The Traveler

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

An outsider would think nothing of it, but the damned souls of such a desolate town knew better. They knew what it meant; she was coming and there was not much time. There are no records of where the creature came from or what evil spat her into existence. No one has ever been brave enough to search for the answers. They only seemed to know whatever she wanted them to know. She has been condemning everything and everyone within her reach for ages. Certainly before any humans had ever wandered into the cryptic forests of Lyden. The darkness she emoted was more deeply rooted than the trees that coveted these people from the rest of the world. The land and every living thing in it, belonged to her. It was her playground; her menagerie.

The ancestors of Lyden had always obeyed. They accepted that fighting back was futile. They knew surrendering to the ominous presence was their only chance to prolong the inevitable. Some have tried to resist the reality of the prison she created, but it should come to no surprise as to why they are not alive to tell a more favorable tale. As a true predator, any defiant spirit would only excite her wickedness. The adrenaline and fear stirring in a rebellious heart is a delicacy to this monster. And so, Lyden learned a terrible truth from their dead,

Submit to her. Succumb to her. Obey the Troklëin.

The elders of Lyden were sure to pass this crippling fear down to the next generations. Every infant is born with this curse infectiously spreading through their veins. Normal children are told fairy tales, and say prayers before bed. The adolescents of Lyden recited this incantation,

"We belong to Troklëin. With Troklëin we must stay. And if we ever leave her, she will make us suffer; she will make us pay".

There were others, known as the travelers, that were overwhelmed with hope of putting these rotting lands behind them,“If Troklëin cannot reach us, she cannot harm us”. Always so certain and always so foolish. Sick with their delusions, they would collect what little things they had and run as far as they could. The rest of Lyden could not fathom such a risk. They would sooner gouge their own eyes out than to leave; especially after seeing how every single traveler returns.

One way or another, anyone that departs would experience all the joys and desires of their heart just to have it stripped away. They were always plagued with an endless wave of misfortune and disaster until all of their memories were mutated into nightmares. Nightmares that would force them to relive their torment, rob them of their sanity, and break their souls down to nothing. Maddened by despair, these weary travelers would sink back down to the little circle of hell they once clawed their way out of. They could not heed the warnings before, but she made sure they would never make such a mistake again. Sooner or later, they would obey.

And so the creature would cast her web, strangle the life from her victims and reel them back in when the time was right: always after the candle ignited, always in time for the reaping. The sunrise following the candle’s reemergence, the entire town rushed to an open spot to prepare for the travelers’ return. It was the closest thing that they had to a town tradition or community event. They were not gathering to welcome anyone home or ask them of their adventures. They were not even missed. Lyden’s eyes locked onto every rustling branch, anxiously awaiting the little ones.

Yes. They do not return without the offerings; the children. Some believed that she compelled the travelers to escape for this express purpose. It was probably the only reason anyone was allowed to leave. Either way, they were all forced to supply children for the slaughter. Then, and only then, will she grant them ‘silence’. A true gift after such pain. These little ones were not born with her curse so they carried a stench of fear that you could nearly taste. There is a grim essence that attaches to someone that has known the warmth of love and had it drained away. Troklëin desired this most of all. After their arrival, you could hear their little hearts fighting to escape their chests. Their panicked breathing might as well be blood curdling screams.

Their pale, sweat coated skin would crawl with terror. It would have been a favor to just rip their flesh off completely. Their little, wide eyes constantly darted from one direction to the next; constantly scanning the trees and tall grass for something or someone that would explain the predatory aura that was following them. They knew, "something is coming." It is this formula of pure terror and confusion that made them irresistible to her. The panic and worry would be like music to her ears, if she had any. Troklëin was undoubtedly a horrifying creature. She had a sizable, humanoid figure, towering over everything at seven feet tall. Her nose and ears were worn down to the bone and her eyes resembled leaky puddles of tar. The jaw seemed to be torn open, revealing rows of rotting blade-like teeth. The tongue, with the likeness of a three foot slug, could stretch and wrap around her tiny prey in seconds. The creature’s claws protruded from decayed skin and were so long, the town could hear them shredding the earth beneath her while she dragged them around.

Once all of Lyden settled into their posts, they waited for the parade of fresh blood to make their grand entrance. The reaping demanded a hefty toll of six children. Sixty little fingers, sixty little toes, twelve glossy eyes, a couple handfuls of darling little teeth, and a stream of blood that would satiate the Troklëin. If the travelers could deliver all six, then all the souls that remained faithful and obedient were spared. The hours would roll on quickly towards sunset, so they watched and counted.

One, a little girl with golden hair. “You could already imagine the deep, red blood splattered in between her curls.” murmured a witness.

