REVENANTS

Thomas Munro journeyed deeper into the forest and the everlasting night. The village of his beloved Catherine couldn’t be much farther now. But he had been foolish. Rather than stop at the inn a few miles back, he’d chosen, instead, to continue his journey, arrogantly believing he could arrive just before nightfall. Catherine, his sweet and fair fiancee, had been right about him: he was indeed a very daft man.

“Perhaps ‘tis not too late to find lodging at the inn,” he muttered aloud. He paused and wiped away the dampness from his brow. “I’ll even sleep in the barn if that’s what it comes to.”

A branch snapped behind him and Thomas spun around and gazed fearfully into the dark woods. Somehow the woods had grown darker than he had ever seen – an ominous, ungodly shade of black that threatened to swallow up those who dared to venture in. He held his little lantern higher and squinted into the dark, vainly attempting to make out the source of the commotion. There was nothing. Only darkness.

Thomas cursed himself for this cowardice and resumed his course along the dirt road. Won’t be longer now, he reminded himself over and over again. Won’t be longer now before the village comes into view. Won’t be long now…

A cry pierced the air – a scream so bloodcurdling it sent shivers down his spine. Thomas whirled around again shining his light this way and that, his heart pounding wildly against his breast. He tried to ease his worry, tried to tell himself that it was only the sound of animals at hunt. But he knew better. As daft as he was, he certainly knew better. He’d never heard a scream like that before in his life, but he knew, without any doubt, that it was the scream of a murdered man.

The bushes to his right rustled softly and Thomas turned just in time to see a hand forcing it’s way through the thick foliage. The light of his lantern fell onto the face of pale, burly man. He was very tall and muscular, and couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. He gazed at Thomas with blank, empty eyes, his face and hair dirtied with soil and sweat.

“H-hello?” Thomas anxiously stuttered, “Is – is everything alright, sir? D’you need any help?”

The man said nothing and only stared at him with those dead eyes. He stepped out of the bushes and only then could Thomas see the red streaks of fresh blood cascading down his shirt.

“Mother of God! You’ve been hurt!” then, without warning, the man lunged forward and wrapped his fingers around Thomas’ throat. Thomas gasped in fear and panic and instantly began clawing at the madman’s grip. His lantern dropped to the ground and exploded on impact before plunging the world into total darkness. Thomas felt the bloodied man push him further and further into the woods, his grip ever tightening with inhuman strength!

Then another light flashed from behind the stranger and a cry burst through the trees as something heavy and hard cracked down on the stranger’s head. He collapsed to the ground and suddenly Thomas was freed! He stumbled backwards and landed upside down in some thorny bushes, gasping sharply for air as he went. Blood pounded in his ears and sharp tears stung at the backs of his eyes. His head spun like a top and he heard more fighting, more screaming, more men approaching and cursing and finally – a single gunshot.

For a brief moment, silence filled the air as well as Thomas’ mind. What on Earth had he just witnessed? At that instant, a young boy, no older than fifteen, appeared over the bushes holding another lantern. He quickly looked over Thomas and called back to his companions,

“He’s alright, Da! He’s still alive!”

Footfalls followed and soon more terrified faces popped up and peered down at him. Thomas, meanwhile, peered nervously into the barrels of their loaded rifles.

“Alright! Alright!” called an older voice, “That’s enough of that now!” Make way, you lot, and give the poor lad some air!”

The men surrounding Thomas parted before a gray-haired fellow with a full white beard. He offered one brawny hand to Thomas before hoisting him to his feet.

“Tha-thank you, sir,” Thomas muttered as his whole body trembled.

“Don’t be thanking us just yet, m’boy,” the old man darkly replied. “Least not ‘til we get out of this damned woods!”

“It got Finney!” blurted a younger man. “It’ can’t be too far off from here if it got Finney!”

“We should stay put then,” suggested the boy with the lantern. “Till be safer that way, won’t it Da?”

“We’d be better off at the village,” the old man answered, “at least there we can face it on our own terms. Not out here. Out here, ‘tis the Beast that has the advantage.”

“But I thought – I thought he was dead?” Thomas stammered. “I thought you killed him?”

“No – that was Phineas Lance, the one who attacked ya,” the old man replied. “I’m talking ‘bout the Beast of these woods. The thing that made Finney attack ya.”

“I’m sorry but I – I don’t understand…”

“Tis a very long story, my boy,” the old man kindly answered. “One best told over a warm fire, and a good stiff drink.”

“I’m sorry but I – I can’t,” Thomas replied. “I – I have to – I have to see my fiancée. I was on my there, and… and she’s expecting me.”

