The Massacre

Standing at the edge of the village while staring at the moon an uncomfortable eeriness enveloped him like a creepy fog inspiring a strange and frightening sensation that he knew he shouldn’t be enjoying. The mysterious sensation was kindling a fire deep within the pit of his stomach producing anticipation that rests somewhere between hope and fear. Attempting to keep the fire under control proved futile. The excitement of the strange and frightening fog fused together with hope and fear rose with fervour and assumed power over him releasing a flood of passion like nothing he had ever known before. While the night air caused a shiver to run the length of his body and the burning passion within produced beads of sweat across his forehead, he tentatively walked towards the first hut. Reaching the door and twisting the knob he was surprised at himself, not for entertaining these kinds of thoughts, but for pushing them into action. But what surprised him the most was the stupidity of Jason for leaving his door unlocked. Slowly and silently he drew his sword then proceeded to creep through the hut until he reached the bedroom.

While standing at the door staring at Jason and his wife Denise sleeping he started to wonder what it would be like to have someone love and care for him. “That will never happen,” he thought, “it’s for the best I just do what I’m here to do.” With the fire now raging up from the pit of his stomach and burning through his eyes he carefully tiptoed to the side where Denise was sleeping. He put the blade to her throat and slit her from ear to ear. There was nothing she could say or do, the cut was too deep and she bled out in seconds. He shuddered at what he had just done and stood there hypnotized by the amount of blood and the speed that it had flowed from her body. His mind started to race with fear, a feeling he had known from an early age. ‘Years of torment have led me to this?’ he thought, ‘by the fates, now I have to continue or there’ll be no escape.’

Gathering his composure he slipped around to the other side of the bed. While standing over Jason with his sword clenched in both hands he called Jason’s name. As Jason clawed his way out of deep sleep his hand reached over to his wife and rested in her blood. The strange feeling of warm sticky goo caused him to sit up in surprise. With one mighty swing the sword severed Jason’s head. It was an interesting spectacle. The bed was almost completely stained with a bloody crimson. While Jason’s body was still sitting upright squirting blood like a fountain his head was sitting upright in Denise’s lap. Her eyes were glazed over with shock, and the absence of life, whereas Jason’s eyes were still blinking as if in disbelief of what had just happened.

Standing there looking at what had been accomplished he started to feel the tingle of pride seeping into his mind. Even though he knew the night had just begun and there were more entertaining thoughts to push into play, he decided it would be wise to relish the moment, to gather his thoughts before continuing. Searching the hut was pointless as there was only food and wine. Since free wine was always a little better than nothing, he decided to take both. “Leave the wine,” said the voice. “No,” he replied, “I can use it later.” “Leave the wine! It is better for you to stay sober minded. That way you can remember your mistakes,” said the voice in melodic yet forceful tone. Deciding that the voice is worth listening to he left the wine, sat in a chair and started to eat the food. A passionate thought flooded through his head urging him to continue with the night’s work. Figuring that this was his inner self, his subconscious voice, telling him that he was wasting time he put the food into his pouch and headed out the door.

Standing back out in the street he saw there had been no change. The moon looked to have held its position as if trapped in time. The eeriness was still thick as mud. In fact the only difference was with him. He was no longer shivering and the beads of sweat had evaporated from his forehead, but he was still burning internally for retribution. With a collection of the past’s hatred driving him, he slowly strolled towards the second hut. His mind was beginning to clear; pushing aside the thoughts of regret only helped a torrent of atrocious visions shroud his mind. He smiled with anticipation as he twisted the door knob, and then started shaking his head with the surprise of finding another door unlocked. He stood there for a moment wondering whether or not all the other people in the village were this stupid. ‘After all the troubles these people have given me,’ he thought, ‘why would they leave the doors unlocked? Do they fear nothing? Well, if that’s the case, then they deserve this!’

