"In-the-Eyes-of-God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Day Holly Lalena)
In the Eyes of God
The rumors concerning the Black Death spread almost as fast as the plague itself. Stories of people dying within hours of contacting the illness, falling down in the street; animals driven wild by the disease and running rampant, killing everyone the Death hadn't already taken. Ships were barred from landing at port cities, condemned to drift endlessly from island to island to mainland, harbingers of God's wrath on mankind. The spring wind smelled of ashes, disease, a rot rivaled only by the lepers forever trudging through mainland Europe. Johann had always considered himself a sensible man, not given to panic, but the news of what had happened in Sicily and its neighboring islands was almost too horrible to believe. His own house was relatively secluded, a few miles from town, but already his fellow Lithuanians had begun a retreat from the city and he feared an attack from someone envious of his family's stronghold. His harvest of grain and vegetables was coming along particularly good that spring. He would make a fine profit at the market, certainly enough to give his daughter's suitor a dowry fitting for one of his social standing. He thrust the heavy pitchfork into the pile of straw at his feet savagely, throwing a golden sheet over one shoulder into the waiting cart behind him. It was almost time to go inside, time to sit down with Ilsa and their children for dinner. Ilsa was a thin, frail shadow of a woman, made too delicate to have survived childbirth unharmed. She had a slight stoop to her walk that made her appear older than she really was, but her soft translucent skin and wide amber eyes could still make Johann confuse her for a child. The two girls, Sara and Elka, had fortunately inherited their father's strong bones and good health while still retaining their mother's ethereal beauty. He could not believe they were almost ready to leave home and start families of their own. Ilsa greeted him at the door, holding her hands out for the horses to nuzzle. The sun was just beginning to set, the first traces of bronze and gold streaking the sky. Her face was flushed bright pink from laboring over the cooking fire. "I was beginning to worry about you!" she laughed, tugging the sleeve of her dress out from between one of the horse's teeth. "The crop is coming in better than expected," Johann explained, jumping down from the cart. "I'm going to have to hire some help from the village." Ilsa's face fell. "The village?" she asked. "Are you sure...." "Yes, I'm sure. Don't be filling your head with stories, now. The Black Death is a just punishment from God, and we have done no wrong. Besides, I don't think the Death has even reached Russia, much less Lithuania." He ;leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. "It won't do you any good to worry yourself over matters taking place so far away. I swear nothing will happen to us. Nothing." Ilsa took his hand and squeezed it tightly. He hoped that meant she believed him. That night, as they lay together in bed, Johann thought he saw blue candles flickering out in his fields, held steady in place, as though someone was standing out there, watching the house. News of death travels faster than news of good luck could ever conceive possible. It was Elka, the oldest of Johann's daughters, that came running into the house with story of the dead leper found on the outskirts of town. Its body was covered with open welts, black blood oozing from the pits on its groin. The smell of the corpse had settled over the whole town, a damp, thick sediment that refused to dissipate. She had not been anywhere near the corpse--thank God, thank Mary--but had heard of it from a friend who also claimed that people where already dying inside the town limits, falling down in the streets, wracked with tremendous agonies. Johann put his arms around his daughter, trying not to tremble. He must be strong for his children, for his wife. Ilsa stared into his eyes from across the room, those gigantic amber eyes of hers, and he was reminded again of his promise. He nodded silently at her, and she shifted her gaze down to the floor. Sara, morbid child that she was, wanted to know more about the corpse. She and Elka went off to the corner, where Elka embellished her tale frightfully, punctuating phrases now and then with "God have mercy on our souls!" and "I swear it's the truth!" Her little sister was riveted to each gory detail, covering her face with her hands and peeking out from behind her fingers so as not to miss a single part of Elka's story. "What are we going to do?" whispered Ilsa. "We just won't go into town, that's all," answered Johann. "We have plenty of food and firewood to last until this curse passes. We just won't go into town." He clenched and unclenched his fists, wishing he could take his family someplace far away, a place where Elka's horrible stories were nothing but that: stories. He saw the dancing lights over the field again that night. