. A loud thump nearly caused me to leap from my bones. One of them had been forced into the door quite violently. A terrible smell accompanied the impact to which I repressed a gag. Wet ashes, urine stains, fecal aromatics and animal rot filled my nostrils.  And iron. The fresh stench of pooling red iron no doubt from my housemate's blood they now danced in. Finally, they spoke. 

“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do!” The higher voice shrieked. “If it were up to me, I’d have already eaten you!” Another squabble and melee intermission occurred before the lower voice responded. 

“Eat me? Oh you wish! I’d be the finer dish! But you would taste like fish! Now instead, you’ll taste my fist!” Needless to say their brawling continued. I switched my phone now to photo mode, turning the selfie camera on. I had the idea to angle the screen beneath the doorway and hope the camera could show me as to what the fiends looked like, where in the next room they were, etc. To my misfortune and disappointment, the lights were too bright in juxtaposition to the dark of the closet I hid in to allow the camera to focus clearly. I messed around with some of the settings, finding a brightness compensator of sorts and adjusted it accordingly. I tried again, kneeling down and aiming the camera into the room. 

A pair of dark eyes looked directly into the lens, a long crooked nose hooked just off the screen. I jumped up in fright, having failed to notice their tiff had come to a halt. 

“It sees us now still waiting, its magic mirror sees!” A growling whisper breathed under the doorway. “Perhaps it thinks we are cursed? Or that we carry a disease! No matter what it's thinking, no matter if it flees, our tongues into its eyeballs will be the last thing that it sees!” A chorus of cackling much louder than before filled the air, their jubilant expressions beginning to tear away at my sanity. But still, I waited. Their breathing increased more excitedly in the otherwise silent moment. I began to wonder if perhaps there was something preventing them from just opening the door themselves. The temptation to say something was now growing evermore fervently. I could just wait. Undoubtedly within a few minutes, emergency services would be at my door and draw their attention. All it would take is time, and time I seemed to have. Surely the sound of approaching sirens would be enough to cause them a panic and leave me be. But curiosity got the best of me. 

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice far less confident than I would have liked. 

“A voice! A voice! It finally responds!” One replied. “It must be like the other, to a man this voice belongs!” A shared laugh echoed between the two before the other spoke. 

“A rat trapped in a corner! A finer feast indeed! Let’s now hear how it begs us, how it beckons and it pleads!” I could hear them sniffing quite fervently around the door again. While their words weren’t exactly calming, my suspicions that they, for some reason, weren’t able to get to me felt reassured. I drew a breath and tried to calm myself before speaking again. 

“I don’t know who you are, obviously, but I also don’t recall inviting you in. What the hell are you doing in my house?” They both seemed to gasp and mutter some guttural nonsense to one another. 

“It’s rude! How rude! And such an attitude! The first was full of screaming, but this rudeness shall not do!” The lower voice chided. 

“We must get it to open the door before us now! And cease this filthy language, but how? But how?” More scuffles followed and I couldn’t help but notice they were bumping the door and scratching at it with whatever claws they had. It didn’t make sense- why couldn’t they just turn the knob? They had gotten into the house when my housemate initially answered the front door thinking it was our food being delivered. I had presumed, after hearing a chorus of screams and cackling, that we had an intruder and hid myself in here. I hadn’t gotten a good look at them, save for the glance just recently from my phone camera, so whatever physical build they possessed on the whole still remained a mystery. I’d gamble another go of inquiry, confident rescue was soon to arrive. 

“Whatever you are doing clearly isn’t working so why don’t you just fuck off?” I called. Silence. A huff or two followed. One of them seemed to clatter away for a moment then the screaming started. 

“It taunts us, it insults, it fights with its words! Such prattling is needless, these ill meant words do hurt!” The higher voice shrieked. 

“Impenetrable is this fortress which leaves us in this plight! At first we feasted like queens of old, shall we now hunger for the night?” The other cried back. 

“We dare not ask it questions, as it now does to us! Unless you think it wise, shall we ask like it did first?” They both began to hum and grumble. After some time, the lower voice cleared its throat. There was an odd warbling noise that followed after then in a softer tone it began to speak. 

“Down in the dark you seem to be hid, but we both know what resides behind this lid, smooth, made of wood, a barrier great! So open, open, open! Open your castle gate! And join your lost companion, you can see what else we ate!” I could feel, needless to say, that this was a trap. Part of me wanted to continue this game but the resolve to survive and take advantage of their inability to work a door handle prevailed. 

“No.” 

My response wasn’t met well. Scurrying, screaming, scratching at the floor, at the door, curses in a language I didn’t recognize, etc. Oddly enough, as terrifying as the racket was, I felt relieved. That is until there was a knock from afar. No sirens had accompanied it so I knew it wasn’t law enforcement. The front door hadn’t been shut again after our unwelcome guests entered the home since my housemate was dead. They had clearly gotten in and the last thing I heard from my friend was “Holy shit, what the fuck? Run! Hide!” Or something to that effect. Whoever this was must have knocked on the wall next to the door. Then it occurred to me- our food order. 

Why I didn’t think to text our driver and cancel is beyond me. The whole ordeal was short. I heard a panicked “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Followed by cackling and a terrible cacophony of chaos. As dark as this is, I was grateful to have a moment without their persistent pursuit. I thought to leave the closet and head for the backdoor but the new found security of staying there overtook the instinct to run. Nevertheless it wasn't more than a few minutes till they returned. I could hear the clawed clatter of their feet approach once more, gasping and heaving breaths filled the air. 

“A nice meal, a better feel, the bags were gross but we await our host!” The lower voice growled. 

“True this is, I feel most fine! I cannot wait till this new flesh is mine!” And then nothing. Silence. There’s no way they had left. Surely they just stood there waiting for me to make another noise. I figured, since help was surely on the way, what was the harm in entertaining my present circumstances?

“How’d that go?” I offered. 

“It speaks! It squeaks! Within it remains! Even after our feast, it continues to entertain!” This was the higher voice again. Some shuffling followed. The lower now answered; 

“Patient we must be, for more friends it may bring. With some time in passing, they will too feel our sting.” 

“An excellent point! This feast will be strong! The longer we wait, the more meals come along!” 

It was at this point that I began to ponder if indeed the inevitable bullet storm that would follow the arrival of the police would suffice to slay these intruders. Clearly they were of some fantastical origin, the rules of their existence foreign to me. I ran the tropes of slaying anomalies through my head (from a traditional understanding) and quite frankly I doubted that silver, iron, holy water or oils would be within the arsenal of my supposed rescuers. The thought to text the help line again with more accurate details of my situation crossed my mind but not before I heard the sirens. They’d be here soon. Dispatch would no doubt have more questions and God knows the odds of them actually taking whatever warnings I offered seriously were next to none. Ah well. I chose to stand there and let events play out for themselves. 

The roar of vehicles growled to a halt. Several doors opened and feet clamored about the pavement outside. A loud speaker beckoned shortly after. 

“This is Clatsop County Police Department! We know you are in there! Come out with your hands up!” My visitors gasped excitedly. 

“New friends! New meals! How many draw near? Let us go and see what food has come here!” Shuffling. Shouting. Shooting. Lots of shooting. Some strange noises and predictable swearing. Then quiet. I heaved a sigh. I reached for the door accepting that this was it. Either the police had killed my assailants or the assailants had eaten their fill. As I turned the knob I heard heavy footsteps enter the house. I could choose to stay in this closet for what could be forever or just face my fate and be done with it. I chose the latter. With a twist of the knob, one final prayer, I stepped out. 

My eyes were met with a blinding light. Within moments I was forced to the ground and cuffed. I felt more relieved than I think I ever had in my life, even with the amount of pain that accompanied these actions. Several individuals flooded into the house, darting this way and that. Once they had cleared the place I was lifted to my feet and a rather perplexed officer looked me in the eyes with a vexation I mirrored just minutes ago. 

“Are you the one who sent the emergency text?” He asked short of breath. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you the home owner?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Are you aware that there is a dead body in your kitchen?” 

“I assumed as much.” 

“Do you know what the fuck we just shot dead in your driveway?” 

“I was hoping you could tell me.” 

“Ok. Come take a look. I’m not banking on you having more information for us here, but I will need you to come to the station for an interview so we can file a report.” I nodded and we headed for the door. 

To my good fortune, bullets did seem to work. There was a great deal of blood and bits of flesh decorating the garage door. Two figures of a most grotesque design lay in red pools. Long legs and pale flesh, stringy hair and ghastly faces. But no arms. I couldn’t help but to laugh. The talons on their feet were atrociously vile. Killing tools of a nature most foul. But no arms. No hands. No fingers. No wonder they couldn’t open the door. 

Right so after painting probably close to 3,000 points of Tyranids, 1,000+ points of Krieg, a smattering of Necrons and a few Space Marines for kicks and giggles (Leviathan box came with some) I am really interested in Deathguard! Love the lore, Grandpappy Nurgle seems like a fungie (I'll see myself out).

I have played a fair few games too, primarily as Tyranids.

Anyways, is there a particular box set y'all would recommend, or should I just grab a batch and go to town?

Ashes decorated the ground like foliage blankets of the woods in late autumn. No bright colors of orange or red, no hues of yellow and fading green amidst the forest floor but rather a dross veil, lifeless and dull. Aromatic poison accompanied the dismal state, the smell of calamity now past and sorrows still burning like the quiet embers of a late flame. A room I once knew and studied well. A room I wish now to forget. A terrible fire had claimed my favorite writing spot; my fathers study. His books, his drawings, his maps, his memories, are all gone. The source of the unfortunate inferno would not be revealed, save for my own knowledge. A secret I kept out of fear and shame.  Constables and inspectors alike were quite vexed and expressed a great deal of marveling at our misfortune. I would file no report nor grant the authorities greater exposition beyond what they themselves witnessed and noted upon arriving at the scene. They had quelled the flames and took a closer look once the dust settled. Their pursuits produced only more questions. 

I admit I am not a friend to the public; crowds, inquiries, attention beyond matters of study and literature do not suit me well. I lack no eloquence, you see, just the tolerance for others in great quantities. My brother has chastised me for this flaw on more than one occasion. I did not try to explain myself to him. Nor did I think he would care to listen, much less understand. Regardless, being the eldest and heir of the property, I took the diagnosis of the study and its surrounding damages the inspectors had presented passively. It was a separate section of the estate; connected only by a courtyard and garden. The flames did no harm to the main building within which resided the kitchen, dining room, great hall, ballroom, bedrooms and washrooms. Disagreeable as the public may be, I found a great many of them at the properties edge the day of the fire. Again and again I was asked, “Will you rebuild?” 

I thought not. My fathers chapter in our family's history had ended. And the flames made sure there would be very little to remember him by. 

They called me ‘careless' when I did not consent to have the inspectors continue their investigation. The papers wished to romanticize this decision, implying it to have some deeper meaning, some mystery to unravel when the ashes cleared. Better that they had saved their ink and charged their printing press with more urgent matters. There was nothing left to find there. It had all burned away. 

 I take no pride in admitting we are in no short supply of wealth. It feels unearned. No efforts of my own won such a fortune. Great grandfather managed to keep much of his property and the estate in admirable condition after the war. Over one hundred acres of land, some laden with oak trees and streams, the rest for livestock and rotating crops. I myself never cared for farming. The labor does me no good, save for health. Tiresome, filthy, loathsome work. Parchment, candlelight, ink and quill serve me better. 

My brother, Bernard, took on the tasks of farmsteading once our father passed. I recall he had kept a number of texts on the subject in the study. Those, by his own efforts, had been saved. As I strode to and fro in a mad panic, Bernard rushed in like a raging bull, grabbing only myself and those books before forcing the whole lot into the courtyard. I had been feverishly, frantically tearing about the room searching for the most valuable knowledge our forefathers had kept among the novels, encyclopedias, maps and more in that damned study. I had dropped all I had collected when my fearsome brother hoisted me off my feet, out the door, and into the rain.

“You bastard!” I cried. “Let me down, let me down!” He then thrust me into the garden, the wet soil barely cushioning the impact of my face to the ground. Through eyes stinging with the scratch of muddy soil, I peered up at his brutish figure.

“You curse me?! A sorry thanks for saving you! I pull your arse from the heat of the flames whilst you scramble like a madman, and for what?” He scolded, his thundering voice outmatching the roaring flames behind him. “All the knowledge in that room couldn’t save you from your own stubborn head! Damn you, Felix! Damn you, and damn those books!” He had, in his arms, a satchel with the tomes he had come for. A desperate and sobbing mess, I didn’t think to answer his insults with remarks of my own. This was not the time. I had pulled myself to my feet, now head to toe in mud, my arms bleeding from the scrape of rocks and thorns. I looked pitifully at my brother whose attention had turned to the blaze. 

“I don't know how this happened.” I professed through tears.

“Had you lit any candles? Set a torch against the wall, perhaps? A spark from the hearth?” Bernard raspily inquired. I just shook my head. “Well it had to come from some place, now didn't it?” Just then, a familiar trot came echoing from the main house. A scream followed, Ms. Bigsby tossing the towels from her hands in a fright. They fell throughout the courtyard around her, soaking up the rain from the cobblestone floor. This caught my brother's attention which pulled him past me and to her side. I could hear him shouting instructions her way, dismissing her to send for help. He picked up the towels she had dropped and began soaking them in the puddles which had formed from the heavy rain. 

