The Dark Somnium - The Tale of Robert Elm

Episode Date: June 27, 2023

This Classic Creepypasta scary story, is from the creepypasta wiki, posted by G1pringle (aka) Nick SpenceMake sure to check out the original story here: "The Tale of Robert Elm" https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Tale_of_Robert_Elm Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

The lights of the Seattle skyline suddenly ignite as the city comes alive with the sounds and sights of night. In a run-down bar, a lone man sits beneath the hum of a fluorescent overhead light as he holds his whiskey in shaky hands. The man is an enigma. He appears at the spade habitually at 10 p.m. and leaves just before dawn, ordering the same refreshment each time, a tall glass of Irish whiskey, never speaking words far from the usual, or the occasional grunt or whisper.

He is a shadow to everyone. To the passerby, this man is just a nobody. He is merely a bum who went down on his luck and turned to the bottle like many before him. To those who know, however, the man's name is Robert Elm, and he has a story to tell. The night was fraught with frigid rain and sleet. The typically lively spade was deserted except for Robert. He sat in his usual spot, back left table facing the wall, hunched over with his beverage in total silence, save for the hum of the lights and the drumming of the bartender's fingers

on the metal cash register. Over the years the Elm had drifted in as the sun dipped below the horizon, the bartender had grown curious of his motives, though he told his customers the same old excuse. Lost his job. Once so unwinded. In his heart, he knew there was something off-kilter about the whiskey-lid. loving shadow. Tonight would be different. The bartender bit his lip, took a deep breath, and approached his loyal customer. The barkeeper placed his hand on the table and inquired in the

friendliest of tones. How you doing? Robert jolted upright as if he had heard a gunshot. He slowly lifted his head and peered down into the bartender's face with his wide gray eyes. He possessed an unsettling and powerful stare that pierced the air in a way that the bartender had never seen before. His mouth slowly slid open as he grumbled. Fine, and you? The bartender was stunned. He had expected the old geyser's usual response of a few mumbles, but he was greeted by a question that was startlingly normal. I'm just fine. So, mister, we mean it to ask you. Elm's slowly graying eyebrows perked with anticipation.

Why do you come here all the time? The drunkard chuckled and asked in turn, Why do you care what an old man like me does with his time? Because... The bartender said with the look of confusion. You have to come into my bar the same time every night for the past 12 years. And I'm just now hearing you speak. I think that's reason enough for me to ask.

The old man burst into laughter that lasted nearly a full minute. Finally, his outburst died off and he asked. You wanted to know why I wasn't talking? Yes. It's been a riddle I've been trying to figure out for years. Robert sat his drink on the table and said, Well, well, new friend. Honestly, I was waiting for you to ask me that question.

And now that we have that elephant out of the room, have a seat across from me. The bartender obliged, took a seat across from his new acquaintance, and with a look of sheer amazement on his face, he asked, So, let me get this strain. You never said a word to anyone in this bar for 12 years because you were waiting for someone to come to you? Yep.

The shade replied as the bartender gave a short laugh and continued. Well, sir, what have you been waiting so long to tell someone? Robert Elm looked the bartender square in the eye and said, My story, of course. The bartender gave a quizzical expression as the drinker went on, never breaking his gaze. The story of why I ended up here. The story of how I narrowly escaped death itself.

And since, well, since I don't see anyone else here, you, sir, are going to be the first in a long time to hear my tale. You're in for a treat. The old man cracked a crooked smile. Well, let's hear it then. The bartender said, and Robert chuckled again. That's the spirit kid. grab a drink and get comfortable.

You're in for quite a tale. And so, Robert Elm began his story. It all began back in November, 1962. I was living in a small town in rural Iowa. Back then, everyone knew everyone else like family. It was a safe place. That's why my family settled down there back when the area was a barren patch of farmland.

