HOME | DD

Description
Who would've guessed that the night would have been so dismal? The sun rose over the sleepy village, revealing just how poverty stricken it was. The houses, if you could call the two room shacks a house, were in shamble and falling apart. Each cobblestone in the street was either covered in moss, cracked, or missing entirely. Trash and dead rodents littered the sides of each road. As people began to emerge from their homes, it was clear they were no better than the rats scurrying around searching for food. The people were dirty, clothes tattered and nearly disintegrating from age. Some were skinny and frail, others bloated from lack of food. But, they held hope that this year would be a good year. The crops were finally growing properly now that they moved to a new field with fresh soil. A young man no older than 18 stepped out from one of the largest houses in the village. By largest, this simply meant they had two extra rooms no bigger than a broom cupboard, enough to hold a bed and bedpan.  He was slightly cleaner than the other people beginning their day. His clothes were freshly mended and only had one or two irreparable tears in them. His hair was the color of soot and the texture of straw, hanging down to his shoulders. His skin, beneath the dirt and dust, was an olive tone. There was no doubt that he was the best looking men in the village, a blessing they believe came from his grandfather who founded this place. The morning sun rose a little higher, illuminating every area of the village now. He stepped from the doorway into the sun and gave a yawn. His arms with thin like wire, just about the same as the rest of him, and he was just about as tall as the door. Mind you, it wasn't like anyone here was getting enough nutrition to grow tall and fit, so he wasn't much taller than 5'10''.

"Luther, fetch a pale would you?" A tender, yet tired, voice called through the door. Luther rolled his eyes and turned, picking up the weathered bucket from a pin upon the side of the house. Off to work already it seemed. When would he ever have time to himself? If only he knew.

Luther made his way down the dirt path toward the river. They were not a well-developed village, it was apparently. They didn't even have a well so everything came from the river. Hastily, the bucket dropped into the water with a thud; the quick moving stream filled it quickly and he was back on his way. Luther hummed a hymn on his walk back though it was cut short by the loud crack of a thick tree branch behind him in the woods. Luther turned quickly, looking into the tree line which was not very thick. Nothing.

"God damn it!" A loud hiss of anger came from the wood. Luther's eyes widened, pupils now small dots floating in a sea of green. Quickening of the heartbeat and breath, sitting target.

"Who is there?"
"Oh, Luther. That was not my most graceful stalking, but it was something." A deep voice answered back, but Luther could not see a thing in the trees. "Patience, child. You will know me soon. This is just too much fun." With that, a very quick rustling was followed by heavy running steps away from Luther towards the deeper forest.

The bucket rattled wildly in his trembling hands as he stared, mouth ajar, into the thin trees. What had just happened. "Damn!" Luther was startled back to reality by spilt water that had soaked his pants. After very quickly refilling the bucket, Luther walked as quickly as he could without spilling more.

"How did you manage to spill it all over yourself?" His mother scolded from the window as he approached the house.  She observed the ghostly shade of white in her son's face and quickly opened the door. "Lad, what happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Mother. You might not believe this, but something terribly stranged just happened. I was walking back home with the pale when I heard a branch break. I looked into the trees because I heard someone say "Damn". Well, no one was there. I couldn't see a damn thing. Then, he said my name. I don't know how he knew it but he said "You will know me soon. This is just too much fun."" Luther's voice was oddly calm and emotionless. "I was startled and spilt the water on myself."

"Oh, boy. It might have been your father playing a trick on you. Maybe one of your friends. Speaking of which, do you know where your father went off to last night?"