“Felix!” I could hear him calling. “Felix, with haste!” I didn’t move. I just watched the flames devour what remained of our written legacy. What remained of our history. Our secrets. Our cure. 

I had lied, you see? Tormented by an inevitable fate I could not prevent, the anger in my heart towards my forefathers spurned me in a moment of maddening toil to set the blaze myself. There, above the hearth, had hung a painting. It depicted a ghastly figure of shadow and claws descending upon a fleeing rider amidst a field of poppy. The contrasting bright reds of the poppy blooms beneath the grotesque pursuit of the dark monstrosity struck bewildering dread in the eyes of all who beheld it. I myself spent many an hour between bouts of writing looking upon the terrible sight. Drinking in the malice and desperation depicted so beautifully with each brush stroke. Better the devil had the cursed thing than myself. Perhaps something from the depths of hell was its origin of inspiration. An inferno would be a fitting end to its dwelling on earth. It was, of course, only after I had used a piece of parchment to act as a conduit, igniting it in the hearth and presenting the flickering cinders to the damned painting that my senses returned to me. The hungry flames devoured the dismal depiction yet did not cease in satisfaction with the modest feast. Up the walls, to the floors, leaping onto furniture, chair and table alike, in the form of licking tongues, a fiery fury they tore about. No natural blaze could have moved with such bestial wrath. My heart sank as the fire spread. I did not have long to salvage what I could. My life’s written work resided in that room. All of it devoured in the course of a few short hours. 

When night fell, the rain hadn’t ceased. As the inspectors left and the crowds dispersed, I retired to the kitchen in a sorry state. Ms. Bigsby had gathered herself once more, possessing a strong resolve, and occupied herself in preparing a dinner stew. The pleasant aromas roused a hunger in me I had dismissed altogether given the self inflicted chaos of the day. She greeted me with a pitiful nod as I passed, gesturing then to the dining room. 

“You’ve had a time of it, Felix. Sit yourself down; I’ve opened a bottle of the ol’ red for ye.” I glanced at the three plates and utensils set up at the dining table. Wine glasses upon floral doilies accompanied the china. 

“You are too kind, Ms. Bigsby.” I managed. “Were it not your vocation, I would have presumed you to be retired for the night. It is well past the time for supper.” 

“It’s not been the day for punctual routines.” She added. “And you’ve a ghastly look about you, if I may be so bold.” I sighed, noting that I hadn’t taken the time to change my mud-caked clothes nor properly washed the blood from my arms. 

“You would be right, I think.” As I set foot in the dining room, Bernard entered from the adjacent doorway. His thick brows furrowed in suspect disapproval at my sight. His gaze scanned my visage, a short huff escaping his gritted teeth. 

“Felix.” His tone stern, his greeting abrupt. He sat at the table, opposite of me. I thought about taking the head seat but did not fancy being within reach of him. Not that being across from the brute would be favorable, however if conversation were to become unsavory to the degree my dismissal was necessary, I would have a clear exit to the kitchen or main hall. This arrangement would suffice. Ms. Bigsby brought in the stew moments later, her countenance implying she could feel the tension palpably. The pot was set between Felix and I. She raised the ladle to serve us but Felix stopped her with a waive of his hand. 

“I’ll serve myself tonight.” He grunted. “You’ve done more than enough today, Ms. Bigsby. Thank you.” She was, needless to say, quite perplexed. 

“Would you like me to dine in the kitchen?” She piped. Bernard nodded. 

“I mean no offense, ma’am.” His tone, less than apologetic. “I need a word with my brother. That’s all.” All was silent save for the ticking of a grandfather clock. Bernard, his eyes never leaving mine, served two ladles of stew into Ms. Bigsby’s bowl. “That’ll be all, ma’am.” He dismissed. She hurriedly snatched up the cloth napkin and spoon set at her place and scuttled off. I stirred in my seat for a moment taking note of the kitchen door closing behind me. Bernard heaved a shaky breath and leaned forward. 

“What started the fire, Felix?” His fists lay heavily on the table. I opened my mouth to speak in quivered breaths. 

“I told you, I don’t know, it just-” He pounded the table with such force that stew splashed over the sides of the serving bowl. 

“What started the damn fire, Fleix?!” His rage shook my soul, the candle lit lamps seemed to dim. 

“You heard the inspectors report just the same as I!” I cried in defense. “A rogue cinder from the hearth, perhaps a neglected candle too close to a parchment, any of the sorts could have gone unmanaged in short order. In a room full of material most subject to ignite, it's not far-fetched that in my state of deep concentration such an incident went unnoticed for just long enough to create such calamity!” My brother shook his head with every word I said. 

“Youre a lying snake, Felix! In all my days living here, in all the years we have observed one another as housemates and kin, never have you exhibited the daft tendencies of one so foolishly ignorant as to let a flame go awry. Much less in your precious study!” He served himself some stew carelessly enough to make a mess of the table, thrusting the ladle towards me thereafter. “Eat. You’ve not had so much as a morsel today, I would wager.” I hesitantly accepted the utensil and served myself quietly. 

“I… I had a scone with tea this morning.” I mumbled, feeling somewhat humiliated. Bernard scowled at me from his bowl. 

“A meal fit for a king, that.” He mocked. “I wouldn’t doubt such a mousy morsel would satisfy you, given your birdish state.” He shoveled stew into his mouth without looking away. Through gasps and gulps he muscled the mouthfuls down before wiping his beard with the table cloth. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, Felix. I’ve no doubt in my mind you started that fire. And don’t you give me any more lies! Was it an attempt at your own life? Are you so dissatisfied with your passive existence that you saw it fit to take the whole damn estate with you?” I shook my head. He waited for me to speak but not before having more to say himself. “Don’t go thinking I haven’t caught on to your despair. You sulk about this place day in and day out like a wraith in a graveyard. Lost in your own resting place, nowhere to settle comfortably even in your own home. You spent hours, Felix, hours in that study. Writing, writing, pacing, writing, years wasted and not so much as an article to submit to the local paper. Meanwhile I bust my arse, seasons come and seasons go, accruing the only wealth this family has earned in earnest since fathers passing!”

“I detest your perspective of my occupation!” I shot. “You did not peruse the many pages I had filled over the years. The vast library of education I had at hand would be the envy of even the capital library. Students spend years and a small fortune at universities just to grasp at a fraction of what our forefathers had left behind. Do you think I am not immensely grieved by such a loss? Better I had died in that flame than sit here now, bereaved and interrogated by my own kin!” 

“I saved you from the relentless panic that had set upon you!” Bernard slammed the table again. “Whatever malignant force had caused such a stir in your soul to abandon all self preservation amidst that inferno be damned! You squabled without aim as I burst through the door, ignoring me entirely till you had no choice. And even then you begged to be let down!” 

“I had dropped the books I had managed to save from the flames! I wanted only to retrieve them before our departure-.” 

“That’s all it is for you, isn’t it? Those damn books, that damn study, that damn painting!” 

“Oh, rest assured Bernard, the painting I am happy to be rid of! It’s all gone anyhow, isn’t it? Your toil and treasures reside in the ground, in the market, an annual reward you reliably look forward to sew and reap by the year's end. But I am now, I promise, quite barren in the department of progress.” 

“You’ve got no aim, Felix. An arrow without a target is no better than kindling.”

“Then kindling I am, Bernard. A dull point, a shaft with wrinkled fletching. No more use to an archer with a bow than I am to a hearth without fire.” I buried my face in my hands. Silent tears rolled down my wrists. Bernard heaved a sigh and sat back. 

“Your grief isn’t lost on me.” He stated, his voice softer now. “Our eyes don’t often meet measure for measure. You baffle me, Felix. But you are my brother. It’s not the damn study I am so furiously vexed over. It’s your lack of care for yourself. Were it not for my noticing the place had gone up when it did, I am not convinced you’d be sitting here now.” I looked up from my hands. The shockingly rare sight of compassion painted over his face sobered me up from my grief most suddenly. 

“Bernard…” 

“Don’t bother saying it.” He waved. “I know. It’s not been the same since fathers passing. He was the chord that tied our incompatibilities to common ground. You have your stakes in his traits, I have mine. We’ve naught but each other now.” A soft bump on the kitchen door behind me briefly stole our attention. “And Ms. Bigsby, of course.” Bernard smiled. 

“Yes,” I agreed. “Our dearest Ms. Bigsby.” I took notice of the open wine bottle she had prepared for us and took it up. Bernard lifted his glass. I obliged him with a generous pour, then served myself. We quietly looked at our own glasses for some time. I could tell Bernard had more to say. As did I. The tension of combative dialogue had begun to pass, a new one taking its place. 

“I haven’t been quite honest with you, Bernard.” I admitted. He nodded, gesturing with his glass for me to continue before taking a hearty swig. A few more ticks of the grandfather clock provided ambience before either of us spoke. It was obvious to me that being vulnerable was not a skill my brother came by naturally. He was quietly eager for me to fill the silence. 

“Le’ts have it.” He insisted. “No more lies, Felix.” I stole a quick sip from my glass and drew a deep breath. His eyes never left mine as I set the drink upon the table and folded my hands. 

“I did start the fire.” He grimaced but remained silent. I let the pause linger to test his temper. “I don’t quite know what came over me, Bernard. Oftentimes when my mind would fog from a long bout of writing I would pace the study to collect myself. The painting would never fail to catch my eyes. I would stare at it for longer than I care to admit. Longer than I’d realize till some noise or otherwise distracting variable would release me from the fixation. In some strange anomaly, today it filled me with a dread so foul I could not help but to light it ablaze.”

“If it bothered you so much, why didn’t you toss it?” Bernard's befuddlement became manifest on his face. 

“It had to burn.” I insisted. “I couldn’t tell you why, it just had to. Something in my heart, my very soul beckoned me to rend it from parchment to ashes. Nothing in that spell of madness could reason my actions otherwise, not even the obvious chance that the fire could spread. And spread it had, Bernard. As though some foul spectre, some devil had danced with the flames. It leapt from corner to corner till the chorus of roaring cinders ate its fill.” 

“But why, Felix?” Bernard had swallowed the remaining contents of his glass and reached now for the bottle. “I grant that you may not have been in control of your faculties but there must be more to that painting. Especially so much so that it drove you to madness.” I rubbed my eyes. He refilled his glass. Crimson droplets ran down the curve to the stem, then onto his fingers. The red hues brought the poppy blooms back to mind and I winced. 

“I am to die, Bernard.” He drew back at this. 

“Come again?” He barked. 

“We are, all of us, cursed. The firstborn of this wretched family line. It is a foul gift from our forefathers. This is a burden you will never have to bear. I myself carry the mantle passed down by our dearest father. He inherited it from his grandfather before him, and so on.” Bernard held a steady grasp on disbelief but stayed his tongue. So I continued. “I do not know the full story. Father had told me on my twenty-first birthday that every firstborn of our bloodline was to be hunted. An unwilling sacrifice to some fell being, some unfavorable deity whose name had been lost to time. He had said that when the hunter comes, there is a ritual which holds the power to disperse the beast. To prevent the death of those whom it hunts.” 

“And when does the beast come?” Bernard urged. “Surely father gave you some warning apt to prepare you for this savage practice.” I shook my head. 

“He spoke only on the nature of the ritual, not the specifics of when it shall be my turn for the slaughter. His father was assailed the night of his wedding. By some good fortune, he happened to have what he needed to ward off the beast, the ritual instructions burned by repetitious practice in his mind. He was, if memory serves, in his early twenties at the time.” 

“You’re well into your thirties now.” Bernard protested. 

“While true, it didn’t come for our father till he had nearly reached his forties. From the little I know, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to its timely appetites.” I could see Bernard struggling to make sense of it. A worthless task, I could assure him, as I had spent much of my time in the study in an attempt to do the very same. 

“Father mustn't have been honest with you.” He finally said. “We lived with him during that time. He strode these very halls till the day of his death. We’d have been witness to such a ghastly encounter.” I shook my head, eyes glancing down to my soup bowl. “The confrontation took place in his study. You know as well as I that we never bothered him, save for emergencies whilst he shut himself away. Everything he needed was already there. Out of sight of our mother, away from us. After grandfather had told him of his own encounter with the fiend, father vowed never to be without the means of preventing his untimely death to this vicious apparition. The ritual tome, the materials, all of it was kept there.” Bernard began to widen his eyes. His skin paled, the wine glass nearly slipped through his fingers. 

“And that all burned in the fire.” The revelation surely sent his mind into spirals. A dizzying look of fear and toil usurped his gaze. I did not have the means to comfort him. He understood now my vexation over the inexplicable madness which had driven me to do such a foolish thing. “And the ritual? Did you commit it to memory?” 

“No.” I admitted sheepishly. “I had glanced over the black tome a time or two. I found it a dreadful read, the language old and barely comprehensible. I thought perhaps I could find a way to set us free instead. To cancel the nasty business once and for all. You know now what majoritively took my time and attention. What held me so captive for hours, days on end of research and writing. We were more wealthy in material knowledge than we have ever been in money. The breadth of which no one will ever truly know.” My brother quietly considered my presentation. Doubt did not seem to occupy his thoughts any longer but a determination. 