Though the entirety of my teenage years, I was chasing a girl named Elizabeth. I can practically see her now. As time went by, our relationship grew. After high school, we bought her uncle's house on Fourth Street, and slowly learned to live together as a soon-to-be-married pair. This was a struggle, to say the least. Back when I was a younger man,

I had a fiery temper that seemed to grow as we became closer to one another. I remember one specific instance when I heard she wrecked my dad's ford. I hit her across the face with a trash can lid. I had never regretted anything more in my life. Every morning for the next month, I would come downstairs to see the pale red bruise on her face and immediately get too choked up to speak. It was a wonder she kept me around. One night, everything fell apart.

I can't even remember why, but she left me on the side of the road and told me, "'Find your own way home, you sack of crap!' I remember my heart sinking as she pulled away, and I began to wander the side of the empty country road. I'm unsure how I got so sidetracked, but after about an hour of hysterical rambling, I had ended up halfway into one of the cornfields bordering the only road in and out of town.

There I was, sobbing profusely, lashing out of the cornstalks with my fist, I was wailing Elizabeth, and I'm sorry. at the top of my lungs, with only the birds and the occasional scarecrow bearing witness. I hobbled aimlessly for what felt like hours, screaming and crying over what I put my beloved fiance through, until I decided to sit down in a barren patch about 15 feet across to catch my breath and form an apology for my eventual homecoming. After inspecting the area for any signs of danger, I laid my head down in the soft dirt to rest

my eyes. Several hours of blissful, tear-free sleep passed before I was pulled awake by rustling in the stalks. My heart skipped a beat and a chill ran down my spine. I bolted upright. Before me, a massive shape garbed in a shimmering black cloak slid out from the rows of crops. It moved towards me slowly, as if it were floating across the ground, though its feet were clearly visible and it appeared to be human. It had pale, wrinkled hands that hung at its side as it drifted closer. It drooped its hooded head and spoke squarely into my face in a dry monotone. Good evening, traveler.

Stunned, I got up from the dirt and asked, Who are you? Just a man on his way to a meeting. I looked at him, bewildered. Why are you here? I enjoy taking the scenic routes. So much more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of the road sides. Now, what I am wondering is who are you?

And why are you here? As I look back, I am surprised at how eager I was to reveal so much myself to a total stranger. My name is Robert Elm, I said sheepishly. My girlfriend dumped me out here because we got in a fight and I hit her. And the tears were welling up in my eyes again. Say no more, friend. The man interrupted as he waved his hand. I offer you a proposition.

You may come with me. Attend my meeting. My friends and I shall cheer you up, and we will take you back to your home in the morning. How does that sound? A smile slowly formed on my face as I thanked the hooded figure. I reached out to shake his hand for his patronage, but he quickly recoiled, claiming there was no need to thank him. Together, we made our way through the remainder of the field and into the forest that formed an insulated border between the patches of farmland. As we walked, I had more

time to examine my new friend's figure. He was a titan of a man, to say the least, with hands that could easily cover my own twice over. Blending into the trees themselves, he towered over me at what I assumed to be well over seven feet. He moved with surprising agility. He moved with surprising agility for someone of his size, darting through the branches and over roots at a speed a tad slower than a jog. I had to walk nearly twice as fast to keep up. His robe still shimmered, as did the cornfield, though the moon was no longer visible. Oddly, no matter how fast the man moved, his hood never failed to conceal his face.

Growing bored of silence, I struck up conversation. So, what's your name? The man glanced down at me. You may call me Lombard. It is one of my many monikers. Okay, Lombard. Who are these friends of yours? And what is the meeting?

And where are we going? Just a meeting, friend, held here in the woods with some close acquaintances of mine. You needn't worry about it, Robert. Think of it as more of a party. It will take your mind off of your troubles. It was at this moment I realized that I was doing the exact opposite. of what society had taught me. I was found lying in a field and decided to walk off with some strange hooded man to go and meet his friends in the woods. A heartbreak can drive people to do

some crazy things. It wasn't long before we saw a light in the distance. As we grew nearer, the lights turned out to be a ring of torches lining a circular clearing containing rows of chairs and tables. An altar draped with a red cloth sat in the middle of it all. At each of the tables, groups of people dressed similarly to Lombard. Some of them had their faces exposed and hoods down. We have arrived, said Lombard with glee. Sit amongst the others and help yourself to some food and drink. The festivities will begin soon.