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake up Ilsa, he crept over to the window and fastened tight the wooden shutters. Johann awoke to the sound of someone beating on front door. "Please let me in!" shouted a man outside. "You've got to help me!" Ilsa got out of bed sleepily and stumbled towards the door. Johann grabbed her just in time. "Don't touch the door!" he hissed, covering her mouth with his hand. "Who is it, Poppa?" whispered Elka, pulling the covers up to her neck. "Who's at the door?" "I don't know." He raised his voice and shouted, "Get you away from here! Go back to the village and let God deal with your sins! I'll have none of the demon curse in this house!" He hugged Ilsa tightly around her waist, so tightly she squeaked. "Please help me!" the voice outside sobbed. "Please...." Johann stood there in the middle of the room, ears straining, until he was sure that the man had left. He let go of his wife and knelt down by his daughters' bed. "Whatever you do, don't let anyone into this house, do you understand?" Elka and Sara nodded soberly, eye wide. "And I don't want you going back to the village," he added, waving his finger at Elka. "It's not safe, not yet. God is displeased with the villagers, as he was with the Sodomites. I don't want either of you to suffer for other men's evils." Something thumped outside against the shutters. "I said go away!" shouted Johann, but no one answered. Johann carefully opened the door and looked around. There was no sign of another human being for miles. "Lock the door behind me and don't open it for anyone save me," he ordered Ilsa. She nodded, mouth pressed close so tightly her lips turned white. Johann shut the door and began circling the house, looking for the intruder. There was not trace of the man who had knocked on the door. Johann let his breath out in an explosive sigh and leaned against the wall. That had been too close, too close for comfort. God had sent him a warning, and he had to follow up on it before more bearers of the Curse found his house. While Elka and Sara were not nearly as strong as the men he had hired to help with the crops last summer, they managed to keep up a good working pace. Ilsa sat in the shade of a wild holly bush, eyes closed, enjoying the fresh spring air. Most of the house was covered with a thick layer of mud now, save for the chimney and one window. When the mud hardened, it would be as impenetrable as stone. The girls looked ridiculous next to their mother, the pale demure lady with her slime-covered children. Sara was enjoying not having to act like a lady for a change, and used every opportunity to get as dirty as possible. "You two will dirty up all of our drinking water," said Johann gruffly, trying not to laugh. How could anyone even think these babes were old enough to marry? "Are we done yet, Poppa?" whined Sara. "We're done for today, I suppose." He anxiously surveyed the rest of the work to be done. He wanted to build an enclosure for both the cesspool and the well, so there would be no need to go outside at all. At this rate, though, it seemed their best bet was to store as much water as possible inside the house and throw their refuse out the window. The girls ran off to the well to clean themselves off. Ilsa climbed to her feet and put her arms around Johann. "It's not going to be enough, is it?" she asked. "It's not us that God's after." He shook her off him. "Don't let the children hear you speak like that. I said I'd protect the family and I will. The Curse will not touch us." The noises started around nightfall. Johann had brought in as much food and water as he could find room for, and Ilsa had lit a fire to burn off any bad air that might come down the chimney. At first, Johann thought it was the wind howling outside, signaling a storm coming on, but he began to hear voices in the tempest. "Get away from the door," he said, waving his family into the corner. He crawled over the window on his hands and knees and opened it up, just a crack. His fields were full of people, all walking jerkily to some unseen point. They twitched uncontrollably as they walked, as though they were marionettes under the control of some palsied puppetmaster. He shut the window quickly. "What is it, Johann?" asked Ilsa, frightened. "I don't know." Johann's were shaking. He put them in his lap so the children wouldn't see how scared he was. "The townspeople are in the fields." "In the fields?" Ilsa looked puzzled. "All of them?" "It looks like it." He put the heavy bed up on end and put it against the window. Almost immediately afterwards, a heavy thump shook the house. "God!" he muttered, clasping his hands tightly in supplication. "God!" he said again, unable to go beyond that point. "Let us in, Johann!" pleaded a voice outside. "It's us, Otto and Cathryn!" Ilsa's eyes widened at the mentioned of her best friend. Johann glared at her from his post. "I can't let you in, Otto!" he shouted through the wall. "It's God's curse!" "But we're not Cursed!" Otto answered. "The witch is floating randomly through town, her little blue lights are in everyone's windows. I've seen her lights out here, too! In your fields, Johann! Let us in so we can fight her together!" "There is no witch," Johann said, doubtfully. "Oh yes there is," wept Cathryn. "She comes as a wisp of blue flame and turns into a woman as the moon rises! If she waves a red scarf through someone's window, everyone in that house is dead within three days! Does that sound like God to you?" Johann could hear her tiny fists beat futily against the thick door frame. "Does it?" "Oh, Johann," said Ilsa, crying. "Oh, what are we doing?" "We can't let you in!" shouted Johann, ignoring his wife. "I have to protect my family! I'm sorry," he added, quietly. There was no response from the couple outside. No one else