“You will not leave my side.” He pointed at me with his spoon. “Squabbles or not, you are my brother. My flesh and blood. No cursed thing will untimely rip you from me! Not while I draw breath, so help me God!” I offered a pitiful smile. So rare was it that I heard my brother speak defensively of me, much less in my favor. A kindness from him I seldom saw manifest in words. I reached a hand across the table and touched his arm. He drew heated breaths but did not recoil from the gesture. 

“Your stolid affirmations do my heart well, Bernard. Do not count my disheartened state against your good will. But I can tell you with all confidence and well researched reason that there is no stopping my fate. Not now, anyway. My mistake this morning has cost us dearly. A fault for which I now apologize.” He placed a hand on mine, a new softness in his eyes. 

“We prepare for it, then. Come ghost or ghoul, we shall be ready to fend off this hellish fate!” I could not help but to shake my head once more. 

“There is no defeating it, Bernard. At least not that I could find. And with our means of prevention now lost to flames, I fear my days are fiercely reduced in number.” He opened his mouth to offer some far fetched rebuttal no doubt when there came a knock at the kitchen door. 

“I beg your pardon, masters.” Ms. Bigsby greeted apologetically. “But you’ve got a visitor, come just moments ago.” 

“A visitor?! Bernard repeated in distaste. “At this hour? In poor taste too, given the whole town knows what ill fate beset us this morning!” 

“He’s not come from the town.” Ms. Bigsby clarified. “A soaking mess he is, perhaps walked from the next province over. Damned if I know from whence he came, he wouldn’t say.” Bernard and I exchanged a look. I could see the confusion in his eyes turn to fear then to anger. 

“Keep him in the rain then, for a moment longer.” He grunted “Felix and I will change into more welcoming attire.” 

“That wouldn’t do, sir.” Bigsby protested. “I’ve already let him into the entry way. Where’s your sense of hospitality gone? No need to let an old man suffer the wrath of mother nature's cruelties.” I could not help but to make mental note of this change; Ms. Bigsby, being one of good nature by default, still knew better than to allow just any vagabond into our abode. I would not just yet credit such an action against her given that it had indeed been a miserably rainy day. Yet something of her countenance seemed counter to her typical cheery self. Before my musings could continue, Bernard grabbed my arm and led me to the great hall. 

“You keep him there then, and no further!” He called back. “Give us a moment, as I requested, and put on some tea!” As the door closed behind us, Bernard forced my face before his. “I am not going to assume this ill timed guest is the very thing we have just discussed but believe me when I tell you I am just as likely not to dismiss that notion altogether.” 

“Nor I.” I agreed. “But let’s not treat this stranger as our adversary just yet.” 

“You are better with words than I, Felix. I’ll follow your lead. The pistol will be loaded and at my side. Worthless or not, it’s better than nothing.” He tore away and headed for his room. I admittedly hesitated for a moment. All the knowledge I had accrued of curses, monsters, rituals and the like seemed to abandon me all at once. A dizzying haze began to fill my mind, not unlike the very same madness which spurned me to burn the painting. The whistling of a tea kettle ringing through the halls broke me from this temporal spell and I marched hastily to my chambers. 

The interior of our estate looked as though a terrible storm had come through. Not a single window remained intact, the floors were broken, tiles shattered to pieces. I could hardly keep my footing as I navigated the treacherous terrain. 

“Ms. Bigsby!” I called as I neared the dining room. “Ms. Bigsby, it is I, Felix! The fiend is quite occupied- we have purchased time to flee! Ms. Bigsby?!” I passed through the shattered doorway, stepping lightly around the splintered remains of the table. Shattered bits of glass from the tea set and the bent up metal tray upon which they sat reflected what little light shone from a now visible moon. The clouds had parted just enough to let the pale glow illuminate my surroundings. Taking advantage of this, I strode quicker about the dining room and into the kitchen, noting the skylight windows aided me greatly with the natural inflow of moonlight as I searched the scene. There, under the cutting table, the frail figure of one Ms. Bigsby lay. Her eyes were aflutter, her face flushed red, streaks of blood made their way like streams on a hillside down her face and onto her apron. I knelt by her side and gently gave her shoulders a shake.

“Ms. Bigsby! Ms. Bigby, are you well? Can you move, darling?!” I asked softly. She managed to nod, her hands moving to feel the blood on her cheeks. 

“I’ve sprung a leak!” She whispered, the embarrassment in her voice most obvious. “I had a terrible headache and a terrible fall, and oh what a mess I’ve made!” 

“Now, now darling say no such thing. You’ve done well, quite well in fact. You fare better than the rest of the household, I assure you. If I help you stand, do you think you can manage a walk?” She moved to and fro, testing her appendages. 

“These old bones aren’t getting any younger.” She laughed. “If I can lean on your shoulder perhaps I might.” 

“Very good darling. Up you go!” I heaved her upright and took a moment to check for further wounds. Scratches and surely some bruising but nothing beyond repair. We limped our way to the front door, my eyes keeping check towards the cellar. 

“Gracious, what is that terrible racket?” She asked through squinting eyes. 

“Our guest proved to be most unfavorable.” I offered. “But nevermind that now. We are to meet Bernard by the stables.” 

“A ride? At this hour?” Her voice spoke volumes as to the lack of mental clarity she presently possessed. A lingering effect no doubt from the insidious hex. It occurred to me that my own mind was much clearer now. I chose to cling onto the hope that this meant our adversary was weakened, if not perished. 

As we neared the stables I could see Bernard holding a lantern out towards us. He did a short hop in excitement upon our sight and began leading two horses our way. 

“Well done Felix!” He congratulated. “We’d best get Ms. Bigsby saddled first. How does she fare?” 

“Better than we could have hoped. Her mind does not seem to be fully restored but I wager with some time and good rest that will change.” 

“I should hope so. Give us a hand?” We hoisted our dearest housekeeper and secured her to the saddle. Bernard leapt up behind her and took the reins. Once I was saddled myself we began a canter to the front gates towards town. 

“We’lll make for the sheriffs office.” I instructed. “Though I highly doubt anyone will heed our tale true, with the both of us as witnesses they’ll be pressed to come see the evidence.” 

“Aye!” Bernard agreed. “Though I’d be lying if I said I hope there is evidence left to find. Let the damned thing burn to ashes and be lost with the wind!” I wanted to laugh with him. I wanted to gallop off into the night knowing rightly we had ended the day in victory. To put this harrowing chapter behind us, and as my brother said in the cellar, finally live. If only. 

A screeching rage tore through the night sky as a spiral of flame and feathers burst from the estate. Up into the air it soared spinning like a whirlygig. With a sudden spread of its wings it stabilized, aiming the terrible black beak now a smoldering mess towards us. 

“Ride Bernard, ride! Get Ms. Bigsby to safety!” I cried, turning my steed about. 

“I’ll not leave you now, Felix!” He protested. 

“You’ve saved my life more than once tonight, brother! Now save hers! Ride!” I snapped the reins and tore towards the far end of the property. I could hear Bernard calling, shouting in my direction but his voice was buried beneath the clatter of galloping hooves. Through tall grass and past the gardens I rode, the nightscape passing in a moonlit blur. I chanced a look behind me to see the licking flames still alight on my pursuer overhead. The speed at which the monster flew could have outmatched the pace of any racing steed. Unfortunately for me, mine was nothing close to the caliber of those bred for sport. Ahead stood a grove of trees and I thought perhaps if the beast lost sight of me I could manage to prevent further chase. I ducked around branches, bobbed and weaved beneath the canopy and falling leaves. This temporal cover did not last and surely this cursed hunter had senses like a bloodhound. I found myself again just beneath its blazing shadow. Glancing ahead beyond the property lines, the moonlight dimly painted a picture before me. A dreadful most familiar sight; a field of poppies in bloom. 

With every hoof step, red petals loosed freely into the air. A decadent carpet leading to the apex of the hunt, the intersection wherein the predator catches its prey. I prayed a prayer to a god I had all but given up on. A god I had questioned, cursed, lamented to and begged over the years since fathers passing. Whether or not my pleading whispers would fall on deaf ears or merciful attention was beyond my control. A terrible shriek tore the very fabric of the physical world around me. Blood painted my coat and the midnight sky. I found myself afloat, drifting with momentous speed maintaining the trajectory I had been riding in. My own body remained in one piece- that of my steed did not. The earth came rapidly to meet me. I hesitate using the words “to my fortune” here, but nevertheless I am grateful that the upper torso of my horse, now separated from its lower half, cushioned the blow as I met the ground. Together, the decapitated remains and myself slid for what must have been a dozen meters or so uprooting a great many poppies and carving a noteworthy trench of soil behind us. 

I maintained my cognitive functions, seeing now the source of my plight soaring past. Its flight was uneven, its wings were hardly steady, its cries carried more pain now than anger. The beast weakened. The paraffin fire had damaged the thing after all. Collecting myself, I forced what courage I could to manifest and stood to my feet. There were no sticks, stones, bricks or briars to use as improvised weapons here. Just an open field with naught but poppies and moonlight. 

I watched in silence as my adversary crashed to the ground. A thunderous thump accompanied its wretched caws. The dancing flames continued to consume its feathers and flesh as it writhed and struggled to regain footing. I felt no pity. I felt no remorse or shame. Nor did I feel triumphant. This victory was not of my own accord. It was not mine to celebrate alone. And the night was not yet over. 

Towards the mass of malice I then tread. Heaving gasps and sputtering salivary salvos, the beast did struggle and tear about. Poppy pedals rained in the glistening moonlight, a floral shower fitting for a funeral. As I neared, I could feel its gaze upon me. The wretched source of what devilry commanded its actions had clearly waned. It was now no more than a dying animal. I watched as the last flutters of its wings gave way to stiffening rigor mortis. I saw the blazing fire of murderous hatred consuming its eyes fade to dimming coals. I could hear the whimpering wheeze of its final breaths collapse into vapors as its lungs gave out. And I could now feel the haze in my mind was finally gone. Clarity at last. 

Memories came flooding back. A wealth of knowledge all gone in the course of a night now returned like a long lost archive rediscovered by intrepid archaeologists. A great sense of mourning overcame me and I collapsed to my knees. Though the actions were my own, I was quite puzzled as to why this overwhelming wave of emotions had assaulted me so suddenly. But then my senses caught up to what my eyes had seen. Beneath the burning beak of the beast, something metal clung to the now exposed skin. The relentless blaze had burned away feather and down, revealing now what hid beneath the monstrous form. A necklace. My fathers wedding ring clung tightly to the golden chain. 

I watched all night as the fire reduced my tormentor to cinders. As the last of its physical form turned to ash, I collected the wedding band. There were a host of other trinkets there to be found amidst the ruinous remains but alas I did not have the energy or attention to collect them all. They would still be there tomorrow, I thought. I needed to see to Ms. Bigsby and Bernard. 

But first, out of curiosity and for the good of my own heart I made a slight detour and headed for the north side of the property. There, by a stream and hidden behind another grove, was our fathers grave. Not often attended, quite seldom seen by any but woodland critters and the like. The first light of day began to rise painting the skyline red as I arrived. A hole in the earth now lay where his tomb should have been. No sign of pickaxe or shovel work, only the remains of what I now knew to be an evil most supernatural. I found myself angry yet again. I shed tears of rage. I bellowed furiously and beat the ground in lament of this miserable revelation. What instructions had been scribbled in the black tome surely had been a rite of impartation, not prevention. The true fruits and intentions of the firstborn curse. The passing down of a needless hunt from father to son. Generation to generation, a relentless chain of frightful murder. As I wept, the morning dawn crept over the horizon. The light of a new day. And with it a new resolve. 

I corrected the fallen gravestone of my late father and took a knee. My fingers brushed over his name, then drifting to the numerical markings, the beginning and end of his life. My heart moved from fury to compassion. I closed my eyes and did not dare attempt to comprehend what torment he and my forefathers had suffered imprisoned in such a damnable fate. This was no place for wrath. Instead I bowed my head and prayed my words would reach him in whatever way they could. 

“I forgive you.” I sobbed. “Let this burden now pass, let this curse now break. May God rest your soul father. And henceforth let us be free of this plight forevermore.” 

Ms. Bigsby would make a full recovery. It was not more than a week's time till she was back to her usual cheery self. Bernard and I insisted she took more time to rest but by her own insisting she aided in the task of restoring what we could of the estate. A good portion of our inheritance was put towards hired hands and materials to rebuild. I found myself joining my brother for the season's harvest. Laborious work it was and I maintain that it suits me ill. Yet all the same, I found myself a better man for it. Come the year's end, we hosted a county ball. Bernard met a lovely young lady, one who possessed a wit most potent and a strong arm to aid in farm steading. They married in the spring. 

I write now years later behind the desk of my new study. A roaring fire in the hearth, Bernard's son playing by the garden. The joy he brings to this place is a healing balm to the years of dread and worry. I watch him at peace knowing he will not have to share in the burdens our forefathers had carried. He is the first to live free. Never to face the firstborn curse. 

