Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep258: Episode 258: Weird Horror Stories

Episode Date: July 15, 2025

Today’s opening tale of terror is the bizarre and wonderful ‘Grey City Tales: Sanitation’, a fantastic  story by HughEhhoule, kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/HughEhhoule/ https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/l9rt0b/grey_city_tales_sanitation_12/ We round off tonight’s tales of horror with the epic ‘Whiskey in the Jar’, a wonderful story by Michael G. Lockhart, AKA BearLair64, kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/BearLair64/

Experience a legacy that lasts at Dawn Valley North Lexus. Right now, Lisa, 2025 TX350 Premium Package from just 898 per month for 28 months at 4.9%. Plus qualified Lexus loyalty guests, receive a 1.5% rate reduction for rates as low as 2.4%. See Donvalley Northlexus.com for details. A proud member of Wayne's Auto Group. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. The story scare us because they defy logic and pull us into a world where the rules no longer apply. Unlike traditional horror, where the source of fear can be named or understood, weird tales often

leave us grasping for meaning, disturbing us with the unknown and the inexplicable. They tap into deep subconscious fears by presenting realities just slightly off from our own, where something feels wrong, but we can't explain why. That sense of unease lingers, making us question what's real and what might be hiding just out of sight, as we shall see in tonight's two tales of terror. As ever before we begin, word of caution, tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery.

That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. The grey city tales. Sanitation. Ever wonder what goes on behind the scenes in your town, city or village? Well, if you're in a bustling metropolis or a little Mayberry-like speck of a place,

like nothing too interesting. but if you're in a city just big enough to have places to hide but small enough to avoid too much scrutiny from the outside well that's another story i call them grey cities nobody is a gray city well simply put it's a place that sticks to very traditional methods of infrastructure you see the industrial revolution for the most part was a well-organized distraction for the real reason productivity suddenly skyrocketed it at one point every city to use the old ways, but as it became harder to hide the unpalatable aspects of these methods, they'd fallen into disuse. But some still reap the rewards of doing things the old-fashioned way. And that brings us to who I am. Well, you can think of me as a combination of historian, anthropologist and zoologist.

I have dedicated my life to cataloguing people's experiences with the entities in the great cities, combing the internet, underground magazines, and any other side. source of information for other interactions. Today, I'm bringing you the story of Jason, a gentleman who got caught up in a really shitty situation, an encounter that would make any person flush, and on a personal note would really piss me off. So, Grey Town Tales,

sanitation, Jason, there's something in the toilet. My little brother, Cowell, who may be the most obnoxious 10-year-old on earth screeches. I bet I can guess what it is. Look, just deal with it. I yell back, trying to get a couple of hours of work from home done. Remote computer repair in case you're wondering. Well, my name's Jason. Let's avoid last names as I'm currently in need of anonymity. I'm 22 and live at home with my mother and kid brother. Mom doesn't leave her room much, less so since the pandemic. Severe back injury is.

tend to have that effect on people. Jason, it's bad. His voice reaches levels of squeak, I didn't think possible, as I get up and make my way to the bathroom. What I see is a shit-peloptic vision that stuns me so much, I take five seconds to notice the physical punch

of a smell that slams into me five feet from the doorframe. The walls are splattered with a deep reddish-brown substance that's only poop in the bed. case scenario. The toilet is overflowing, a steady stream of similarly coloured fluid that I'll generously call water. My brother's dripping, looking at me like he just ran ten miles through a muddy field. What the hell did you do? I yell.

Nothing, I swear. I was just going to use it, and then this happened. He replies, petulantly. That's not how it works, but. There's one solution here. plunge the thing. I refuse to set foot in that. I say in my, I pay half the mortgage tone. He starts to reply and thinks better of it. He grabs the plunger and suddenly stumbles back. There's a rat in there, he says, looking to me with a crap-covered, shocked expression that would

be hilarious if I couldn't smell it. There isn't a rat, I say, monotone, pointing to the toilet. Well, the kid begins to plunge, brown flots some infested water flowing over the rim in septic waves. Well, if I didn't see it, I'd probably have rolled my eyes and told him to keep plunging. But I caught a glimpse of something. Squat and brown spring up, lightning quick, and take a small piece from Cowell's arm. Get out of there, I say, with a combination of concern and shock. I send him to the downstairs bathroom to show. shower. The wound isn't bad, but I'm sure being covered in raw sewage wouldn't do it any

favours. I run into the kitchen, opening drawers and trying to find something appropriate for dispatching a toilet rodent. I settle on a pair of garden gloves, kitchen knife, and a steel potato mashet. I'm sure there are a dozen house-od item combinations that could have worked better, but in a rush, angry chef was about as good as my equipment was going to get. I step into the feces-coated bathroom and fight the urge to gag. I almost lose this fight as I step into a pile of something that has a texture that could only be described as uncomfortably oily. Keep my eye on the toilet.

The top layer of scum and water is moving, but it's just as like the overflowing water as whatever took a piece of my brother. I hesitantly kick the toilets, and there's a splash in the bowl. I catch another glimpse of whatever is in there and try and track it by its shadow to no avail. I take in a steadying breath and drive the potato masher into the filthy water.

I catch a full face of the reeking liquid, but I feel something. I try to trap it between the masher in the bowl, but whatever it is it's quick and slippery. I drop the masher and try my luck with the knife, stabbing at random, hoping to get lucky

and skewer the thing. I feel a violent tug on my glove, try to pull back, but somehow whatever this is holds me there well i could slip out of the glove but that would mean not only dropping the knife but exposing my bare hand to this likely diseased thing pull back with all my strength not asking myself how something the size of a king can to manage a grip like this on a sheer surface but i didn't need to really well i don't see the ass end of the thing but i get a good look at its head and i suddenly doubt it's anywhere close to the rodent family. It seemed to ooze a yellow puss. Its face,

skeletal and rotted, did have a vaguely rodent shape to it. Long yellow fangs pierced the glove and soulless black eyes twitched with dull malice. I saw tufts of matted brown hair run the length of its body, disappearing into the opaque water of the toilet. I didn't ask myself any of the questions you're asking yourself now. With this thing snarling and gnashing the glove to pieces, all I knew was that it was an animal in my house and seconds away from tearing my hand apart. As a reflex, I take my free hand and jab my thumb deep into one of its large dull eyes. Gray fluid jets from the socket as the creature lets out a piercing screech, letting go of the glove. With a lightning quick movement, it plunges back into the water.

A rumbling, phlegmatic noise, gurgles from the toilets as the water level goes from overflowing to nearly dry in a second. I fall to the floor, confused, covered in God knows what, and staring at a brutalised toilet with chunks of stringy grey hair hanging from it like the world's saddest anemone. I caught my breath and took a shower, while cowl worked on cleaning the biohazard that our bathroom had become. By the time I'd finish my fourth scrub down and rinse off, I'd stop thinking about the stranger aspects of what had happened and focused on the immediate problem. The cracked, useless toilet and whatever infestation that had caused the literal shitstorm that blew through my jar.

What? Two months? It was crazy. I did explain that our wars are covered in shit rights, I say, trying to remain calm. well I'd called every plumber in the city and gotten similar timeframes all around well I'm not a rich man but I'm well off enough to have offered four figure tips as a bonus but still had no luck

I don't know what to tell you pal busy time of the year my advice is to call the city well back up that bad is going to be a problem with the outside lines anyway the voice on the other line says in a turn that conveys an ironic lack of giving a shit I start to tell him that this

makes no sense. In fact, I give him a filibuster of a rant before realizing the man had hung up after, anyway. Beaten and humbled as I was after fighting a toilet pest to a drawer, I navigated the minor hell of the city's phone maze until reaching the sanitation department. Instead of getting a person, I was treated to the following voice prompt. Thank you for reaching the city of Mills Lake Sanitation Department. Our business hours are 2 a.m. until 9 a.m. seven days a week to best serve your sanitation-based needs. I listened to it three times before I realized, yes, I did hear it correctly.

I joined Carl and cleaning the bathroom, and by the end of it, we padded each other on the back for only having a half-dozen vomits between us. I spent the rest of the night trying to pretend the fans we set up were doing anything to combat the stench, and come 2 a.m., I had a cup of black coffee in my hands, another three inside me, and a minute. I'm sorry, and a mixture of rage and caffeine jitters to take into the call. Fifteen minutes of hold and I started to believe the voicemail was just screwing with me. What government agency is only open in the middle of the night? But right as I was about to hang up, I had a gruff mail voice on the line. Sanitation department, he said simply. I launched into a rendition of events that was

probably a little heavy on vulgarity, but hit all the key points. expecting shock and apologies. I didn't get what I expected. Yeah, sounds about right. Listen, the pandemic has got everything all screwed up down here. We know there are problems, and we're doing our best to fix them. It's going to be four weeks, tops. Oh, if you had any idea how old our equipment is,

you wouldn't be bitching about that time frame either. I took your name and number. When everything's done here, we'll send some guns. to fix the damages. No real point in fixing it now. Probably going to happen a couple more times. What you want to do in the meantime is go down to a pharmacy and pick yourself up some menthol crystals.

Mix those up half and half with some salt. Cover your shitter with it and put some on the floor in front of the bathroom door. Pretty much the best thing you can do till we get this taken care of. The man says with his nearly robotic disinterest. Have you ever had a rage? come over you so suddenly it feels like a hot wind. That kind of anger that creates a thin layer of rage sweats. Well, my coffee enjoyed a brief but eventful trip across the room as I ran through every combination of offensive language I could muster. Waiting all day for some jaded city worker

to basically tell me to go fuck myself was not the resolution I wanted in this situation. After a few moments of silence, the man on the other end of the line replied. If you think I'm yanking your chain, feel free to come down any time during business hours. Talk to my bus, get me fired, take a tour for all I care. I told you we're working with the old equipment. Old equipment gets sick. The lion goes dead before I could make my brutal retort off. Well, I will.

