He Came by Storm

Hysteria pelted through the raining clouds, reverberating in impenitence with an inflexible resolve to engulf the arcane valley that sprawled amidst the mountains- towering giants that defied vision as their summits soared beyond distinction on their voyage to the heavens. Unearthly cries ripped from scattered crevices that concealed the scant wildlife, animals that had by unfortunate happenstance wandered into this plagued land and, in crude attempts at adaptation, evolved into creatures that resembled more the disfigured demeanor of the region. The fog, to which part of the valley’s desolate bearing was attributed to, forsook its haunting and snaked away in terror to seek respite from the blinding downpour. Carving miniature trails where they struck, the piercing droplets, upon flooding these paths, wound their way across the drenched terrain. These rivulets, debris and all, accelerated towards the hushed village below, adjoining streams until a sizable wave emerged and rushed downwards in its diminutive glory, and with a muddled splash came to rest at the door of a disquieting, dilapidated inn. 

The inn, in stark polarity from the village’s other structures composed primarily of shanties that had by now incorporated degradation as their decorum, stood comparitively extravagant at the village’s northernmost edge. It possessed three stories, all of which displayed unlit rooms with pale white curtains drawn tightly close. On some nights the intensified breeze swirled eerily through the empty streets and waved the curtains as would be waved kerchiefs in adieu, a farewell to the people who now resided as memories in the rooms. Though still not without its share of decay, the inn was perhaps the only habitable establishment present, which is why, mingled with the crescendos of raindrops upon the roof and hushed flickering of a lone lamp, the shaky breaths of the village’s solitary dweller could be heard from within. The inn-keeper was a man of declining years with an unexplicable adoration for the land where he lived. His ancestry traced back to the day the village was conceived, and although it had since strayed from its expectations, the keeper failed to relinquish belief. He was clothed in modest apparel comprising of a half-buttoned sweater that bulged at its stitches under his well endowed stomach and faded jeans torn in mutiple places. His sinister eyes, though a soothing green, had the tendency to unnerve even the most strongminded individuals. The few strands of hair that had still managed to cling on were colored jet black and rested in waves against his barren head. Once upon a time he had been the lighthearted, humorous man people sought to converse with, but some years ago a series of droughts and famines had devastated the area, causing the populace to dwindle until slowly people either died of starvation, or fled in search of new territories, save the inn-keeper, who gradually became increasingly disturbing and reclusive. As a reward for surviving, he was given a life confined to a desk within an inn that scarcely saw other life. Now, perched upon his stool and listening to the torrent’s howl, he gazed as the puddles seeping in from beneath the rattling door dispersed as the knob turned and in strode a man.

“Welcome to the Inn,” said the innkeeper. “Mighty strange time for a night’s stay, but who am I to critique; do take a seat if you will,” he gestured to a wooden chair that rested alongisde the wall. The stranger remained where he had entered for a few uneasy moments, allowing parades of raindrops to cascade down his hat’s brim, along the sloped arch of his nose, and to fall and slip in between the uneven floorboards. His tophat, which bent crookedly downwards, was cast low over his eyes, concealing all his facial features safe his ashen lips and tangled tufts of hair that grew down his ghostly white neck. Dressed in all black, he seemed a drifting shadow as he crossed the room, his figure melting into the sky outside, cloaked in complete secrecy. With deft speed, he lifted the chair from the wall to the counter behind which sat the innkeeper, and slid down upon it. “Care for a drink?” inquired the keeper. Upon receving no sign of reception, the keeper sighed and ventured to the kitchen and returned with a single bottle of wine. The musty scent diffused through the air to the visitor, who moved not a muscle to deviate from his quiet brooding. “How did you manage to make it through the storm anyhow, and how of all places did you happen upon this godforsaken valley?” asked the innkeeper, and was taken aback when the stranger, with an evident effort to avoid the topic, responded with a different question. “How have you lived here all these years?” were the first words that slithered out from under his masked visage. His voice was ancient, as if it had been preserved like the wine within the bottle.

“Pardon?”

“I’m asking you, how have you lived here all these years?”

“Why would that be of curiosity to you?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the total absence of animals and people around this village. Though I’m sure you’re much accustomed to being alone, but how does anybody go years without food?”