“Are you daft or something, man?” cried a blond in his early twenties. The old man held up one arm to silence the youth, and then turned back to Thomas to ask,

“I wouldn’t recommend traveling these parts alone at night. What village did ya say she was from?” Thomas told him and then the old man slowly shook his head.

“I believe you are daft then,” he said. “I’m sorry lad, but that village is another two days journey from here.”

“That can’t be!” Thomas cried, “I’m sure this is the right way! I tell you, I’m sure of it!”

“S’more than likely you got turned around in the night – and in all the commotion that followed,” the old man reassured. “But listen my boy, s’not safe to venture into these woods at night. Not anymore. You’d best be coming with us. And in the morning, we’ll loan you a horse to get you to your lass. Sound good?”

Thomas examined the carefully. Then dropped his gaze to the corpse that lay at his feet: his face was turned away and into shadow, but even in the low light of the lantern Thomas could still make out the pool of blood around his head. A creature howled into the night. Yes – that sounded like a good plan.

***

Once back at the village, the old man (whom Thomas came to know as Kincaid) invited their young guest to spend the night in his family home. Thomas quickly came to regret the invitation when he learned that Marie, Kincaid’s eldest daughter, was now a widow.

“She’ll be alright,” said Fiona Kincaid sadly, as she returned from upstairs. “She – she just needs to cry it out for a while, that’s all.”

“Till take much more than that, my dear,” Kincaid replied solemnly, smoking a black pipe.

“Yes, I know,” Fiona answered glumly. She leaned over and checked on the brewing stew that bubbled slowly over the fire. Satisfied with it, she took up a clean bowl and ladled out two helpings for Thomas.

“Many thanks,” Thomas said politely before wolfing down the meal.

“You are most welcome, Mr. Munro,” Fiona smiled before taking a seat in the rocking chair by the hearth.

“Fiona dear,” said Kincaid, “why don’t you take some out to Sean and keep him company for a while? There’s someth’n I must discuss with Mr. Munro.”

“Yes Father,” answered Fiona. She dutifully rose and spooned out fresh bowl before heading for the back door. She paused and took a worried glance at them before hurrying on her way.

“She’s very lovely your daughter,” said Thomas once she was gone. “Very lovely indeed.”

“Aye she is,” Kincaid answered thoughtfully. “She’ll make a fine lady one day… a fine wife and mother. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he very sternly. “Mr. Munro - I want you take my Fiona.” Thomas coughed loudly as he choked on his stew.

“W-What?! But – but Mr. Kincaid… I – I’m engaged!”

“Not for a bride or nothing, you dunce,” retorted Kincaid. “I mean, when you leave here in the morning, I want you take my Fiona away from you. Her and her brother, Sean.”

“But why?” Thomas asked incredulously. “Why when you barely know me?” Kincaid slipped him an amused smile.

“Oh, have we already forgotten about the woods this evening?” Thomas blushed embarrassed, and suddenly it all made sense.

“With that monster lurking around,” continued Kincaid, “it’s not safe here anymore for anyone. That’s why I want you take my youngest two with you when you leave. Get ‘em as far away from here as you can, that they can live.”

“But surely you and your family are free to leave any time you wish? Surely that – ‘beast’ or whatever it is – surely it can’t keep you prisoner here?”

“It can. And it does.”

“Mr. Kincaid!” Thomas exclaimed, slamming down his half-eaten stew. “What in the world is going on here?! I was nearly killed out there by one of your men, and now you want me to spirit away your own children?! What is happening here?!!” Kincaid studied Thomas’ face for a moment, before dropping his gaze to the floor and quietly saying,

“I’m afraid even I don’t know that.” He inhaled deeply from his pipe and leaned forward in his chair. “But you’re right: tis not your fault you were dragged into our nightmare. You deserve something of an explanation.” Thomas watched his host nervously, suddenly regretful that he didn’t stop at that damned inn when he had the chance.

“T’all started about a month ago,” Kincaid explained somberly. “Couple o’ fellas were out hunting in the woods when they come across some kind of – creature. That’s the best word to describe it, I think. Only, it didn’t look like a creature, at least not a dangerous one. It was only a dog, they said. A mangy, half-dead thing they just happened to come across. They didn’t know what to do with it, so they just left it behind, thinking it would either wander off or just die where they found it. But it didn’t die. I don’t think that damned hound will ever die.

“They made it back to the village when they realized it followed them home. They tried to coax it to come, deciding to keep it I guess, but it would never leave the forest. Every time someone passed by, it would just watch them. Watch them from woods with those cold and lifeless eyes. People threw it scraps from time to time, but as far as I know it don’t think it ever ate a single bite. You see, it’s not food it wants. Oh no – not food at all.