Ashes decorated the ground like foliage blankets of the woods in late autumn. No bright colors of orange or red, no hues of yellow and fading green amidst the forest floor but rather a dross veil, lifeless and dull. Aromatic poison accompanied the dismal state, the smell of calamity now past and sorrows still burning like the quiet embers of a late flame. A room I once knew and studied well. A room I wish now to forget. A terrible fire had claimed my favorite writing spot; my fathers study. His books, his drawings, his maps, his memories, are all gone. The source of the unfortunate inferno would not be revealed, save for my own knowledge. A secret I kept out of fear and shame.  Constables and inspectors alike were quite vexed and expressed a great deal of marveling at our misfortune. I would file no report nor grant the authorities greater exposition beyond what they themselves witnessed and noted upon arriving at the scene. They had quelled the flames and took a closer look once the dust settled. Their pursuits produced only more questions. 
I admit I am not a friend to the public; crowds, inquiries, attention beyond matters of study and literature do not suit me well. I lack no eloquence, you see, just the tolerance for others in great quantities. My brother has chastised me for this flaw on more than one occasion. I did not try to explain myself to him. Nor did I think he would care to listen, much less understand. Regardless, being the eldest and heir of the property, I took the diagnosis of the study and its surrounding damages the inspectors had presented passively. It was a separate section of the estate; connected only by a courtyard and garden. The flames did no harm to the main building within which resided the kitchen, dining room, great hall, ballroom, bedrooms and washrooms. Disagreeable as the public may be, I found a great many of them at the properties edge the day of the fire. Again and again I was asked, *“Will you rebuild?”* 
I thought not. My fathers chapter in our family's history had ended. And the flames made sure there would be very little to remember him by. 
They called me ‘careless' when I did not consent to have the inspectors continue their investigation. The papers wished to romanticize this decision, implying it to have some deeper meaning, some mystery to unravel when the ashes cleared. Better that they had saved their ink and charged their printing press with more urgent matters. There was nothing left to find there. It had all burned away. 
 I take no pride in admitting we are in no short supply of wealth. It feels unearned. No efforts of my own won such a fortune. Great grandfather managed to keep much of his property and the estate in admirable condition after the war. Over one hundred acres of land, some laden with oak trees and streams, the rest for livestock and rotating crops. I myself never cared for farming. The labor does me no good, save for health. Tiresome, filthy, loathsome work. Parchment, candlelight, ink and quill serve me better. 
My brother, Bernard, took on the tasks of farmsteading once our father passed. I recall he had kept a number of texts on the subject in the study. Those, by his own efforts, had been saved. As I strode to and fro in a mad panic, Bernard rushed in like a raging bull, grabbing only myself and those books before forcing the whole lot into the courtyard. I had been feverishly, frantically tearing about the room searching for the most valuable knowledge our forefathers had kept among the novels, encyclopedias, maps and more in that damned study. I had dropped all I had collected when my fearsome brother hoisted me off my feet, out the door, and into the rain.
“You bastard!” I cried. “Let me down, let me down!” He then thrust me into the garden, the wet soil barely cushioning the impact of my face to the ground. Through eyes stinging with the scratch of muddy soil, I peered up at his brutish figure.
“You curse me?! A sorry thanks for saving you! I pull your arse from the heat of the flames whilst you scramble like a madman, and for what?” He scolded, his thundering voice outmatching the roaring flames behind him. “All the knowledge in that room couldn’t save you from your own stubborn head! Damn you, Felix! Damn you, and damn those books!” He had, in his arms, a satchel with the tomes he had come for. A desperate and sobbing mess, I didn’t think to answer his insults with remarks of my own. This was not the time. I had pulled myself to my feet, now head to toe in mud, my arms bleeding from the scrape of rocks and thorns. I looked pitifully at my brother whose attention had turned to the blaze. 
“I don't know how this happened.” I professed through tears.
“Had you lit any candles? Set a torch against the wall, perhaps? A spark from the hearth?” Bernard raspily inquired. I just shook my head. “Well it had to come from some place, now didn't it?” Just then, a familiar trot came echoing from the main house. A scream followed, Ms. Bigsby tossing the towels from her hands in a fright. They fell throughout the courtyard around her, soaking up the rain from the cobblestone floor. This caught my brother's attention which pulled him past me and to her side. I could hear him shouting instructions her way, dismissing her to send for help. He picked up the towels she had dropped and began soaking them in the puddles which had formed from the heavy rain. 
“Felix!” I could hear him calling. “Felix, with haste!” I didn’t move. I just watched the flames devour what remained of our written legacy. What remained of our history. Our secrets. Our cure. 
I had lied, you see? Tormented by an inevitable fate I could not prevent, the anger in my heart towards my forefathers spurned me in a moment of maddening toil to set the blaze myself. There, above the hearth, had hung a painting. It depicted a ghastly figure of shadow and claws descending upon a fleeing rider amidst a field of poppy. The contrasting bright reds of the poppy blooms beneath the grotesque pursuit of the dark monstrosity struck bewildering dread in the eyes of all who beheld it. I myself spent many an hour between bouts of writing looking upon the terrible sight. Drinking in the malice and desperation depicted so beautifully with each brush stroke. Better the devil had the cursed thing than myself. Perhaps something from the depths of hell was its origin of inspiration. An inferno would be a fitting end to its dwelling on earth. It was, of course, only after I had used a piece of parchment to act as a conduit, igniting it in the hearth and presenting the flickering cinders to the damned painting that my senses returned to me. The hungry flames devoured the dismal depiction yet did not cease in satisfaction with the modest feast. Up the walls, to the floors, leaping onto furniture, chair and table alike, in the form of licking tongues, a fiery fury they tore about. No natural blaze could have moved with such bestial wrath. My heart sank as the fire spread. I did not have long to salvage what I could. My life’s written work resided in that room. All of it devoured in the course of a few short hours. 
When night fell, the rain hadn’t ceased. As the inspectors left and the crowds dispersed, I retired to the kitchen in a sorry state. Ms. Bigsby had gathered herself once more, possessing a strong resolve, and occupied herself in preparing a dinner stew. The pleasant aromas roused a hunger in me I had dismissed altogether given the self inflicted chaos of the day. She greeted me with a pitiful nod as I passed, gesturing then to the dining room. 
“You’ve had a time of it, Felix. Sit yourself down; I’ve opened a bottle of the ol’ red for ye.” I glanced at the three plates and utensils set up at the dining table. Wine glasses upon floral doilies accompanied the china. 
“You are too kind, Ms. Bigsby.” I managed. “Were it not your vocation, I would have presumed you to be retired for the night. It is well past the time for supper.” 
“It’s not been the day for punctual routines.” She added. “And you’ve a ghastly look about you, if I may be so bold.” I sighed, noting that I hadn’t taken the time to change my mud-caked clothes nor properly washed the blood from my arms. 
“You would be right, I think.” As I set foot in the dining room, Bernard entered from the adjacent doorway. His thick brows furrowed in suspect disapproval at my sight. His gaze scanned my visage, a short huff escaping his gritted teeth. 
“Felix.” His tone stern, his greeting abrupt. He sat at the table, opposite of me. I thought about taking the head seat but did not fancy being within reach of him. Not that being across from the brute would be favorable, however if conversation were to become unsavory to the degree my dismissal was necessary, I would have a clear exit to the kitchen or main hall. This arrangement would suffice. Ms. Bigsby brought in the stew moments later, her countenance implying she could feel the tension palpably. The pot was set between Felix and I. She raised the ladle to serve us but Felix stopped her with a waive of his hand. 
“I’ll serve myself tonight.” He grunted. “You’ve done more than enough today, Ms. Bigsby. Thank you.” She was, needless to say, quite perplexed. 
“Would you like me to dine in the kitchen?” She piped. Bernard nodded. 
“I mean no offense, ma’am.” His tone, less than apologetic. “I need a word with my brother. That’s all.” All was silent save for the ticking of a grandfather clock. Bernard, his eyes never leaving mine, served two ladles of stew into Ms. Bigsby’s bowl. “That’ll be all, ma’am.” He dismissed. She hurriedly snatched up the cloth napkin and spoon set at her place and scuttled off. I stirred in my seat for a moment taking note of the kitchen door closing behind me. Bernard heaved a shaky breath and leaned forward. 
“What started the fire, Felix?” His fists lay heavily on the table. I opened my mouth to speak in quivered breaths. 
“I told you, I don’t know, it just-” He pounded the table with such force that stew splashed over the sides of the serving bowl. 
“What started the damn fire, Fleix?!” His rage shook my soul, the candle lit lamps seemed to dim. 
“You heard the inspectors report just the same as I!” I cried in defense. “A rogue cinder from the hearth, perhaps a neglected candle too close to a parchment, any of the sorts could have gone unmanaged in short order. In a room full of material most subject to ignite, it's not far-fetched that in my state of deep concentration such an incident went unnoticed for just long enough to create such calamity!” My brother shook his head with every word I said. 
“Youre a lying snake, Felix! In all my days living here, in all the years we have observed one another as housemates and kin, never have you exhibited the daft tendencies of one so foolishly ignorant as to let a flame go awry. Much less in your precious study!” He served himself some stew carelessly enough to make a mess of the table, thrusting the ladle towards me thereafter. “Eat. You’ve not had so much as a morsel today, I would wager.” I hesitantly accepted the utensil and served myself quietly. 
“I… I had a scone with tea this morning.” I mumbled, feeling somewhat humiliated. Bernard scowled at me from his bowl. 
“A meal fit for a king, that.” He mocked. “I wouldn’t doubt such a mousy morsel would satisfy you, given your birdish state.” He shoveled stew into his mouth without looking away. Through gasps and gulps he muscled the mouthfuls down before wiping his beard with the table cloth. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, Felix. I’ve no doubt in my mind you started that fire. And don’t you give me any more lies! Was it an attempt at your own life? Are you so dissatisfied with your passive existence that you saw it fit to take the whole damn estate with you?” I shook my head. He waited for me to speak but not before having more to say himself. “Don’t go thinking I haven’t caught on to your despair. You sulk about this place day in and day out like a wraith in a graveyard. Lost in your own resting place, nowhere to settle comfortably even in your own home. You spent hours, Felix, *hours* in that study. Writing, writing, pacing, writing, years wasted and not so much as an article to submit to the local paper. Meanwhile I bust my arse, seasons come and seasons go, accruing the only wealth this family has earned in earnest since fathers passing!”
“I detest your perspective of my occupation!” I shot. “You did not peruse the many pages I had filled over the years. The vast library of education I had at hand would be the envy of even the capital library. Students spend years and a small fortune at universities just to grasp at a fraction of what our forefathers had left behind. Do you think I am not immensely grieved by such a loss? Better I had died in that flame than sit here now, bereaved and interrogated by my own kin!” 
“I saved you from the relentless panic that had set upon you!” Bernard slammed the table again. “Whatever malignant force had caused such a stir in your soul to abandon all self preservation amidst that inferno be damned! You squabbled without aim as I burst through the door, ignoring me entirely till you had no choice. And even then you begged to be let down!” 
“I had dropped the books I had managed to save from the flames! I wanted only to retrieve them before our departure-.” 
“That’s all it is for you, isn’t it? Those damn books, that damn study, that damn painting!” 
“Oh, rest assured Bernard, the painting I am happy to be rid of! It’s all gone anyhow, isn’t it? Your toil and treasures reside in the ground, in the market, an annual reward you reliably look forward to sew and reap by the year's end. But I am now, I promise, quite barren in the department of progress.” 
“You’ve got no aim, Felix. An arrow without a target is no better than kindling.”
“Then kindling I am, Bernard. A dull point, a shaft with wrinkled fletching. No more use to an archer with a bow than I am to a hearth without fire.” I buried my face in my hands. Silent tears rolled down my wrists. Bernard heaved a sigh and sat back. 
“Your grief isn’t lost on me.” He stated, his voice softer now. “Our eyes don’t often meet measure for measure. You baffle me, Felix. But you are my brother. It’s not the damn study I am so furiously vexed over. It’s your lack of care for yourself. Were it not for my noticing the place had gone up when it did, I am not convinced you’d be sitting here now.” I looked up from my hands. The shockingly rare sight of compassion painted over his face sobered me up from my grief most suddenly. 
“Bernard…” 
“Don’t bother saying it.” He waved. “I know. It’s not been the same since fathers passing. He was the chord that tied our incompatibilities to common ground. You have your stakes in his traits, I have mine. We’ve naught but each other now.” A soft bump on the kitchen door behind me briefly stole our attention. “And Ms. Bigsby, of course.” Bernard smiled. 
“Yes,” I agreed. “Our dearest Ms. Bigsby.” I took notice of the open wine bottle she had prepared for us and took it up. Bernard lifted his glass. I obliged him with a generous pour, then served myself. We quietly looked at our own glasses for some time. I could tell Bernard had more to say. As did I. The tension of combative dialogue had begun to pass, a new one taking its place. 
“I haven’t been quite honest with you, Bernard.” I admitted. He nodded, gesturing with his glass for me to continue before taking a hearty swig. A few more ticks of the grandfather clock provided ambience before either of us spoke. It was obvious to me that being vulnerable was not a skill my brother came by naturally. He was quietly eager for me to fill the silence. 
“Let's have it.” He insisted. “No more lies, Felix.” I stole a quick sip from my glass and drew a deep breath. His eyes never left mine as I set the drink upon the table and folded my hands. 
“I did start the fire.” He grimaced but remained silent. I let the pause linger to test his temper. “I don’t quite know what came over me, Bernard. Oftentimes when my mind would fog from a long bout of writing I would pace the study to collect myself. The painting would never fail to catch my eyes. I would stare at it for longer than I care to admit. Longer than I’d realize till some noise or otherwise distracting variable would release me from the fixation. In some strange anomaly, today it filled me with a dread so foul I could not help but to light it ablaze.”
“If it bothered you so much, why didn’t you toss it?” Bernard's befuddlement became manifest on his face. 
“It had to burn.” I insisted. “I couldn’t tell you why, it just had to. Something in my heart, my very soul beckoned me to rend it from parchment to ashes. Nothing in that spell of madness could reason my actions otherwise, not even the obvious chance that the fire could spread. And spread it had, Bernard. As though some foul specter, some devil had danced with the flames. It leapt from corner to corner till the chorus of roaring cinders ate its fill.” 
“But why, Felix?” Bernard had swallowed the remaining contents of his glass and reached now for the bottle. “I grant that you may not have been in control of your faculties but there *must* be more to that painting. Especially so much so that it drove you to madness.” I rubbed my eyes. He refilled his glass. Crimson droplets ran down the curve to the stem, then onto his fingers. The red hues brought the poppy blooms back to mind and I winced. 
“I am to die, Bernard.” He drew back at this. 
“Come again?” He barked. 
“We are, all of us, cursed. The firstborn of this wretched family line. It is a foul gift from our forefathers. This is a burden you will never have to bear. I myself carry the mantle passed down by our dearest father. He inherited it from his grandfather before him, and so on.” Bernard held a steady grasp on disbelief but stayed his tongue. So I continued. “I do not know the full story. Father had told me on my twenty-first birthday that every firstborn of our bloodline was to be hunted. An unwilling sacrifice to some fell being, some unfavorable deity whose name had been lost to time. He had said that when the hunter comes, there is a ritual which holds the power to disperse the beast. To prevent the death of those whom it hunts.” 
“And when does the beast come?” Bernard urged. “Surely father gave you some warning apt to prepare you for this savage practice.” I shook my head. 
“He spoke only on the nature of the ritual, not the specifics of when it shall be my turn for the slaughter. His father was assailed the night of his wedding. By some good fortune, he happened to have what he needed to ward off the beast, the ritual instructions burned by repetitious practice in his mind. He was, if memory serves, in his early twenties at the time.” 
“You’re well into your thirties now.” Bernard protested. 
“While true, it didn’t come for *our f*ather till he had nearly reached his forties. From the little I know, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to its timely appetites.” I could see Bernard struggling to make sense of it. A worthless task, I could assure him, as I had spent much of my time in the study in an attempt to do the very same. 
“Father mustn't have been honest with you.” He finally said. “We lived with him during that time. He strode these very halls till the day of his death. We’d have been witness to such a ghastly encounter.” I shook my head, eyes glancing down to my soup bowl. “The confrontation took place in his study. You know as well as I that we never bothered him, save for emergencies whilst he shut himself away. Everything he needed was already there. Out of sight of our mother, away from us. After grandfather had told him of his own encounter with the fiend, father vowed never to be without the means of preventing his untimely death to this vicious apparition. The ritual tome, the materials, all of it was kept there.” Bernard began to widen his eyes. His skin paled, the wine glass nearly slipped through his fingers. 
“And that all burned in the fire.” The revelation surely sent his mind into spirals. A dizzying look of fear and toil usurped his gaze. I did not have the means to comfort him. He understood now my vexation over the inexplicable madness which had driven me to do such a foolish thing. “And the ritual? Did you commit it to memory?” 
“No.” I admitted sheepishly. “I had glanced over the black tome a time or two. I found it a dreadful read, the language old and barely comprehensible. I thought perhaps I could find a way to set us free instead. To cancel the nasty business once and for all. You know now what took the majority of my time and attention. What held me so captive for hours, days on end of research and writing. We were more wealthy in material knowledge than we have ever been in money. The breadth of which no one will ever truly know.” My brother quietly considered my presentation. Doubt did not seem to occupy his thoughts any longer but a determination. 
“You will not leave my side.” He pointed at me with his spoon. “Squabbles or not, you are my brother. My flesh and blood. No cursed thing will untimely rip you from me! Not while I draw breath, so help me God!” I offered a pitiful smile. So rare was it that I heard my brother speak defensively of me, much less in my favor. A kindness from him I seldom saw manifest in words. I reached a hand across the table and touched his arm. He drew heated breaths but did not recoil from the gesture. 
“Your stolid affirmations do my heart well, Bernard. Do not count my disheartened state against your good will. But I can tell you with all confidence and well researched reason that there is no stopping my fate. Not now, anyway. My mistake this morning has cost us dearly. A fault for which I now apologize.” He placed a hand on mine, a new softness in his eyes. 
“We prepare for it, then. Come ghost or ghoul, we shall be ready to fend off this hellish fate!” I could not help but to shake my head once more. 
“There is no defeating it, Bernard. At least not that I could find. And with our means of prevention now lost to flames, I fear my days are fiercely reduced in number.” He opened his mouth to offer some far fetched rebuttal no doubt when there came a knock at the kitchen door. 
“I beg your pardon, masters.” Ms. Bigsby greeted apologetically. “But you’ve got a visitor, come just moments ago.” 
“A visitor?! Bernard repeated in distaste. “At this hour? In poor taste too, given the whole town knows what ill fate beset us this morning!” 
“He’s not come from the town.” Ms. Bigsby clarified. “A soaking mess he is, perhaps walked from the next province over. Damned if I know from whence he came, he wouldn’t say.” Bernard and I exchanged a look. I could see the confusion in his eyes turn to fear then to anger. 
“Keep him in the rain then, for a moment longer.” He grunted “Felix and I will change into more welcoming attire.” 
“That wouldn’t do, sir.” Bigsby protested. “I’ve already let him into the entry way. Where’s your sense of hospitality gone? No need to let an old man suffer the wrath of mother nature's cruelties.” I could not help but to make mental note of this change; Ms. Bigsby, being one of good nature by default, still knew better than to allow just any vagabond into our abode. I would not just yet credit such an action against her given that it had indeed been a miserably rainy day. Yet something of her countenance seemed counter to her typical cheery self. Before my musings could continue, Bernard grabbed my arm and led me to the great hall. 
“You keep him there then, and no further!” He called back. “Give us a moment, as I requested, and put on some tea!” As the door closed behind us, Bernard forced my face before his. “I am not going to assume this ill timed guest is the very thing we have just discussed but believe me when I tell you I am just as likely not to dismiss that notion altogether.” 
“Nor I.” I agreed. “But let’s not treat this stranger as our adversary just yet.” 
“You are better with words than I, Felix. I’ll follow your lead. The pistol will be loaded and at my side. Worthless or not, it’s better than nothing.” He tore away and headed for his room. I admittedly hesitated for a moment. All the knowledge I had accrued of curses, monsters, rituals and the like seemed to abandon me all at once. A dizzying haze began to fill my mind, not unlike the very same madness which spurned me to burn the painting. The whistling of a tea kettle ringing through the halls broke me from this temporal spell and I marched hastily to my chambers. 