"He took Patty and went up the field to set up some scarecrows. Said that setting them up at night made the birds believe they were real people." It was a casual conversation, so comfortable it seemed to happen every day. It was no odd occurrence that his father left at odd hours of the night to tend to the fields or other business. They were the pillars of this village and because of such responsibility, Luther's father was always out.
His mother grabbed the pale from his hands and walked into the house. Luther, however, was no so easily swayed that it was a simple prank. Carefully, he scanned the alley ways around their house before walking inside and bolting the door. It seemed the incident sent a less than pleasant chill down his spine.  The main room was larger than the rest. It had a small handcrafted dining table that was uneven on one end with three chairs. There was a small plaque on the wall above the hearth where a fire was started and boiling a broth. They had a large wash basin in the left corner and a few trunks for storing food but other than that, it was bare. Two rooms sat on the right wall, the bedrooms, and a third, even smaller room was located under the house. It was never to be used, even Luther didn't know why.

"Breakfast is almost ready so go wash 'yur hands." Luther always found it funny how his mother could go from speaking so proper to talking just like everyone else in mid-sentence. She was a timid woman, on the plumper side. Her hair was ashen, much like his, with white pieces streaked throughout it from her hard life. Like his mother, Luther also had spring green eyes which were large and always carried life. Her hands were thick and told more about her age and life than her face. Luther obeyed his mother and went to the wash basin, splashing some water on his face and rubbed his hands clean of dirt. She had poured some of the boiling broth into a bowl and placed a piece of stale bread beside it. "Dip it in the soup, it'll be fine." This was customary. They rarely had any fresh bread.

After breakfast was taken care of and the household chores done, it was midday. His mother would be off to scavenge and barter with caravans and she put him on the task to go help his father in the new field. Luther was less than pleased to walk two miles in the midsummer heat but he had no choice. The walk was long and fairly unpleasant, mostly due to the fact the soles of his shoes were worn down to nothing.  Luther kicked a small pebble through the dirt and let his hands graze the tips of the long grass growing on either side of the wagon path. Slowly rising in the horizon was the newly built barn. The whole village had put time and effort into that barn and it was the pride of everyone.  Normally, the work horses would be out grazing but he could not see them. His father should be out watering the grain. As the descendant of the founder of the village, it was his responsibility to tend  to the crop. It was a Monday and the routine was to water the crops, tend to the horses and stock the barn, but all was quiet.

"Father?" Luther called out into the barn. Nothing.  "Patty?" How about the dog? Luther knew Patty would not leave his father's side. Patty was the family Border collie that was permanently glued to her master's side. Not even a bark.  This was bad and Luther knew it. Quickly he ran out to the back of the barn where the golden field of wheat lay. Pressed in the middle of the field was a path, like someone had pushed through it so quickly that the stalks bent and broke. Luther followed the path was his eyes, watching as it twisted and turned, making no proper sense at all. In the distance, far off in the horizon, crows and vultures were circling a certain area. There was no time to think, Luther was sweating from the heat of summer sun and most of all, his nerves. Using the already broken in path, he ran.

Along the way there were pools of blood, some torn clothing, Patty's hair. He couldn't find the dog or his father. "Father! Patty!" He cried, voice cracking under the immense pressure of building tears and fear. Before too long, Luther stumbled into a clearing made from the pressed stalks of wheat. It was clear a struggle happened here. As he scanned the area soaked in blood, tissue, and cloth, there it lay. "What in God's name?" He muttered under his breath, slowly approaching. There was a rank odor, the smell of rot and decay. Vultures and crows were tearing away at a mound of red flesh and bone. As he neared, they turned to him, cried, and flew off into the sunny blue sky. "Jesus…" Luther covered his mouth with his hand, grimacing at the stench.

It hit him, heavy. The clothing, though soaked in blood was recognizable. The skin was nearly gone but one part remained. The chest and head. Closer, the boy approached and then fell to the ground, crawling backwards much like how his father crawled away from Mal that night. The man's stomach, from the breast bone down to the pelvis, had been ripped open. Straight down the middle and fileted, his organs laid around the ground, torn open. His legs were broken, swollen, and so disfigured they were unrecognizable. His arms were torn off and lying within his body, broken also and covered in bite marks, pieces missing. Victor's face was twisted, eyes open and now cloudy from death, the look of horror still plastered upon him. Carved into his chest, 'Hello, Luther. I enjoyed this one.'