The next day consisted of trying to remove the deep red stains left by the sewage to no avail, and explained to my mother that she'd have to use the deep. downstairs bathroom for the foreseeable future. I spent the rest of the time, as most people do when they feel slighted by customer service, running over in my mind exactly how I was going to best this joyless government drone. Well, anger's a funny thing. Looking back at all of this with a clearer head, I can't understand how I didn't pick up on all the little clues, something very wrong was

happening. But at the time, all I could think about was the fact my house still smelled like a diaper bin, and that my disabled mother was going to have to deal with two flights of stairs every time she needed to use the toilet. What I'm saying is, I'm pretty sure I've never been so awake at 2 a.m. The drive to get downtown was quiet. Not even a homeless person or a cop camped out on an intersection to break the feeling of isolation. A light rain washed over the crack windshield of my third-hand hashback as I pulled up to the squat municipal building. I look for any large-scale equipment

to confirm I'm at the right address but other than a parking lot with a handful of city vehicles I see nothing harsh fluorescent light spills from the windows and the flickering neon sign says open when it can muster the energy so I assume I'm in the right place small bell rings as I open the door

and I'm hit with a musty odor as I make eye contact with the man sitting behind the peeling plywood desk He's in his mid-fifties and sports stubble That looks like it could be used to scrape rust off of equipment in a pinch His eyes are sunken, grey-brown, judging by the stains on his white t-shirt and flannel jacket And his vague mushroom scent means he's About 48 hours overdue for his weekly shower

Jason, right, he says Unmistakably the man I was speaking to last night Take a seat Someone will be with you in a bit I resolved to remain calm enough to not get kicked out, take a seat in the fake leather chair that seems specifically designed to make fart noises. I try to strike up a couple of conversations with the man behind the desk, but at no point does he acknowledge me, let alone put down the faded, doggied magazine he was reading.

I tried to get a look at the title, but whatever language it's written in is well beyond my two years of barely passing Spanish. As 4 a.m. hits, the man folds his magazine. with a lack of urgency that is honed to perfection. He places it carefully into a drawer, locks it, and stands with an article swagger that makes me wonder what the hell he's doing

working in the graveyard ship. He walks over to a grey door marked, employees only, and motions me over. Ride this way, he says, opening the door. Why did I just wait two hours if I'm just going to talk to you? I say,

holding back shock and anger. Do I tell you how to fix computers? You want an explanation, or you want to speak to the boss, he says with a shrug. Something in my sleep-addled and righteous ignition for your brain catches this, and my heart skips a beat.

How does this guy know what I do for a living? Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of ways he could know. But the way he said it, like a threat, makes me wary. We walk down a steep industrial cement staircase.

The sparse light comes from bulbs so faded, half of them give a deep orange glow. The man is silent. Our oddly muffled footsteps and a distant dripping the only sounds joining us. The staircase ends, leading for a long hallway,

lit by a soft blue light. My eyes adjust and I take in the scene around me. The walkway stretch for about a half kilometer the architecture seems blunt makeshift like the building was made for one purpose but twisted and hacked into the desired form on either side of the walkway are long rooms fungi of all sizes sprout from every available surface as I focus I see the walls of porous deep holes ranging from pencil thin to

large enough for a man to walk upright honeycombing the rough cement shock keeps me walking. The man with me chuckles, keeping up a brisk pace. What is this? I whisper. This is where we make the sewer pipes, the man says, letting the simple leading statement hang in the air.

As you can probably guess, we are in the most modern sanitation department, but what we are is cost effective. Well, just one toil of man. That's me. You can call me John, and one boss. We're some of the last members of a dying trade, and it's a shame, really.

John turns on a flashlight illuminating the tendrils of fungus. He stops at one stalk for a moment. It begins to sway lightly. My heart starts to race as it extends itself, tapping and probing along the wall, till it finds a bare rock hole. it spreads at an unimaginable rate hardening and creating a large tube i feel my body tense and i look back judging the distance to the stairwell as i make the decision to run i hear a tooth-cracking scraping noise that draws my attention to john in one hand he holds a small almost brown apple in the other casually he holds a foot-long hunting knife rusted to an almost rock-like petite

snack he says gesturing to me with the knife before cutting a thin slice of apple the knife leaves brown streaks on the already inedible fruits but john eats it never breaking eye contact with me he tosses the apple a few times further bruising it but the knife is kept low casual but with the tip noticeably in my direction he begins to walk again and without a word i follow him the grimy dagger he holds is all the instruction I need we come to a blast door and John spins the slime street handle with little effort I briefly think of attacking him while he's occupied but I'm no fighter I've not been in so much as a shoving match in all my life John closes the door behind us and leads us down a surprisingly clean hallway with a steel great fall see Jason most of the time the time system works just fine.

A couple reports of sewer gators here and there. Some guy has a meal made of his meat and two veg, but that's it. Reasonable sacrifices. Oh, but this new bug has got the bus all screwed up. My job is to make sure things get running

smoothly again. John says as we reach another blast door. There are two sets of thigh-high boots that are made of rubber so thick I'm reminded of tractor tires. John puts his on with a practice deafness. I fall twice, which, judging by his laughter, is the funniest thing John has ever seen in his life. He puts down his industrial flashlight and picks up a small electric lantern. Gotta keep the lights down. The equipment in here

gets a little rowdy when it goes bright, John says, leading us into a massive pitch-black room. For a moment, it remains dark. I can hear noises from it. far enough away that I get the impression of being in a cave. The feeble lantern sputters a dim ten-foot circle of light, enough to illuminate rough rock floor but nothing else. As we walk I start to hear shuffling, scrabbling noises, and see familiar rat-like faces quickly dart into the circle of light and then retreat.

As I walk I notice a set of eyes seemingly fixed on me. Deep, reflective purple tracks me as I try to. to stay within the light. I find myself staring back and noticing it's not two eyes but one, narrowed and hateful orb. Hmm, looks like he likes you. You two know each other? John says with a chuckle. Something tells me he already knows the answer. What a better look, John says, malice creeping into his tone. I hear a click and the little lantern is suddenly at full blast I can see thirty feet around me and my heart stops I'm face to face with the thing that crawled out of my toilets and see dozens of similar creatures writhing and slithering all

around it well I thought was its body was only the head of the thing behind the rotted rapsed corpse-like head was dozens of meters of snake like muscle tissue mottled brown and red that reaches far enough into the distance I can't see where the thing ends. It hisses as it begins to circle around me, bringing its face close to mine. The rat itself splits down the middle, revealing rows upon rows of tiny pointed teeth. What? Didn't you say that light made them dangerous? I say in a panic as the coils of the thing begin to constrict me. I'm paralysed with fear as I see its empty pus-filled eye-sockets. Well, for sure, but not for me.

I've been working with this equipment for too long. John chuckles as the creature rears back and takes a bite out of my shoulder. The wound isn't deep at all, but it flinches an area of skin about the size of an average notebook. I scream as blood starts to pour down my chest. The thing strikes again. I move enough that it only takes a nip from my cheek. You see, Jay, buddy, most people in the town get the run around, give up, and eventually everything's fixed. We come out, clean everything up, and give you a fresh shitter.

But you, no, you just couldn't make do for a little while. Let me and the boss do our thing. See, it's a good litmus test to know if someone is a danger to us. If someone's petty enough to go through all this shit, just to jump. jump the line, chances are there also the type to blow the whistle on places like ours. John says, venom infusing his tone. I didn't know what I was getting into. I have no intention of messing with you. Please, just let me go. I plead as the creature begins to really apply pressure. My ribs creak, and I begin to see black spots. I don't know how much I can trust you, Jay. Let's just continue

the tour and see where that takes us. Sound good? John says as the lantern suddenly dims. With a parting strike, the rat beast slinks back into the shadows. Well, the two-minute walk feels like hours as I try to ignore the pain of a half-dozen bites. The next door we see is surprisingly well-kept up. Clean white wood, no rust or mould. John takes us inside in my eyes are immediately assaulted by daylight. I squint as they adjust before taking in the sight before me. The ground is soft and covered with a type of plan

that most closely resembles bright yellow grass. The ceiling is high enough to give an illusion of sky and the room itself could comfortably house a handful of football stadiums. The juxtaposition is staggering. I'm standing in essentially a massive field, but that wasn't the strangest part. As far as the eye could see, there were rows upon rows of toilets, pristine white toilets.

It takes me a minute to notice that they are in no way just toilets. The closest one is five feet from me, and I can feel my jaw drop as I see the massive, soft, almost bovine eye filling the bowl. The top tank rattles slightly as a flat tongue slides out between large dull teeth. I walk backward but stop as I feel a harsh jab in my back and a small trickle of blood begin to flow from the wound. Don't be a pussy. These guys are harmless.

Give him a pet. He says the second part as a threat as opposed to an offer. I walk over carefully, like I'm approaching a bull, controlling my breathing and making soft, nervous small talk. I reach a handout, ready to pull it back if those brick-like teeth make an appearance. The creature seems rooted to the ground, but could move a few inches in any direction.

It happily met my hand as I followed my newest request. It starts to make inquisitive, happy noises, as I actually give a shock smile at John having told the truth. What I tell you? Like big, porcelain kittens. John finishes his sentence by putting two fingers into his mouth and giving a harsh whistle. Slowly, something starts to claw its way out of the ground.

A squat muscular beast that looked like a hybrid of Komodo dragon and bulldog. It shakes off the oddly coloured dirt and looks to John. He whistles three discordant notes and the ball of muscle and teeth starts to waddle over to the toilet creature. It leaps onto the bowl, opening its massive flat mouth, tearing through the eyeball with a burst of gore and pain screaming from its porcelain victim. With an ant-like efficiency, it crawls through the creature's body, chunks of internal organs tossed haphazardly around

as the creature mules and wimpers till the last seconds. It leaves a blood streaked, but free from matter shell, and looks to John for approval. John gives a harsh laugh and claps me on the shoulder, shocking me back to my senses. That's just nature, Jay. Oh, as close as we get to,

it round here. Now, it's time to meet the box. The walk to the final door was a blur. Something about getting the brief glimpse of something beautiful, and that isn't quite the right words. More like something innocent and having it torn apart hit my brain harder than my missing flesh. I was then taken into a massive chamber, the smell of old water and fresh shit thick in the air. A circular walkway surrounded a creature of such deformity in bulk. I could feel my sense of what was real slip away. Well, garbage truck would be in the neighbourhood of the right size of this thing, but for all I know the thing could be built like an iceberg,

and most of it being underwater. I saw elements of every horror I'd been subjected to up until this point. Bodies of the rat thing sprang at random from its mountain of brown flesh, mushroom sprouted from its folds and crevasses. Slabs of ceramic-like eczema covered it in patchwork plating and its deformed, almost infant-like head at a mouthful of reptilian fangs jutting out at random angles. It looked like halfway between a slug and a cancerous heart,

pulsing and beating as it sent its limbs to and fro. The unnatural epicenter of this place. Oh, beautiful, isn't he? been my family's job for a couple of centuries to keep him fat and happy. I'm sure I knew this for a reason, Jane. If you get out of here in one piece, there's going to come a day, maybe in a couple months, maybe in a couple years, you're going to forget what it was really like down here. Maybe you decide to buy a dozen guns and come back.

Maybe you decide to spill the beans on YouTube. But I want you to really look at the boss. I want you to realize how beyond your... understanding he is and how easily you'll find yourself inside out and covered in piss long before you get revenge don't believe me john says flipping his knife around and handing it to me i take it and give legitimate thought to burying it as deep into him as i can but his statement is clear i likely no longer have an arm before the blade even hit home Hmm, smart boy.