“You are ready then?” Bernard inquired, checking his jacket collar and straightening his cravat. An unusual choice of attire for him, even on such occasions as would call for them. 
“Yes.” I nearly spat the answer out, clearing my throat. “I believe I am. Just an unaccounted for guest. That’s all this is.” Bernard was not persuaded with my self assurance- and quite frankly neither was I. As we approached the dining room door an odorous stench assaulted our olfactory senses. Bernard, being more frequently exposed to such aromas, merely crinkled his nose. I, however, expressed a hearty retching heave, miraculously not losing my supper in the convulsions. Bernard patted my back a time or two and helped me upright. 
“We’d best be brief with our guest.” I mustered between gasps for air. “I fear I may insult him if I regurgitate in his presence.” 
“I’d be dishonest to suggest it's not his ‘presence’ we breathe in now.” Bernard grumbled. “Ms. Bigsby must have let him into the dining room already. I thought I had made it clear this was against my wishes.” 
“You had.” I added. “But there’s no use in making a ruckus of it now. Shall we?” I gestured to the dining room door. Bernard took the handle, drew a breath, released it slowly, and turned the knob. A shallow creek accompanied the opening of the door, the room ahead of us dimly lit and full of haze. Candle smoke would not produce such a dulling filter, even if left to burn for a full day. The odor, while stronger, carried now a musk which I could not place yet all the same seemed familiar. At the far end of the table, opposite the head near which we had sat just minutes ago, was our guest. A long black coat with high collars hid his figure. A tall tattered hat much like those worn by the gentlemen in the countryside adorned his head, long black hair like raven feathers reached down to his neck. Black gloves covered his folded hands, no colorful decorum of rings, jewelry or even the chain of a pocket watch could be seen on his person. Only a red splotch, hard to make out in the haze, set neatly upon his left breast pocket. 
“Welcome, sir.” I began, my tone anything but welcoming. “I hope you did not suffer too long in the rain during your travels?” Silence. Not even the sound of breathing, labored or otherwise from his direction. “I do apologize for the delay. My brother and I were hard pressed with matters most urgent today and thus had not had time to properly prepare ourselves for company. Would you care to sit?” In one motion, the stranger moved noiselessly from behind the chair and onto its cushion. His height hardly seemed to change with the repositioning. I did my best not to cast a glance at Bernard who I could feel was likely experiencing the same sense of awe and horror. I took the nearest seat I could which was a good far few positions from our guest. Bernard walked around the head on our end and sat opposite me. 
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Forgive me, sir! I did not introduce myself.” Silence again. Assuming he would not be interested in the shaking of hands (I for one certainly was not) I continued to greet him from my current position. “I am Felix, head of this estate. This across from me is my brother, Bernard.”
“A pleasure.” Bernard lied. We both took note of the tea kettle in the middle of the table as well as the lack of tea cups accompanying it. I thought to call for Ms. Bigsby but Bernard subtly shook his head. I returned my attention to our guest. 
“Would you be interested in some tea, sir?” I asked, half expecting the silence to continue. 
“Enrapturing place.” A raspy caw emitted from the hidden visage of our guest. With every word he uttered the candle lights flickered. “There seems to be a missing building, if memory serves. Claimed by travesty, no doubt.” My heart intensified its pace as fear filled my veins. Bernard shifted in his seat, no doubt reaching a cautious hand for his pistol. 
“Have you been here before?” I charged. 
“Pray, tell me lad, what became of the study?” He croaked in response. “The fresh stench of wet ash permits credence to rumors of a fire.” 
“There had been a blaze most unfortunate just this morning, yes.” I confirmed. “Even with the rains, torrential as they were, the building was claimed by the incident.” 
“And the books?” He muttered. Neither my brother nor I offered an immediate answer. Bewilderment and a building frenzy seized my soul. “And the painting?” Bernard looked as though he were ready to draw his firearm, the only interception being the sudden appearance of Ms. Bigsby through the kitchen door. 
“Beg pardon, beg pardon!” She cooed, a metal tray with three tea cups clattering in her unstable hands. “Can’t have a cup of Earl Grey without the cups! I fancy myself forgetful at times, oh yes, a fair bit forgetful I am! Far be it from me to lack in service to the masters. Tick tock goes the clock and every second I am tarty! Woe to the shameful servant who fails to make their marks at the weeks end. There would be lashings for the poor soul, now wouldn’t there? Can’t have that now can we? I’d be bloodied up in my Sunday best! Hard to serve if one cannot walk, hard to walk when all one can do is crawl! The rain brings the worms to the top of the soil and the bird who comes first gets to eat up the spoil!” She damn near dropped the tray, cups and all, next to the kettle. The dishes rolled about, the handle breaking free from the foremost cup, an event which previous to tonight Ms. Bigsby would have made quite the fuss. Unbothered, she hummed her way back into the kitchen, unceremoniously slamming the door behind her. 
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Bernard barked, abandoning all feigned pleasantry. Our guest turned his head ever so slightly towards the tea kettle and nodded. 
“Indulge me in libation and all shall be revealed.” This request was not met with immediate action. I drew a short breath and considered reaching for the kettle myself but Bernard would have none of it. 
“Speak up, wretched guest!” He growled. “I do not know what hex or spell you have our dear Ms. Bigsby under but I warn you; if she is not liberated from this horrid state by the night's end I will have you in pieces and fed to the pigs!” I jumped up from my seat and stretched a shaking hand towards my brother. 
“Please, Bernard, control yourself!” I pleaded. 
“Quiet, you!” He commanded. “There’s been nothing but misfortune upon this place since sunrise and I’ll be damned if I am going to be of service to this warlock!” 
“It is only tea, Bernard! And he says he will speak! Is that not a fair bargain?” My points were considered, if only for a moment. Bernard looked between myself and our guest, his lips in a scowl. He quite suddenly sat back down and made no effort to hide his labored breathing. With a wave of his hand he turned away. I quickly served tea into a cup, noting the lack of a saucer. I did not practice the utmost care in delivering the beverage to the stranger, some droplets finding their way onto the floor, but was grateful to have the request fulfilled. Beneath the shadowed brim of the stranger's hat, I could see only what perhaps was the makings of a smile. In addition to this change, I then identified the splotch of red on his breast pocket; a poppy bloom. He did not reach for the cup. 
“You have lost what it was you slaved over, years of learning and toil. Though not idle, the work of your hands produced naught but ash. I charge thee, tell of the tome. Those black words in blooded ink, the fruits of the living passed on to the soon deceased. Were the maps of prevention burned into your mind's eye?”
“You said you would tell us who you are.” I mustered. “I gave you the tea, it is your turn for answers.” 
“You misunderstand.” He growled. “I speak the answer to your curiosities. I come hither to fulfill a calling most prophetic. The tome; had you committed it to heart?” 
“I did not, no. It burned away in the fire.” 
“Felix.” Bernard's tone was that of a warning. “I think it’s time our guest takes his leave.” 
“Let not your troubled kin dismiss this opportunity.” The villain cawed. “There is more to glean now for you than he.” I cast a glance at Bernard, his face grim, begging as much as demanding. “The painting. It too has been claimed?” 
“Yes.” I whispered. 
“Felix!” Bernard cried, standing to his feet.
“Bernard, please!” I chided. “He clearly already knows of our plight! If there is any mercy to be found in his knowledge to aid us then I would have it known!”
“He hexed Ms. Bigsby! He smells of rot! There is no fault in charging this devil with dismissal!” 
“Please, sir!” My pleading directed back at our guest. “If you have any means of reconciling my mistake, I beg you for help! Do you know the ritual? Can you help me prevent the disastrous fate of the firstborn curse?” 
“Nay lad, but your hospitality has been most charitable.” I was confused. Enraged. Panicked. 
“That’s it then? That’s all you have come for?! To inquire after today's travesty? Mock my curse? Speak in maddening babble and haunt the halls of my forefathers house? And for what? I must say, I owe my brother an apology! It seems his hostile suspicion of your character and meaning here have been warranted! You are quite welcome to leave my estate now, in fact I-.” A great cracking sound gave me a sudden pause. The stranger's head titled to the side as black streams flowed down his coat from beneath his shadowed visage. To the horror of Bernard and I, what appeared to be a great, black beak pressed from within his face, splitting the jaw and protruding forth. A spray of dark mist painted the table as sinew and bone separated in a gruesome display. 
“You are most fortunate amongst your kin.” He croaked, his voice more terrible than before. “To witness the advent of your demise firsthand should be counted as a blessing.”  His voice rose, the raven-like timbre increasing all the more dreadfully with every utterance. He stood now, a towering figure, his shadow cast against the full length of the dining room table. Without a window in the room an inexplicable breeze wafted through. The lantern light danced madly with the sudden gale. I looked to Bernard who had come under a trance himself; his eyes glazed in terror at the shifting menace which manifested now in a form most frightening. The corvine monstrosity lifted its arms like spreading wings. It spoke; 
“Cursed be the children who fed from wicked breast, blood for the mouth of ravens,  blood for the dying breath, ashes all encompassing, a tomb for one, for all, sweet beckoning from darkest ills, the firstborn pays the toll.” The lantern lights blew out but not before my dear brother managed to steal himself back and fire his shot. The led ball passed through the shoulder of the hulking form. It appeared unphased and bellowed such a horrible cry that would have made the devil himself tremble in fear. 
“Run Felix! Run!” Bernard shouted as he burst open the door to the great hall. I was just steps behind him as we fled from the dining room. With each lamp we passed, the lights flickered and faded. A great roaring wind gave chase to our flight. The crashing sound of window glass breaking, curtains tearing and floor tiles cracking echoed around us. 
“It gives chase!” Bernard cried, casting a glance behind. We dashed through the hall and used our shoulders to burst into the ballroom. Felix collapsed the doors behind us and latched the inner locks. Within moments, a great force rammed into the double doors shaking the frame. Repeatedly the same motion beyond our sight gave powerful bludgeoning to the oak barrier between us. It would not last long. 
“Where do we flee?” I asked through gasping breaths. 
“The horses! We make for the stables and outrun the beast!” Bernard proposed. 
“I have my doubts the steeds will suffice.” I moaned. “And what of Ms. Bigsby?” 
“Oh, charitable lady! Pray she comes to her senses and takes shelter. If we cannot outrun the fiend then we shall outsmart it. Think Felix, think! You spent so long in vigorous learning, what can you recall?” I did my best to clear my mind but the haze remained. I could hardly speak, let alone plot a reasonable solution to our present misfortune. 