knocked on the door that night. Johann could see the little piles of dead bodies not far from his house. The air smelled like death, dulled only slightly when Ilsa threw the contents of the chamber pot through the window. Johann wondered about the health of his animals, then decided against going out to check on them. Ilsa was still not talking to him, although he knew she understood his reasons for not opening the door to Cathryn and Otto the night before. The girls were listless, opting to sleep all day rather than face being confined to the tiny house. He shut the window and leaned against the wall. His family had survived the night. That was all that mattered. Sara moaned, no doubt having nightmares about the monsters stalking the countryside. Elka's horrific stories from the week before probably didn't help the child's sleep much. He knelt beside his sleeping children and brushed the hair back from Sara's forehead. He would die to protect his family. This much he knew. The day came and went uneventfully. Johann once again leaned the bedframe against the window and prepared himself for another encounter with the villagers. Ilsa silently prepared a stew of salted meat and dried vegetables and brought him a plate, eyes fixed on the floor. He reached out for her, but she slipped past his fingers. The night showed pitch black through the chinks in the window frame. It was quiet outside the house, no voices, no night animals calling to one another, nothing. Johann was beginning to think that the Curse had passed over completely when he heard a quick, light rap on the other side of the window, right next to his head. He leaped to his feet. "Who's there?" he said, trying to still the tremor in his voice. "Damn it, who's there?" The rap came again, more insistent this time. Ilsa was staring over at the door, eyes protruding from her face in terror. Johann followed her gaze, to where the door met the floor. A pale blue light pulsed through every crack in the frame, every unchinked hole in the walls. The knock came again, louder, louder, at the door, at the window, at the foundation itself. Ilsa swept her children into her arms and crouched by the fireplace, ready to sacrifice her own body to save the lives of her offspring. "Get away from this house!" shouted Johann, waving his clenched fists at the light. "You can't come in!" It might have been his imagination, but he thought he heard a woman's laughter before the light faded completely away. They opened the window only once the next morning, and that was to empty the chamberpot. They were running low on water. Johann hoped they could last at least one more day. Sara spent the day staring at the door, while Elka whined incessantly about how she missed her friends from the village, wondering aloud when they could go see how many people had survived the Curse. Ilsa, at least, seemed to have forgiven him, to the point of following him everywhere through the house. She seemed determined not to let him out of her sight. Johann had no idea how to protect his family from supernatural forces. If this Curse was truly sent by God, he wasn't sure who he was pray to for protection. All he knew was the strength of his own two hands. When nightfall came, he was prepared. Ilsa, Sara, and Elka were huddled around each other by the fireplace. Johann stood in front of the closed window, the sharpest knife he owned in his belt. The hours dragged forever as he waited, waited, waited for the knock he knew had to come. After what seemed like years, the gentle rapping from the night before sounded against the wooden shutters. Johann filled his lungs with air and smiled encouragingly at his little family, trying to appear brave. Then he threw open the window and stabbed blindly outside. The blade encountered nothing but mist. A woman's mocking laughter sounded just beyond his reach, then a slim white hand materialized in front of him, waving a red piece of cloth. He lunged for the hand, but it darted out of his way. It was trying to get past him, into the house. Desperate, he grabbed the disembodied hand and began hacking at it with his knife. It struggled in his grasp, long fingernails scratching his skin, but unable to wrestle free. Johann stabbed the hand over and over again until it let go of the scarf and began trying to get away from them all, from the house and its occupants and especially the crazy man trying to cut it into pieces. It finally broke free and disappeared, the luminescent mist dissolving completely in its passage. Johann fell back into the house, exhausted. His body was bleeding in a hundred places, long, deep gashes from the fingernails of the creature. Ilsa ran over to him and caught him as he fell. He was still holding onto the cloth the hand had dropped. The Black Death left the village that night. Word of mouth spread quickly through the province that a solitary farmer named Johann had defeated the demon responsible for spreading the disease, and all turned out to give thanks. They found Ilsa and her children still hovering over the body, half-mad with grief. The church claimed the red scarf as a holy relic, and interred Johann in a hallowed plot in the cemetery. And at his funeral, even though his body was ravaged with buboes and the gashes made by the monster were dripping with black pus, not one man, woman, or child neglected to kiss the stiff fingers of the man who had saved their lives and put them back in the favor of God. The End