Description
Who would've guessed that the night would have been so dismal? The sun rose over the sleepy village, revealing just how poverty stricken it was. The houses, if you could call the two room shacks a house, were in shamble and falling apart. Each cobblestone in the street was either covered in moss, cracked, or missing entirely. Trash and dead rodents littered the sides of each road. As people began to emerge from their homes, it was clear they were no better than the rats scurrying around searching for food. The people were dirty, clothes tattered and nearly disintegrating from age. Some were skinny and frail, others bloated from lack of food. But, they held hope that this year would be a good year. The crops were finally growing properly now that they moved to a new field with fresh soil. A young man no older than 18 stepped out from one of the largest houses in the village. By largest, this simply meant they had two extra rooms no bigger than a broom cupboard, enough to hold a bed and bedpan.  He was slightly cleaner than the other people beginning their day. His clothes were freshly mended and only had one or two irreparable tears in them. His hair was the color of soot and the texture of straw, hanging down to his shoulders. His skin, beneath the dirt and dust, was an olive tone. There was no doubt that he was the best looking men in the village, a blessing they believe came from his grandfather who founded this place. The morning sun rose a little higher, illuminating every area of the village now. He stepped from the doorway into the sun and gave a yawn. His arms with thin like wire, just about the same as the rest of him, and he was just about as tall as the door. Mind you, it wasn't like anyone here was getting enough nutrition to grow tall and fit, so he wasn't much taller than 5'10''.

"Luther, fetch a pale would you?" A tender, yet tired, voice called through the door. Luther rolled his eyes and turned, picking up the weathered bucket from a pin upon the side of the house. Off to work already it seemed. When would he ever have time to himself? If only he knew.

Luther made his way down the dirt path toward the river. They were not a well-developed village, it was apparently. They didn't even have a well so everything came from the river. Hastily, the bucket dropped into the water with a thud; the quick moving stream filled it quickly and he was back on his way. Luther hummed a hymn on his walk back though it was cut short by the loud crack of a thick tree branch behind him in the woods. Luther turned quickly, looking into the tree line which was not very thick. Nothing.

"God damn it!" A loud hiss of anger came from the wood. Luther's eyes widened, pupils now small dots floating in a sea of green. Quickening of the heartbeat and breath, sitting target.

"Who is there?"
"Oh, Luther. That was not my most graceful stalking, but it was something." A deep voice answered back, but Luther could not see a thing in the trees. "Patience, child. You will know me soon. This is just too much fun." With that, a very quick rustling was followed by heavy running steps away from Luther towards the deeper forest.

The bucket rattled wildly in his trembling hands as he stared, mouth ajar, into the thin trees. What had just happened. "Damn!" Luther was startled back to reality by spilt water that had soaked his pants. After very quickly refilling the bucket, Luther walked as quickly as he could without spilling more.

"How did you manage to spill it all over yourself?" His mother scolded from the window as he approached the house.  She observed the ghostly shade of white in her son's face and quickly opened the door. "Lad, what happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Mother. You might not believe this, but something terribly stranged just happened. I was walking back home with the pale when I heard a branch break. I looked into the trees because I heard someone say "Damn". Well, no one was there. I couldn't see a damn thing. Then, he said my name. I don't know how he knew it but he said "You will know me soon. This is just too much fun."" Luther's voice was oddly calm and emotionless. "I was startled and spilt the water on myself."

"Oh, boy. It might have been your father playing a trick on you. Maybe one of your friends. Speaking of which, do you know where your father went off to last night?"