I made my way to one of the less talkative tables and grabbed a free seat. As I recall, it was the only seat that wasn't taken. Next to me sat an old couple and a younger man with his hood up. When I asked each of them why they were here, I got a less than ideal response. The couples started cackling as if they had just heard the greatest joke of their lives, and the hooded man just grunted something I couldn't make out. Seeing no entertainment in the people around me, I decided to try the food. There were the occasional bits of bread surrounded by meats of all shapes and sizes.

Having eaten a filling meal in town a few hours before this all began, I was not exactly starving, so I decided to give the wine a try, which was in goblets sitting in front of each chair. I took a small sip, and my mind took a kick in the pants. My vision became blurred with color, and I began to choke on my own tongue. The old woman told me that it stops hurting after the third glass and burst into sickening laughter. After about five minutes, the effects of the drink finally subsided, and I silently poured the rest onto the ground.

I didn't think any of them would notice. A bell rang out, and the diners stood up from their chairs in unison and approached the center of the clearing. Lombard made his way over as he walked me towards the center. How did you enjoy the refreshments? He asked. I held my tongue about my unpleasant experience at the table and said, Everything was great. I've calmed down quite a bit now.

What's next? Excellent, my friend. I'm sure you will patch things up with that girl after tonight, and I'm glad to have been of assistance to you. But now we have business to attend to. We found ourselves standing in the center of a circle of the hooded guests, all of them with hoods up and hands folded in front of them. Lombard instructed me to sit in the center of the ring. When I objected, he told me that this was just a formality in order for the group to accept my presence amongst them for the night. I knelt as I was told, and Lombard took his place at the Crimson Altar.

As I glanced around me, all of the robed people seemed to be emanating a strange droning sound that rose and fell as the minutes passed. I looked up at my mountainous guide who had turned to face the center of the circle, and to my amazement had drawn back his hood to reveal a sight I would never forget. On Lombard's long, broad shoulders sat the head of a goat. black, save for a stripe of white between its pale green eyes and spiraling ivory-colored horns that curled backwards behind his ears. The thing that stood in front of me lifted his hands into the air and the droning immediately ceased. Ladies and gentlemen of the black circle,

I present to you the pale. The crowd roared with cheers and jubilation. On this night, we shall end the torment and bring. about a new era of peace for our order. The younger man I sat next to earlier approached the orator. My lordship. He whispered as he bowed on one knee. I witnessed him earlier. He has not accepted the purification.

We cannot continue until he has. He then retreated back to his place and resumed the stance. Is that so? Mombard said quizzically. Well, then. I am sorry to delay. Lay, my children, but the sacrament must wait. The circle answered the statement with booze and howls of disapproval.

A large member drew a curved blade from his robe and approached me. I attempted to stand, but was pulled down to my knees by an unseen force. For the love of Secre, I've waited my whole life for this moment. The man said as he flipped the knife in his hand. Stop, you fool! You will undo everything! Lombard roared as a lie. latched onto the man's arm. The last memory I have of that night was the gargantuan, tree-like form of lumbard,

grappling the hooded man until they both crashed to the ground in front of me. In the tangle of limbs, the handle of the man's knife struck me squarely between the eyes, and I lost consciousness. I awoke in a small, sparsely furnished room with white walls and dark brown hardwood floor. Based on what I saw around me, I was able to estimate that the building was built in the late 19th century. I attempted to pull my head from the pillow, but was met with a crippling pain in my forehead, where the knife handle had struck me at the ceremony in the woods. My legs were sore and felt as though they were filled with cement. It made me shiver that I could not figure out

what prevented me from standing at the ceremony. Muffled speech resonated from outside my room as the door opened. A goat-headed lumbard strolled into the room and closed the door behind him. Good morning, my guest. I assume you enjoyed your nap. Yeah, I did. Right after that friend of yours almost broke my nose. You needn't worry about him, my friend. His foolish actions have cost him his place in the order.

