"The Great Black Beast" from the 'Doorways to the Unseen 2' Story Collection

The Great Black Beast

It was mid-summer when the procession appeared on the horizon. The men walked in a steady, solitary line over the rough road that stretched from the distant hillside to Mathilda and Hemma's remote village, nestled in the shaded valley. The penitents advanced under the early morning sun, their eremite leader chanting a monophonic hymn whose reply came in droning unison. They asked God to forgive them of their sins, to save them from further degradation, and to prevent the world from coming to an end while shrouded in these dark, uncertain times.

The origin of the pestilence was unknown, but it had spread with terrifying speed. First it took the very old, then the very young; first lone travelers, then entire towns and cities; first the common folk, then the gentry and the clergy. The telltale black circles and weeping abscesses on the skin were followed by wracking coughs, violent convulsions, and then, lastly, death. The pestilence had no order, no reason—it sometimes struck down those previously healthy in only a few days, while others lingered for weeks before being consumed. No one knew whether they were to be the next victim.

When the band of penitents reached the village, they assembled in its square, surrounded by curious denizens. The men removed their hoods and stripped their white-robed bodies to the waist. They then proceeded to flail their heavily scarred backs with knotted leather straps, still reciting their droning, hypnotic chant. The air around the villagers grew thick with the scent of freshly opened wounds and unwashed bodies; they breathed deep of the penitents' mortified flesh . . .

*****

Mathilda stood behind her younger sister Hemma, tightly gripping her arm. The girls' mother lay before them on a soaked bed fetid and rank with sickness; she had been stricken soon after the departure of the penitents. Greta had scarcely stirred that day. She had finally called her daughters to her and told them that she might not last the night. There was an errand, she said, that the sisters needed to complete for their mother once she had passed from this world.

"There will be no one in the village to care for you in less than a week's time." Greta's voice was thin, almost a whisper. "You must flee, or you will soon starve or be taken as well. The penitents! Only they could have brought this sorrow upon us."

This woman, with her sunken, pallid face and emaciated body, now seemed to her daughters a phantom, so distant from their once-vigorous mother. But as Greta spoke, a glimmer of her old self re-emerged for a scant moment: "Matthias will take you from here to my brother, Alarick. Alarick makes his home in seclusion near the untamed black forest. You must take something to him so your uncle will recognize you as his true kin."

Greta struggled to find the strength to sit up. Finally upright, she pointed through the open door to the stone-lined fireplace in the family dwelling's remaining room.

"Behind a loose stone under the mantle is a box with a pendant. I've kept it hidden there all these years. Even your father was ignorant of its secret place, God rest his soul. Take it with you—keep it safe, and show it to Alarick when you find him. This pendant has been with my brother's family since before our own father's father was born."

Mathilda turned to the smoky kitchen outside the bedroom door and its now-cold fireplace, eyes settling on the ashes strewn about the hearth's interior.

Hemma was silent and did not look away from her mother. She looked for a moment as if she were searching for something.

"Now go. It will take you less than a week if you trust in Matthias. Matthias pledged to care for you both as if you were his own flesh and blood. He promised me after Mathilda was born."

Her voice spent, Greta sank back into the bed's threadbare covers and closed her eyes. Her breath slowed, coming once again in shallow gasps. Mathilda followed Hemma to the fireplace, where her little sister was prying at a discolored stone. Mathilda closed the oaken door behind her. God willing, their mother would not suffer for much longer.