"He took Patty and went up the field to set up some scarecrows. Said that setting them up at night made the birds believe they were real people." It was a casual conversation, so comfortable it seemed to happen every day. It was no odd occurrence that his father left at odd hours of the night to tend to the fields or other business. They were the pillars of this village and because of such responsibility, Luther's father was always out.
His mother grabbed the pale from his hands and walked into the house. Luther, however, was no so easily swayed that it was a simple prank. Carefully, he scanned the alley ways around their house before walking inside and bolting the door. It seemed the incident sent a less than pleasant chill down his spine.  The main room was larger than the rest. It had a small handcrafted dining table that was uneven on one end with three chairs. There was a small plaque on the wall above the hearth where a fire was started and boiling a broth. They had a large wash basin in the left corner and a few trunks for storing food but other than that, it was bare. Two rooms sat on the right wall, the bedrooms, and a third, even smaller room was located under the house. It was never to be used, even Luther didn't know why.

"Breakfast is almost ready so go wash 'yur hands." Luther always found it funny how his mother could go from speaking so proper to talking just like everyone else in mid-sentence. She was a timid woman, on the plumper side. Her hair was ashen, much like his, with white pieces streaked throughout it from her hard life. Like his mother, Luther also had spring green eyes which were large and always carried life. Her hands were thick and told more about her age and life than her face. Luther obeyed his mother and went to the wash basin, splashing some water on his face and rubbed his hands clean of dirt. She had poured some of the boiling broth into a bowl and placed a piece of stale bread beside it. "Dip it in the soup, it'll be fine." This was customary. They rarely had any fresh bread.

After breakfast was taken care of and the household chores done, it was midday. His mother would be off to scavenge and barter with caravans and she put him on the task to go help his father in the new field. Luther was less than pleased to walk two miles in the midsummer heat but he had no choice. The walk was long and fairly unpleasant, mostly due to the fact the soles of his shoes were worn down to nothing.  Luther kicked a small pebble through the dirt and let his hands graze the tips of the long grass growing on either side of the wagon path. Slowly rising in the horizon was the newly built barn. The whole village had put time and effort into that barn and it was the pride of everyone.  Normally, the work horses would be out grazing but he could not see them. His father should be out watering the grain. As the descendant of the founder of the village, it was his responsibility to tend  to the crop. It was a Monday and the routine was to water the crops, tend to the horses and stock the barn, but all was quiet.

"Father?" Luther called out into the barn. Nothing.  "Patty?" How about the dog? Luther knew Patty would not leave his father's side. Patty was the family Border collie that was permanently glued to her master's side. Not even a bark.  This was bad and Luther knew it. Quickly he ran out to the back of the barn where the golden field of wheat lay. Pressed in the middle of the field was a path, like someone had pushed through it so quickly that the stalks bent and broke. Luther followed the path was his eyes, watching as it twisted and turned, making no proper sense at all. In the distance, far off in the horizon, crows and vultures were circling a certain area. There was no time to think, Luther was sweating from the heat of summer sun and most of all, his nerves. Using the already broken in path, he ran.

Along the way there were pools of blood, some torn clothing, Patty's hair. He couldn't find the dog or his father. "Father! Patty!" He cried, voice cracking under the immense pressure of building tears and fear. Before too long, Luther stumbled into a clearing made from the pressed stalks of wheat. It was clear a struggle happened here. As he scanned the area soaked in blood, tissue, and cloth, there it lay. "What in God's name?" He muttered under his breath, slowly approaching. There was a rank odor, the smell of rot and decay. Vultures and crows were tearing away at a mound of red flesh and bone. As he neared, they turned to him, cried, and flew off into the sunny blue sky. "Jesus…" Luther covered his mouth with his hand, grimacing at the stench.

It hit him, heavy. The clothing, though soaked in blood was recognizable. The skin was nearly gone but one part remained. The chest and head. Closer, the boy approached and then fell to the ground, crawling backwards much like how his father crawled away from Mal that night. The man's stomach, from the breast bone down to the pelvis, had been ripped open. Straight down the middle and fileted, his organs laid around the ground, torn open. His legs were broken, swollen, and so disfigured they were unrecognizable. His arms were torn off and lying within his body, broken also and covered in bite marks, pieces missing. Victor's face was twisted, eyes open and now cloudy from death, the look of horror still plastered upon him. Carved into his chest, 'Hello, Luther. I enjoyed this one.'