A kerchief held firmly in a pale
hand rose to cover his nose from the smell of rotting flesh, magnified by the
summer humidity that thickened the air, as he stepped through the doorway. Death blanketed the room like a thick fog,
having crept its way across every inch of the place. It was on the walls, the floor, and atop the
splintered tables. The soft light of the
silver moon drifted in from through the back door and windows, floating over
the room and casting concealing shadows over the dead. He stopped a moment, running a thin finger
along the claw marks on the wooden doorframe.
The door lay several feet away, in several smashed pieces. Little more than a shadow himself, his black
overcoat melded with the room’s darkness as he moved further in. His golden
eyes narrowed as he surveyed the aftermath of a violent attack that lie before
him.
Having entered through the back door
of the small stone guardhouse, his gaze drifted to the front entrance. The wooden door, reinforced with iron, had
been barricaded by the soldiers that were within. Tables and chairs were stacked up against it
in a hasty fashion. The soft purple glow
of the twilight sky was visible through a fractured area of the door. Something had obviously tried to gain entry
from that was first. He let his eyes
drift, cutting through the night’s darkness.
Dried blood was everywhere; smeared on the floor, the walls, and the
tables. Tilting his head slightly to the
side, he turned towards the door, looking downwards. Crimson was streaked across the floor in a
long trail, though blurred. Drag marks he thought to himself with a frown.
One of the many bodies in the room
sat up against a wall, head bowed stiffly in death, weapon still in hand. The investigator stepped closer to examine the
corpse. The shoulder bore deep
lacerations, torn worse at the bottom where whatever weapon used to do it was
ripped out with massive force. When he
had heard the details of the attack, he doubted it was done by any human, which
was why he accepted the job. He was now
certain of it. He kneeled for a closer
look, curling the fingers of his left hand to imitate claws and dragging them
down in the motion of the wound an inch away from it. His hand pulled back at the end, the image of
flesh tearing shooting through his mind.
Turning slightly from the wound, he noted the blood staining the shirt,
beginning strongly near the neck and diffusing down to the waist.
The investigator turned his head
away slightly, the smell of the bloated corpse stinging his eyes. One hand still held the purple kerchief over
his nose in a feeble attempt to keep the stench from reaching his
nostrils. He could handle the ferocity
and viciousness of such scenes. The
blood was almost a comforting sight. But
he dreaded the horrible scent of carrion, and here it was the worse he’d had to
deal with in a long while.
It had taken him several days to
arrive from his home in the city of
Tucking the kerchief into his sleeve
for a moment, he held his breath to avoid using his sense of smell. He reached into the pocket of his coat,
taking out a pair of black leather gloves, and pulled them tightly over his
hands. He took in air through his mouth,
a faint hint of the rotting carcasses still drifting into his nose. With a sneer, he brought the cloth back to
his nose and proceeded to grip the body by the hair. He attempted to move the head back and reveal
the neck. But the joints were frozen,
iced over with the loss of life. Putting
a bit of force into hit, he pulled the head back against the wall with a dry
crack, the lifeless eyes staring in horror at the ceiling. The investigator allowed a soft snicker as
the fatal wound became visible. The
body’s mangled neck completed the story of the man’s death.
Images flashed in his head of the
attack, the dead man before him again alive through the power of thought. Not sure what had demolished the guards quite
yet, he put a hulking black shadow in place of the beast. The man raised blade in a futile try to
strike the creature, but it was too quick.
Sending a clawed paw through the air, it sunk its nails into his
shoulder, his mouth opening and letting out a scream of utter pain. His head reared back at that same moment,
allowing the monster a chance to end the guard’s life in a heartbeat. Keeping its claws embedded in his shoulder,
the thing lashed out at his neck with razor sharp teeth, slicing through the
skin like it was butter and ripping out a mouthful that was the man’s throat. Tearing its natural weapon out of the man’s
shoulder with help of a push, he fell to the floor, his body propping up
against the wall. His head fell limply
forward, blood oozing out of the open wound and down the unfortunate soul’s
shirt.
The investigator turned his head
down to the sword held in the cold, dead fingers. The blade was dull, likely due to years of
misuse and neglect. This particular
guardhouse was situated on the outskirts of a small town in the middle of
nowhere. Though near the nation’s
border, the defense of the boundary was left up to larger towns and castles
nestled throughout the countryside. The
most these guards would have to put up with was breaking up a brawl at the
local tavern or tossing a nuisance of a beggar into a cell for the night.