I think it's about time we get you on your way, though. John says as he begins to walk toward a large rolling door on the other side of the walkway. He presses a button, the door rolls upward, letting early morning light into the system. I see the parking lot for the city vehicles, but one I recognize is right in front of the door. My own blown out hatchback. Oh, before you get going, I get that knife back. It's been in the family a long time.

John says as I offer him the blade. He takes it by the blade and walks beside me to my car. The closer we get, the more I get a sinking feeling. I notice two people in the car. My mind makes the connections an instant, and I run. I fall to my knees and lean against the driver's side door. I begin to bore. No rage now, just desperation.

and regrets. I hear John slowly walking up behind me. Sure you guessed who's in the car by now and what state they were in. In case it wasn't clear, my immediate family had been butchered, were staring, dead-eyed in the car. C.J., in my experience, the spooky side of life only makes people honour their promises for so long. After a while, folks will do all kinds of mental gymnastics to justify what happened. Now you have a more tangible reason to keep your mouth shut. In an hour or so, the police are going to find this car,

this knife and those bodies. You're going to have to spend the rest of your life on the run. Hope this doesn't leave you much time for stupid ideas. John says, almost sweetly. Just kill me. I choke out between sobs. Oh, Jay, I like you. You have Spunk.

you could even make a good toilet man if you were so inclined i fought to keep you breathing if not busy but those grains of sand are full and faster and faster jay i get on out in fifty-five minutes those cops will be on your trail john finishes by patting me on the shoulder and walking away as i hear the door slowly roll down as two months later i've been watching my face on the news every night though i'll admit that face looks about ten years older at this point But that isn't the change that made me feel the need to spill my guts online before, well, before I can't take any more.

You see, the wounds that I warded out of that feces-strewn nightmare with, they haven't been healing rights. At first I thought infection, obvious consequence of torture in a sewer. But my skin wasn't rotting. It was scabbing over with thick white scales. Last night I dug bloody pits into my body in a vain attempt to stop the spring. spread. But as I woke up today, the pits had filled themselves in, stronger, thicker and more pristine white than before. For those became the least of my concerns as I saw myself shirtless in the hotel mirror. Just under the skin of my stomach I could see smooth, scanning movements. The skin was pale and thin

looking, my belly distended. I stared in shock for a few minutes before I saw the giant eye slowly open. It was in that moment that I realized I wasn't set free. Whoever it was that ran that place had made sure it would always be a part of me. Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino

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He reaches into a tool shelf, removing a box about two feet long. He gives it to me, wait for a moment, a sense of ceremony or gravitas filling me. I open the box expecting, I don't know, a magic wrench, a silver dagger, Thor's hammer. but I'm disappointed to see a short double-barred shotgun, lacking any character, let alone any sense of it being a demon-slaying weapon. Oh, and a box of ammunition. Just a gun, son.

He says with a chuckle, to keep yourself from losing a hand trying to whip up some jolly roger pipe-bomb. But now I've got to let you go. I wish you luck. You succeed and you'll be saving a lot of lives, and maybe souls if you're a believing man. I feel the van stop and I take that as my cue to leave. The drink wears off after a couple of hours and I'm greeted with the dull, peristaltic

pains that have been running through my body as of late. That night I make a disturbing discovery. As I dig at the porcelain scales now appearing randomly on my body, they no longer stop somewhere below the skin. They've started rooting themselves to the bone. I try in vain to tear them from myself regardless, but the sharp douged. deep pain that shoots through my bones make me stop after an hour of screaming, crying attempts. Minutes after, I collapse on the bed, I hear a knocking at my door, angry, aggressive, and

somehow noticeably drunk. I answer the door shirtless and bloody, long beyond the point of caring. The massive six-foot mountain of piercings, tattoos and booze breathes heavily in my direction. Keep it the fuck down, Jockey, he growls, taking a step into my room. He doesn't notice the biohazardous nature of the place at first, fixated on me as he is. Something hits me about how absurd it is to be worrying about some Skid Row bully while I'm hip-deep in paranormal events. I don't find it morbidly amusing or a metaphor for life. It just pisses me off.

I meet his eyes. I hope I'm looking out of my mind. As you can see by the fact I've carved holes into myself, I'm having a bad day. So how about you leave before I'm going to be? I grab that shotgun on the table and show you why being a slab of muscle is the stupidest way to intimidate someone. I don't have time to see his reaction before his fist burst my nose. Why stay standing by luck, embracing myself against the wall, turning my back to him. As I do so, the intruder gets a good look at my mouth.

He screams pleased to garden threats to me as he tries to leave. But my tongue grabs him by the ankle, slamming him into the floor. I plead my tongue and mouth to stop. I can't see what they've planned, but I find I don't need to. I grab a dresser, trying to anchor my body, but it's too late. My tongue drags the man back, and as is common with my new situation, I feel a sense of helplessness and acceptance come over me. I get reminded of my talk with Lee, and I take in the opposite of a steadying breath.

I think of my dead family, my mangled body, this loss of self I'm slowly but surely experiencing. And how I'm in the middle of all this because something about how I called made some insane cult member think I'd be the perfect ingredient in an Eldridge stew. But that isn't right, is it? Lee said he would have been picking me out long before the random call. I feel rage billed inside of me as I hear a crunching noise, my back splattered with gall. The anger fills me to the point my skin feels on fire, and let it take me past the point of sanity. as I do I can feel my tongue relax and coil into my back my fine teeth letting go of the mangled stump of the man's lair

I take pride in myself for overcoming my new urge to feed but the second my rage starts to falter I feel myself lose control and so I don't let it falter the man is thanking me for mercy begging me for help but he doesn't realize this isn't about him I pick up the shotgun from the table and drive it down into his stomach i can see how much my body has changed become stronger better as i drive the blunt

twin barrels deep into his stomach with a burst of blood i pull the trigger and with a muffled pop with a man's insides turn to so much ground meat something has changed some part of the end of this process has begun a voice deep in the back of my mind tries to calm me tries to get me to sit down fills my head with visions of fields full of a lush yellow grass-like plant but my other voice the one that's been inside my head since I was born tells me I can't give up I can't calm down I'm in the terminal stages of a disease with no cure with only one chance to even attempt to make it right I'm in a fugue state as I rifle through the man's pockets having my first bit of good luck in a long time as I come upon

his keys I feel dim dull and fun away, like my brain is trying to shut down due to the stress of having to process two minds. I put my fists through the thick safety glass window of the hotel, marvelling at the raw strength I now possess. The pain feels delayed, but shocks me back to awareness. I put on my shoes and coat, not bothering with a shirt. I know every second counts at this point. I focus on every wrong that has been done to me as I push a button on the man's key fob and follow the grating chirp to his sports car. Back when CDs were new, I'm sure it was a marvel of technology,

but now it looks like a rusted, sad attempt at luxury. I throw the shotgun box on the floor of the passenger's side, stealth no longer being a priority. My mind is feeling more sluggish, less my own by the minute. I slam my hand in the door once for good measure, severing the tip of my pinky, focusing on that pain and letting my decaying mind dwell on it, I managed to sharpen my wits enough to pull out of the driveway without making too much of a scene.

The drive is hours long. I find myself drifting more than once. I apply the cigarette lighter to bear areas of flesh more than once to set myself into some sense of reality. My body is making a constant series of pops, snaps, and various wet, cracking noises. I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror, and by the minute more of my flesh is becoming porcelain scales. plates and almost cancerous lumps now starting to show beyond my clothing. This isn't some awesome final form by the time I'm sitting in that familiar parking lot. Night has fallen in and my breathing comes in raggy gasps that spray reddish-yellow fluid onto the steering wheel.

Fighting this process is tearing me apart, mentally and physically. As I drag myself out of the car, I see fluids pulled in the seats, along with some pieces of flesh that really belong on the inside of the human body. I see myself in a side mirror and I barely look human. My face is half covered in cracking porcelain shards, lumps of asymmetrical growth, strain and tear my clothing, and my mouth, my new mouth, is rapidly gnashing through my coat, I drag one leg behind me, spurs of flesh and porcelain locking it in place. The shotgun is cocked and loaded, my pockets filled with shells.

I'm almost there. A fire two rounds into the door and fumble two more back into the gun. The door creaks open. Why, John, much calmer than he has any right to be. Folds his magazine and carefully puts it back in his drawer. Oh, looks like you've gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, Jay. Why don't you let me... I don't give him a chance to continue.

A fire around into his desk, spraying him with wood splinters and ricocheted shot. He bleeds from a few nasty cuts but doesn't even flinch. I stomp into the room, my revenge, the thing keeping me anchored so close. Why did you do this to me? I scream, closing the distance between us to a few feet. This, he says, gesturing towards the lump and mess I'd become, wasn't I that did it to you? What I did would have let you die? like peacefully and in your sleep before you even notice the eye.

Yeah, asshole moved to be sure, but this, this is all you, Jay. I pegged you for the type that could accept your fate. Looks like that was wrong. When he laughs as if he realized he'd put bacon on a vegan burger instead of condemning some man to a tortured death. Oh, my sense is sharpened as that thought sinks in. I'm lucid, but with clarity comes a revelation. My thoughts are fundamentally changing.

I'm processing things in an in a human, predatory way, with every passing second, no matter how much rage I stoke to keep my senses sharp. Well, the senses themselves are becoming alien. Who knows what the hell is happening to you now? My advice is to eat one of those shotgun shells and save yourself from turn into something that eats children. My mind begins to drift, as John says this, and he starts to let his hand drift towards the barrel of my gun. I snarl, aiming it to his chest.

Take me to the bus, John. I wanted to watch when I blow your brains all over a wall, I say as John merely shrugs. I don't have much choice in the matter, do I? But nonetheless, happy to oblige. Give us some time to talk. John opens the employee's only door, a putrid portal that started me down a path to mutation and insanity. And I follow. The first stairway is the same one I remember. Though sorting through what's a memory and what's an hallucination at this point is becoming difficult. Twice I come to, after lost time, holding John against a wall and screaming nonsense. I start to wonder if I'm even going to get the satisfaction of killing this old prick in front of his demonic shit slug of a boss. The first

door is nothing like I remember. It's riveted steel, every square inch covered in any type of hazard symbol I can think of, and no less than a dozen I've never seen before. John opens the door and there's a mesh walkway suspended a few feet above a roiling vapor spewing lake. It splits off into two paths as far as the eye can see. I try to ask John how this is possible, but my jaw can no longer move properly. I produce a series of gurgling clicks, no matter how slowly I try to speak. Oh, no use in explaining how parapysical architecture works now, Jay. I assume that's what you wanted to know. Johnny's confident, sly, but the anger this spurns no longer seems enough to keep me alert. Why don't suppose there's anything I could offer you to get you to stop your rampage?

