Short Stories by Christer Edwards

The cool autumn breeze scurried out of the east, following the sun as it set even so slowly in the western sky. The wind had a chill to it, a sign most likely of things to come, of the harsher and darker winter that was dawning. Of things dying. As it hurried over the cottages and danced through the trees it made a faint howl and was gone.

The men inside noticed little of this wind as they prepared themselves for the night. Finishing the chores and putting children to bed. This was a night like any other. The mothers would tell the children of the days of old. Days of their ancestors when magic still filled the earth and great warriors and wizards defended truth. They bore tails of the days of old when the
Guardians roamed the earth and shared knowledge with the races. The children fell asleep full of wonder and awe at the mighty legends of old, wishing beyond dreams that they could have been a part of these great legends.

As the last child drifted off to sleep and the last of the lanterns were turned out the night became quiet. The stars shown brightly in the sky and the wind would occasionally rattle through the forest trees, tickling the branches. The night dawned, all was quiet in this small village. This was indeed a forecast of things to come…

As the night drew on the clouds seemed to build up from the east, ushered in by the wind. The stars were slowly hidden from the sight of any waking eye and the shadows seemingly grew deeper as the moon also hid its face behind the grey clouds.

Ever so subtly everything turned darker and quieter. The night animals forgot to make their midnight songs, even the brook on the north of the settlement seemed to hush its babbling voice. Slowly, ever so slowly, a mist and a thick fog snuck into the clearing and ever so silently surrounded every tree and house in the area. Now if anyone were awake to see this their eyes would have done them no good. The clouds above blocking out the moon and the stars seemingly made all sight impossible.

Then, after all this, about the time when it is the darkest; the time right before the sun peaks its head back over the eastern hills. A fear crept into the village. A thin stream of black crept its way in from the east, following the fog and snuck its way into the houses. This was the beginning of the end.

After the fear, as it were, had crept through a house a scream or a yell would ascend to the heavens as some terrified soul would be yanked from his peaceful sleep. One by one, slowly but surely, the black threat of fright wound its way into each house, rousing a cry from all that felt its gentle caress. Soon every man in the village was awake, breathing heavily and sweating. Each mans eyes, if looked into, carried the face of death. As if one could look through that window to their soul and see the horror that had been imprinted there.

Grown men, strong mighty men, sat in their beds horrified of a seemingly imagined fear. Some actually on the verge of tears, while the weaker of heart already sobbing. Then it happened, out of the midst of the fog they came. Rushing, swiftly and stealthily through the trees and cottages. The fog not hindering them at all, but almost quickening their pace. At first quietly and stealthily but then raucously and irreverent these dark shapes
entered the houses, tearing and ripping apart anything in their way. The soft flesh of the men and women fell faster but not less violently than their wooden abodes.

These creatures tore through everyone and everything killing, pillaging and destroying everything they came across. Some of the mightier folk took up arms against this midnight invader, but to no avail. The numbers were too many and their attack too sudden and unforseen. Many a mighty man fell this moonless night to a seen yet unidentifed foe.

As the attack and the killing grew more fierce so did the wind. The heavens seemingly tired of the anguished cry of the dying sent the wind to carry away the voices before they again ascended its peaks.

One might try to describe the awfulness of the voices and the dreadful scene of death that came between the earth and heavens this night, but that shall not be told in this tale. For one mind should not be forced to relive such an awful scene that took place this night.

One should be brought to hear of the tale of one courageous father and mother and the amazing sacrifice they made for their first born child. Rarely before have such deeds, true or fable, come upon the ears of men with such awe and grace as this.

As the first cry was heard in that night sky one woman tore from her bed and rushed to the cradle of her newborn son. As the last sliver of moonlight snuck through her open window she saw the face of her child for the last time, though she did not know it to be so. She quickly grabbed the child in her arms and neared the open window. Her husband by this time was up, also hearing the screams and cries of the dying, and was to her side in mere
seconds. In one hand he held a sword, beautiful in craft and slightly glowing at the edges. With the other he slowly closed the window, locking it fast with a length of wood. Somehow he knew what he should do, as if they had lived this before, yet at the same time full of fear and doubt. Then, pulling his wife and child behind him they hurried to the rear of the house. There
they would wait. Wait for life to tell its last terrible tale, and wait for death to take them home.

His wife, strong willed and beautiful seemed to have other plans. She would not give up so easily. She would not give up her only son to this dark and horrible monster. Quickly she grabbed a basket from the nearby table, spewing its contents on the floor. Then gently she placed her infant child inside. She padde him with blankets and kissing his forehead one last time she closed
the lid as the infant looked upward. Her husband watched as she did this, wondering what his beautiful companion was doing. Suddenly a cry rendered the air and both looked to each other. It was close.

He positioned himself near the door skillfully holding the now bright sword in both hands, waiting for death yet hoping for life. She on the other hand would not stop for a moment. She furiously yanked a floor mat from the dirt revealing a few planks of wood masking a hole. She clambered to the hole and
tore away the planks as fast as she could. Her heart was racing. It was only a matter of time now before they were found. After she had successfully cleared the planking she clawed for the basket. Then, dragging more than carrying, she pulled the basket close and placed it in the hole. By this time her eyes were full of tears. Tears of hurt more than fear. She didn’t fear death, it was part of life itself. Another step toward newer things. It was
not her death she wept for, nor that of her husband, for she knew their love reached for beyend the weak grip of the grave. But the death she feared and openly wept for was that of her infant child.