“I don’t believe I ever mentioned the span of my stay here, how can you say I have lived here for years, and that too without food?”

“Quite honestly, a town does not adopt such an appearance overnight, so something must have happened a long time back that killed the residents. And if there is no vegetation and no wildlife, I cannot help but wonder as to how you have gotten by, or how you survived in the first place?”

The innkeeper held his breath for a moment, and then looked up again solemnly. “A series of food and water shortages crossed this land 10 years ago, and our future was headed for the worst. We were a nice enough people however, sharing the dwindling supplies that remained. It lasted us some weeks, but soon it became evident that death had set its unsightly eyes upon our fates. But I could not accept that, never. My ancestors had built this village from the ground up, and I was not going to allow their legacy to expire. After a month, half the people had perished and were stored in a burial hole outside the bounds of the village due to lack of space and to prevent spread of disease. Some began to leave for what lay beyond the mountains, though I doubt they survived. Then one night, when the clouds were absent and the stars shone bright across an endless canvas, I was overcome by hunger. The plants that we had managed to collect were only enough to get us to the next day, but not enough to ensure our survival. So, I ran to the outskirts of town, and without a second thought…I ate the dead bodies.”

The innkeeper, who had been thus far weeping as he related the tale, now looked up with a gleam of menace in his eyes. The amiable facade he had worn for the last few minutes tore off, giving way to a hideous smile. His thin, pink tongue darted across his lips. The visitor did not twitch, but instead lifted his gaze slightly higher.

“After that day it became clear what I had to do to keep the village’s legacy alive- I had to kill everyone else. So, two weeks later, when everyone was asleep, I snuck into the houses and slit all their throats. Then I dragged them all into the inn’s cellar, a feast for whenever I desired.”

As the keeper mentioned this, the odor of rotting flesh turned prominent in the room’s atmosphere. The man sniffed once and then fell back into silence.

“It has been so since then. And when old meat becomes tiresome, I can always rely on an unsuspecting visitor to walk right in through those doors…”

The innkeeper’s deformed teeth caught the light as he reached under the counter, and slowly brandished a serrated, skewer like dagger. The blade was coated with splatters of blood, and as the keeper advanced it towards the man, it thirsted for more. “It’s a shame you did not talk more,” he sneered, “could have come up with some honorable last words.” And with that, he sliced the knife through the man’s neck, only to see it ripple through as if the man were mist. “Damn old age is destroying my aim, but I won’t miss this time!” He swung again, this time right for the heart, but the knife stabbed through nothingness. “But, but, how? How is this possible?!” The visitor then slowly rose from the ground and removed his hat, so that his transparent face became clear. The eyes were bloodshot, and there were scars scattered throughout his face. And there, upon, his neck was the slit of a knife that had sliced through ten years ago.

“H-h-h-who a-are you,” cried the innkeeper as the dagger slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.

“No, you wouldnt remember me. After all, what are the chances of you remembering the faces of those you murdered years ago?”

“Tha-That’s n-n-not p-possible” muttered the keeper, whose legs had failed him and he now lay whimpering on the ground, “What a-are you g-g-going to do to m-me?”

“Sadly, vengeance upon you is not a right I alone own. There are many others eager to repay you.”

Just then, horrid moans emanated from beneath the floor. The cellar door burst open and out flopped a decayed arm, followed by another, until a mass of dead bodies emerged and crawled towards the innkeeper. Blood flowed from their mouths and empty eye sockets gazed straight at the lone figure cowering in the corner. 

“Please, please help me, I’m sorry,” he pleaded.

“The dead are hungry,” spoke the spectre, “you don’t want to keep them waiting.”

A deathly screamed erupted from the keeper’s mouth as he was swallowed by a wave of vengeful undead, and slowly quieted until all that could be heard was the sounds of the bodies squirming back to the cellar. All that remained of the keeper was his dagger, which was now glossed with a fresh new coat of blood. The spectre hovered there for a second, a ghostly smile upon his aged face, and as a tear fell from his eyes, he turned and drifted out the inn. The scream had silenced the clouds, and puddles rested quaint upon the wet soil. The apparition then sighed contently and vaporized, dissolving into the cursed mist that had at last begun to lift from upon the village.