“That was made evident when, a week later, it killed a child, Isaac Candor’s little boy. No one actually saw it happen, but then again no one really needed to. Poor babe – he was just torn to pieces from head to toe. Mother was beside herself, and poor Isaac vowed to hunt down that beast himself. So, after the burial, Isaac set off into the woods alone for three days. But the truth is he never came back. Not really.

“You see, Mr. Munro, what came back to the village on the third day – what really walked out of those woods – is something I can’t even describe to you. I only know that whatever it was, it wasn’t Isaac Candor. It was his corpse.

“Bloodied and beaten like he’d been mauled down dead, his flesh already rotting off and a feast for the flies. And his eyes were the most terrifying thing – the eyes you’d only ever see on a corpse that’s been dead for three days…

“He attacked and killed his best friend, Shamash, and was about to do the same to his wife. Her sister, Molly, however, was visiting that day and got the jump on Isaac – bludgeoning him to death with a frying pan. Well, we buried them both and tried to make sense of what was happening, but Molly, she would have none of it. She packed up her sister and they both left the village the very next day, believing that anywhere was safer than here. Two days later, their corpses returned.

“They too were killed and buried out in that cemetery – along with another man and his entire family. No one knows when or how that thing attack him, only that he’d been dead for less than a day and had murdered his wife and brothers. We didn’t know what else to do. We menfolk started forming hunting parties to search for that Beast. That thing has made I very clear that it doesn’t intend to leave our village. Nor does it intend to let any of us go.

“And that’s where you come in Mr. Munro. You’re not one of us. You don’t belong here. The Beast has no qualms with you. You’re the only one who can take my children away from here – who can take them somewhere safe. Somewhere where they can forget about this terrible place, and won’t have to live with this curse any longer. For I believe, Mr. Munro, that this village is cursed. I don’t know how or why, but it was cursed the moment those men found that creature skulking in the woods. And it will remain cursed until this village is as dead as that monster.”

Thomas said nothing for a long time, and could only gape at the man in disbelieving horror. How was any of this possible? A beast that was dead yet undead? A beast that could resurrect others through killing? It couldn’t be possible. None of it! But deep in his heart Thomas knew that it was the only explanation that made any sense.

Phineas Lance had made sure of that.

***

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Fiona asked as she leaned against the wall of the cottage. Her brother, who had been keeping careful vigil, shrugged and replied,

“Dunno. Da must be telling him ‘bout the Beast in the woods.”

“Old bloody Lazarus, huh?” Fiona scoffed with disdain.

“I told ya not to call it that,” Sean snapped irritably. “It’s not right to use the Bible to name a demon.” Fiona merely shrugged, disinterestedly.

“Lazarus rose from the grave, too, didn’t he?”

“That was different. That was God’s will. This – this is something else…”

A voice screamed and Fiona jumped to attention as Sean raised his rifle. The sound of crunching leaves echoed in the air, and twigs snapped from somewhere in the distance; the sounds of someone running and closing in fast.

“Go and get Da!” Sean cried over his shoulder. Fiona didn’t need to be told twice. She spun around and raced into the house crying,

“Father! Come quick!”

Moments later she reappeared with her father and Thomas Munro in tow, each armed and ready. A woman came into view as she rounded the corner of the barn. They could her sobbing hysterically as she raced for them, screaming,

“Adam!! Adam, please, help me!! Please help, Adam!”

“Maggie!” cried Kincaid, meeting her halfway. “Maggie, girl, get a hold of yourself! What’s wrong?!”

“The Beast! The Beast is in my house!” she shrieked. Blood streaked her cheeks and hands, and patches of it splattered the front her dress.

“It killed my father! It killed him and he tried to kill me! He tried to kill me, Adam!”

“S’alright, it’s alright now, Maggie. You’re safe now,” Kincaid comforted, hugging her close to him. He then turned towards his daughter and said, “Fiona, take her inside and keep an eye on her. You and Marie.”

“Sean,” he added as Fiona led the sobbing woman away, “go and notify the watchman. We’ll need to get a party together and fast!”

“Yes sir!” Sean replied before racing off into the night. Only moments later the warning bell rang throughout the village and all the able-bodied men began to gather in the square, already armed with weapons and torches. They quickly set off in search of the corpse of Michael Baker and the Beast that made him so. Upon Kincaid’s urging, Thomas stayed behind with the others.

“We’ve already put you through so much, Mr. Munro,” Kincaid said. “I couldn’t in good conscience ask ya to risk yer life for the sake of our home.”