In the Eyes of God
The rumors concerning the Black Death spread almost as fast as the plague itself. Stories of people dying within hours of contacting the illness, falling down in the street; animals driven wild by the disease and running rampant, killing everyone the Death hadn't already taken. Ships were barred from landing at port cities, condemned to drift endlessly from island to island to mainland, harbingers of God's wrath on mankind. The spring wind smelled of ashes, disease, a rot rivaled only by the lepers forever trudging through mainland Europe. Johann had always considered himself a sensible man, not given to panic, but the news of what had happened in Sicily and its neighboring islands was almost too horrible to believe. His own house was relatively secluded, a few miles from town, but already his fellow Lithuanians had begun a retreat from the city and he feared an attack from someone envious of his family's stronghold. His harvest of grain and vegetables was coming along particularly good that spring. He would make a fine profit at the market, certainly enough to give his daughter's suitor a dowry fitting for one of his social standing. He thrust the heavy pitchfork into the pile of straw at his feet savagely, throwing a golden sheet over one shoulder into the waiting cart behind him. It was almost time to go inside, time to sit down with Ilsa and their children for dinner. Ilsa was a thin, frail shadow of a woman, made too delicate to have survived childbirth unharmed. She had a slight stoop to her walk that made her appear older than she really was, but her soft translucent skin and wide amber eyes could still make Johann confuse her for a child. The two girls, Sara and Elka, had fortunately inherited their father's strong bones and good health while still retaining their mother's ethereal beauty. He could not believe they were almost ready to leave home and start families of their own. Ilsa greeted him at the door, holding her hands out for the horses to nuzzle. The sun was just beginning to set, the first traces of bronze and gold streaking the sky. Her face was flushed bright pink from laboring over the cooking fire. "I was beginning to worry about you!" she laughed, tugging the sleeve of her dress out from between one of the horse's teeth. "The crop is coming in better than expected," Johann explained, jumping down from the cart. "I'm going to have to hire some help from the village." Ilsa's face fell. "The village?" she asked. "Are you sure...." "Yes, I'm sure. Don't be filling your head with stories, now. The Black Death is a just punishment from God, and we have done no wrong. Besides, I don't think the Death has even reached Russia, much less Lithuania." He ;leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. "It won't do you any good to worry yourself over matters taking place so far away. I swear nothing will happen to us. Nothing." Ilsa took his hand and squeezed it tightly. He hoped that meant she believed him. That night, as they lay together in bed, Johann thought he saw blue candles flickering out in his fields, held steady in place, as though someone was standing out there, watching the house. News of death travels faster than news of good luck could ever conceive possible. It was Elka, the oldest of Johann's daughters, that came running into the house with story of the dead leper found on the outskirts of town. Its body was covered with open welts, black blood oozing from the pits on its groin. The smell of the corpse had settled over the whole town, a damp, thick sediment that refused to dissipate. She had not been anywhere near the corpse--thank God, thank Mary--but had heard of it from a friend who also claimed that people where already dying inside the town limits, falling down in the streets, wracked with tremendous agonies. Johann put his arms around his daughter, trying not to tremble. He must be strong for his children, for his wife. Ilsa stared into his eyes from across the room, those gigantic amber eyes of hers, and he was reminded again of his promise. He nodded silently at her, and she shifted her gaze down to the floor. Sara, morbid child that she was, wanted to know more about the corpse. She and Elka went off to the corner, where Elka embellished her tale frightfully, punctuating phrases now and then with "God have mercy on our souls!" and "I swear it's the truth!" Her little sister was riveted to each gory detail, covering her face with her hands and peeking out from behind her fingers so as not to miss a single part of Elka's story. "What are we going to do?" whispered Ilsa. "We just won't go into town, that's all," answered Johann. "We have plenty of food and firewood to last until this curse passes. We just won't go into town." He clenched and unclenched his fists, wishing he could take his family someplace far away, a place where Elka's horrible stories were nothing but that: stories. He saw the dancing lights over the field again that night. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake up Ilsa, he crept over to the window and fastened tight the wooden shutters. Johann awoke to the sound of someone beating on front door. "Please let me in!" shouted a man outside. "You've got to help me!" Ilsa got out of bed sleepily and stumbled towards the door. Johann grabbed her just in time. "Don't touch the door!" he hissed, covering her mouth with his hand. "Who is it, Poppa?" whispered Elka, pulling the covers up to her neck. "Who's at the door?" "I don't know." He raised his voice and shouted, "Get you away from here! Go back to the village and let God deal with your sins! I'll have none of the demon curse in this house!" He hugged Ilsa tightly around her waist, so tightly she squeaked. "Please help me!" the voice outside sobbed. "Please...." Johann stood there in the middle of the room, ears straining, until he was sure that the man had left. He let go of his wife and knelt down by his daughters' bed. "Whatever you do, don't let anyone into this house, do you understand?" Elka and Sara nodded soberly, eye wide. "And I don't want you going back to the village," he added, waving his finger at Elka. "It's not safe, not yet. God is displeased with the villagers, as he was with the Sodomites. I don't want either of you to suffer for other men's evils." Something thumped outside against the shutters. "I said go away!" shouted Johann, but no one answered. Johann carefully opened the door and looked around. There was no sign of another human being for miles. "Lock the door behind me and don't open it for anyone save me," he ordered Ilsa. She nodded, mouth pressed close so tightly her lips turned white. Johann shut the door and began circling the house, looking for the intruder. There was not trace of the man who had knocked on the door. Johann let his breath out in an explosive sigh and leaned against the wall. That had been too close, too close for comfort. God had sent him a warning, and he had to follow up on it before more bearers of the Curse found his house. While Elka and Sara were not nearly as strong as the men he had hired to help with the crops last summer, they managed to keep up a good working pace. Ilsa sat in the shade of a wild holly bush, eyes closed, enjoying the fresh spring air. Most of the house was covered with a thick layer of mud now, save for the chimney and one window. When the mud hardened, it would be as impenetrable as stone. The girls looked ridiculous next to their mother, the pale demure lady with her slime-covered children. Sara was enjoying not having to act like a lady for a change, and used every opportunity to get as dirty as possible. "You two will dirty up all of our drinking water," said Johann gruffly, trying not to laugh. How could anyone even think these babes were old enough to marry? "Are we done yet, Poppa?" whined Sara. "We're done for today, I suppose." He anxiously surveyed the rest of the work to be done. He wanted to build an enclosure for both the cesspool and the well, so there would be no need to go outside at all. At this rate, though, it seemed their best bet was to store as much water as possible inside the house and throw their refuse out the window. The girls ran off to the well to clean themselves off. Ilsa climbed to her feet and put her arms around Johann. "It's not going to be enough, is it?" she asked. "It's not us that God's after." He shook her off him. "Don't let the children hear you speak like that. I said I'd protect the family and I will. The Curse will not touch us." The noises started around nightfall. Johann had brought in as much food and water as he could find room for, and Ilsa had lit a fire to burn off any bad air that might come down the chimney. At first, Johann thought it was the wind howling outside, signaling a storm coming on, but he began to hear voices in the tempest. "Get away from the door," he said, waving his family into the corner. He crawled over the window on his hands and knees and opened it up, just a crack. His fields were full of people, all walking jerkily to some unseen point. They twitched uncontrollably as they walked, as though they were marionettes under the control of some palsied puppetmaster. He shut the window quickly. "What is it, Johann?" asked Ilsa, frightened. "I don't know." Johann's were shaking. He put them in his lap so the children wouldn't see how scared he was. "The townspeople are in the fields." "In the fields?" Ilsa looked puzzled. "All of them?" "It looks like it." He put the heavy bed up on end and put it against the window. Almost immediately afterwards, a heavy thump shook the house. "God!" he muttered, clasping his hands tightly in supplication. "God!" he said again, unable to go beyond that point. "Let us in, Johann!" pleaded a voice outside. "It's us, Otto and Cathryn!" Ilsa's eyes widened at the mentioned of her best friend. Johann glared at her from his post. "I can't let you in, Otto!" he shouted through the wall. "It's God's curse!" "But we're not Cursed!" Otto answered. "The witch is floating randomly through town, her little blue lights are in everyone's windows. I've seen her lights out here, too! In your fields, Johann! Let us in so we can fight her together!" "There is no witch," Johann said, doubtfully. "Oh yes there is," wept Cathryn. "She comes as a wisp of blue flame and turns into a woman as the moon rises! If she waves a red scarf through someone's window, everyone in that house is dead within three days! Does that sound like God to you?" Johann could hear her tiny fists beat futily against the thick door frame. "Does it?" "Oh, Johann," said Ilsa, crying. "Oh, what are we doing?" "We can't let you in!" shouted Johann, ignoring his wife. "I have to protect my family! I'm sorry," he added, quietly. There was no response from the couple outside. No one else knocked on the door that night. Johann could see the little piles of