He said with a reassuring tone, Lombard sat down on the bed next me, and I instinctively wrenched my legs backwards. Calm myself, friend. I'm indeed human. And this is just a mask. Nothing more. What about everything else?

The mumbo-jumbo you guys were talking about? The goat's head, the black circle? I want answers now. Ah, you have a right to be frightened. All will be explained to you. Let me start from the beginning. He readjusted himself on the bed to face me. In the late 1800s, there were two cousins who founded a town, not far from here.

It was a small farming community, very prosperous, a thriving community until the fever hit. Many died, including the mayor's daughter. In a last-ditch effort, the community banded together and stood united against the disease. They burned the village to the ground and moved into the mayor's farmhouse. The house you are sitting in right now. The plan was a success. With all the medical personnel gathered in one area, it was much easier to treat the sick,

and soon the fever was eradicated. Out of habit, the community stayed in this house as a single family, to this day, of which I am the patriarch. This goat headdress symbolizes the single species of beasts that provided us with food and drink during the day. the dark times. And for your information, it's permanently adhered to my head. We dubbed ourselves the black circle in name of the black table in the dining hall. We would gather around it to tell

stories of hope to inspire one another. The event you were the center of was known as a neophytes sacrament. We give the newcomer a small dose of a hallucinogenic and provoke you to reveal your true feelings to us in order to tell if we can trust you. I was strongly opposed to the sacrament, but I was pressured by the others and had no choice. The words we used were simply to disguise our discussion due to the circle's lack of trust. As for the actions of Alabaster, I sincerely apologize. Lombard pulled up his massive form and spoke directly to me. Here I am Valentin Ambrose Lombard II, with nothing to hide at your service.

Needless to say, I was awestruck at the volume of information that was imparted on me. Before I could respond, Lombard asked. Any questions? I shook my head just as a woman wearing simple brown robes came into the room, dropped to one knee and said flatly, You are needed in the infirmary, my lord. Lombard turned to her and stated, I will be there as soon as I can, Alice.

Did Stefan have a run in with the thresher again? No. She laughed with a smile, eyes still trained on the floor. Pier was picking on Sylvia again. She snapped and let it have it with her little fists. I have them both down there waiting for you. The leader gave a hearty laugh. That peer...

Almost as mischievous as I was when I was a little boy. I will be back to speak with you later, friend. But now I must deal with this matter first. Get some rest. Both the leader and the woman walked out of the room and shut the door on their way out, leaving only silence in their wake. My head felt heavy, and I decided to take my new friend's advice and rest my eyes. I awoke in what looked like early morning to see Lombard sitting at the desk at the edge of my room.

Morning, friend. He said joyfully. Come, sit, have something to eat. He stood up from the chair to reveal a platter of sausage and bread with a glass of juice next to it. I was able to pull myself up from the bed. My legs were sore and my knees locked up, but I hobbled my way to the desk and sat down. I began to sample the meal. Gather your strength.

You will need it for later. I have gotten it approved with the circle. I shall give you a tour of the house and the grounds around three today. So, try and get those legs working by then. Lombard gave a quick wave of his hand as he left the room, like wind blowing through the woods. I had finished my odd tasting dish after a few minutes. I sat for the remainder of the time, stretching out my tired legs while looking out the window. The full day of bed rest and the struggle against whatever held me to the ground had left me aching and weakened.

An expanse of farmland spread out in front of me, ending at a dense forest. The single dirt road lined with torches leading up to the house. I assumed that somewhere in the woods there was the picnic table and the altar, and beyond that the cornfield where I had met my guide, and somewhere beyond that was Elizabeth. Home. I sighed. I jumped with surprise as Lombard broke the silence in the room. Time had passed faster than I expected.

Come. Follow me, friend. I made uneasy strides out into the foyer, with a painting of another goat-headed man, a massive chandelier lighting the room below, and the rows of rooms lining the walls. Here is the second floor, used for boarding our members. The room you were staying in is the guest room. It is not used very often. It overlooks the entrance room, which we will visit later.