He asks, as he leads us down a half-dozen turns. I grunt an aggressive negative response. We pass walkways leading to small rooms, over churning waterfalls, and to melted, missing patches of grating. But it all begins to blend. Do you even realize what the boss and I can do for you? Or I won't lie, not much I can do about your current state. You fucked that up beyond repair. But maybe I can entice you another way.

John opens the door to a cement room that reminds me of a store. closet. I can't remember walking there, and I'm having trouble remembering why I'm here at all, actually. He opens the door, and I see two people I do remember. My brother and mother. I can feel a tear squeeze its way past swollen ducks and fall down a face full of shattered chunks of porcelain and tumour growths. May look fine, no brutal wounds, no glassy eyes, and for a moment I'm happy. I think all of the same. I think all of the same. I think all of the same. I'm all of this might just be a mistake or a dream. And I feel like I'm falling all of a sudden,

my connection to my body severing my mind, becoming whatever it is now. Oh, I wish I would have looked away in those last moments of being Jason, fully myself. I saw the backs of my family. Something violent semi-side was burrowing into their flesh, a black jelly with rotten yellow flecks of bone or fat inside. I felt rage, but it...

just wasn't enough. I felt my consciousness being subsumed by something, well, something wrong. Now, for those gore hounds wondering, there are many more of Jason's notebooks, but they were nonsensical word-cellars, bloodstains and draw marks, which brings us to our friend John

for the rest of the story. John's diary. I'm writing this not as any kind of confession or repentance, but as a window into why people like do what I do. If this is found by anyone familiar with those places on earth that most are not meant to go to, then learn from my mistakes. If you've never seen something so wrong that it makes you feel no more significant than a grain of sand, and take this as a warning, not a roadmap, you want nothing to do with my world. I've done awful things. Actions will make me

a household name if they were known, when I've also prevented atrocities that would make anything I've done look like a spirited shouting match. And that's the gist of my childhood, my job, and my religion, my life. We are those who have to make the toughest decisions to ensure that the Pacts and deals that CEOs, kings and presidents have made are honoured. We're the mortals that not only have to look beyond the veil, but work there, and that takes its toll on a person. Human beings are not meant to rub shoulders with a paranormal on a daily basis. And anyone tasked with a job such as mine shows this. We have made weird, obsessive and cruel.

But the penalties for failing to honour these contracts ridden long before we were born, well, they'll be applied to the whole human race should we decide we've had enough. My job is about knowing, memorising dozens of types of creatures, rituals, rights, and applying them. I've made a few mistakes in my time, but my biggest one is stalking me through the sanitation department, and I'm running out of places to run. I watched him for weeks enough to feel I knew how he would react. He was a bit angry, but underneath that, was a deep sense of being spit upon by life.

Well, he should have run for a day, found himself a hole in the warm hotel to call up in and let one of the little gods through, blessing some small town with its presence. But the rights have to be exact. The little god feeds on apathy and acceptance. not rage and confusion. Whatever was drawn to him was mixed and twisted with his soul,

turning Jason and the little god into an eight-foot armored beast, with no divine mandates, no gold other than death and destruction. I've trapped it in the paranormal architecture of the sanitation department, but I believe I'm only slowing it down. It tears through entities and humans alike, trying to find me or the boss. You'll never get near the boss without,

killing me but I'm old I'm unarmed and I have no way of contacting anyone in the suites well first I tried every curse every hex I'd learned as a child but magic is not the stuff of fantasy novels nor fireballs or bolts of lightning to be thrown about at a whim it's a careful deliberate art good for traps and ambushes not visually impressive battles but not one worse not even enough to slow this hybrid demi-god down, and worse, the creature learned. I found myself marvelling at a massacre, the last of the human workers. Some of my family, some from other clans, all torn limb from limb, scattered and displayed. Well, I'm a mere human, but my family is given to certain

resiliences to help us do our work. I can and have drunk raw sewage to survive in the tunnels. I've been lunch while watching rituals that would make an Aztec lunch so I knew the second I felt the stomach cramps that something paranormal was causing them but I wasn't quick enough to avoid Jason's ambush

I used every secret tunnel every tiny doorway all my years of memorising the maddening architecture of the sewers to escape with my life but I didn't manage to escape with both arms next I tried organizing the entities against the force

of horror. I gathered every beast, every creature, every half-alive mutated abomination I could find, and they made an army that could take cities, thousands of nightmares covering the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the very air itself thick with buzzing, sore-toothed insects. It wasn't a battle. The Jason creature never broke eye contact with me as it trudged through my army, tearing apart and devouring them one by one. I watched for day. I watch for day. hoping some massive creature or the sheer weight of numbers would bring it down. But the entire time it just leered at me, barely looking at the creatures it slaughtered. It could have killed me then, but it chose not to.

It took my tongue, one eye and a foot, and left me wading in a river of gall. I have nothing left. I'm sure if it reaches the boss, it will die in the conflict. But without me or someone like me, the boss will die. die a slow death regardless. I can hear it throwing open doors right now, searching each room in this hallway.

I have no more tricks to play. I'm a crippled old man, and it seems larger and more, reality breaking each time I see it. I just heard it in the room beside me. I've made my piece with the garden, I've found a solid pipe to prop me up. In my other hand, I hold my family's knife.

No magic to it, just a good honest weapon well i don't expect your pity it was my lot to work in the darkest places the world has to offer and i had to act as such but maybe i have a little of your understanding and that isn't such a bad thought to die with whiskey in the jar

stand and deliver podrick uttered the words he'd heard so often in tales he was only now learning the high woman's art though he'd often practiced in his daydreams and in private moments away from spying eyes. The dull-looking soldier, a sergeant by his insignia, who approached up the past, looked down his nose in disgust, tinged perhaps with amusement. Best you put away that old pistol and scamper back to your hut boy, you're liable to be heard if you persist in pointing weapons at the king's soldiers.

I mean it. Best hand over that purse or else. You're what, fool? The tall redcoat stepped forward and slapped the pistol from Podrig's hand, and before the young man could react, he'd drawn his own sabre and not decide that of the would-be robber. Podreg backed off a few paces, and then turned to flee lest he be recognised. Well, that was unlikely. He'd taken great pains to cover his features in a large red bandana, or a large floppy hat that obscured his hair and eyes. It didn't matter. The soldier was in no mood to go traipsing through the brush after a silly boy it played.

at high women. Ah, run, you mulling pup, he called after the reprobates. He paused to examine the decrepit pistol the young one had dropped. It was in fair enough condition, a bit rusty, but it might still work with some cleaning and brushing. He used the clip to hang it on his bandolier and continued his journey in a slightly less dour mood. Hodrick had scampered a fair distance from the parks. He clung to his sabre, after his bowing. the tall man had struck it.

He'd almost lost his grip. The man was strong as a bore, ran fast as an adder. He'd expected a bullet to the back all the time he'd run. He'd heard that's what British soldiers did with rebels and outlaws. Up until the moment he'd uttered his challenge,

he'd been neither, and if he made his escape, he wouldn't have to be. His decent enough family had sent him to apprentice at the manor of a noble lord, but he'd grown bored and a tale was told among the low, local folk had inspired him to try his hand at adventuring. Well, he clearly failed. What old

Fian had told him was true. He would need to train extensively before he took on any serious targets. Fien had been in some sort of militia at some time, or so he hinted. He was as close to an experienced fighter as Poudred knew. He was lost in dismal thoughts of his failure, and, dare he even admit it to himself, his cowardice. His shame burrow. hot on his cheeks till the first cold fat drops of rain struck them and chilled his entire form he looked up at the lowering dark sky slate gray and heavy with rain he then belatedly looked around for shelter there was nothing appealing just brush and a few rocks that wouldn't shelter a starving rabbit he was too far away from the estate to make it home before he'd be drenched and chilled to the bone then he recalled the little shanty that had hidden in the next holler He'd imagined it as some romantic nest of robbers, but it steered clear in the end, on his way to set his trap at the trail. The place was abandoned and had a spooky look to it, even in daylight. Now it was the only lightly place to hole up until the storm passed.

As he hurried over the hill, the drops increased in volume, and by the time he'd made it to the little structure, his outer clothing was wet and steaming. He was sure he would appear as some spectral form. to anyone who saw him and he smiled at that my turn to do the frightening if there had ever been a door it was gone there was an overhang of thatch where he paused for a moment just in case some wild creature at sought shelter here as well it smelled musty and there was a hint of an odor about then the torrent arrived and he had to decide so he plunged into the darkened interior he paused when his shin struck some hard object, possibly a piece of furniture long abandoned. He crouched and felt around in front of him. It was a stool, so he set it straight and took a seat

to await the adjustment of his vision to the near absence of light. A rumble sounded outside, from over the hills where the darkest clouds resided. He hadn't noticed the initial flash of lightning. He'd been occupied with setting up his perch. The next one was closer. and lit the interior of the little shack momentarily. Not my much, but he could see where the hearth lay. It may also have been some wood and kindling. A fire would go right well, and ease his rattled nerves. He looked toward the door as the next flash of lightning and lit the landscape.

Was that a shape? A living thing that cast a shadow. He saw the shade, but not what had cast it. The crack of thunder sounded almost immediately after the flash. and set him to trembling. The torrent became a deluge and the water roared above him. He put all of his skills to work

in building a fire on the small half at the centre of the hut. In the flickering light he saw that there was indeed a woodpile. It was substantial enough to get him through the night if he was frugal and kept the fire small. All the while the lightning flashed

and the thunder pounded away vibrating his teeth with its force. He peered through the doorway and, once again, there was a shadow, closer now, and more defined by the ripples of blue-white electrical charges. The head was elongated, and the ears rose above it and pointed forward. Somehow he knew it was towards him. It was only a silhouette, no substance to the outline, yet it loomed ever closer as the storm reached a crescendo. Then it was at the door, impossibly large, greater even than the wolfhound his master owned, and that lounged about indoors, fed better than many of the human servants.

The thing was blacker than the night, than the utter darkness that reigned in between blinding flashes when the eyes were stunned and vision flared. He slowly and, he hoped, silently hefted his sabre, prepared to defend himself from this beast of the tempest. At the next chain of bolts from the heavens, it was gone. Gone from his sight, just as the briefly lit countryside beyond the threshold disappear between each burst. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the wee blaze that spread warmth and a merry light to contrast with the harsh illuminations of nature incarnates. He set down his blade, an old heavy thing, and placed another stick on the fire.