And so Thomas, the Kincaid children, and Maggie Baker, gathered around the fire and waited anxiously as the world outside slowly turned into a hellscape.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt any, Ms. Baker?” Fiona dutifully asked.

“No child, thank you,” Maggie replied through soft sobs. “I am fine, I promise.”

“I can’t stand it!” Sean blurted out angrily. “I should be out there with the others! Hunting down that – that bastard of a monster!”

“Sean Kincaid!” chastised his sister, “Don’t you dare speak with such a foul tongue in this house!”

“Oh, shove off, Fiona!” he spat. “S’none of your concern!”

“Now that’s enough out of both of you!” Ms. Baker snapped. “Really! And at a fine time like this!”

“Everything’ll be fine, I’m sure of it,” Thomas said compassionately. “They’ll find the Beast and chase it away once and for all.”

“Mother of God, you don’t know anything do you?!” Sean hissed. “Chase it away? What do you know of it?!”

“Sean!” Fiona cried, but her brother ignored her.

“That won’t stop it from coming back,” Sean argued. “It always comes back! I don’t know why but it just does. It always comes back because it’s chosen this place as its home – and here is where it intends to stay! It always comes back… always…”

Suddenly the kitchen door slammed shut and everyone jumped in alarm. They looked to each other worriedly before Sean and Thomas rose and inched toward the door. Fiona leapt to her feet and rushed for the stairs, calling out,

“Marie?!”

Sean, meanwhile, readied his rifle as Thomas pulled back the hammer on his revolver. The deathly silence pounded in Thomas’ ears, threatening to drive him made with terror. Sean took a deep breath and stealthily pushed his way through the back door. He spun around this way and that as he searched the shadows for any sign of danger. There was none.

Thomas and Sean let out a deep sigh of relief. It was interrupted by a shrill scream. Sean recognized the voice and launched forward.

“MARIE!” he cried, sprinting for the barn. Thomas turned and called back into the house, “Stay here you two!” before he charged after the young boy.

“Sean!” he hollered, “Sean!!” He followed the boy around the back of the barn and nearly screamed himself when saw them there:

On the ground, highlighted by the moonlight, were the bloodied and battered remains of the once beautiful Marie Lance. Her raven hair spilled out behind her, emulating the blood that spilled from her shredded skin, as her dead blue eyes gazed up at the sky in horror. Her lips were frozen in a soundless, terrified scream. And there over her body loomed a monstrosity Thomas had never seen before or since.

Large and gray, with matted fur and putrefied flesh falling from its bones, it almost resembled a dog. A dog or wolf half-dead and decomposed with vile white eyes that seemed to glow in the dark of the night. It gazed up at them both, the horrified men, and snarled malevolently, revealing bloodied, rotting teeth. Its dead eyes – eyes of pure evil – took special notice of Thomas and seemed to lock on him greedily. The hairs on the back of Thomas’ neck stood on end and shivers of terror shot down his spine.

Sean raised his rifle and screamed in rage and anguish,

“DAMN YOU!!!” and fired a single shot.

Wood exploded from the corner of the barn as the Beast dodged the shot and disappeared. Without thought or hesitation, Sean chased after the thing, the empty rifle still in his fist. Thomas opened his mouth, to call for the boy, to stop him somehow, but his voice caught in his throat and his blood chilled at what he saw before him.

Marie’s body began to move.

Slowly, very slowly, with eyes staring blankly ahead, she rose from the ground and turned to face him. The fresh blood on her clothes shimmered against the moon light and seemed to regard him with innocent curiosity. And then, she stood before him moving one foot limply in front of the other.

Thomas gasped and tried to scream, but instead lost his footing and stumbled backwards, landing painfully on his back. Suddenly he remembered the revolver in his grasp and quickly raised it with one shaky hand as Marie gained momentum and lifted her arms toward him.

He worked his trembling fingers, forcing them to move in spite of his fear, and finally a bullet launched from the barrel as gunpowder sparked and thundered against the night. Her head spun around and Marie fell down dead for a second time, the little iron ball rupturing what remained of her face.

Thomas sat there, staring and trembling before the ghastly sight. What had he done? Good God, what had he done?! He looked up and gasped when he saw bloodied fingers reach around the side of the barn – a hand that undoubtedly once belonged to poor, young Sean. At last Thomas turned and scurried away, tripping himself as he scrambled back to his feet. He ran for the house as fast as he could, abandoning the revolver where it lay on the ground.