“It comes!” Bernard shouted, pointing to the doors behind us. “The hinges! They fail!” Sure enough, another crash from beyond and the upper hinges broke free. 
“To the cellar!” I cried. “The Iron doors will surely tarry its approach!” 
“Aye! Good thinking! We’ve a far better chance of outlasting this malice there!” As we ran for the far side of the ballroom another forceful knock tore the doors asunder. A great cry rippled the air and dizzied my senses. I would have fallen to my knees if my stalwart brother had not caught my shoulders and thrust me to my feet. We passed through the far doors, Bernard repeating the action of locking them behind us, not a moment too late. These were not as sturdy as the former set and would not last as long. Another turn of a hallway and there before us were the stone steps leading down to our supposed haven. As the clacking of our feet bounced off the old wooden walls a terrible sound boomed behind us. Just above, through the far wall, the beak of our pursuer tore through. The dark maw bellowed between snaps, a wretched crimson tongue caked with putrid mucus dancing about in ravenous hunger. 
“Felix!” Bernard had made it to the cellar door, he struggled against its weight. I reached his side, grabbing onto the adjacent handle and pulled with all the might I could muster. As we labored in desperate toil a fury of claws made quick work of what little wall was left separating the monstrous fiend from the stairs we had descended. A better look now through flickering ambient light scorched its figure into my memory. I recalled the painting. The creature descending upon the fleeing rider. Shadows, feathers, claws and poppy. As all the firstborn who had come before me since the day the dreaded curse was cast, I too now faced the end. But it was not the talons of my tormentor that would grip me next. 
“In you go, lad!” Bernard yanked me through the door, I had failed to realize he had managed to force his side open. My feet passed through the threshold last, the snapping black beak just inches behind. Bernard had clearly felt a sense of satisfaction as he rammed the iron door into the monster's face. A clang followed, then another and another. It would not relent. But for now, we were safe.
It had been pitch black till Felix had felt his way through the dark to a match and candle. The match, I imagine, had been in his pocket as he was often to have. The candle sat idly where it usually was upon a small wooden box near the doors. Within the room were two wall hung lanterns which he found in good time, lighting them both in sequence. Now that we had enough illumination to see, our options lay before us. 
“Right.” Bernard began. “Supposing it doesn’t relent by sunrise, or by some miracle the daylight wards it off, we ought to muster a means of defense.” He strode hastily to the far corner, a great many storage crates and glass containers occupying the space. He mumbled to himself in various tones as he perused the clutter. 
“Bernard.” I sighed. He remained occupied. I tried again. “Bernard!” His head swiveled just for a moment, then he continued to mettle. I grit my teeth and glanced at the door. The banging strikes of talons and prodding of the beak echoed unrelenting. Between the racket my brother made in his rummaging and the efforts against the iron door of our assailant, I scant could bear it. I chose a spot between the two and sat upon the cold, stone floor. The flickering lights cast dancing shadows about the room. My mind drifted back to the study. I missed the feel of an ink quill in my hand. I missed the smell of fresh paper. The crackle and warmth of a fire in the hearth. The gentle whistle of the wind through the cracks and crevices of the window panes. The calm yet commanding voice of my father as he first taught me to write. With these musings I found my heart began to sink. I thought of what Bernard had said during supper. I considered the weight of my actions, not just today, but through the years and how it had all come to this moment. To nothing 
“Bernard.” I said again. This time he paused his activity. His grizzled face peered my direction, offering a grunt in response. “Let it have me.” My brother shook his head. 
“You’ve lost your nerve Felix, that’s all. Come o’er here and aid my search. We’ve got a fair bit of rope and some glass jars. Could make a decent flail if we need to.” He continued to dig around, sparing no object of consideration. 
“Bernard. I mean it. It’s as good as done. But we don’t both have to die here. Just myself. It is after me, not you.” He heaved his shoulders in a silent sigh. His head turned about just enough that I could see half of his face in the dancing light. 
“You think after all this, I’m privy to give you up now? Not a chance, Felix. The haunt that plagued our forefathers ends with us. We finish this tonight.” I softly beat the ground with my fist. 
“And what makes you think we can? What gives you the confidence that we have here the means of defeating this adversary? You saw, same as I, how it passed through wood, brick and stone with a force most terrible. We cannot stop it with glass flails Bernard. Hell, your pistol shot was to no avail! Even if by some miracle we were to stumble upon a volley’s worth of cannons to fire, I have my doubts our troubles would be at ease. It is over. Let it take me. Let it take me and my years of wasted life. My soul is not worth the price of two. You have so much life to live. Do not forfeit it on my account” 
Bernard set whatever devices he had in hand down with a tremendous thud. He turned about and strode to my side, kneeling to meet me face to face. 
“Stop.” He commanded, a firm hand now gripping my shoulder. “Whatever I said during supper- toss it from you. I lamented from a place of hurt. You had lied to me, yes, and have for some time. But I count it not against you. You know why? Because you finally told me the truth. You finally showed me that you’re capable of owning up to something. And you’ve acted rightly ever since. You’ve come with me this far, Felix. And I am just starting to get to know the man I called my brother my whole life. Losing you now would mean never getting to see who it is you can truly be. Who you truly are. And with this menace dealt with, once and for all, you won’t be so occupied trying to find a way to run from fate. You’ll finally have the chance to live it out for yourself. And that, I think, is worth the risk.” He offered a hand. I looked him in the eyes, searching for any glimpse of hesitation or uncertainty. There was none to be found. 
He hoisted me to my feet and to my great surprise gave me a firm embrace. 
“I love you, Felix.” His voice quivered. "I always have. And I’m sorry I’ve neglected to tell you.” I wrapped my arms around him in return. 
“I love you too, Bernard.” I whispered back. Whilst my heart filled with a greater ease than it had for many years, the efforts of our pursuer against the iron doors reintroduced the creeping dread of inevitability. Bernard drew away from me and looked at the lanterns on the wall. His eyes lit up and he rushed towards the far end of the cellar. 
“The paraffin!” He shouted most enthusiastically.
“The lantern fuel?!” I shouted back. “We keep it down here?” 
“Of course! Proper storage of the stuff calls for somewhere cool and dry. No matter- come give me a hand!” He struggled with a wooden crate, pulling towards the center of the room. I joined him, going round to the other side and pushed.  “That’ll do, we just needed the light.” I stepped back as he worked the hinges and hoisted the lid. There, resting on a bed of hay were several dozen glass bottles of glistening liquid. “Aye, that’s the stuff!” He clapped in celebration. 
“You mean to use it all?!” I gasped. “You’ll light the whole cellar ablaze!” Bernard nodded triumphantly. 
“And the damn beast with it! Come! Fetch the rope from the pile; We’ll tie the lamp off the cellar door and the wall mount. We pull the door open and let the beast through; the lamp will drop into the crate and cook the devil!” Bernard looked about us and took up a hammer sitting on a nearby shelf. He began breaking the bottles, letting their contents soak into the hay. 
“You’re either brilliant or mad!” I exclaimed. 
“I’d like to think the first, but perhaps I am the latter. The rope, Felix!” I did as instructed, fetching also one of the wall lamps before returning to my brother. He pushed me back as I neared and took one end of the rope from my hands. 
“Keep your distance with that lamp!” He warned. “It won’t take but a cinder to rend us both to ashes at this distance. Here, tie your end through the lamp handle then onto the door. I’ll tie this off on the wall.” I fit the loose end of the rope carefully around the lamp and turned about. Our adversary had managed to make dents in the cellar door now, the integrity of the iron failing against his strength. I girded myself and mustered what courage I could. “Nice and tight, Felix! We’ve only got one shot at this!” My brother's words spurned me on, and I made quick work of the task. Giving the knot a quick tug or two, I felt sure that I had done well enough and returned to my brother. He forced the leaking crate to align just a meter away from the door, factoring in the width and gate of its swing once opened.  “Aye, that’ll be it then.” His eyes glanced over the manifest workings of the plan. “Back up now, to the far end. Be in line with the door, as it is you he wants. Surely what dark force urges this hunt will make straight for you. With a fire this day began, and so with fire it shall end! Come ye devil! Face the prize you seek so earnestly and burn! Burn! Burn!” 
Bernard wrapped his hands around the rope and bellowed a mighty cry. The iron handles shook and rattled from the battering of the beast beyond. With all his strength my brother forced a mighty tug- and the rope snapped free from the cellar door. To our horror and dismay, the suspended lantern fell, shattering just before the fuel soaked crate. Our eyes met from across the room. This cruel turn of fate left us mere meters away from an uncertain incendiary as the leak continued to inch closer to the still burning shards of the fallen lantern. I thought at first to seek cover in the event an eruption of splinters and glass were to suddenly burst before us but alas there’d be no time. 
A thunderous clang wrought deafening calamity to our ears as the monster made its way violently through the cellar doors. Metal bent and broke like brittle clay, the horrible figure now finally at the precipice of its dark purpose. And then, with one step, its own foot would spring our trap.
 It kicked the burning mess onto the crate. With a louder crack than the breaking of the door, a sudden flash of fiery light ignited the monster. Its wings now ablaze, it thrashed about in a fury, casting cinders and drops of paraffin throughout the cellar. I watched on, frozen in place, partly in disbelief, mostly unsure of how to navigate the situation further. 
“Felix!” Bernard caught my attention, waving frantically towards the now open exit to the stairs. “Run! Run, damnit, run!” He took the lead heading out of my sight into the dark beyond the blazing fiend. I followed on, ducking beneath fiery wings and barely dodging the pecks and talons which attempted wildly inaccurate strikes around me. The horrible sounds which howled from our foe echoed throughout the house as we made our way to the great hall. A rumbling followed after us, the very earth trembling in its wake. So powerful were the mighty throws of the panicking beast that walls of the cellar began to quake and crumble. 
“Do we make for the stables now?!” Bernard called back. 
“Yes! But first, we must find Ms. Bigsby!” I shouted. 
“You get your arse out of here, Felix! I’ll see to it that the lady is secure!” 
“No Bernard! You have already done more than your share of heroics tonight. I owe it to her to see this task through. Prepare the horses for us! I’ll meet you at the gate!” 
“You’d better, Felix. And be quick about it!” We parted ways, Bernard heading out into the relentless rain, myself venturing forth to the kitchen. 