Is that you in the painting? No, that is the founder of the circle. My great-grandfather, Ambrose Garrett, Lombard. What a great man. I wish I could have known him in person. So he started the whole goathead thing? I laughed rhetorically. We made our way downstairs, wandering through the entrance room

and the living room and the sitting room, listening to Lombard's tales of him reading stories to the children by the fireside in the winter, and of the old man, who was a master of the old grand piano sitting in the living room. I asked him about the double doors at the end of the entrance room, only to receive a response that I should not go in there, as I do not have high enough clearance to enter yet. We walked outside, and we explored the grounds. From the outside, the house was massive.

It was clearly some kind of old farmhouse. We made a left turn around the house to find three buildings off in the distance. I asked Lombard what they were. He said one of them was the chapel, now dilapidated and unused, a small building used for a school and a smaller concrete building used for storage. I shrugged plainly, and we moved on. I took that moment to ask, well, sir, what exactly is your job here? Lombard stopped midway to contemplate my question.

I am the headmaster of the order, friend. I am many things. Judge, principal, a father, doctor, lots of things, friend. We walked back up to my room and Lombard instructed me that now that I know where I am, I can move about the property at will, but only during the day. At night I was confined to my room, seeing as the sun was descending below the horizon, I went to bed. I spent the next few days wandering the grounds while getting my bearings with the area and getting a sense of location. After speaking with some of the other followers of Lombard, I noticed a constant theme.

They never broke eye contact, and they spoke in a very calm manner, regardless of age. They would find a clever way to avoid any of my questions, specifically ones involved. involving Lombard, the concrete building, or what happens in the grand hall. Seeing that I would never find anything out from the members, I decided to go answer hunting myself. Making my way out of the structure, which was about a football field's length from the house, I decided to carefully inspect it. The building had no windows, and a single iron door secured with the padlock.

I was going to investigate it further, but before I could find a way to open the lock, the sun began to set, and I reluctantly returned to the house. A couple of weeks of fruitless investigation passed until I finally returned to my full healthy state. Feeling my strength return, I began my morning with a quick workout. Lombard entered mid-push-up. So, I see you are back on your feet again. Yep, feeling pretty good. I returned.

Lombard paced back and forth. I imagine you will want to go home soon. I stood up and looked at the tree. like figure. Yeah, I suppose. I miss Elizabeth quite a bit, and I want to make amends. Good, good. Lombard paused. Robert, if you could stay just one more week, we feel like you have become a member of the family around here, and we wish to perform a departure ritual this Sunday. Just to say goodbye. You have been one of the kindest outsiders we have encountered in a long time.

I walked up to the goat-headed giant, looked him in the eye like he had done to me so many times before and smiled. I would be honored, friend. That night, just before sundown, Lombard drifted once more into my room. He spoke in a much more serious tone than before, and his posture created an imposing aura about him. Robert, we are having a ritual in preparation for your departure. I require that you do not disrupt it. Please stay in this room until my return. It is just a kind of rehearsal.

I don't want to ruin any surprises. I quickly nodded in agreement, trying to ignore the sudden change in the headmaster's attitude as he sped out of the room. I had not been truly honest with my host during my stay in the house. For every act of hospitality he offered there was an event or element that would cause a pang of distrust in my mind. One moment, Lombard would provide me with food, and I would see him teaching the children like a loving relative, but the next, I would notice the concrete shack or remember what happened in the woods weeks ago. The loving kindness of the members juxtaposed with their unnervingly smooth speech and piercing stairs. Every impulse in my mind told me to run, but I knew I would never make it far before