With appalling thoughts consuming every part of the conscious mind he entered the hut smoothly but not as silently as before, intending to slay the stupidity that dwelled within, otherwise known as Markus. This idiot was easy to find. He was sitting passed out in his chair with wine bottles scattered all around him. Markus had thrown up on himself sometime during his drunken stupor, which not only smelt bad, but had left a crusty multi coloured stain on his coat, pants and the leather arm chair. ‘Filthy animal,’ he thought, ‘you’re the reason why brothers and sisters shouldn’t breed.’ Devoid of any feelings of sympathy for the drunken incestuous bum, he drew his sword. He put the point of the blade to Markus’ chest and with all of his might he pushed the blade through into his heart. Markus jumped up out of the chair and, in his stupor, he ran about two steps before his foot crashed through an empty wine bottle which caused him to trip forward and fall on the sword. This was not only a little amusing but also a little annoying. Markus had to be turned on his side before the sword could be retrieved, with the handle grasped in both hands he had to push both feet against Markus’ chest. Once the sword was freed Markus rolled onto his back. The look on Markus’ face was not of shock but more like relief. As if he was pleased, maybe even thankful that his life of addiction was finally over.

“Quickly, go to the next hut,” said the voice. Now his mind was racing. The rush was incredible. His veins were bulging with the blood racing through them giving him a strength which was alien to him. As he exited back into the street, the exciting yet strange and frightening sensation he felt earlier returned keeping him viciously cool and calm at the same time. The feeling of moisture had returned to his head, although instead of beads of sweat it was beads of blood from his three victims. He noticed that the night air had become obnoxious, the moon had moved just a little, and his atrocious thoughts clearing his mind of any regret was only serving to enhance his enjoyment. An overwhelming feeling of power and control was gained through the extermination of his enemies who had ferociously assaulted him all those times which were beyond his ability to count. Being completely submerged in the forbidden enjoyment of revenge brought on a desire for more. It was invigorating and amazing the amount of peace he was feeling. ‘Is this what it’s like to live in the moment?’ he thought. As he wondered how long these feelings would last he made a b-line for the next hut.

Fabariel, the old man who seemed to keep his eye on everything owned this hut. The man even knew things before they happened. ‘He probably knows better than me how many times these people tortured me,’ he thought as he reached for the door knob. It was no surprise to find the door unlocked. Instead he was enraged at the thought of Fabariel being as stupid as the others. ‘The old sod’s too smart,’ he thought as he walked through the door, ‘what’s going through his head?’ Looking around the room dwelling on these thoughts, he noticed Fabariel sitting in his arm chair watching his every move. Surprise set in.

