The Flesh Eaters (20 page)

“Oh, you do? Well, I think—” Douglas becomes aware suddenly of the expressions of the others. He shrugs. “This
is
an unpleasant place. Let’s get on.”

The stillness is broken by a terrified scream. Almost as one, the men jump. “My God, it’s the monster!” someone whispers, and there is a torrent of confused chatter about what it was, where it was, what they should do. Then another scream is heard.

Aird calls out, “Come on! We must help,” and runs down the road toward the source of the scream. One by one, the others follow. No one wishes to be left behind alone.

The woman screams again and again.

Sawney Beane and his family have appeared without warning from the trees on either side of the road and surrounded the wagon. With their ghostly skin, dark shining eyes and filthy appearance, they are more frightening than any monster the helpless couple could ever imagine. The family stands quietly, staring, savoring the moment.

“What do you want?” Tom’s throat is dry with fear.

The only response is small, cold smiles. He repeats the question, but still the family does not speak or move. He asks a third time, desperate now.

In a whisper, Sawney Beane replies, “You.”

Tom does not understand this. He fumbles at his belt and unfastens his coin purse, filled with the money for which he has worked hard for almost a year—but a year is a small price to pay for release from these creatures. He holds out the purse, but no one moves to take it, and he throws it at the feet of Second Hunter.

“There,” Tom begs. “There! You have all my money. We have nothing more. Please let us go... we’ll not tell anyone. Just let us go... please do not harm us. There is no need... what do you want? Say something!”

Second Hunter bends slowly and picks up the purse, looking at it with distaste. He opens it and lets the coins fall to the ground, then kicks dirt over them.

“That is shit. We do not want shit.” His tongue darts from between his lips.

“What do you want?” Tom cries. “Please... let us go.” He looks aghast at the circle of grinning faces. The worst are the small children, who slowly begin to chant.

“Stick... stock... stuck.

You’ve run out of luck.

Kill... kill... kill.

We will eat our fill.”

The other members of the family join in and move slowly closer to the wagon. Mesmerized by the unblinking stares and the monotonous chant, Tom and his wife are unable to move.

“Smell it!” Sawney Beane hisses. “You can smell their fear.”

Tom makes a sudden effort and breaks through the human circle about him, but is caught instantly and held.

Now the children jump up on the wagon and throw the woman to the ground. They swarm over her, stabbing and slashing furiously.

Paralyzed, unable to struggle, Tom watches the slaughter of his wife. So do his captors, but they are enjoying the spectacle, pleased with the youngsters’ expertise.

When the woman no longer moves, the children, tear at her with their teeth in a frenzy of hunger, grunting and growling. The terrible sight is more than Tom can endure. Screaming, he breaks away from the men who hold him, running with no thought but to flee from the horror.

Sawney Beane and the older hunters have no difficulty keeping up with Tom. With easy strides, they lope beside him, laughing. First Hunter leans close and whispers the chant in his ear. Two of the older boys run backwards ahead of him, motioning contemptuously for him to come on. Tom hardly notices; the horror of his wife’s bleeding body fills his mind.

At last, exhausted, he runs off the road and leans breathlessly against a large rock. He has already given himself up for dead; he is no longer afraid. Though he has never done anything more violent with his knife than peel an apple, now he draws the knife from his belt, determined to make these monsters pay for his death.

The family stands just beyond his reach, amused by his pathetic efforts to defend himself. Then, with flicking jabs, they begin to poke and stab at him with their knives, darting in, jumping back before he can slash them. With each new cut he receives, Tom grows weaker. Soon his arm goes limp, and his knife dangles at his side.

The family moves in for the kill, their knives raised. Just as they are about to strike, they hear shouts and the sound of running feet. They turn to look back along the road.

Led by Aird, the men race down the road, whooping in an attempt to scare off whatever might wait before them.

Each man has a different fear of what he will find. The reality is nothing like their wildest fears, but not one will ever forget the sight that greets him at the bend in the road. The men stumble to a halt, staring in disbelief.

They see the bloody body of a woman. On her, all around her, are young children, some not more than infants. Their eyes are dark and wide, their hair is wild, their clothes are ragged and filthy. Blood drips from their hands and mouths; pieces of flesh hang from their teeth. The woman’s dress has been ripped away, and some of the children are feeding on her breasts and thighs.

All stand frozen now, the men and the terrifying children.

Beyond the children, the rescuers see a man surrounded by larger youths with bloody knives raised overhead. They, too, stand motionless, staring.

Fear shows on all faces. The rescuers are numbed by horror; what they see violates everything they have ever understood about the world of men. For the family, a fundamental principle—a law of survival—has been violated; they feel the fear of trapped animals.

Suddenly Sawney Beane cries out for the family to run. The discipline of a lifetime is not completely forgotten, and the family heeds his command. But they lack their usual order; panic sends them scrambling into the bushes.

The sight of the creatures fleeing in terror encourages Aird and the other men to give chase, but the family’s intimate knowledge of the terrain permits most of them to get away.

Aird and two other men manage to surround one of the older girls. They move cautiously, watching her as she glares at them, looking for an opportunity to escape.

“Easy now... easy,” croons one of the men. “We’ll not hurt you, girl. Just come quietly and everything will be all right. We don’t wish to hurt you. That’s good. Easy. Easy.”

The girl appears to relax, and the men move forward. Suddenly, she gives the man in the lead a tremendous kick in the groin. He cries out and doubles over, clutching himself in agony. The other men try to hold her but, thrusting with her knife, she breaks free and disappears into the woods. The two men start to go after her, then reconsider and turn to help their injured companion.