I was captured, or worse. This mysterious decree had brought my curiosity to its breaking point, and that night I made my decision. As soon as the house fell silent, I removed my heavy workboots, slid the door open, and stepped into the dark abyss. I had been climbing trees in my neighborhood had parked since childhood, and the challenge of scaling the banquet hall's walls came easily to me. After making my way down the stairs, through the foyer, and out the door, without so much as a sound, I was impressed with my sneaking abilities. I ran around to the side of the hall and began my ascension. McLean was easy enough. Several chunks were missing from the old bricks, creating excellent handholds. It wasn't long before I found myself on the roof. From the inside, I could hear the same

droning sound that I heard my nights in the woods. I desperately searched for a way inside when I came upon a small hatch that led to a ladder that dropped off in a kind of storage attic. Hunkering in, next to some old boxes, I was able to hear and see the events unfolding below me with startling clarity. A crooked grin grew across my face as I anticipated the truth. The droning of the hooded worshippers hushed, and the mammoth lumbard took the stage next to an eerily familiar altar. He raised his hands like the night we first met as he spoke with gusto. Ladies and gentlemen of the Black Circle, I gather you once again to bring praise to Sacra

and to celebrate the presence of the pale whose life shall meet its beautiful end on the eve of this coming Sunday. The crowd roared with approval. My friends, I sincerely apologize for the interruption. A few weeks ago. The audience interrupted in a shower of booze and shouting. Now, now, my children, I have planned a rehearsal of sorts to show you all how we shall deal with the wretched pale

and drive this scourge from our beautiful order. I present to you the man who is to blame for the delay. Brother, Alabaster. Each member howled with joy as they pulled a blindfolded man, naked, save for a loincloth, with numerous strange tattoos adorning his chiseled torso into the room and onto the altar. I felt my dinner rise in my throat. Three men in red cloaks fastened the man's arms and legs to the altar, as Lombard reached into a chest behind him.

Alabaster was sobbing with fear as his pleas for help became incoherent screams as his limbs were restrained until one of the men in red wrapped a piece of cloth over his mouth to silence him. Lombard spun around at lightning speed and raised a shimmering dagger above his head. Here and now we give an offering to you, almighty sacra, an offering. of flesh and blood. Alabaster was writhing now, the altar glistening with sweat, and the blood welling at the corners of his mouth as he struggled to cry out. The crowd lurched forward with anticipation, licking their lips with bloodlust in their eyes.

Now, for the glory of the mother, he gives his life. Lombard pulled away the cloth, and alabaster let out a scream so loud that I could have heard it from my room. The gag was pulled back, and he was strong. struck across the face. They pulled the cloth back again, and he cried. For the glory of the mother, I give my life. Without hesitation, Lombard drove the blade into the man's abdomen as he resumed screaming with pain and fear. The headmaster made a long cut up his stomach. I could hear bones cracking and flesh ripping as the man groaned in agony.

Liquid scarlet splattered the headmaster's hands as it spouted from the gaping wound. Lombard tossed the bloodied knife aside. He then plunged. He plunged his hands into alabaster's twitching body and wrenched his arms upwards several times until what appeared to be a liver was ripped away. I nearly vomited. Lombard held the dripping organ above his head and shouted, For the glory of sacra! He plunged the hunk of flesh into his mouth like a wild beast. The crowd cheered with jubilation at the unholy sight. The corpse was unbound and dragged off into a side room.

I was frozen, unblinking, as my past feelings from my seemingly kind friend shattered. Before I could process what was going on, I heard Lombard address the members. No one is to speak of this to our guest. And regarding the pale, I'm going to see how our friend is doing. He said with a chuckle as the cloaked men and women overflowed with laughter. I was back on the roof before Lombard could leave the stage. With my heart thundering, I bolted back to the roof as fast as lightning and hurled myself from it. Using my prior climbing skills, I tucked my legs and rolled across the grass.

I only sustained a few minor bruises. I ran around the side of the house, up the stairs, and back into my room, just as I heard the Great Hall open. I heard Lombard's thundering footsteps as he climbed the stairs and approached the door. The door opened and the giant's eyes met mine. Good to see your evening was a relaxing one, friend. I shrugged and said, I've had better. I had a strange nightmare.

Really messed with my head. How'd your ritual go? Playing dumb with him as best I could. Lombard nodded. All as well. The congregation is eagerly awaiting this Sunday's celebration. Enjoy your rest, friend. I could see little bits of hastily wiped away viscera clinging to his mask.

