The thing cried an almighty roar and blood gushed from its mouth. It brought its hands up to the buried knife and was coated in a torrent of red gore. Letting out one last scream, its body went limp and it sank to the floor.
The Reverend, eyes wide and face covered in blood, was in disbelief. Disbelief of how this man could have been walking, disbelief of what he had just done. He was a murderer. He had killed one of God’s creations, even if it was hideous to look at.
“What have I done?” he whimpered.
I will be punished severely for this.
He turned away from the sprawled thing and rushed out the door, into the mild night. Standing in the tall grass, he vomited long and hard.
When his stomach was empty, the Reverend wiped his mouth and straightened up. The breeze felt good as it lilted against the cold sweat dripping from his face.
Out the corner of his eye, he saw a light flicker. He glanced in the direction of the beach and saw a gleam of light. It wasn’t very strong; it was almost as if a mist of yellow fog was being shone through the darkness.
The Reverend began walking towards the ocean. For a short time he forgot about what was back at his cottage, lying dead on the kitchen floor. The source of the light became his immediate preoccupation.
Perhaps there’s somebody up ahead with a torch, he thought. The person could be hurt.
The light faded.
The Reverend stopped and frowned at the relinquishment of the mysterious light.
Even if there is somebody up ahead, I can’t take them back to my house.
Still, he continued.
He tramped along the sandy ground for five more minutes before he came upon the cliff where he had met the now deceased man.
He could see no person with a torch. He stepped closer to the edge and peered down at the ocean.
The Reverend was staggered to find a ship. It was moored a little way up the beach and he could see hordes of figures stepping off. Some were already out and walking along the dark beach; a few were walking down the steep stairs that led onto the sand.
He couldn’t possibly count all the dark figures, but the Reverend guessed there were at least twenty that he could see. And there was bound to be more inside the ship, waiting to hop out.
The tiny portholes that coated the ship’s exterior were lit up, including a powerful torch at the bow of the ship.
There’s my mysterious light, the Reverend thought.
He wondered why they had chosen to land the ship where they had. He thought maybe they were having problems that required them to land immediately.
He stayed for a while and watched the groups of dim figures make their way onto land. It was only when he caught a whiff of a familiar stench that a wild chill surged through his body and he decided to leave.
Turning his back on the ocean, the Reverend started off towards his cottage.
He jogged most of the way, and by the time he arrived, he was panting harshly and sweating. He stopped by the open door.
He inhaled deeply before stepping into his cottage. He closed the door then locked it. That horrid, familiar smell down at the ocean had instilled a grave fear. He had a strong feeling something unnatural was going to happen.
Acting on that instinct he went about locking the windows and shutting the curtains. There was no back door, so he only had to worry about making sure the windows were secured.
When he was finished, the Reverend slumped in his chair by the dwindling fire.
Now what do I do with the body? he wondered. The thought about having to clean the mess vexed his already cloudy mind.
Seeing that the fire needed stoking, the Reverend hopped up and threw some more logs on. Soon the fire blazed healthy and he sat back and sighed.
What possible ramifications will this ghastly night have? the Reverend wondered. He wanted to forget everything that had happened. Everything he had done. How could he go to church and talk about peace and prayer now?
Above the crackling of the fire, the Reverend heard the faint sound of moaning. He turned and looked towards the kitchen, almost expecting to see the man lumbering for him, the knife protruding from his head. Never would he have thought such things before tonight, and that scared him almost as much as those deep, long groans that seemed to be getting louder.
The Reverend stood and headed into the kitchen. The form was still lying on the kitchen floor, motionless and bloody.
But now the Reverend could hear that the sounds were coming from outside. He carefully stepped around the body and up to the window. He flung the curtain aside and peered out.
At first he saw nothing; he only heard the unearthly wail of many voices.
Then he saw the dim figures approaching. The Reverend drew in a fearful breath. Out of the perpetual darkness at least thirty men were striding towards him.
“What do they want?” he whispered.
It wasn’t until they had ambled closer, as they stepped into the moonlight that the Reverend saw them properly. Most had dreadful wounds inflicted on their bodies. Some had chunks of flesh missing from their necks; some had parts of their face torn off. One man had no arm below the elbow. Their clothes were ragged; some wore nothing but strips of fabric.
Were these the people from the ship?
Has to be, he thought.
He closed the curtain and turned around.
“What happened?” he said down to the body. “What abomination have you brought here?”
Panic began to rise up in the Reverend’s heart. He rushed into the dim lounge. Confusion and terror set in, in equal parts.
The first bang against the door came as a surprise to the Reverend.
He shrieked. He gazed over at the front door and heard the thumps of the people.
Not people; people don’t look like that. People don’t come to a man’s home and act this way.
He heard the breaking of glass and turned to see shards flying onto the kitchen floor.
“What do you want?” the Reverend cried. “I am a man of God. I have no money and have done no wrong!” I have killed a man, he reminded himself.
He saw one of the figures clawing at the broken window.
Another face appeared and both groaned while trying to climb in. The banging continued with force at the front door.
The cries became louder and from somewhere in the cottage, perhaps in his bedroom, he heard more glass breaking.
He closed his eyes. He knew they had surrounded the cottage.
Within minutes they would be inside.
The Reverend fell to his knees. He heard scraping all around him and more smashing of glass. Grunts rose and fell with every thump.
The front door gave way slightly. One of its hinges snapped off and the door splintered, allowing for a hand to snake its way through.
The Reverend turned his head and saw that one of the fiends at the window was almost inside. He was bleeding profusely from the many cuts the broken glass had given him. He didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest, however.
The moans from down in his bedroom were louder now.
They pounded in the Reverend’s ears, almost drowning out the sound of the fire.
The Fire!
The Reverend stood up, dashed over to the open fire and carefully clutched a half-burning log. With the makeshift torch, he hurried down to his bedroom, and stopped at the door. A half a dozen of the creatures were already inside, menacing towards him. More were clambering at the broken window. Their expressionless faces drooled blood, and the Reverend was momentarily caught thinking about the stranger.