Ashes decorated the ground like foliage blankets of the woods in late autumn. No bright colors of orange or red, no hues of yellow and fading green amidst the forest floor but rather a dross veil, lifeless and dull. Aromatic poison accompanied the dismal state, the smell of calamity now past and sorrows still burning like the quiet embers of a late flame. A room I once knew and studied well. A room I wish now to forget. A terrible fire had claimed my favorite writing spot; my fathers study. His books, his drawings, his maps, his memories, are all gone. The source of the unfortunate inferno would not be revealed, save for my own knowledge. A secret I kept out of fear and shame.  Constables and inspectors alike were quite vexed and expressed a great deal of marveling at our misfortune. I would file no report nor grant the authorities greater exposition beyond what they themselves witnessed and noted upon arriving at the scene. They had quelled the flames and took a closer look once the dust settled. Their pursuits produced only more questions. 
I admit I am not a friend to the public; crowds, inquiries, attention beyond matters of study and literature do not suit me well. I lack no eloquence, you see, just the tolerance for others in great quantities. My brother has chastised me for this flaw on more than one occasion. I did not try to explain myself to him. Nor did I think he would care to listen, much less understand. Regardless, being the eldest and heir of the property, I took the diagnosis of the study and its surrounding damages the inspectors had presented passively. It was a separate section of the estate; connected only by a courtyard and garden. The flames did no harm to the main building within which resided the kitchen, dining room, great hall, ballroom, bedrooms and washrooms. Disagreeable as the public may be, I found a great many of them at the properties edge the day of the fire. Again and again I was asked, “Will you rebuild?” 
I thought not. My fathers chapter in our family's history had ended. And the flames made sure there would be very little to remember him by. 
They called me ‘careless' when I did not consent to have the inspectors continue their investigation. The papers wished to romanticize this decision, implying it to have some deeper meaning, some mystery to unravel when the ashes cleared. Better that they had saved their ink and charged their printing press with more urgent matters. There was nothing left to find there. It had all burned away. 
 I take no pride in admitting we are in no short supply of wealth. It feels unearned. No efforts of my own won such a fortune. Great grandfather managed to keep much of his property and the estate in admirable condition after the war. Over one hundred acres of land, some laden with oak trees and streams, the rest for livestock and rotating crops. I myself never cared for farming. The labor does me no good, save for health. Tiresome, filthy, loathsome work. Parchment, candlelight, ink and quill serve me better. 
My brother, Bernard, took on the tasks of farm steading once our father passed. I recall he had kept a number of texts on the subject in the study. Those, by his own efforts, had been saved. As I strode to and fro in a mad panic, Bernard rushed in like a raging bull, grabbing only myself and those books before forcing the whole lot into the courtyard. I had been feverishly, frantically tearing about the room searching for the most valuable knowledge our forefathers had kept among the novels, encyclopedias, maps and more in that damned study. I had dropped all I had collected when my fearsome brother hoisted me off my feet, out the door, and into the rain.
“You bastard!” I cried. “Let me down, let me down!” He then thrust me into the garden, the wet soil barely cushioning the impact of my face to the ground. Through eyes stinging with the scratch of muddy soil, I peered up at his brutish figure.
“You curse me?! A sorry thanks for saving you! I pull your arse from the heat of the flames whilst you scramble like a madman, and for what?” He scolded, his thundering voice outmatching the roaring flames behind him. “All the knowledge in that room couldn’t save you from your own stubborn head! Damn you, Felix! Damn you, and damn those books!” He had, in his arms, a satchel with the tomes he had come for. A desperate and sobbing mess, I didn’t think to answer his insults with remarks of my own. This was not the time. I had pulled myself to my feet, now head to toe in mud, my arms bleeding from the scrape of rocks and thorns. I looked pitifully at my brother whose attention had turned to the blaze. 
“I don't know how this happened.” I professed through tears.
“Had you lit any candles? Set a torch against the wall, perhaps? A spark from the hearth?” Bernard raspily inquired. I just shook my head. “Well it had to come from some place, now didn't it?” Just then, a familiar trot came echoing from the main house. A scream followed, Ms. Bigsby tossing the towels from her hands in a fright. They fell throughout the courtyard around her, soaking up the rain from the cobblestone floor. This caught my brother's attention which pulled him past me and to her side. I could hear him shouting instructions her way, dismissing her to send for help. He picked up the towels she had dropped and began soaking them in the puddles which had formed from the heavy rain. 
“Felix!” I could hear him calling. “Felix, with haste!” I didn’t move. I just watched the flames devour what remained of our written legacy. What remained of our history. Our secrets. Our cure. 
I had lied, you see? Tormented by an inevitable fate I could not prevent, the anger in my heart towards my forefathers spurned me in a moment of maddening toil to set the blaze myself. There, above the hearth, had hung a painting. It depicted a ghastly figure of shadow and claws descending upon a fleeing rider amidst a field of poppy. The contrasting bright reds of the poppy blooms beneath the grotesque pursuit of the dark monstrosity struck bewildering dread in the eyes of all who beheld it. I myself spent many an hour between bouts of writing looking upon the terrible sight. Drinking in the malice and desperation depicted so beautifully with each brush stroke. Better the devil had the cursed thing than myself. Perhaps something from the depths of hell was its origin of inspiration. An inferno would be a fitting end to its dwelling on earth. It was, of course, only after I had used a piece of parchment to act as a conduit, igniting it in the hearth and presenting the flickering cinders to the damned painting that my senses returned to me. The hungry flames devoured the dismal depiction yet did not cease in satisfaction with the modest feast. Up the walls, to the floors, leaping onto furniture, chair and table alike, in the form of licking tongues, a fiery fury they tore about. No natural blaze could have moved with such bestial wrath. My heart sank as the fire spread. I did not have long to salvage what I could. My life’s written work resided in that room. All of it devoured in the course of a few short hours. 
When night fell, the rain hadn’t ceased. As the inspectors left and the crowds dispersed, I retired to the kitchen in a sorry state. Ms. Bigsby had gathered herself once more, possessing a strong resolve, and occupied herself in preparing a dinner stew. The pleasant aromas roused a hunger in me I had dismissed altogether given the self inflicted chaos of the day. She greeted me with a pitiful nod as I passed, gesturing then to the dining room. 
“You’ve had a time of it, Felix. Sit yourself down; I’ve opened a bottle of the ol’ red for ye.” I glanced at the three plates and utensils set up at the dining table. Wine glasses upon floral doilies accompanied the glasssware. 
“You are too kind, Ms. Bigsby.” I managed. “Were it not your vocation, I would have presumed you to be retired for the night. It is well past the time for supper.” 
“It’s not been the day for punctual routines.” She added. “And you’ve a ghastly look about you, if I may be so bold.” I sighed, noting that I hadn’t taken the time to change my mud-caked clothes nor properly washed the blood from my arms. 
“You would be right, I think.” As I set foot in the dining room, Bernard entered from the adjacent doorway. His thick brows furrowed in suspect disapproval at my sight. His gaze scanned my visage, a short huff escaping his gritted teeth. 
“Felix.” His tone stern, his greeting abrupt. He sat at the table, opposite of me. I thought about taking the head seat but did not fancy being within reach of him. Not that being across from the brute would be favorable, however if conversation were to become unsavory to the degree my dismissal was necessary, I would have a clear exit to the kitchen or main hall. This arrangement would suffice. Ms. Bigsby brought in the stew moments later, her countenance implying she could feel the tension palpably. The pot was set between Felix and I. She raised the ladle to serve us but Felix stopped her with a waive of his hand. 
“I’ll serve myself tonight.” He grunted. “You’ve done more than enough today, Ms. Bigsby. Thank you.” She was, needless to say, quite perplexed. 
“Would you like me to dine in the kitchen?” She piped. Bernard nodded. 
“I mean no offense, ma’am.” His tone, less than apologetic. “I need a word with my brother. That’s all.” All was silent save for the ticking of a grandfather clock. Bernard, his eyes never leaving mine, served two ladles of stew into Ms. Bigsby’s bowl. “That’ll be all, ma’am.” He dismissed. She hurriedly snatched up the cloth napkin and spoon set at her place and scuttled off. I stirred in my seat for a moment taking note of the kitchen door closing behind me. Bernard heaved a shaky breath and leaned forward. 
“What started the fire, Felix?” His fists lay heavily on the table. I opened my mouth to speak in quivered breaths. 
“I told you, I don’t know, it just-” He pounded the table with such force that stew splashed over the sides of the serving bowl. 
“What started the damn fire, Felix?!” His rage shook my soul, the candle lit lamps seemed to dim. 
“You heard the inspectors report just the same as I!” I cried in defense. “A rogue cinder from the hearth, perhaps a neglected candle too close to a parchment, any of the sorts could have gone unmanaged in short order. In a room full of material most subject to ignite, it's not far-fetched that in my state of deep concentration such an incident went unnoticed for just long enough to create such calamity!” My brother shook his head with every word I said. 
“You're a lying snake, Felix! In all my days living here, in all the years we have observed one another as housemates and kin, never have you exhibited the daft tendencies of one so foolishly ignorant as to let a flame go awry. Much less in your precious study!” He served himself some stew carelessly enough to make a mess of the table, thrusting the ladle towards me thereafter. “Eat. You’ve not had so much as a morsel today, I would wager.” I hesitantly accepted the utensil and served myself quietly. 
“I… I had a scone with tea this morning.” I mumbled, feeling somewhat humiliated. Bernard scowled at me from his bowl. 
“A meal fit for a king, that.” He mocked. “I wouldn’t doubt such a mousy morsel would satisfy you, given your birdish state.” He shoveled stew into his mouth without looking away. Through gasps and gulps he muscled the mouthfuls down before wiping his beard with the table cloth. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, Felix. I’ve no doubt in my mind you started that fire. And don’t you give me any more lies! Was it an attempt at your own life? Are you so dissatisfied with your passive existence that you saw it fit to take the whole damn estate with you?” I shook my head. He waited for me to speak but not before having more to say himself. “Don’t go thinking I haven’t caught on to your despair. You sulk about this place day in and day out like a wraith in a graveyard. Lost in your own resting place, nowhere to settle comfortably even in your own home. You spent hours, Felix, hours in that study. Writing, writing, pacing, writing, years wasted and not so much as an article to submit to the local paper. Meanwhile I bust my arse, seasons come and seasons go, accruing the only wealth this family has earned in earnest since fathers passing!”
“I detest your perspective of my occupation!” I shot. “You did not peruse the many pages I had filled over the years. The vast library of education I had at hand would be the envy of even the capital library. Students spend years and a small fortune at universities just to grasp at a fraction of what our forefathers had left behind. Do you think I am not immensely grieved by such a loss? Better I had died in that flame than sit here now, bereaved and interrogated by my own kin!” 
“I saved you from the relentless panic that had set upon you!” Bernard slammed the table again. “Whatever malignant force had caused such a stir in your soul to abandon all self preservation amidst that inferno be damned! You squabbled without aim as I burst through the door, ignoring me entirely till you had no choice. And even then you begged to be let down!” 
“I had dropped the books I had managed to save from the flames! I wanted only to retrieve them before our departure-.” 
“That’s all it is for you, isn’t it? Those damn books, that damn study, that damn painting!” 
“Oh, rest assured Bernard, the painting I am happy to be rid of! It’s all gone anyhow, isn’t it? Your toil and treasures reside in the ground, in the market, an annual reward you reliably look forward to sew and reap by the year's end. But I am now, I promise, quite barren in the department of progress.” 
“You’ve got no aim, Felix. An arrow without a target is no better than kindling.”
“Then kindling I am, Bernard. A dull point, a shaft with wrinkled fletching. No more use to an archer with a bow than I am to a hearth without fire.” I buried my face in my hands. Silent tears rolled down my wrists. Bernard heaved a sigh and sat back. 
“Your grief isn’t lost on me.” He stated, his voice softer now. “Our eyes don’t often meet measure for measure. You baffle me, Felix. But you are my brother. It’s not the damn study I am so furiously vexed over. It’s your lack of care for yourself. Were it not for my noticing the place had gone up when it did, I am not convinced you’d be sitting here now.” I looked up from my hands. The shockingly rare sight of compassion painted over his face sobered me up from my grief most suddenly. 
“Bernard…” 
“Don’t bother saying it.” He waved. “I know. It’s not been the same since fathers passing. He was the chord that tied our incompatibilities to common ground. You have your stakes in his traits, I have mine. We’ve naught but each other now.” A soft bump on the kitchen door behind me briefly stole our attention. “And Ms. Bigsby, of course.” Bernard smiled. 
“Yes,” I agreed. “Our dearest Ms. Bigsby.” I took notice of the open wine bottle she had prepared for us and took it up. Bernard lifted his glass. I obliged him with a generous pour, then served myself. We quietly looked at our own glasses for some time. I could tell Bernard had more to say. As did I. The tension of combative dialogue had begun to pass, a new one taking its place. 
“I haven’t been quite honest with you, Bernard.” I admitted. He nodded, gesturing with his glass for me to continue before taking a hearty swig. A few more ticks of the grandfather clock provided ambience before either of us spoke. It was obvious to me that being vulnerable was not a skill my brother came by naturally. He was quietly eager for me to fill the silence. 
“Let's have it.” He insisted. “No more lies, Felix.” I stole a quick sip from my glass and drew a deep breath. His eyes never left mine as I set the drink upon the table and folded my hands. 
“I did start the fire.” He grimaced but remained silent. I let the pause linger to test his temper. “I don’t quite know what came over me, Bernard. Oftentimes when my mind would fog from a long bout of writing I would pace the study to collect myself. The painting would never fail to catch my eyes. I would stare at it for longer than I care to admit. Longer than I’d realize till some noise or otherwise distracting variable would release me from the fixation. In some strange anomaly, today it filled me with a dread so foul I could not help but to light it ablaze.”
“If it bothered you so much, why didn’t you toss it?” Bernard's befuddlement became manifest on his face. 
“It had to burn.” I insisted. “I couldn’t tell you why, it just had to. Something in my heart, my very soul beckoned me to rend it from parchment to ashes. Nothing in that spell of madness could reason my actions otherwise, not even the obvious chance that the fire could spread. And spread it had, Bernard. As though some foul specter, some devil had danced with the flames. It leapt from corner to corner till the chorus of roaring cinders ate its fill.” 
“But why, Felix?” Bernard had swallowed the remaining contents of his glass and reached now for the bottle. “I grant that you may not have been in control of your faculties but there must be more to that painting. Especially so much so that it drove you to madness.” I rubbed my eyes. He refilled his glass. Crimson droplets ran down the curve to the stem, then onto his fingers. The red hues brought the poppy blooms back to mind and I winced. 
“I am to die, Bernard.” He drew back at this. 
“Come again?” He barked. 
“We are, all of us, cursed. The firstborn of this wretched family line. It is a foul gift from our forefathers. This is a burden you will never have to bear. I myself carry the mantle passed down by our dearest father. He inherited it from his grandfather before him, and so on.” Bernard held a steady grasp on disbelief but stayed his tongue. So I continued. “I do not know the full story. Father had told me on my twenty-first birthday that every firstborn of our bloodline was to be hunted. An unwilling sacrifice to some fell being, some unfavorable deity whose name had been lost to time. He had said that when the hunter comes, there is a ritual which holds the power to disperse the beast. To prevent the death of those whom it hunts.” 
“And when does the beast come?” Bernard urged. “Surely father gave you some warning apt to prepare you for this savage practice.” I shook my head. 
“He spoke only on the nature of the ritual, not the specifics of when it shall be my turn for the slaughter. His father was assailed the night of his wedding. By some good fortune, he happened to have what he needed to ward off the beast, the ritual instructions burned by repetitious practice in his mind. He was, if memory serves, in his early twenties at the time.” 
“You’re well into your thirties now.” Bernard protested. 
“While true, it didn’t come for our father till he had nearly reached his forties. From the little I know, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to its timely appetites.” I could see Bernard struggling to make sense of it. A worthless task, I could assure him, as I had spent much of my time in the study in an attempt to do the very same. 
“Father mustn't have been honest with you.” He finally said. “We lived with him during that time. He strode these very halls till the day of his death. We’d have been witness to such a ghastly encounter.” I shook my head, eyes glancing down to my soup bowl. “The confrontation took place in his study. You know as well as I that we never bothered him, save for emergencies whilst he shut himself away. Everything he needed was already there. Out of sight of our mother, away from us. After grandfather had told him of his own encounter with the fiend, father vowed never to be without the means of preventing his untimely death to this vicious apparition. The ritual tome, the materials, all of it was kept there.” Bernard began to widen his eyes. His skin paled, the wine glass nearly slipped through his fingers. 
“And that all burned in the fire.” The revelation surely sent his mind into spirals. A dizzying look of fear and toil usurped his gaze. I did not have the means to comfort him. He understood now my vexation over the inexplicable madness which had driven me to do such a foolish thing. “And the ritual? Did you commit it to memory?” 
“No.” I admitted sheepishly. “I had glanced over the black tome a time or two. I found it a dreadful read, the language old and barely comprehensible. I thought perhaps I could find a way to set us free instead. To cancel the nasty business once and for all. You know now what took a majority of my time and attention. What held me so captive for hours, days on end of research and writing. We were more wealthy in material knowledge than we have ever been in money. The breadth of which no one will ever truly know.” My brother quietly considered my presentation. Doubt did not seem to occupy his thoughts any longer but a determination. 
“You will not leave my side.” He pointed at me with his spoon. “Squabbles or not, you are my brother. My flesh and blood. No cursed thing will untimely rip you from me! Not while I draw breath, so help me God!” I offered a pitiful smile. So rare was it that I heard my brother speak defensively of me, much less in my favor. A kindness from him I seldom saw manifest in words. I reached a hand across the table and touched his arm. He drew heated breaths but did not recoil from the gesture. 
“Your stolid affirmations do my heart well, Bernard. Do not count my disheartened state against your good will. But I can tell you with all confidence and well researched reason that there is no stopping my fate. Not now, anyway. My mistake this morning has cost us dearly. A fault for which I now apologize.” He placed a hand on mine, a new softness in his eyes. 
“We prepare for it, then. Come ghost or ghoul, we shall be ready to fend off this hellish fate!” I could not help but to shake my head once more. 
“There is no defeating it, Bernard. At least not that I could find. And with our means of prevention now lost to flames, I fear my days are fiercely reduced in number.” He opened his mouth to offer some far fetched rebuttal no doubt when there came a knock at the kitchen door. 
“I beg your pardon, masters.” Ms. Bigsby greeted apologetically. “But you’ve got a visitor, come just moments ago.” 
“A visitor?! Bernard repeated in distaste. “At this hour? In poor taste too, given the whole town knows what ill fate beset us this morning!” 
“He’s not come from the town.” Ms. Bigsby clarified. “A soaking mess he is, perhaps walked from the next province over. Damned if I know from whence he came, he wouldn’t say.” Bernard and I exchanged a look. I could see the confusion in his eyes turn to fear then to anger. 
“Keep him in the rain then, for a moment longer.” He grunted “Felix and I will change into more welcoming attire.” 
“That wouldn’t do, sir.” Bigsby protested. “I’ve already let him into the entry way. Where’s your sense of hospitality gone? No need to let an old man suffer the wrath of mother nature's cruelties.” I could not help but to make mental note of this change; Ms. Bigsby, being one of good nature by default, still knew better than to allow just any vagabond into our abode. I would not just yet credit such an action against her given that it had indeed been a miserably rainy day. Yet something of her countenance seemed counter to her typical cheery self. Before my musings could continue, Bernard grabbed my arm and led me to the great hall. 
“You keep him there then, and no further!” He called back. “Give us a moment, as I requested, and put on some tea!” As the door closed behind us, Bernard forced my face before his. “I am not going to assume this ill timed guest is the very thing we have just discussed but believe me when I tell you I am just as likely not to dismiss that notion altogether.” 
“Nor I.” I agreed. “But let’s not treat this stranger as our adversary just yet.” 
“You are better with words than I, Felix. I’ll follow your lead. The pistol will be loaded and at my side. Worthless or not, it’s better than nothing.” He tore away and headed for his room. I admittedly hesitated for a moment. All the knowledge I had accrued of curses, monsters, rituals and the like seemed to abandon me all at once. A dizzying haze began to fill my mind, not unlike the very same madness which spurned me to burn the painting. The whistling of a tea kettle ringing through the halls broke me from this temporal spell and I marched hastily to my chambers. 