He had not yet tasted life, or felt the soft lapping of waves on his toes. He had not yet felt the rust of looking from the peak of the highest mountains or felt the gentle touch of the summer grass under his feet. No, she did not mourne her own death, she had experienced all these things. It was the chance of his death that she so openly mourned.

As she placed the planks in place the wind began to turn up its rage. As the last plank was placed back in its resting place the wind let out a mighty yell and continued its cry for a long time. Suddenly, as she threw the floor mat back in its place the door began to budge. Her husband had not been idle during this time. He had forced a chair and small peices of furniture in front of the door as she had hidden the baby. They both now stood together, side by side prepared (as prepared as one terrified soul can be) to defend themselves against whatever evil wait beyond the door.

Thud!

The door slid open a bit, pushing and forcing the stops back.

Thud! Came the sound again as the door shuddered and looked like it would give in.

“I love you” said the man to the long haired beauty by his side.

“I love you too” she replied, her voice quivering.

She glanced at his face. His brow was set, his jaw like stone. All the tales she had heard as a child about acient warriors raced through her mind. This man, at this moment, belonged in the ranks of those long told heroes.

Thud! Came the sound again, this time louder. Then another as whatever it was beat against the door. the door was now open enough to squeeze an arm through, and some beast did. Reaching its arm through the crack it reached for the obstacles. Summoning his courage through his fear this mighty warrior hacked at the arm witha yell. Sliced, but not severed the arm pulled back. It is not known if the creature yelled or not, for the wind was still howling, drowning out all other sounds.

Nothing happened for a moment and then the door shuddered again. Finally the supports and hinges grew tired and gave way. The door fell with a crash, barely missing the two.

There in the doorway was a giant beast. It was almost like a shade in the dark, for it was darker than the very night. It was tall also, towering over the two, yet crouched to fit in the small doorway. Around it were smaller fell beasts, all different shapes and sizes, but hellish nonetheless. Their eyes were red and it seemed there was red drepping from their fingers. One of them let out a hiss, bearing its fangs and showing red stained teeth. It was blood and they were all covered with it. Especially the arms and hideous faces.

One of them suddenly lept at the two bearing his blood red teeth. The man swiftly brought down his sword upon its head with a crash. The creature fell to the ground motionless. For a moment the fear left the two and seemed to enter the enemy, but only for a moment. It seemed that the huge beast let out a yell, like a lion causing the others to quake and then break forward at the two.

The two defended themselves magnificently, sending many a beast to its hellish grave. They fought back to back with all their might and somehow more. Somehow they knew they must not give in, must not fail. They fought through the fear through the pain and the wounds. Finally, the woman could not fight anymore. The wounds were just too much and she fell atop the hidden child, protecting him even in death.

The now lone warrior fought on bravely but his strength was quickly leaving him also. His love was gone, his heart and soul. Even if he survived this melee with hell he knew he could not go on much longer alone. A pain welled up inside his chest. A pain as if his very soul had been yanked from him. A pain only felt my those who have lost a true love.

He cut through the beasts almost gracefully as they clawed and tore at his clothing and flesh. He felt none of it. The only thing he knew was that if he were going to die these evil beasts would die with him. He cut a path to the center of the room and positioned himself next to a pillar. There he waited, panting and almost broken. Driven on only by sheer will.

He looked directly into the eyes of the beastly giant. Both had fire in their eyes.

Somehow an unspoken communication occured between the two and the beast was summoned closer. The beast stood upright, his mass doubling that of the warrior. He let out a blood chilling howl and the room went still. The smaller beasts stopped their attacks and taunting, and all eyes turned to their foul leader. Slowly, deep inside his evil mind he calculated his move. He closed in on his prey, watching, looking for some sign, some clue as to what the other might do.

Cautiously the monster closed in on his prey, followed slowly by his evil minions. The two continued eye contact as the fell beast closed the distance. A battle of wills was waging between the two. Who would give in? Who would draw the first blood? The beast was close now, so close his foul breath would be felt on this mighty warriors brow.

Undaunted and seemingly unscathed he stared into the foul eyes of the beast. Neither moved. The room was completely silent except for the wind howling outside. They continued their battle for what seemed like an eternity and finally one of them was defeated.

The man seemed to portray to the monster what he truly was. A fallen hellish beast. The monster as if realizing a long hidden pain let out a howl that seemed to shake the very earth. His back arched he yelled as if in complete agony.

At this very moment the battle was won. With every last bit of energy he could muster this valiant warrior stepped aside and buried his sword in the pillar. There was a spark like lightning and his sword shattered. The pillar began to fall. It didn’t even take a moment for the roof above to follow. The monsters in fear and panic were buried by the falling debris. The great hideous beast stared back into the eyes of the man that had bested it for one
last moment before he too was crushed under the weight above him.

As the tale goes it is said that the last movement made in the confines of this midnight graveyard were that of the man. As his strength left him and pillars poured from the sky he dropped to one knee and clutched at his heart. Not a sound was heard over that of the falling debris, but the wind tells tale that the man sobbed. Sobbing as never before heard beneath the heavens. Sobs that could only be produced from a truly broken heart.

He never felt the roof fall upon him.

[ written spring 2000 ]