Maybe he'd stolen the shadow's lair. Maybe it was just a trick of the lighten shadows. Maybe... He yelped his teeth, sank into his shoulder. He rolled onto his side and then onto his back and looked up into the twin fires of enormous eyes. They bored into his own and overwhelmed his consciousness, which had fled down a long, gloomy corridor to join the night.

and the crashing and burning air. Podraig awakened to a cool, damp and dreary morning. His fire had long since burned out, since he'd not been awake to feed it. Pain immediately lanced through his shoulder, and the Nymer image of the blazing eyes and the gaping jaws appeared for a flash, just like the lightning, but solely in his mind.

He shuddered, bones crackling and scraping one another at the joints, and then rose, his entire body feeling rapt and feverish. He was incredibly thirsty, and hunger gnawed at his belly. He searched the hovel and found nothing to eat or drink. Plenty of water had fallen the previous evening, so he was at least able to slake his thirst. He would truly have preferred a good ale or beer, but he had to take what he could get.

He felt confused, and his head seemed to contain more sawdust than usual. He finally reasoned out that if he started at once he might be able to get home by late afternoon. If he'd been missed, and likely he had been, well, he'd have to figure out an excuse. At the moment he had no idea what to say when confronted with his absence. He wasn't a particularly efficient servant and had failed to learn his duties or any significant refinements that a young man would need in order to move among the upper classes. Well, he might be sacked and set on the road. If so, he would either have to hone his own survival and fighting skills, or find a rubber band to join and learn from those experienced with nefarious behaviour. He took a last look around the shanty and noted a bundle of rags in one corner.

He hadn't moved them during his initial inspection, but now that he thought about it, they might conceal an object of value, should such a place ever have contained one. He poked at the bundle with a stick of the mostly undisturbed woodpile. There was a small heart object underneath the soft and tattered clock. He set aside the stick and went to work with his hands. Wild thoughts of hidden treasure raced around the inside of his skull, over the sand that still seemed to fill his head. It was a simple jar. It was sealed and stamped with some sort of animal head,

an elongated snout with ears that pointed forwards. Hmm. Odd, he thought briefly, like something he dreamt. He broke the seal and the scent of a rare perfume arose from the container. Oizge? He chanced a taste. It was sublime. Before he knew what he was doing, he drained the little vessel.

Well, now, that's certainly satisfied. almost as well as a large breakfast would have and certainly took care of my thirst he snorted as he stuffed the jar into his side bag it was past time to go and so he set out for the manner long skinny legs applied at a pace that would eat up the miles the stiffness in his joints soon faded and the pain in his shoulder subsided much sooner than he would have expected he soon found himself loping along comfortably at what any soldier would recognize as a dog truck. He breathed deeply of the damp hair and took in the odors of the freshly washed landscape. He heard the birds sing and knew that it would not rain again immediately. The air didn't hold such promise. The steward was definitely unpleased when the bedraggled podrig strode into the estate by the back gate. The imperious Fleming was fastidious to an almost insane degree and expected the rest of the staff to maintain the same standards. It was also determined to rid his lawship staff of the shiftless young man who would rather daydream than perform the task necessary and indeed vital to the effective operation of the estate.

Fleming was not a tallman, yet he managed to look down his nose at Podrick. Well, young McIntyre, I see that you've trafed through a bog and a forest of nettles during your unapproved absence. It will go hard on you this time. Get yourself cleaned up and pack your things. You may be back here at the gate in half an hour. Do be prompt, I have other duties and wish to waste no more time on you. You've proven yourself to be unteachable. Audrey grinned down at the man, moved up close so he could look down his nose in turn.

As you like, that might feel of you and your hand-pegging. Constantly on about things that the noble lord doesn't even notice, much less appreciate. while your talk about duty and attention to detail for their own sake. He snapped his fingers under the shorter man's nose. That's what I give for your details. I'll be back down all right, as soon as I like. I'll take a meal in the kitchens before I deign to meet with such as you. Best you have cook prepare me some meat before I set out on my travels.

He paused, breathing heavily, almost panting. Oh, and it sure is he sure. that the meat is fresh and not are overcooked. Fleming was nonplussed. In the past the young man had been indolent and careless in his duties, but he'd always grovelled when confronted with consequences. Fleming had intended to sack him and let him come back and abase himself in a few days' time. Then he'd give him a last chance.

However, the boy had now been so insolent, even a little threatening. Fleming would not stand for the assertion. on his dignity, he made his decision. You shall leave now. You can stand outside the gate until I have your personal items placed in a bundle and delivered to you. He'd never darken the threshold of this estate. That was as far as he got. Podrig's step forward, which forced the smaller man to give ground. A low rumble issued from the young man's chest and rose until it blew past his lips as a menacing growl. Indeed, the lips had parted and now stretched into a beastial snarl.

Well, this was something else new to Fleming's experiences. Something in the sound, in the appearance of the features, in the demeanour of the lean fellow with the ridiculous red bandana draped around his neck, which frightened him. He took another step backward in an unconscious attempt to create some distance and thus safety. Yet Podreg matched his steps until his back collided with the wall. There would be no further retreat. While Podrig was taller, it wasn't by all that much, until now.

But he seemed to tower above the steward in the shadow of the wall. His skinny frame now appeared lean and strong. Fleming felt that in a moment the boy would lunge in and tear out his throat with those teeth of his. They looked large and gleaming and perhaps a little longer. I'll have some hot water delivered to your quarters and some meat. Podrig smiled as the officious little man surrendered completely and scurried away into the manner to do his bidding. Perhaps he should bully the man into letting him stay. Yet he wanted nothing more than to return to the wild, to the bracken in the hills.

He would, however, demand a stipend to go with his last week's wages. He decided that he was his due. and he would no longer take less than he was owed. He stalked into the servant's quarters and into the little cell he shared with another servant, Billy. Well, Billy was not his friend. The young man had borrowed money from him more than once and despite all promises had failed to return it.

He was not a large young man, but bigger and thicker through the body than Podrick, so he intimidated his now confident roommate for some time. Billy lay curled on his bed, face to the wall. He looked over his shoulder when Podrig entered the little space. Best look out, Paddy. The old steward has it in for you. Not that I care.

I can finally have the room to myself. As punctuation, he expelled some gas in Podrig's general direction. The lean young man wrinkled his nose at the stench and rumbled in his newly found deep and menacing voice. I've told you, I've told you my name is either Podraig or McIntyre. I don't like being called Paddy. Billy snorted, rolled over and sat up. Yeah, and who cares what you like?

He peered up at his erstwhile roommate and fellow footman. Why don't you? His words froze, stuck in his throat by the vice-like grip that had seized his windpipe. He gagged, he tried to cough, to breathe. He soon found himself on his feet and then on his toes. Podrigue's visage assumed a snarl once again. You'll do as I say, and you'll pay back all that you owe me. You'll pay double to compensate me for your intended thievery.

His eyes blazed and bored into those of the round-shouldered Billy. He maintained his grip until Billy's face darkened. and his body started to go limp, and then contemptuously tossed him backward onto his bunk. Billy coughed and grasped and weasped for several moments. He was loud, but Podrake heard the faint, polite scratch at the door and the low, speed voice that accompanied it. Molly! he realized.

He'd embarked on his adventures, at least in part, to impress the young maid. He opened the door, and she entered the chamber. Head down over a steaming bowl of water, a towel slung neatly across one arm. Podrig stepped back to make room for her in the confined space. She set the large bowl on the tiny table and placed the towel between the edge of the bowl and the wall. She glanced up at Podrick, then took a second, longer look, as her mouth formed a little mule of surprise. She, unlike Padrae, was a diligent servant and quickly recovered her composure. "'Fleming said to bring you this.

"'Her eyes wandered briefly to Billy's hacking and tear-stained face, "'and then back up to Podrick's eyes. "'Is there anything else she might need?' she asked out of habit, "'rather than with any intention of doing more than she'd been assigned. "'Bodrigrigg grinned at her. "'A toothier grinned than he'd possessed the last time he'd done so. "'Thank you, sweet Molly. "'That'll be all for now.

"'Perhaps before I take me. my leave we might have some words mollie stared up at him she was fond enough of the young rake he was handsome enough and had a sense of humor but she'd matured past the point that such men gave her any pleasure she preferred the steady types like the constable who managed the master's horse flesh i uh i don't think that'd be possible podrick oh i'm spoken for and i don't know what she could say that, well, you know, you've lost your prospects. She trailed off weekly, and something in his demeanour had created a fear response in her. The chamber felt suddenly far too small, and he far too large for her comfort, perhaps even her safety. She backed out

of the room and fled down the corridor. Hodrig simply smiled in her way. He watched the enticing curves of her backside as she stumbled, hurried. proudly back toward the kitchen, almost running from him. He then turned back to Billy, who'd finally managed to sit up on the edge of his bunk once more. I'll give you one week. When you get your next wages, you'll turn over the entire sum to me, along with the rest that you now owe. Billy looked up in fear. I won't have enough with just my wages.

Before he could blink, Podrig's face loomed up close to his, and the... issued a growl. Borrow it. He stood and turned toward the basin of water. And best you clear out for now, I'll see you in a week. Millie did as he was big. He paused only to pick up a fresh pair of trousers. The ones he was currently wearing were full.

Podrake, his belly in purse, more filled than they'd been since he'd first arrived at the manor, was sent from his home. He now loped energetically up into the wild hills above the rich valley. He felt no pangs at departing, and he was determined to embark on a new career. He discovered the confidence to once more try his hand at being a highwayman. So he set out at a mile-eating pace for a certain path, along which at all a dower sergeant might make his way back to his regiment. He wore a grin that his first while companions would not quite recognize. It was in a mouth with a much wider gait and the teeth were whiter and sharper than they had been.

The face was shaggy and unkempt, like a man who hadn't shaved for a month, yet he'd done so only two days past and hadn't truly needed it. His beard had been hardly present the day before. He didn't care. He felt that it added to the menace you would now need to project. He found his old hiding place behind a large old tree. It had apparently enjoyed the storms. The leaves were brighter and looked full.

Podrake took a good whiff of the air and traversed the area in an ever-widening circle. There was no trace of the soldier or any other traveller since the storm. No tracts and no scent. He didn't quite understand why he thought he'd be able to detect a thing such as that, yet it felt natural. His instincts had been correct. but the soldier had taken a leave to visit the city. On the next afternoon, under a light grey sky,

he walked up the trail, his expressionless dower. Behind him trailed four poor wretches whom he had clearly recruited, and they were in turn followed by two uniform soldiers. Podrig still had his rusty old sabre, and he picked up an axe from the yard of the estate as a parting gift from his former master. He quietly stepped out, into the trail.