dead bodies not far from his house. The air smelled like death, dulled only slightly when Ilsa threw the contents of the chamber pot through the window. Johann wondered about the health of his animals, then decided against going out to check on them. Ilsa was still not talking to him, although he knew she understood his reasons for not opening the door to Cathryn and Otto the night before. The girls were listless, opting to sleep all day rather than face being confined to the tiny house. He shut the window and leaned against the wall. His family had survived the night. That was all that mattered. Sara moaned, no doubt having nightmares about the monsters stalking the countryside. Elka's horrific stories from the week before probably didn't help the child's sleep much. He knelt beside his sleeping children and brushed the hair back from Sara's forehead. He would die to protect his family. This much he knew. The day came and went uneventfully. Johann once again leaned the bedframe against the window and prepared himself for another encounter with the villagers. Ilsa silently prepared a stew of salted meat and dried vegetables and brought him a plate, eyes fixed on the floor. He reached out for her, but she slipped past his fingers. The night showed pitch black through the chinks in the window frame. It was quiet outside the house, no voices, no night animals calling to one another, nothing. Johann was beginning to think that the Curse had passed over completely when he heard a quick, light rap on the other side of the window, right next to his head. He leaped to his feet. "Who's there?" he said, trying to still the tremor in his voice. "Damn it, who's there?" The rap came again, more insistent this time. Ilsa was staring over at the door, eyes protruding from her face in terror. Johann followed her gaze, to where the door met the floor. A pale blue light pulsed through every crack in the frame, every unchinked hole in the walls. The knock came again, louder, louder, at the door, at the window, at the foundation itself. Ilsa swept her children into her arms and crouched by the fireplace, ready to sacrifice her own body to save the lives of her offspring. "Get away from this house!" shouted Johann, waving his clenched fists at the light. "You can't come in!" It might have been his imagination, but he thought he heard a woman's laughter before the light faded completely away. They opened the window only once the next morning, and that was to empty the chamberpot. They were running low on water. Johann hoped they could last at least one more day. Sara spent the day staring at the door, while Elka whined incessantly about how she missed her friends from the village, wondering aloud when they could go see how many people had survived the Curse. Ilsa, at least, seemed to have forgiven him, to the point of following him everywhere through the house. She seemed determined not to let him out of her sight. Johann had no idea how to protect his family from supernatural forces. If this Curse was truly sent by God, he wasn't sure who he was pray to for protection. All he knew was the strength of his own two hands. When nightfall came, he was prepared. Ilsa, Sara, and Elka were huddled around each other by the fireplace. Johann stood in front of the closed window, the sharpest knife he owned in his belt. The hours dragged forever as he waited, waited, waited for the knock he knew had to come. After what seemed like years, the gentle rapping from the night before sounded against the wooden shutters. Johann filled his lungs with air and smiled encouragingly at his little family, trying to appear brave. Then he threw open the window and stabbed blindly outside. The blade encountered nothing but mist. A woman's mocking laughter sounded just beyond his reach, then a slim white hand materialized in front of him, waving a red piece of cloth. He lunged for the hand, but it darted out of his way. It was trying to get past him, into the house. Desperate, he grabbed the disembodied hand and began hacking at it with his knife. It struggled in his grasp, long fingernails scratching his skin, but unable to wrestle free. Johann stabbed the hand over and over again until it let go of the scarf and began trying to get away from them all, from the house and its occupants and especially the crazy man trying to cut it into pieces. It finally broke free and disappeared, the luminescent mist dissolving completely in its passage. Johann fell back into the house, exhausted. His body was bleeding in a hundred places, long, deep gashes from the fingernails of the creature. Ilsa ran over to him and caught him as he fell. He was still holding onto the cloth the hand had dropped. The Black Death left the village that night. Word of mouth spread quickly through the province that a solitary farmer named Johann had defeated the demon responsible for spreading the disease, and all turned out to give thanks. They found Ilsa and her children still hovering over the body, half-mad with grief. The church claimed the red scarf as a holy relic, and interred Johann in a hallowed plot in the cemetery. And at his funeral, even though his body was ravaged with buboes and the gashes made by the monster were dripping with black pus, not one man, woman, or child neglected to kiss the stiff fingers of the man who had saved their lives and put them back in the favor of God. The End |
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