“Fiona!” he exclaimed as he raced through the back door. “Ms. Fiona!? Maggie!!” There was no answer and no one in sight. Suddenly his eyes fell upon the front door, wide open and swinging listlessly in the freezing evening wind. Thomas hurried for it and a gust of wind came rushing through the house, nearly knocking him back. He braced himself against the door frame and gapped in terror at the sight before him.

People ran screaming in every direction, shots fired wildly into the night, punctured by the shrill cries of the damned and dying. A house, catching fire from within, illuminated the hellish forces that swept through the village. There, in the distance, Thomas witnessed a mauled and bloody corpse strangling a woman as her pleas went unheeded. Movement caught his eye again and Thomas turned back to the burning house to see the undead Beast – Satan’s unholy hound – looming before him in the blazing light. It regarded Thomas once more with horrible vile glee.

“What are you?!” Thomas screamed over the chaos. “What in God’s name ARE YOU?!!”

Just then, a woman with her throat gouged out approached him and swung a meat cleaver at his head. Thomas dodged and, enraged, ripped the cleaver from the woman’s grasp. He roared and brought it down vengefully into her chest and she collapsed before him like a paper doll.

A new sense of horror rippled through Thomas’ heart and he let the cleaver drop from his hand as he fled into the night. Inn or no inn, horse or no horse, he was getting out of this Godforsaken village! This village of the damned and dying! Soon the screams and chaos faded away and the darkness of the woods swallowed him up, and watched him ominously as he ran. He didn’t know how long he’d run, or where he was even going. Only that he had to get away – get away and fast!

He tripped and nearly slid into a small crevasse. As he righted himself he heard a branch snap violently from behind. The Beast was after him! After him at long last!! He hurried along zigzagging wildly through a cluster of trees, anticipating another attack, another meat cleaver, to come whizzing by his head. The thought made him laugh – a wild, uncontrollable bray, like that of a madman. He had to get away. He had to get away!

Keep going, keep going! he thought to himself. Just keep going, keep running! No time to rest! These woods aren’t safe anymore – these woods are all damned! All damned and dying and revenants of what was! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!!! DON’T…!

***

As Thomas Munro stumbled into the village, people couldn’t help but stop and stare. They whispered and gapped as he made his way sluggishly through the square, his dirtied clothes tattered beyond repair. Dark circles spread under his eyes from four days without sleep and streaks of blood, red and fresh, ran along the cuts of his arms and neck. People pointed and gasped upon seeing him, but he ignored them all. Ignored them and limply trudged on to the one house he needed more than anything to see: the house of his sweet Catherine.

“Master Thomas!” the maid, Sarah, cried as she met him at the door. “Good Lord, Master Thomas! What in the world has become of you!?”

“Catherine,” he panted weakly. “Where is – my Catherine?”

“She went out to tend the chickens only a short while ago,” Sarah replied as she led him through the house.

“She’s been in an awful state the past few days, since we were expecting you three days ago and heard no word from you. We were all beginning to panic, thinking something terrible must’ve happened…” she sat him down on a little wooden chair and quickly retrieved a cup of cold water from the kitchen pump.

“and from the look of you, I’d say we were right..!” Thomas listened but heard none of it, and only drank thirstily from the cup. His throat burned but was immediately soothed upon the cold water’s touch. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had water. All he could remember was running. Running, running, running…

“… and the Missus won’t be back for a few more days,” Sarah concluded. “But I’ll send word to ‘em right away that you’re alright. I’m sure they’ll be relieved. Now, you stay right there a moment and just rest.” Sarah headed for the door, tightening her shawl around her shoulders as she went.

“I’ll fetch the doctor for you. Don’t you move! Miss Catherine will be in shortly and can tend to you while I’m gone..!” and with that, Sarah scurried from the house, letting the door bang shut behind her.

Thomas sat there quietly in the cozy little kitchen and slowly closed his eyes, relieved that the nightmare was over. Perhaps it had truly been a nightmare – a horrible dream created by mischievous spirits. Perhaps there really was no Kincaid, or Fiona or Sean or Marie, or Poor Phineas Lance who started it all. Perhaps there was no village of the damned and dying and revenants. Perhaps there was no Revenant Beast. Thomas Munro was, after all, a very daft man.

The back door suddenly opened and shut, and Thomas opened his eyes before turning to look upon his beautiful bride.

"My Darling…”

Both of her arms bled from deep claw marks. Blood poured down the front of her dress from the opened wound on her neck. She gazed at him with dead eyes, her head cocked to one side. In her grasp dangled a chicken, its neck unceremoniously snapped in half. A vacant smile crossed her lips as young Catherine whispered,

“My love… you’ve come home…”

Edited- 12/27/23