Squinting, the investigator leaned
forward as he noticed something upon the blade.
Taking hold of the body’s icy wrist, he forced the arm upwards. There was another snap as the elbow
broke. Still, he knew from experience it
was easier than prying the weapon from the frozen hand, whose grip would not
weaken without heroic effort. Running
his eyes along the metal, moving from hilt to tip, he scanned the sword with
keen eyes. Picking up every minute flaw
despite the darkness, his eyes of molten gold tore through the night. Blood.
This sword had been plunged into something, and it was not human. The dried, black blood clung to the sword,
spread thin on the blade. He stopped
upon noticing something else upon the weapon, held to it by the dried liquid of
life. Thick brown hairs. The silence of the dead continued to tell the
story of the horrid events that had occurred.
He leapt to his feet as a boot hit
the floor at the doorway, his dagger dropping from his sleeve and into a gloved
hand with his spin.
The youth that had entered pressed
himself against the wall with a yelp.
The investigator’s eyes shone pale yellow in the dim light, the rest of
his features shadowed. Letting out a
heavy sigh, he slipped the dagger back into its concealed sheath. “Why are you here, boy?” the investigator
asked in his deep, well-spoken voice.
The young man cowered against the
cool stone, his eyes wide with fear. “I
w-was sent to a-assist you, Master Kretschmer,” he replied in a shaky voice.
Kretschmer arched a brow, his face
with an expression of ominous annoyance.
He did not appreciate interruptions from others, especially not when
they had begged him to come and help.
“And what assistance would it
be that I need, boy?” he asked the youth, his tone harsh.
The boy shrank back slightly, his
back sliding against the wall. “I don’t
know, sir. They just told me to come
help.”
“Damned backwater towns, not a clue
about conducting a proper inspection,” Kretschmer muttered to himself. He rolled his eyes and stepped towards the
boy, who took another step back. The
investigator paused and looked the lad over for a moment, the irritation slowly
melting off his face. “I suppose you are
not the one I should be angry at. Your
name and age?”
The boy stared at Kretschmer in
fright, the question slipping right past him after seeing the anger of the
investigator. Kretschmer waited for a
response. His eyes narrowed at the young
man, piercing his soul. “Boy, I asked
you a question! Your name and age if you
would, or my anger will be directed
at you in a few brief moments!” he growled, his patience worn thin from
countless interruptions such as this one in the past.
The boy swallowed loudly, the
gulping cutting through the silence after the yell. He shut his eyes tightly and inched away from
Kretschmer. “Fuch sir, Theode Fuch,” he
squeezed out in answer, “and I am nineteen.”
He slowly opened his eyes, his head sliding back in anticipation of more
anger.
Kretschmer nodded in satisfaction,
his bitterness having once more vanished.
“Well then, Theode, ‘tis a pleasure.
I am, as you know, Friede Kretschmer.”
The investigator offered a slight bow, melding completely into the
darkness for a brief moment as his pale face was blocked from view. Upon rising, he ran a hand through his long
raven hair, tucking it back out of his face.
“Now tell me, Theode, in what ways can you be of assistance to me?”
Theode’s gaze drifted off to the
floor as he tried to come up with a satisfactory answer. Kretschmer waited patiently, folding his arms
across his chest. There would have been
naught but silence were it not for the boy’s heavy breath, which he was trying
to calm. Fear was still clearly written
on his face.
Kretschmer spoke again at length,
his patience already worn thin.
“Excellent. Well then, you can
keep watch at the door, to ensure that anybody – or anything, for that matter –
does not surprise us like you did me.”
The lad nodded and hastily exited the room, standing just outside the
door. He glanced back over his shoulder
with a shudder before turning to do as he was ordered, his youthful eyes
scanning the area for movement.
In the meanwhile, Kretschmer began
to move to each of the bodies, checking their wounds. All bore similar injuries to the first. Claws had dug to bone, teeth had torn through
flesh. Not a single one of the guards
appeared to have had any chance of survival.
Whatever had attacked them bore superhuman strength, speed, and stamina
to have torn apart a room so quickly.
Add to this the fact that it annihilated the armed guards in the room as
well, and it was clearly a terrifying creature.
He counted twelve bodies. Sprawled out here and there, littering the
room in pools of their own dried out blood.
The sudden distraction of the youth’s arrival now faded, the
investigator groaned as the sickening stench once again plagued his nostrils,
raising the kerchief to prevent it from bothering him. The mutilated face of one of the victims
caught his eye, the skin ripped apart by a powerful blow. The left eyeball had been caught in the hit,
and was torn out, resting several inches away upon the stone floor.