“I’ve been expecting you Semjaza,” said Fabariel in a calm voice. “I bet you’re wondering why the doors are unlocked. Well, that was me. You see, I’ve been watching out for you your whole life; waiting, hoping, and expecting this moment.” He sighed, “I remember the day you were born. Your mother, she was a beautiful woman. It really was a shame she died at your birth.” He chuckled, “We can’t blame you for that now, can we?” “You’re telling the story,” the words grated out of Semjaza’s throat making them sound like a dog growling. Fabariel’s lips curled into a little smile, his head bent slightly forward and his black eyes sparkled the way obsidian sparkles when polished, “Your father was an honest man, well, for the most part,” he said in a deep voice which sent a little shiver up Semjaza’s spine, “but the pain of losing your mother was too much for him. I believe he eventually killed himself. But that doesn’t matter now, because even if he had grown to be the best father in the world it wouldn’t change what you’re to become. That, my little swordling, is the reason why I’ve been looking out for you.” Semjaza attempted to choke down a laugh and failed while Fabariel’s lips curled further up his face as he continued “I must say though, I thought you would have done this last year.” He chuckled, “Every night, just before high moon for the last year I’ve walked through this pathetic village unlocking the doors of your enemies hoping tonight would be the night,” he moved his hands into a welcoming position, “and here we are.” “If you have, as you say, been watching out for me,” said Semjaza in a raspy dog like tone, “why didn’t you stop those animals from attacking me continuously?” Fabariel smiled, “Let’s face it,” he said, “you’re a wimp, but you have a great destiny ahead of you, and needed toughening up. You had to learn to expect trouble, how to control your aggression, and how to bide your time until the opportune moment arises,” he chuckled, “and that my boy, you’ve learnt like the best of them!” “You talk like a man who’s lost his mind,” growled Semjaza, “Prepare to die!” “Oh, I am well prepared,” said Fabariel with a chuckle, “but I wonder if you can at least do an old condemned man a favour?” Semjaza took a step towards the old man, stretched the sword towards his face, “what?” he said roughly. “Kill me quickly.” Semjaza started to draw the blade back. “But before you,” protested Fabariel, “have a look in the cupboard over there in the corner.” Semjaza slowly walked toward the cupboard keeping one eye on the old man, half expecting him to try something stupid like escaping, or attacking him. He cautiously opened the cabinet. The only thing in there was a coat of mail, or breastplate. He wasn’t completely sure what it was. It was solid plate with intricately entwined chain mail over the top. “Take it,” said Fabariel, “Your father would’ve wanted you to have it.” “This was my father’s?” said Semjaza a little astonished at hearing what the old man had said. “Yes,” said Fabariel, “It was made for him by a brilliant young man, some of the best metal work I’ve ever seen.” Fabariel smiled and let out a little chuckle, “Judging by the blood stained sword in your hand you have, shall we say, a similar gift. My advice is that you should use the gift wisely. Hone your skills with every opportunity that presents itself.” Semjaza thought the old man had just given him some sound advice. He clenched the sword in both hands, swung it above his head and brought it down crashing onto Fabariel’s skull almost splitting it in half. Semjaza smiled to himself, “You’ve just had your last wish granted old man.” “Excellent,” said the voice in tone that suggested it was both impressed and amused by this execution. As he struggled to wrench the sword free he wondered whether Fabariel had any other forms of weaponry. It didn’t seem possible as there was nowhere to hide anything. The only thing in the hut was the cupboard in the corner and he already had the only thing stashed in it. ‘Maybe I should rip up the floor boards,’ he thought. “Time is running out! Forget about searching the hut. Instead, move along to the next hut. There I will tell you how to exterminate the people inside,” said the voice. “Everything must be completed before sunrise.” Understanding the sense of what the voice had said, Semjaza picked the breastplate of mail off the floor and put it on. He was surprised; it was almost a perfect fit. A little roomy around the shoulders and maybe a little bit heavy, but he was certain he’d get used to the weight quite quickly. Heading for the door he felt relaxed. His mind was clear of all thoughts; his conscience was clear with no hint of remorse or feelings of guilt. He was feeling invincible within the knowledge that the relief from his tormented past was just one hut away. He smiled to himself as he strode through the door.