The sergeant looked up, startled. Here, you again. You are looking rough, boy. Where's your mask? Roderick smiled his new and improved, toothy grin, which pulled back his now slightly pointed ears. Stand and deliver, he growled in a now menacing tone. The sergeant barked,

and as rapidly as he had last time drew his own blade. He was far slower than Podrig in this instance. He stood astounded as he watched his sword and the hand that gripped it fly off to his right. There was a bright fountain of scarlet from his wrist. He held it up before his eyes in astonishment. He didn't have long to be stoned, though. Podrig stepped up and seized the damaged limb.

He raised it to his lips and took a long paw from the armiong. the claret stream. Well, the dower sergeant fainted dead away as much from mental shock as physical. The four recruits stared for a moment, a sight before them unclear. They saw a flash of blades and watched

the sergeant kneel before a man with a wild look and blood-covered face before he slumped to the ground with an air of permanency. Each was just happy to pause for a moment from the dreadful pace that the tall man had set as they climbed into the hills. The two soldiers who'd lag behind looked up, annoyed that their charges had stopped,

and then they spied their fearless leader, stretched upon the ground. Before they could react, a figure leapt down the trail and leaped upon them. A brass-clad fist struck Tommy in the jaw, and he was soon stretched on the ground in imitation of his sergeant. Georgie wasn't far behind him, but Pommel had blown out his lights. The recruits turned in a gaggle, astonishment in their hearts, and clear upon their faces. Hodrick then turned toward them. Do you have something for me?

No doubt you each took the king's shilling, willingly or no. I'll have those from you, but nothing else. Then you're free to go, unless you'd rather rove the hills with me for a while. The four men looked at one another, and then back at Podrick. None of them had had any prospects prior to being pressed into service. The truly destitute rarely did. Three of them handed a coin each to the eldest and largest of their number. Seamus, the man said simply, as though it was introduction and explanation of his life,

as he dug out his own coin and held out the money to Podraig. Podreg! The Hesuit, whip-cored robber, replied in kind. He squatted over the two. soldiers rifled through their pouches and belongings he presently stood and offered the muskets and shooting gear to Seamus and the second stoutest man since the men had not fled he assumed that they had accepted his offer he now had a band of doughty men to ply the roads and trails they left the soldiers completely stripped but podrake filched his now gleamed pistol from the sergeant's

bandolier then hefted the man's body over a shoulder and loped off toward the next ridge the four men followed shameus picked up Podrick's old sabre from where he discarded it in favor of the sergeant's newer and better-made weapon the four men struggled to catch up to their new leader even though he carried a heavy load he knew his destination and they did not about the time they lost his trail and stopped and stared around hopelessly at the trackless wild he appeared once more now free of of his burden. He gave them a grin in the lowering early evening light. Come on, my friends. Those men had a little food in their knapsacks and coins in the purses.

I'll keep the four shillings from the king. He may divide the rest between you. It is considerably more. I have a little shanty in the brush beyond that rock pile. He pointed then to the barely visible roof, and the men headed that way without any argument. Podraig decided that, so far, he liked his new companions. He didn't care for the mindless chatter that too many people made. Until now he'd been unable to stop it. But now, though, he felt that he could rip out the throats of all the chatter boxes in the wall. The men took up residence in the shack and moved about the detritus on the floor and set a proper fire.

None of them explored the rags in the corner. Podraig stepped inside for a moment. but he soon felt claustrophobic and stalked back outdoors. He sniffed around and circled the area to ensure that there were no more unexpected dangers. He saw and smelled no other canines or lupines. There was no sign of the large black beast that had attacked him. He now suspected that it had all been a nasty dream and he'd simply awakened with a sore neck. He wondered more at the effects of the elixir and the wee jar.

He stopped in a little hollow and dined on the dower sergeant, who tasted so much sweeter than his features had once promised. Light pork, Podrig realized as he munched flesh and gnawed bones. After he was sated, he resumed his patrol and discovered an old still out behind the shanty. Nearby that, he literally sniffed out a cachet of the potion. The little jar sat all in a row within a solid crate that rested inside a nice shanty. straight opening in the rocks, almost like a little shrine. Podre grinned again and took out one of the containers. It felt full.

He stripped off the stopper and took a whiff, and then quickly down the substance. He felt immediately fortified. He worked his way back to the little hut and lay up close by so that he could hear the men in their conversation. He soon found out that Seamus' companions were called Sean, Eamon and Henry. It all been labourers, and work had recently been scarce. Seamus and Henry had relatively steady employment, but Sean and Eamon had been unable to find work many days, and times had been lean of late.

They had greedily taken up the king's coin with hopes toward full bellies, or at least less empty than on most days for them. Seamus and Henry had been convinced more by a chance to do something longer term, perhaps occasionally dangerous, but mostly steady, and with a chance for a true. travel. Appealing enough for young men, but this latest opportunity might be even better. The work would be even less steady, but there might be more treasures to be had, a chance to travel, but in style. The more the young men spoke, the more appealing the life of a rover appeared, as each built up the idea. Poor Drake decided that he would let them live, for the time being.

Over the next few days, the pack of men made themselves a men in. to travelers who took the small track over the hills. They didn't find tremendous treasures, but they found food and sundries to make their lives comfortable. As their first week together came to a close, Podrake, who was happiest roaming the countryside at night, gathered the men around the half. I must travel tonight. I should be back by morning, but if not, what I need to do won't take much longer. With that, he turned swiftly and disappeared from the lodging that was in need of expansion. Sean looked to his companions after their leader had melted into the encroaching darkness. That one is strange, definitely a dangerous type. I've never before seen his

light. Nor any of us, Henry added. Has his hair grown during the past week? Amon stared into the fire. He's taller and his face looks stretched. His teeth are longer. Seamus remained quiet for a moment and assisted Eamon in his search of wisdom in the flames. We all know the stories of what lurks in these hills. Nobody stays here after dark. They hurry through quickly to get either side of the pass. This place is eerie, no doubt, and not just because of our friend who roams the dark. The other night I was sure I heard strange calls, maybe howls off in the distance, and not far enough.

He shivered then. Still, we've done well enough. We'll have to move soon. Folks will stop travelling the trail altogether when they realise that the shortcut will lead to disaster. It's a shorter route, but the main road is safer. The men spoke long into the evening. They were young and accustomed to hard work.

The recent days of leisure and torquett bellies had led to some restlessness. Their conclusions were that the outlaw leader was very dangerous, and they wished to remain in his good grace. even if the adventure had already grown stale. Mostly they spoke of the helplessness they'd learned from those above their station. They understood that their position was precarious, but had no idea how to challenge Podraig,

or even to ask to be released back to their own devices. They were sure that they could not return to their hometown. Too many fine citizens had seen them march off with the Redcoats. It would take many more conversations for them to resolve to act, and many more before they decided to put their plans in motion. Billy, Podreg barked in the ear of his former cellmate in the manner. It was loud to his target, but with a door closed, no one else would have heard. Billy heard and stirred accordingly.

His eyes rolled and stared into the gloom that they could not penetrate. Podraig could see just fine. His eyesight had improved dramatically with every draught of the elixir he'd discovered. One draft every other day or so seemed enough to keep him improving himself. As for Billy, he'd convinced himself during the week that he'd only imagined that Padraig could become dangerous. He didn't have the entire sum that the formerly scrawny fellow were demanded, but he had a truncheon he'd scrooed from the wood-bin clutched in his hand just in case the fool showed. He felt the heat from the bulk that rested near the head of his cot.

You couldn't see much, but there was a deeper shadow in the general outline of a hussuit man looking too close for comfort. A stout hand gripped his shoulder and shook him once. He didn't need or want further encouragement. I have your money, mostly. Couldn't get anyone to lend me more. He stopped when a deep, rumbling growl emerged from the obscure hulking figure that exuded even more menace than it had. done only a few days past he forgot his truncheon something told him that it would be a fruitless and possibly fatal gesture to strike the beastly man who now crouched in his chamber he felt himself

lifted by the grip on his shoulder and another iron grip closed on his other shoulder as he was lifted bodily from the bed he kept rising for a moment and then felt himself plunge until his supine body struck the floor his head cracked against the floor but the primary impact had been across his shoulders. He lay stunned, unable to move his arms and to do no more than twitch his legs. Baudreg's voice rast deeply. What did you think you were going to do with your little stick? Did you have some idea of failing to bathe the dead show?

He didn't wait for an answer. He knew that Billy still lacked the oxygen to do more than cough and wheeze in an attempt to refill his lungs. now unless you have something else of value i'll have to take it out in flesh or blood his hands searched the body of the stuntman on the floor he found the wee bag that Billy kept strong around his neck he'd already filched his belt pouch that held all his coins he'd noted the little bag during their time living in the same space he'd been too intimidated to ask about it and Billy appeared to want to keep it hidden so he He left it alone.

But now he snatched it and broke the leather thong. Careless of the pain and burn it must have caused to Billy's already abused neck. He could see the expression on Billy's face, grown alarms. The bag clearly contained something of value that he feared to lose. The round flushed face worked to protest, but sufficient air had yet to circulate to allow him to speak above a low whisper. Please, not that. It's all I have in my family.

I'll pay you double, just please. Let me keep it. Podraig bared his now substantial facts. Triple the original sum, and I'll be back in ten days. He stuffed the wee bag into his waistcoat pockets. He now had to leave the garment unbuttoned since his chest and shoulders had expanded. Come through with it, or I'll shove this. He held up the trunch and,

some place you don't want it. He then barked out a short laugh. Billy could only shake his head as his eyes filled with tears. The door opened and Podraig was silhouetted briefly against a light that leaped down the corridor. Billy shuddered at the large, air-covered beastman that exited the chamber and crept toward the kitchens. Podraig removed a pair of hams from the larder on his way out of the house. He now cared mostly for long pig, but these would likely make his pack happy. He made it back to the shanty before dawn and placed the food beside the heart.

He examined the four sleeping men. They were a sorry lot, and he'd have to find some way to improve them if they were to become a terrifying crew of cutrokes who would frighten travellers into quick surrender. He wished to continue to take lives, but the fewer the better. Travelers would tell tales. He wanted them tall. of how ferocious he and his band were, and how much better it was to surrender to their demands and preserve one's life for future travels.

He could always find meat wandering the countryside, or in the back alleys of towns. He left the men before they awakened and found his present. He was soon refreshed, and another empty jar joined the small pile in the brush beside the old broken quadrant for the long abandoned still. There were still plenty of the fine potion to keep him full and happy, for at least another two or three weeks. He'd never tasted anything quite like the distillation in the wee jars with the wolf or hound head stamps on the stoppents.

He smelled the once enticing odor of ham frying. Now he preferred his meat raw and dripping with hot blood, but ham cooking provided a special bouquet to his olfactory senses. He let the others eat, then confer with them his plans to shift their operations to the roadway. But in the meantime, he decided that he wanted to look into Billy's wee bag. Seamus set aside the large bone he'd carved out of the ham. Or maybe he'll want it to gnaw.