He crouched once more to get a
better look at the wound, again curling his fingers to mimic claws and using
them to recreate the attack. It was most
likely an overhand blow, brought down from behind the beast’s head and raked
across the side of the victim’s face.
The eye was ripped out as the socket shatter and flesh was sliced off
the skull. Death’s icy hand instantly
seized the man.
Thick clouds moved across the moon
in the night sky, the faint light once in the room fading completely. The guardhouse was overcome by utter
darkness. Kretschmer shook his head with
a soft chuckle as a cool wind made its way through the windows.
“Master Kretschmer!” called Theode
from outside. The youth’s head popped
into the doorway, his eyes squinting to see through the wall of darkness. “Master Kretschmer?”
The investigator, his back turned to
the boy, closed his eyes softly for a moment, his head moving from side to side
slowly. A soft sigh escaped his
lips. Standing upright, he turned, his
eyes glowing dimly yellow in the darkness.
“Yes, Theode?” he asked, beginning to move towards the boy.
Friede saw Theode take a step back
uneasily as he opened his eyes, no doubt due to their unnatural glow. “What’s wrong?” he asked the boy.
“Your eyes,” the boy’s own eyes
widened, their white standing out in the shadows. “They have light!”
“My eyes are watery from the smell
of death, Theode. The little light
getting into the room is reflecting off of them, giving me a crystal of color
obscuring my view.” He smirked in the
concealment of night. “And for you, it
gives the illusion that my eyes are giving off light.”
The boy furrowed his brow in
confusion, glancing down to the blackness of the floor. After several moments, he nodded. “You sure are smart, Master Kretschmer.”
“Of course,” the investigator
replied without shame, and but with a finely honed edge of amusement in his
voice. “Now then, what was it you
wanted?” He stepped up beside the boy as
the moon peeked over the black edge of clouds, offering some light in the
doorway.
Theode stepped out of the doorframe,
turning and pointing out down the tree lined dirt road. “Somebody is coming.”
Friede stepped outside of the
guardhouse, standing next to the young man and directing his gaze down the
road. He slowly tucked the black
kerchief into his sleeve once more, where it would stay for the remainder of
the night. The mountains were black in
the distance, jutting up into the velvet sky.
Surely enough, down the road was the yellow sphere of light created by a
lantern, a rotund figure carrying it as he made his way towards them. Kretschmer crossed his arms in aggravation as
the new interruption hobbled down the road.
“I do wonder if the people of your
town realize how difficult it is to figure out anything with so many
disturbances,” said to the boy, his gaze still locked on the approaching.
Theode looked to him, the boy biting
his lips. His brows were knit together,
his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the investigator.
Friede’s black hair was straight,
hanging to his shoulders. His features
were noble; a narrow nose, golden eyes, his jaw well defined. Kretschmer’s eyes glanced at Theode as the
boy stared at him, a frown crossing his lips.
“That’s not appreciated.”
Theode blinked. “What?” he asked, puzzled.
“Staring at me. I do not appreciate it,” Kretschmer replied
in a raised voice. Theode jumped back at
the retort.
Friede looked back to the road, the
figure having drawn considerably closer.
He could now make it out as the town’s head guard, a plump man with a
bushy moustache who smelt of pipe weed and ale.
He’d decided that this ‘head guard’ really server no purpose than making
the towns small defense force seem more orderly. The man was certainly too hefty to fight
effectively, and the smells that came off of him suggested he loafed about day
by day, drinking and smoking to no end, and quite apparently eating more than
his fair share.
“If your town ever goes hungry, here
comes the reason why,” Kretschmer remarked offhandedly to Theode. The boy tilted his head, quite clearly
confused once again. Still, the investigator’s
eyes remained upon the approaching guard.
He called the name of the man to memory as he waited.
The head guard, Tierney, stopped
several feet before Theode and Friede, holding up the lantern to his face to
see them. His beady eyes squinted to see
through the night air. His cheeks were
bright red, sweat beaded upon his forehead.
“Evening investigator,” he said in his loud voice.
Friede nodded slightly in
greeting. “Good evening, Mr.
Tierney. May I ask why you have decided
to grace us with your presence?”
Theode stepped back slightly behind
Kretschmer. “I’ve come to check up on
your investigation, Mr. Kretschmer,” replied the guard. “Can’t have you idle on the job, after
all.” Tierney’s belly jiggled
sickeningly with a jovial chuckle.