Outside the moon was still glistening, but it had moved towards the western side of the village. The eeriness was still thick as mud, but Semjaza didn’t notice. His attention was focused on the next hut. Smoke was spiralling out from the chimney, though it hadn’t been when he entered Fabariel’s hut. He concluded that the fire must have rekindled itself from one of the hot embers. Approaching the door the words Fabariel had spoken about him unlocking the doors came to his mind; he started to wonder if it was wise to execute Fabariel. His inner voice spoke up, convincing him that if he continued thinking along those lines he would drive himself insane. Smiling to himself and nodding in agreement he opened the door and walked inside. Wasting no time looking around the hut he headed straight to the main bedroom where he found a surprise. Frederick was asleep in the bed all by himself. ‘Where is his wife Larissa,’ he thought. “Never mind her just yet. This is what you must do. Use the butt of your sword and bash him on the temple, but do not kill him,” said the voice. He drew his sword, spun it around so the blade was pointing upward passed his right ear. Gripping the handle tightly with both hands he stabbed the butt of the handle into Frederick’s temple knocking him unconscious. ‘He never knew what hit him,’ Semjaza thought as he smiled to himself. “In the closet you will find a rope,” said the voice. “Cut it into four even pieces. Then tie Frederick to the bed.” Inside the closet was a rope, like the voice said, it looked to be around twelve metres long. But instead of cutting the rope into four even pieces like the voice told him, he cut the rope down to eight one and a half metre pieces, and then craftily he tied the feet and the neck separately to the bed with the knots underneath. There was no hope of escape. Semjaza smiled again. “Now find the wife,” said the voice. ‘She will be easy to find,’ he thought, ‘all I need to do is go to the children’s room.’ There she was as expected, asleep with the children. Without hesitation he held the handle of the sword in both of his hands and bashed Larissa on the temple as well. As he started to drag her out into the main bedroom to tie her to the bed beside her husband, the voice said, “Whack the children as well.” “What for?” he said, “They mean nothing to me!” “Wrong,” said the voice forcefully, “what you should be thinking is that you mean nothing to them! If you leave them alive they will have the same upbringing as you had. Hate and the retribution being burnt into them until they are despised by the whole village, do you want that for anyone else?” “By the fates, no!” he stated louder than he should’ve, “They must die if only to save them from the trouble I had.” He picked up his sword and bashed both children on the temple. Now that the whole household was knocked out he could take his time and do things correctly. As with Frederick, he slowly and carefully used a piece of rope and tied Larissa to the bed, with her feet and neck tied separately and the knot underneath. He then proceeded to do the same with both the children. While standing back looking at the family the thought of stuffing something in their mouths came to his mind. So he searched the hut until he found something suitable. There were four apples in a bowl on the dinner table, he grabbed them and walked towards Frederick’s room. Opening Frederick’s mouth was easy, trying to push the apple in proved to be difficult because Frederick was a freak, probably due to the inbreeding. His eye sockets were unusually large; his nose looked like a vulture’s beak and his mouth was abnormally small. His top teeth on the other hand were something similar to that of a sabre tooth tiger mixed with a rabbit. They were large and pushed forward. Semjaza had to force the apple up and underneath the top teeth then gently thump the fruit in an upwards angle with the palm of his hand to get it as far into the little gap as possible without breaking it. After a few moments he had the pome wedged in as far as it would go. “Just try and scream now Frederick,” he said aloud through his own big toothy grin.

He then walked back into the children’s room and forced a fruit into Larissa’s gob in the same fashion as with Frederick, although the job was much easier. Standing there looking at Larissa he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she is. He remembered the first time he saw her, three cycles and eight moonths ago, the first time she set foot in Kiota. Standing in the village square wearing a white dress that hung half way between her thighs and knees. The slight breeze flowing through her thorn coloured hair causing it to waver away from her face showing the magnificent bone structure of her jaw line. The cute button nose which rested just above robust red lips and between two slightly rounded blushing cheeks which sat firm and perk under two deep dark blue eyes. He wondered how a woman so beautiful could be deceived into loving a person as mean and vicious as Frederick. His mind started swim with thoughts of how things could have been if Frederick hadn’t embarrassed him that day he first saw her. Frederick had come up from behind and pushed him to the ground, then kicked him in the stomach while shouting “homeless wood trash have no right being in the village, let alone perving at the new comers who are obviously too good for the likes of him.” Frederick had kicked him until blood started to flow from his mouth. But the smile Larissa had given Frederick was what hurt Semjaza the most; she walked over to Frederick with a broad smile tapped him on the shoulder and said “do you mind if I have a go?” Frederick was stunned, not by her question, but her beauty. Tongue tied he managed to stammer out the words “y-yes d-do w-what y-you w-want.” She smiled at Frederick, took a step back and then quickly stepped forward swinging her right foot fast and hard into Semjaza’s groin. He screamed loudly while both Frederick and Larissa laughed at him.

“Do it,” said the voice. Semjaza smiled and a noise somewhere between a groan and a cackle escaped from the pit of his stomach. Pulling himself away from her beauty he wandered over to the children. Holding the first child’s mouth open he encountered a problem, the mouth was too small for the apple. ‘Frederick’s children are as deformed as him,’ he thought as he carefully and forcefully thumped the apple with the palm of his hand. This took some time to accomplish, and eventually the apple split, but it went in deep enough that the split didn’t really matter. The second child was a little older, and bigger, so the apple fitted easier; less thumping was required. “Now, cover everybody with blankets. Then go to the fire place, take some of the fire and set fire to each one of the blankets,” said the voice.