The other man just grunted or nodded. None of them liked to talk when Podraig was near the hut. They knew how sharp his hearing was. Presently the big outlaw appeared as a shade in the doorway for just a moment, and then he was inside, hovering in the shadows. which seemed drawn to his form. His near glowing eyes and glittering sharp teeth were the only things clearly visible. Seamus noted that a silver crucifix pendant now hung from a cord around Podrig's neck.

The big man stroked the token of faith with fingers that sported black nails like a beast. This was a gift from an old friend, though he may have intended me harm with it. Silly superstitions about silver and crosses. I'm not sure why anyone would think such things would hold power outside of a believer's minds. When he fingered the piece, he ensured that they all had a chance to observe the ring that now rested on his left ring finger. It was golden and heavy, the seal ring of a lord. Something that had perhaps been lost and then lost again, when the wrong servant discovered it in the stable after his lord had returned from a long and wearying journey.

"'That's nice,' Sean commented. across his silver, that ring, though, probably worth a fortune. The seal alone, added Henry. Eamon intensely studied the piece of gristle on which he'd been gnawing since Podreg entered the shanty. He didn't like to look at his new master's eyes. They were black and soulless and gleamed in malice. He always felt like he was the handbone, and Podraig the biggest hound in the pack when the man may be, well, the demon regarded him. But still he'd handle the silver cross with no obvious discomfort.

Unless he was a very powerful demon or witchman, he would have been burned or tortured by it in some way. Maybe he's the devil himself, he shouted internally, and nearly broke a tooth on the heavy bone in his hands. We'll be moving soon. This place will draw notice if it hasn't already. We need something closer to the main road anyway. That's for all the goodies are to be found.

Podreg watched each of the men as they enthusiastically, if insincerely, agreed with him. He knew that their agreement was false, not about the idea, but about their feelings regarding him, their own fears and misgivings. He bared his fangs just to be certain that they understood the consequences should they disobey him. He didn't care that much what they wanted, but he cared that they feared him more than any consequences that might be imposed by authorities. He'd already move the important item, the case of wee jars, to another cash-in.

Nothing else they'd accumulated mattered in his mind. The vital drink was the only thing of real value that he owned. Stand and deliver, Podrick barked. He blocked the roadway and his pack moved in from each side to guard the prize. It was indeed a prize. A coach, a rare thing to be found on this road. The past nine days had seen the crew take many purses. and cargoes, but nothing from the truly wealthy.

They'd not be retiring any time soon. And yet this one, it was a wealthy man's conveyance. This was their golden opportunity. They needed only to take on the guards. Podrig had issued his warning only as a formality based on robber's tales he'd learned. He did not await a response. There were two mounted guards at either end of the coach,

and a man beside the driver, who looked doughty enough and who carried a wheel-lock blunderbuss, an unusual weapon, and lightly very expensive. Roderig leapt upon the horseman who was closest to him. He cleared the back of the horse with his bound and tore the man from his saddle as he passed. The move carried him forward, and he slammed into the other horse and rider. He registered the reports of muskets from the rear of the train, as his pack eliminated the threat of the two rear guards. He wrapped his arm around the second trooper and pulled both guardsmen to the ground between their mounts. The horses poured free and fled.

By then, their riders each had ripped open throats, and Podre could slate his unnatural thirst for human blood, at least for the moment. The driver had halted the coach and produced a hangar. The stout man beside him had risen and pointed his peace at Podre. Even as he faced off against them, smoke rose from the lock and a blast of fire and let spat at the high woman's chest. The impact laid him flat on his back.

The driver clambered down and approached what he assumed was a corpse while the gunner began to reload. He poked at the robber's midsection with the tip of the little sword. He felt himself pulled forward while a sudden crushing, wrenching pain in his sword arm crippled his cognizant thought process. Fang sank into his throat and rent it from side to side. The bandit was worrying his throat like a terrier with a rat in its jaws, and the results were essentially the same. The gunner looked up in consternation as the big man each shot rose and casually flung aside the corpse of the driver.

Impossible, his mind shouted. He had to be dead. At least a few of the balls had struck him and sent him to the ground. He steadied himself and continued to reset the wheel. He froze when the driver's sword plunged into his abdomen and continued upward through his torso until it splintered his spine. The big hairy higherman had sprung up onto the carriage and skewered him. He felt his upper body go weak and he lost grip on the blunderbuss.

He felt nothing new below the place where the blade had severed his spine. And then he rose. Well, he assumed that his soul was ascending to heaven. That was what he believed, even as his body crashed to the hard ground. And life fled to wherever it went at such a moment. Podrake set the break and jumped back down to observe what his team had accomplished. There had been more gunfire during the episode, and he was curious as to what had happened. The occupants of the coach could wait for a moment longer.

At the rear, he indeed found the two guards out of commission, one lay crushed under his equally dead mount. He ever lay in a crumpled heap, pierced by bullet and blade. Yet his folk had not escaped unharmed. Shamous lay stretched on the roadway. His head split neatly, and the cavalry saber hilt waved above his carcass like a standard. The blade still wedged into his solid skull. Sean curled around an oozing wound in his gut.

He was as good as dead, but would take some time. him to reach that state unless he was helped from this world. Bodrig stepped up close to the young man, who whimpered and prayed. These sounds annoyed him, so he snapped the boy's neck and put him out of his misery. Eamon looked on terrified when his master so casually slaughtered his wounded friend. He was certain that Sean could have been saved.

Good young men always healed in the stories. Henry stared for a moment, then shrugged and turned his attention to the same. the coach. It seemed that at least one of the occupants favoured resistance. Indeed, the Earl had chosen to defy his attackers. He was made of the stuff that had led his ancestor to become a peer. He stepped from the coach and struck a dignified pose, rapier poised to deal out death. Bodrig and Henry both laughed. They could have fought so hard at the shared humour that the lordly man had no idea how to respond.

Eamon stood, shaking his head in fear and revulsion at the entire turn of events. Bodraig, who, with the exception of the little hangar, hadn't bothered with a sword much for the past week, plucked the heavy blade from Seamus's cloven head, and struck up a pose every bit as dignified and absurd as that of the earl. The nobleman glared at his opponent and studied him as he been taught to do. He looked into the eyes, and he appeared to him as well. burning black coals the figure was tall and were only a torn and filthy waistcoat over short trousers shredded at the knee he was covered in hail some sort of fur garment his face protruded oddly with some

sort of deformity and his ears were long and pointed perhaps as a result of the same malady prepared to meet your demise blackguard he issued his feeble challenge i am the earl of Before he could continue, he found himself flat on his back. The wind knocked from his lungs and a tremendous weight pressed upon his chest and body. The gaping, slavering more of the bandit leader loomed large in his vision. Oh, I know very well who you are, my lord. You don't know me. Despite almost two years of service I provided to you and your family,

two miserable years that led me to this desperate profession. The man coughed and wretched. weased and recovered his breathing, as he stared in confusion at this disreputable reprobate that it attacked him dishonorably and without proper warning. I would recall a servant so deformed as yourself. I would never have allowed such as you in my house or in the first place. He stopped speaking as the shaggy giant stepped back and hauled him bodily to his feet and then into the air.

his feet dangled in a most undignified manner they tried to keep them so still that they didn't sway improperly anyone else inside the bandit called over his shoulder henry had urged aeman to action and they'd sidled up to the door of the coach on the opposite side henry called out in return nor but some interesting containers and appointments podrick leered at his swell master

he actually admired the man's bravery in the face of certain death. Perhaps he was simply too stupid to be scared, but Potrick sensed that it was dignity that the man desired to maintain. So instead of shredding his body, he rent the man's garments from him. He left him naked and bruised on the side of the road. He and his men stripped the coach and rounded up the three surviving horses of the troopers. None of the beasts would come near while Podrague was close, so he left them in the care of his half-diminished.

package they left the other bodies stripped of valuables and dead where they lay the draft horses they recruited as pack animals there was enough treasure to set up the three villains for a long time when they reached their new lair an abandoned mill near a deserted hamlet that had gone back to the wild Hodrod examined his companions as they began to divide the loot he raised his hand with its long black animal nails stop Henry We need to set aside a portion for me The two of you keep what you have

Move on to Belfast or Dublin And then take ship to foreign lands Use only coins and keep the other items out of sight Until you arrive where you wish to go Our friends have perished And you can take their holdings as well They're secreted near this millhouse If you don't know where

I'll point them out to you You've been boon companions But I prefer my own company as you each know. I believe that it is time to shift to another road and other victims, so it's time to part ways. This little lord has plenty to take, but attacking the likes of them brings unwanted attention.

Henry greedily began to shift the items into two piles that were mostly equal. It wasn't like Eamon would argue. He was timid. He paused to look up gratefully at his master, but the large being had gone already. At that point Henry stopped dividing the pile and left the lion's share for himself. He'd let Eamon have the little pile in front of him and whatever he'd already collected from earlier heights.

Amon glowered in the way that the Put-upon often did when they felt their betters were not watching. Henry caught him. What? You don't think this division is fair? You're always moping and fearful. The last act when things get dicey. Take your hideaway coin and get moving. "'I'll keep the mill for tonight.

"'Then it's yours to do with as you like.' "'Aiman pouted, but let the larger, more fit man, cow him into submission. "'He scooped up the small pile that Henry had already set aside for him "'and slunk from the crumbling structure to find another shelter for the night ahead. "'Henry, meanwhile, rounded up all the remaining fortunes of the little band of outlaws. "'It was more wealth than he'd ever seen. "'It had he known it would not allow him a life of luxury and ease, at least not a long one satisfied he piled on the last of the firewoods it was cool this evening

he set up a roaring blaze there had been food in the coach rich food unlike the fare he would typically enjoy it was a rare old time for him he slept well and dreamed of avaricious fantasies a man slept in a cold camp his back curled against the last remaining if crumbling wall of the little village he hugged his pouched to his chest and shivered until exhaustion at last sent him into slumber. Beside him lay a fine pistol he'd filched from the coach and the gold-hilted rapier of the earl. The finest of the three riding horses and one of the draft horses wicked softly in their hobbles

and munched on grass under the stars. Eamon didn't know much, but he was an excellent judge of horse flesh. Podrig, in the meantime, downed one of his last draughts. He had only one left. Each one had left him more beastly and mean and built, yet they'd also gifted him with unimaginable strength. His mind was still his own, most of the time. He tore the ruined west get from his frame and tossed it into the bushes.