As the short stick hit the ground, I knew Donna was in trouble. She always chose the long sticks because she liked the ones with knots in them and that seemed to be most commonly found on the long ones. The longer the stick, the more knots to be found. She also reasoned that there was more “stick” to the long sticks so they would hit the ground faster. Maybe she was right. Maybe the more “stick” a stick had, the faster it would fall to the ground. The knots didn't actually do anything to help the sticks fall faster (at least I don't think they did) but they “looked nice” and she was certain that “style played a part”.

It helped that we were getting sticks from apple trees. Apple trees have lots of knots on them and I admit, to Donna’s credit, they do look nice. We don't pick the apples because they “aren't ripe”. Which is weird because I am pretty sure they actually are ripe, we just aren't allowed to pick them. I find it odd that apples grow on trees because trees are made of wood and apples are a fruit and we don't eat wood but we do eat fruit.

Donna says there's a lot of science behind it and that apples are where the trees store their energy and natural sugars but trees aren't made of sugar and I don't see them move much so why would they need energy in the first place?

I ate one of the apples the other day and it was delicious and definitely didn't taste like it wasn't ripe. I pooped a lot. But I didn't tell anyone why I pooped a lot because I ate an apple and “we aren't supposed to pick the apples”, much less eat them. At least I assume we aren't allowed to eat them, hence why we “aren't supposed to pick” them.

It tasted very sweet and I anticipate that's because of all the sugars Donna talked about that's inside of them. So maybe Donna was right. She wasn't right about the sticks though.

Hers didn't hit the ground first, the short one did, so she had to go to the Blood Cavern.

That's why we drop the sticks.

And if the short one hits the ground first, whoever was dropping the other stick has to go to the Blood Cavern.

You may be asking yourself “Why is it called the Blood Cavern?”

Well, it's a cavern with blood in it.

We don't know why there's blood in the cavern but there is. And Donna had to go to them so she did. She wasn't happy about it and I can't blame her. Who wants to go to a cavern full of blood?

Anyways.

Donna went to the Blood Cavern and she didn't come back till sundown. She was supposed to go and find some kind of shiny thing we were told is “absolutely down there, no question” but according to Donna there was “nothing but blood in the Blood Cavern” and “the whole trip was a waste of time”. Donna can be kind of a poor sport when it comes to being told what to do. And doing anything that might get her covered in blood.

And that's fair. We bathe in the “fresh water” and they say it's “fresh water” because it moves. “Still water” is apparently no good for bathing in unless said water was recently placed in a bathe-worthy quantity from a “fresh water” source.

I guess “Still Water” can accumulate unsavory bacteria among other things which are detrimental to one's health and well being.

I drank from the “still water” once. We aren't supposed to drink it, but I did. I pooped a lot but I didn't tell anyone I pooped a lot because I knew they would ask if I drank any of the “Still water” and we aren't supposed to do that.

It didn't kill me so I think maybe it's not as bad as they say it is but I don't want to poop a lot again so I probably won't drink the “Still Water” anymore. I could go for another apple though.

Donna bathed in the “Fresh Water” and she seemed happier after that. She's still an asshole but she was a nicer asshole than she had been when covered in blood. I asked her after she had bathed and put clothes on that weren't covered in blood what she found in the Blood Cavern. She said she found a lot of blood and some sticks. They weren't particularly good sticks apparently. She didn't bring any of them back with her. She mentioned that there were certain sections of the Blood Cavern that had multiple tunnels which one could be venture through and that they all smelled really bad so she chose the one closest to her. She got lost at one point because it's “dark and confusing down there”. I asked her if she brought a flashlight with her and she scolded me for even asking because “flashlights aren't allowed” on account of “the things that call the Blood Cavern home”.

If I have to go down there, I am absolutely bringing a flashlight. The rules can go fuck themselves. If we are looking for something shiny then doesn't it make sense to bring a light source for the shiny qualities of what we are looking for to reflect off of?

The worst that happens is I come back without the shiny thing, covered in blood, and I get scolded for having brought a flashlight with me and have to bathe in the “fresh water”. Maybe I won't be allowed to go down there again. Fine by me. Who wants to go somewhere where they will inevitably be covered in blood?

Our next Stick Drop is tomorrow morning. Instead of once a week, we were told we will be doing Stick Drops once a day now until we find the “Shiny Thing”.

Maybe I’ll try to find a stick similar to the one Donna dropped today to increase my chances of going to the Blood Cavern and test my flashlight theory. I can hide one in my coat so they won't know I have it on me. And who knows, maybe “the things that call the Blood Cavern home” will be nice and help me find the “Shiny Thing”. We can be done with this whole ordeal and go back to where the lights don't turn off. It's worth a shot.