Kretschmer shut his eyes softly and turned his head a tad to the side,
his lip curling every so slightly.
“Well,” he began after a moment, his eyes opening and drifting back to
the guard. “I can assure you that I have
been working diligently since my arrival.
And if you would excuse me, I’d like to get back to that work so I don’t
waste any more of your time.”
Friede turned and took a step
towards the entrance of the guardhouse, surprised as Tierney was behind him
with surprising speed. “Well I’d like to
check on it anyhow, just to be sure,” the guard said, his eyes locking with
Kretschmer’s in a moment of tension.
Tierney’s eyes moved to the doorway, beyond it the pitch black
room. “What kind of investigator works
at night…”
“I arrived here after nightfall, and
began work as soon as I arrived,” Friede cut the guard off with a snappy
reply. Tierney glared at him.
“Without torches to aid him?” the
guard finished, his eyes narrowed at the investigator. “There’s something wrong with that, Mr.
Kretschmer. Something unnatural. Now unless you have torches in there that
were blown out in the wind, or a candle or something…”
“No, I do not,” Kretschmer replied
confidently. “Let me explain something
to you, Mr. Tierney. I have been doing
this since I was Theode’s age. I have
been to gruesome scenes such as this one, and I have tracked the demons of the
night so that their might be justice for the victims. You do not find demons of the night in the
light of day. They are alive only in the
darkness. And I have learned that when
hunting prey, you must learn to think like that prey. I work at night, Mr. Tierney. I have done that as long as I can
remember. And not a single one of my
previous employers will tell you that it has hindered my progress in the
slightest bit. I said I would get to the
bottom of this for you, and I will. I do
not appreciate these constant interruptions, Mr. Tierney. That is what hinders my work, not the
darkness. But the very people I am
trying to help!”
The guard wavered, moving back from
Kretschmer’s intimidating tone. Fear
controlled the round man’s eyes for a brief moment, before the undeserved
authority crept back. “Well I do hope
that you’ve worked as diligently as
you have claimed, Kretschmer. Because
you can’t be here anymore.”
Kretschmer’s eyes lit up in anger. “What?” he asked in a demanding voice.
“Calm yourself, Mr.
Kretschmer.” Tierney’s mouth twisted
into a mocking smirk. “The families of
the dead have been demanding proper burials for their fallen kin since the
night it happened. It took so long to
get you here, we can’t deny it to them any longer. Some more men will be here shortly to clean
up the place.”
“That’s wonderful,” Friede
hissed. He turned to the road, several
more lanterns dancing their way to the guardhouse in the heavy night air.
“Have you studied it enough to know
anything about it yet?” asked Tierney, his eyes drifting to the approaching men
as well.
“Yes, I believe I’ve gotten all I
need,” replied the investigator. He
cursed the setbacks in his mind. He’d
have preferred to spend the rest of the night there, but did not want to
jeopardize his payment by arguing with the head guard. Despite Kretschmer’s opinions, Tierney did
hold power in the town. To defy him
could very well mean that he’d not see a single penny for his troubles. “But please excuse me for a moment while I
collect some of my belongings I left inside.”
Kretschmer stepped into the
guardhouse before Tierney could even open his mouth, moving swiftly to the
first body he had examined. Lifting the
arm clutching the sword, he reached into his pocket and removed a small piece
of parchment. Searching the blade for a
moment, he removed the hairs, his nose wrinkled in response to the rotten
smell, and placed them upon the paper.
Folding it up and slipping it back into his pocket, he stepped back
outside, his eyes following the trail of blood.
“How many men were stationed in this
guard house the night of the attack?” asked Kretschmer, his eyes swinging up to
Tierney.
“Didn’t you count?” asked the head
guard in mild disbelief. “Thirteen.”
Kretschmer nodded with a wry smile
upon his lips. “Just ensuring that my
count coincides with the number of men that are supposed to be there. Well, good evening, Mr. Tierney.” Kretschmer bowed slightly and began walking
off in the opposite direction of the road.
“Indeed,” replied Tierney, the heavy
man eyeing the investigator.
Friede waved the boy along. “Come, Theode. I shall require your assistance.” Blinking in surprise, the boy jogged to catch
up with the investigator.
Together they continued into the
darkness. “Where are we going?” asked
the youth.
“Why, to discover the mysteries of
the night, of course!” Kretschmer said in a victorious tone.