In the woods, Douglas is chasing one of the younger girls. He has been careful to go after only one of the little ones—there is no reason to place himself in needless jeopardy.

He is almost upon the girl when she drops down and wiggles under a thick hedge. She is just about to disappear when Douglas manages to catch her foot. Though he is four times her weight, it takes all his strength to pull her out from under the hedge. He sees now that the struggling girl is about the same age as his own daughter.

“You shit eater!” she screams, slashing at him with her knife. “You thing! You son of a bitch! You sheep fucker!”

Douglas is so surprised by this language that he almost lets go of her. He manages to disarm her, but then the girl sinks her teeth into the base of his thumb. Douglas screams in pain; her sharp little teeth have pierced through to the bone. He strikes hard on her head and shoulders, but she hangs on.

“Let go!” He screams as he feels the bone crack. “Let go, you little bastard! I’ll kill you! Let go! Let go!”

At last she gives up her hold. They glare at each other, several feet apart. Douglas sees that his thumb is almost bitten off; it hangs limply from his hand, blood pouring from the wound. The girl’s mouth, too, is red, dripping. She licks the blood from her lips, smiles, then ducks down and disappears into the bushes. Douglas stares after her in stunned disbelief.

The men straggle back to the road, many of them scratched, bruised, and bleeding. All wear expressions of shocked incredulity. For a moment, as each tries to regain his sense of reality, no one speaks. Then the words flow.

“Did my senses deceive me? Or did you all see.... that... that..

“I saw it. To my sorrow I saw it, and I fear I will never be able to stop seeing it. Those children...”

“Feeding on this woman... like a pack of wild dogs or wolves.”

“Look what one of them did! Nearly bit my thumb off—and enjoyed doing it.”

“One took on three of us! Almost took my eyes out, and just about unmanned Willy here.”

“Did you see the expression on the faces of those children when we came up?”

“They cannot be children. They must be something else. I don’t know what...”

“My friends, for all our jesting, we
have
discovered the monster of the Coast Road. Do any of you doubt it?”

“Nay, but what do we do now?”

“To begin with, we cover that poor woman.”

A blanket is laid over the body, and Tom moans as his wife is covered. The men realize that in the excitement they have forgotten about him. Some of them begin to make comforting or encouraging noises, but Tom seems barely aware of their presence until one young man says, “You certainly are fortunate!”

“Fortunate?” Tom’s eyes go wide.

“Aye,” the young fool continues. “If we had not arrived you would have been killed.”

“Then I would have been fortunate!” Tom bursts into a wail of despair.

The fool is pushed away and told to go look after the horses.

The men question Tom gently about what has happened. With many lamentations, blaming himself for taking this road, he tries to tell his story. When he gets to the point where the children fell on his wife and began to devour her, he cannot cope with the horror; he screams uncontrollably. The men try to hold him, but he struggles free, runs down the road in a frenzy, trips, and lies sprawling. The men help him back to the seat of his wagon, where he sits mumbling about staring eyes, bloody lips, sharp teeth.

Most of the men are for leaving immediately. “Aye,” Douglas says. “They may be back at any time, and we are no match for them.” He holds up his mangled hand, now roughly bandaged. “I have nearly lost my thumb, and that is enough.”

Other men, Whyte among them, think that they should try to locate the monsters’ lair.

“You can, go with my blessing,” Douglas says. “I will tell your families of your fate.”

“But we must do something,” Whyte protests.

“Why? We have already saved one man”—Douglas looks at the gibbering figure of Tom, and sighs—”though that may not be a blessing. We have discovered the monsters. I think that’s enough.”

“But we all saw what they did! They must be caught!”

Aird nods. “I agree. But we can’t do it. We are few, we’ve no weapons to speak of, and half of us are already injured. We don’t know how many of them mere are. We should return to town and tell the authorities. They are the ones to deal with this.”

Whyte is persuaded. “You’re right. That’s best.” He shakes his head. “I’m no braver than anyone else, and I don’t wish to meet those... things... again. Let’s get out of here.”

III

The party has reached the town. As the men proceed down High Street, people call out greetings, not noticing their injuries or their uneasiness. At the inn, Aird, Whyte and a few of their friends take the wagon with its dazed passenger into the yard.

The inn’s boy, sleepy and bored, welcomes them to the Crown and Castle. Then he notices the men’s blood-stained clothing and their peculiar expressions.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you run into bandits?” There is no real concern in his voice, only the hope of hearing a good story.

Aird does not oblige him. “Bring us something to drink, and fetch the Sheriff.”

“I’ll go.” The boy is disappointed. “But I don’t think the Sheriff will come here. He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“Tell him he had better come if he values his position. Now go!”

When the boy returns, the men are drinking beer, but the dazed look is still on their faces. The boy climbs up onto the roof of a shed in the inn yard, a good position from which to observe the proceedings.

Eventually the Sheriff arrives. “All right, I’m here. What is so important that I was called away from my dinner? And who is the one who gives me ultimatums, as if I was some sort of lackey? Well? Speak up! What’s this all about?”

Aird speaks quietly. “We have seen your monsters.”

“You have seen the monsters, have you? Congratulations. I’m going back to finish my dinner.” The Sheriff turns away.

Aird speaks forcefully now. “I think you had better hear our story.”

“Well, my stomach thinks otherwise. Good evening.”

“Sheriff!” Whyte steps forward. “We
have
seen the monsters. Or something as close to monsters as I ever hope to come. Take a good look at us.”