The Cursed of Blackstone Village

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There weren’t always distant sounds of screams and sobbing. There weren’t always Milita patrolling the border of Blackstone village, and there weren’t always children buried in the village school.

Once upon a time children used to attend school, sing beautiful songs, perform in celebration, play games in the courtyard, and learn their ABCs before heading home to their mothers and fathers.

But for you to understand the disturbing events that haunts Blackstone Village, we must go back to the very beginning...

“Eleanor, Eleanor.” A slender fair-skinned woman with soft brown hair and a warm voice whispers gently into her baby’s ear. “Eleanor, Eleanor.” Bright green-grey eyes open wide, and a gentle smile lingers for a second before crying as she stirs herself awake. “There’s my sweet baby, good morning Eleanor. Ready for morning brek? mother’s made your favorite goat milky oats and whey.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and a grey-bearded man enters. “Honey! We slaughtered the pigs, dinner will be a feast for a week!” “How is my favorite angel!” As he grabs baby Eleanor and the woman for a hug and kisses.

“Daniel, you are filthy! Put the baby down! Go, go take to the river and clean yourself up!”.

“But my love, my Martha, this is the smell of victory!”

Martha, looks at Daniel and laughs with a smile, and responds jokingly “yes my dear, we are very lucky to have you provide for us. But, if you don’t get rid of that awful dead pig's blood aroma you bought into the hudge. This victory will be your very last. Now go!”

The river was used by everyone in the village to wash clothes, bathe and provide drinking water for the farm animals. It was long, wide, and went as far as the eye could see. Children would swim in the hot summers. Fruits of all shapes and colors could grow there. Surrounded by trees, woodland animals, and the brightest wildflowers. The Women would pick herbs for cooking that grew sporadically around the river and the Men would hunt the most delicious fish.

Some would say it was never-ending and wrapped around the entire village toward the mountains. Blackstone River was treasured and no one had ever seen its beginning, middle, or end.

Some would say it was magical with healing powers. Some like Jeremiah, the village pub landlord. He swore his cough of the lung completely healed, after drinking from the river one winter’s eve.

He said the water turned the darkest black right before his eyes. Mountain mists covered the trees and not a sound could be heard. Yet something compelled him to the water. He knelt and drank so vigorously that he could no longer breathe and collapsed. When he awoke the river was clear as the sky, the mist was gone and the sun shone down on the trees. He saw a deer drinking in the distance and felt his chest no longer was tight. His deep burning cough of the lungs had gone. Of course, no one in the village believed his story, as Jeremiah was more famously known for his drinking of Moonale.

Moonale, could make your mind's visions come alive, if you drank enough of it. Privately imported to Blackstone Arms from an outside town. Jeremiah, would often drink it until he blacked out. This was not the first story he told that began with him waking up by the river.

“Daniel, oy fellow, what brings you down to the glorious river today?”. Said Pastor James as he quickly shuffled something in his carrier sack. He stood up rather fast and began to back away toward the village.

Pastor James, was the village Pastor and head of the council of faith. A group of 12 self appointed village busy bodies.

“Helloooo, Pastor!.” Said in Daniels's typical loud and jovial way. “I don’t see you this far down the river often. It is the sweetest spot of privacy that I love here. Right where the brightest purple wilding roses grow. This is where I take my bathes Pastor.” “What are you doing here today?”.

But before Daniel could get a response the Pastor had almost already left the scene and muttered hesitantly “yes yes it is a lovely spot but really must be heading back to the Village, we have a council meeting!”

As Daniel took off his leather bounds and laid his heavy axe on the grass, he stopped to admire the beauty of his surroundings.

He was moments from stepping into the warm River, when it occurred to him that he never knew why that particular spot bubbled with warmth.

When Daniel noticed something odd. A white piece of torn cloth. As he picked it up, he saw tiny drops of blood on the ground leaves.

Daniel is a hunter by trade and commander of the Blackstone Milita. Many of the villager's strongest men were trained in skills to protect and form an army if ever summoned.

Daniel was the head commander. Strong as an ox and eye as sharp as an eagle. He picked up his axe and followed the trail of blood.

He walked further and further along the river bed. Sounds of animals became distant. A thick mist began to cloud the wildflowers.

Daniel realized he had never traveled that far along the river before. He looked ahead and could see the small of the mountain drawing closer. Then he stumbled to an almost fall. He caught himself and stood up.

There was something soft and hard beneath his foot. His eyes looked down, his breath drew long, his mouth slightly open, and he froze.

For beneath his feet lay the body of a young girl, perhaps 6 or 7 years old. Her hair was golden long. Her brown eyes open, mouth closed, white nightgown, and bare feet. Tears of the reddest blood lingered on her face. Her body was cold but her cheeks were pink.

Daniel didn’t recognize the child. She was not from the village. There was no other town for miles. Daniel’s hands trembled as he picked up her cold body and walked carefully back toward the village.

Today would mark the beginning that the village would never be the same again.