He searched the bedrooms and found nothing. So he scoured the rest of the hut until he found an unlocked chest. Inside were six blankets, two woollen and four cotton ones. He took the cotton ones into the bedrooms and covered each family member, then went looking for the hearth. After finding the fireplace, which was not fully ablaze as expected, he wondered how to remove what little flames there were. He gazed around the room in a state of perplexity not exactly sure of what he was looking for. In the corner was a spade. ‘That will do nicely,’ he thought. Grabbing the scoop he noticed that it was dirty. He started to moan and complain to himself about how people have such a blatant disregard for the wellbeing of their tools. While uttering his misdirected vilification he went back to the chest, got one of the woollen blankets and returned to the fireplace. He picked up the spade, sat in one of the chairs and used the blanket to clean the dirt off, all the while continuing with his bellyaching about the carelessness and disrespect that these foolish villagers have. Once finished he used the iron piece to gather a load of red hot coals, then treaded carefully into Frederick’s room, where he scattered the coals over the unconscious man’s blanket. He stood there a moment waiting for the coals and the blanket to produce fire, which caused him to smile. He then went back to the fireplace for the second load. When Larissa was covered with coals he debated with himself whether it would be worth smothering the children as well. “Cover them all, but you will not need as many coals for the children. One shovel load should be enough,” said the voice.The voice was right; one shovel full was enough. After completing the task he began to consider leaving, however as he was manoeuvring himself towards the door there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind about checking to see if the fires had fully taken hold. He decided that it would be wise to see if this family was truly burning before leaving the village forever. Walking into Frederick’s room he could see quite plainly that the unconscious spiracle was burning, in fact the whole room had caught ablaze. The smell was putrid, but the fire he considered to be a beautiful thing. The way the flames danced above Frederick was mesmerizing. The crackling noise they made as they danced onto and up the walls was splendiferous. He stood there in awe. His eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, his nose twitched at the gloriousness of the orangey red god that enveloped the whole room as it danced. “What about the wife?” said the voice in a mocking tone, “what about the children?” it asked while laughing, “are you not going to watch them burn as well?”

He decided to take a quick peek at the children’s room, but had a little trouble trying to get there because thick black smoke had managed to take over the top half of the hut, causing him to cough and splutter. He dropped to the floor and sucked in as much of the smokeless air he could and decided to crawl for the door before he suffered the same fate as his victims. He exited the door coughing and spluttering, his eyes were streaming tears, his throat felt as if it was burning, and with each cough and splutter his lungs exhaled smoke. Dizziness encumbered him as he tried to stand and the pit of his stomach started to churn; the dryness of his burning throat became wet with a sweet and sour kind of taste. His eyes were producing more water causing blurry vision, he became hot and began to sweat; then it all came together as one, he vomited a whitish grey liquid which burned his mouth and throat and cramped his stomach. The smell of the puke puddle caused the whole sensation to happen again, and again, but produced less vomit with each time, which caused the inside of his throat to feel like it had been slashed a hundred times with a red hot dagger. With his throat and stomach aching and cramping, he managed to slowly climb to his feet, while wiping the ash filled tears from his checks with his left hand, and the remaining vomit from his lips with his right hand he looked up at the moon which was beginning its descent into the western abyss. The colour of the sky was transforming in the east from a hazy dark grey-blue into a lustrous orange-white while a remnant of darkness was reluctantly retreating from the domination it use to hold in the west. “Sunrise,” he said with a dry croak, “the villagers will wake soon.” As he was stumbling through the street he could not help but feel at ease with what he had done. ‘The sense of release is incredible,’ he thought to himself as the mysterious sensation he first felt when he had stood at the edge of the village enveloped him. However, this time the sensation was not frightening, it felt liberating. ‘It’s finally over,’ he thought as he turned back to have a last look at the village. He smiled as Frederick’s hut became completely engulfed by flames. The fire crackled, danced and then jumped to the next hut. Semjaza marvelled at the beauty of the orange god as it started on the path to devour everything in its way. Black smoke was rising fast and invading the freshness of what was fast becoming the morning air with a pungent stench that would very soon stink out all things in the village and those on the outskirts. “It’s time to leave,” said the voice. “Yes,” he said, “it’s time to leave forever.” He walked to the edge of the village smiling, called his horse, mounted the animal and headed north.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~ 10 ~

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.08.2014

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