Two and three, twins with fire red hair braided into long pigtails. “At least they would not perish alone.”

The fourth, a brown eyed infant that could hardly walk. “Troklëin will truly delight in this one.”

The fifth, the oldest of the group, was nearly eleven. He was older than the beast’s typical victim, but his ignorance to the horrors of the world made him an acceptable sacrifice. Then they sent their prayers up for the final child.

With sunset rapidly approaching, the town fought to bury their fear. Where was the sixth child? Time seemed to stop completely. The minutes felt like an eternity. No one dared to show any signs of panic. “Do not feel, or she will see you.” they whispered. After hours of silent torture, their sixth savior appeared. They could not express their relief, but collectively they were in a silent celebration. The trance over the town was broken and the crowd dispersed. The remaining daylight hours were spent hovering over the children. Peeking through windows and sneaking glances over their shoulders, they examined their every move. They tried not to be caught staring, but how could they resist? They envied them. The fear of being hunted made them more alive than anyone they knew. Lyden had eradicated all feeling and emotion for centuries yet these children were marinating it. Most importantly, the end of their suffering was so close.

The clouds shifted over the town and then everyone moved in an eerie ceremonial way to prepare for Troklëin’s ascension from hell. Every tattered door and window was slammed shut and locked up tight. The travelers walked the honorary guests to the designated house on the far end of town. The little ones were taken to their new rooms to be locked in and abandoned by their chaperones. Every lantern, every torch, every fireplace was extinguished. The only light that could be seen was the candle in the cabin. The only sound that could be heard was the violent tossing and turning of the little saviors in their beds. The little ones performed this agitated dance to the point of exhaustion. The fight to stay awake had been lost, giving way to a perfect silence. The ice cold, thin air delivered this silence from door to door.

“Here She comes.”

Just then, the shrill cries of Troklëin cracked through the night sky. The town would begin their count for a final time. Six and five- the twins were first. Listening to their howling as they are being ripped to pieces, filled them with an urge to bury themselves. Lyden could only imagine what took place during the carnage based on what was left to clean up. She ripped tiny fingernails from their hands. Their hair was torn from the scalp, and their scalp was torn from their heads. Her demonic claws hacked the rest of the body with such precision, their remains had a likeness to shattered glass. The eyes and heart must have been her favorite because they were always missing. Some of the bones were pulled out whole, before the butchering. The blood- everywhere. It was so hard to believe that such small bodies could hold so much blood.

And the countdown continued,

Four…

Three…

Two…

One.

The new silence rang like a bell, letting everyone know the reaping was over. Or so they thought. A paralytic sensation set in as the screams from the string of massacres happening all over town let out. Mass panic ensued.

“How could this be happening?”

“Did we get the count wrong?”

“All six children were devoured! There was no mistake!”

“CONTROL YOUR BREATHING OR SHE WILL HEAR YOU!”

All the people of Lyden remained chained down by fear and confusion as Troklëin continued her wreckage from house to house. All except for one, Orrah, a traveler from a previous cycle. Although her nightmares had ended, she still had traces of the life she knew before. She still remembered glimpses of what it meant to love, to lose, and most importantly-the urge to run that pushed her out of Lyden in the first place. And so she ran. She exploded from her bedroom, down the stairs, and out the back door. She inhaled the frozen air as if she was breathing for the first time in years. She could hear her heartbeat thundering in her skull. Her eyes shifted so quickly that her vision became blurred. The violent quivering she felt could have broken every bone in her body.

In that moment, Orrah’s hysterical ramblings and heavy breathing seemed to harmonize; a damask symphony that she was all too familiar with. She moved so quickly that it took some time for her mind to catch up with her body.

“Where to hide ?”

“You cannot hide from her.”

“Just keep running.”

Before she began to sprint for the tree line, something held her in place. Troklëin’s bloodlust was tunneling directly at her. The monster’s breath touched her spine within seconds. Any chance of escape was now pointless. Orrah closed her eyes, numbed herself, and awaited her end.

The predictable ending is that the Troklëin devoured Orrah with the rest of the town and disintegrated over time without any more sacrifices.

That is what anyone could hope for. Instead, I must tell you that the demon made a pact with this traveler. The traveler was promised mortality and freedom to go anywhere she would like. In exchange, she would have to continue to bring offerings to her Troklëin whenever the beast called. The instructions were simple. She would gather anyone who would listen, in a room just like this one. She would invoke the dark presence of the monster by telling her tale, just as I have. And then she would light a candle and call out her name until the evil creature returned.

Troklëin

Troklëin

Troklëin