He had a visit to conclude and an old comrade to set straight. It would be a long night, and it was already nearing evening when he set out. He wondered if he'd passed the Earl along the way, The peer of the realm had managed to clothe himself after a fashion, before he set out on his journey. The clothing of the dead guards and driver had not been nice enough for the reavers to pinch, and it had been mostly soiled in the death throes of the man. He now had the overlaged trousers of the coach guard pulled up around his waist, and secured with a belt from one of the other man.

He removed a torn and bloodied coat from another, and pulled some material from the lined walls of the transport to make a ragged cloak. He recovered a small blade from his culinary wear, but the highwaymen had dropped in their rush to load the horses and be on their way, and was able to hack away at the cloth he required. Finally, he removed enough strips of wool from the remaining garments that he was able to wrap his feet. He then set out, not for town and not for his estate, but for the fort he knew to be near the next settlement. He was famished and ached from his wounds, but determined to set things right along this road, and to recover what he could have of his own. his belongings and his dignity. Billy paced the yard near the back wall of the Earl's Manor.

It was day nine and he knew that there was no way he'd be able to obtain the sum Podrick had demanded it. He had a little more than half, yet he feared that the man would not be satisfied. He wasn't sure that Podrig would honour the agreement anyway. He'd always been contrary in his actions. He knew that he couldn't fight the big man on his own or even with a stick. He feared that Podrick had become. something strange and worse than anything he'd ever known. He hoped that the silver crucifix,

which would belong to his great-grandmother, would sing the flesh and eyes from the monster, but he had to be sure. He would have had more money, but he'd invested some in a project. He'd paid the smith to insert a silver penny into the blade of a large dirk he'd obtained from within the earl's armoury. It was a wedge-shaped blade, very sharp from years of stropping and sharpening it, and was worn down from a wider, old-fashioned dagger. The Smith had suspected the origin of the blade and had gouged him on the price because of the wrist to himself. But this was about survival.

He couldn't be stingy when it came to preserving his own life. It wasn't all that late, but already after dark. There were still lights in the place around the manor and quarters to display that most of the inhabitants were still awake. He caught sight of Molly, she slinked her way toward the constable's quarters. They'd lightly marry soon. The steward seemed to approve. He sat and gathered wool and worried, and finally,

he dozed. He was awakened by a grunting chortle, from a throat that was no longer able to make the sounds the way an ordinary human words. He startled awake and rose. Rough, barely decipherable words rumbled from a deep chest concealed somewhere in the shadows. Ah, you've lost some girthbily, and your cheeks have gone from round, hollow, like your eyes.

Haven't you been eating well, Boko? Billy understood who owned that alien voice, despite the metamorphosis in it. I thought you said ten days. Today was only nine. I have almost all of it. He lied. There was a raspy chuckle.

Oh, but Billy, it is day ten. The midnight chime sounded a while ago. I didn't say what hour I intended to clap my some. After last time, I no longer trust you. You intended to attack me, to intentionally beep me out of what you owe me. I was only afraid last time. After all, you know what treasure I held. Billy pervaricated in hopes of a miracle taking form. The ominous laughter sounded from directly behind him. A pore extended into his view from over his shoulder, and on it gleamed the Lord's ring. In the palm rested the silver crucifix.

Take the cross. It's the one thing on which you told the truth. Billy, quaking in terror, did as he was bid. And as for the ring, the voice roused once more, I have determined to keep it in repayment for the dignity of which I was robbed so many times. I completed the taxation of my former master on the highway earlier today. Now, to... It was the menaces turned to pause. When the breeze shifted, I smelled sweet Molly. Is she in the yard? A thrill ran through, Billy,

as he realized a chance to shift the wicked intentions towards another target. She passed by some time ago on the way to the constable's quarters. He felt a hot, wet trickle run down his leg when the voice descended into a bestial growl, loud enough to set the hounds baying from over in their kennel, and the horses in the stable, neighing and shuffling in fear. Perhaps he'd misjudged the potential for ire and the savage breast of his tormentor. He dug into his waistcoat, now slick with sweat, despite the cool evening. He would get only one chance at this, and he had to take a risk.

I think old Fleming has already approved their marriage and what propose it, who is lordship. The growl indeed grew in volume and ferocity and rose to a roar of rage. Every beast on the premises was alerted and based on the shouts and cause many of the human staff. Even as the last strains of the noise issued from the creature, Billy turned and stabbed as hard as he could with the blade. Plunged satisfactorily between the large ribs and into the vitals of this unholy monstrosity. The howl of that. The howl of that. agony and fury that slammed into his face caused Billy's eardrums to burst and all perception of sound to cease.

He felt huge hand seized each side of his head and then a painful tug and ripping sensation in his neck. His final few synapses formed to display the horror of the huge wolf-like man as it drank the fountain of blood from his body. Funny, I guess. It ripped off my head the bloody bandits. and Billy was no more. Padrick was hurt badly, despite his exceptional vitality. The gushed blood from Billy's ruined neck had held, but he could feel himself losing almost as much from the wound as he'd replaced from draining Billy's body.

He pulled out the blade in his chest and flung it aside, and bound through the gate and into the night. The sounds of a thoroughly roused manor-house followed him. They would not pursue him in the dark, and they would be terrorized and confused by Billy's cadaver. He had more than sufficient time to make his escape. He knew from being hunted in recent weeks that hounds would not track his scent. He had only to make it with cashier of potion, and he knew he'd be healed.

Eamon wrapped himself more tightly as the false dawn lit the other side of the dilapidated wall. Clouds threatened rain in the next few hours, and he didn't wish to tromp about in the mud. He curled up more tightly and resisted the need to awaken and construct or seek shelter. He couldn't find comfort, though. Something had dug into his side during the night, likely a fallen piece of wattle or stone. Likely a fallen piece of wattle or stone. He reached inside his blanket to rub at the sore spot

and felt something that was oddly shaped for a product of nature. Likely some leftover trash from when people called this lonesome spot home. He kept digging at the object until he pulled it out, then forced his eyes open to view his tormentor. It was a small jar. Playing except for an animal head on the seal. He awakened further and raised himself on one elbow. Well, the jar felt full. Probably just wastewater from the rains, he grumbled.

The seal looked to be intact, so he tore at it. As soon as the substance contacted the air, He smelled the wonderful fragrance. It was fresh, after all the years that must have passed. He took a sip. He had never consumed anything with such a marvellous flavour. He'd sooned down the beverage and was fully awake. Henry awakened a while after Eamon had,

only to the baying of hounds and the raised voices of humans that in turns exorriated and then encouraged the loyal beasts. other men raised voices to quiet the hunters one voice barked orders like like a soldier henry scrambled from his blankets and quickly doused the embers of the fire that had burned long and brightly through the night steam and smoke belched forth and rose through the ruined roof of the structure in which he'd sheltered if the troops hadn't spotted his smoke before they certainly would now he picked up his musket and began to load well he'd He'd neglected to clean and reload last evening, since he'd been too excited by his prospects for a bright future of luxury, where he'd never considered loading the silver-trimed blunderbuss. By the time he'd loaded the piece and picked up his sabre, the infantry had surrounded his little fortress.

A voice called the authoritative one. "'Surrender in the name of the king.' Henry set his eye to one of the cracks in the wall and peered out to gauge his circumstances. he was indeed surrounded. At best he could hope to hang for his crimes. He might, however, gain clemency if he gave away the suspected whereabouts of the real bandit leader, Padraig.

He could even claim that he'd been forced to help the big unshawn lunatic by means of witchcraft. You have a count of five to show yourself, hands raised, the troop leader calls. And before the count even began, Henry stepped out into the morning light, hands empty and raised. Podraig raced back to the little settlement that had been devoured by the wild some years past. His wound had finally stopped leaking.

The vitality was still within him. However, he wanted to heal completely and to see what changes the final draft might engender. It was full daylight and edging toward noon. He didn't care for daytime, but today's. was a nice gloomy one, with lowering clouds and a soft rain that had begun not long after dawn. There was no drama to the weather, only persistence. He circled around the old mill. He didn't want to bother with his former band.

He only wanted to reach his potion and find relief. He approached the war with no fear of encountering another soul. He'd left his last wee jar near the last standing wall of the village. Despite the rain, he caught some strange odours. the heavy smell of horses, and then, Amen. The effluvia emanated from all too near his hidey hole. He bounded ahead, and his darkest fears were realised.

The little jar, opened and emptied, lay next to the wall. Well, he was a top-tier predator, and soon located the trail that led from the settlement and deeper into the hills above. Even after the rain, it was easy to follow horses, and aim and sense seemed somehow more vital. Despite his pain and unaccustomed weariness, he set out in pursuit of the thief,

the ragged little coward who'd always slunk along at the rear of the pack during their forays. The Earl was satisfied that Henry had given all the information he possessed about the whereabouts of his companions. I believe we should hang him in town as an example for any who were attempted towards criminal enterprises. Henry would have bolted and squawked, but he was barely conscious after the interrogation. He would indeed set an inspirational example for his fellows in the little town.

A few decided that they had nothing to lose and set forth roving. Others decided that they had a community spirit and would comply with the laws such as it was, and the four lost recruits were soon replaced by new, more eager ones. Many found new wonder in their occupations and applied themselves just a little bit more diligently. The wages of sin and high crimes did not appeal to the reticent majority. Eamon heard the thumps behind him and halted. He didn't get through the turn he'd started since a large form slammed into him and knocked him several feet back. He drew the fancy rapier and struck a pose, much as had the rapier's previous owner. It was Podrake, looking

wilder and more beastly than ever. He'd finally shed even his own. his breeches and stood hunched and breathing heavily. Amon noted the blood had begun to trickle from an aggravated recent wound. He intended to add to that opening and end the threat of the monster of the hills. Come on, Padraig, I no longer fear you. I will skeur your... And Amon felt his arm gripped with him powerful claws and his body flung to the ground. The rapier spun away and sparkled when a ray from the newly emerged sun struck his.

it. A foot crushed into his side, the one into which the weed jar had dug. Then a deep sore pain followed by a sharp tugging which plagued his shoulder for a moment. He felt a rush from his heart as the blood fountened and then

was drawn from where his sword arm had been. He heard noxious gulping and slurping sounds as Padre gouged himself on Amon's blood, potion tonic and all. He heard the panic nays of his horses, and the thunder of their hooves on the turf as they ran away in search of a sturdier master. And then he heard nothing more in this life. Podreg ran the hills in glee under the newly risen full moon.

He didn't truly think of himself as Podraig anymore. Names did not concern him. He ran about on all force and felt freer than he ever had, clumsily stumping along on two, using only half his resources for running. He stopped for a moment and howled. He knew that the sound would strike fear into anyone caught out after nightfall. Though he stalked travellers along the various trails and treks of the wilds, he no longer sought golden treasures.

He now preferred the crimson fountain that sprang from the arteries of the soon to be dead. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review

as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.