Lombard shut the door as I heard the rest of the worshippers coming into the entrance hall. I sat and pondered my situation. I was trapped in this godforsaken place for one more week until they had decided to kill me. I had one week to discover what was really going on in seven short days to plan my escape. The next morning, I woke up early and ran off to the library, thinking that would be a good place to learn some information. The place had a wealth of books, everything was. from war in peace to pat the bunny. I wandered the endless shelves until I reached the back corner of the room. All that sat on the last dusty shelf was an old book with a leather cover. Nothing

about it caught my eye save for the title, The Book of Secre. Remembering the mysterious name from the horror of last night, I snatched up the scripture and scurried out of the library unnoticed. I sat at the desk in my room and flung open the ancient volume. Before me, sprang I crawled mounds of text in Old English. Though it was in English, it was still difficult to understand, as I trudged through chapters of sacrifice and lore. I found not much beyond useless gibberish about ceremonies, a few of which I recognized, the method in which one is to fasten a goat's head to their own, and a full-page print of

a slender woman sitting on a throne with what looked like blood splattered around her mouth. Below it read Sacra, Her Holiness. I returned the book to the library and decided to scour the grounds. Seeing as there was no way I could budge the padlock on the concrete shack, I instead made my way to the chapel. The door slid open easy enough, and inside was what appeared to be a graveyard of old boxes and furniture. After searching for a few hours, I found nothing of interest among the stacks of rotting wood. The schoolhouse next door yielded similar results. A few desks sat in simple rows with a teacher's desk with a plaque.

bearing the name, Master Lombard, and a chalkboard at the front of the room. Nothing else. Feeling defeated, I emerged from the building when something caught my eye. In the grass at the door of the concrete building sat a shining padlock. My heart leaped into my throat, and I sprinted toward the shack. I reached for the iron handle of the door when it suddenly sprang open. A short stubby man emerged quickly, shutting the door. He noticed me and pushed me back against the door and spoke.

Oh, no, no, no, boy, don't go in there. This place is not for the outsiders. Turn back around and go back to your room, lest I call for the headmaster. I sighed and grudgingly returned to my room. Though I was distraught over this defeat, I returned to my bed and met sleep with open arms. During the following days, I felt my sanity slipping away as I slowly came to grips with my fate. I stayed in bed most of the days, refusing to eat and trying to relive as many happy memories as I could. before Sunday's inevitable bloodletting. Several times during my stay had I seen people running for the woods, but they were almost

immediately apprehended by groups of men, clad and red cloaks. I feared the same what happened to me and decided against making a run for it. Eventually pulling myself up on Sunday night, I thought about my situation once more. Clasping my hands together, I contemplated how I could possibly survive. By the time I shut my eyes, I had summoned my last shred of bravery. and constructed a plan with a mental image of the house, so I knew my best row out of this place. Shutting my plans away in my head and taking a deep breath, I surrendered to my subconscious. I rose late on Sunday afternoon, unfitting for one's final day on earth, but the inevitability

of death weighed on me and kept me in bed. Lombard entered the room around 6 o'clock. Are you ready to leave us, friend? We are making preparations for the ceremony now. When you're ready, please approach the painting at the other side of the second floor. Slide the painting to the right, and it should reveal a staircase. The staircase leads to my chambers. I need to perform the finishing touches for the farewell.

I quietly nodded as the door closed. For a few moments, I sat and considered my plans. Sitting, sweating, and breathing heavily, I made my decision. I snatched one of the pencils from the desk drawer. and slid it into my right boot. Following the giant's orders, I climbed the hidden staircase and entered a large circular room. The walls were lined with bookcases, with a massive desk resting in the center. On the desk sat piles of papers and a typewriter. Moonlight fletted in from the window above it all. Lombard greeted me with a hearty laugh. He told me to remove all

my clothing except for my pants. I obliged and slowly inched towards him as I began on lacing my work boots. My left sock and boot sat on the floor next to me, and I began to work on my right. Glancing behind me, I saw Lombard looming in anticipation. I smirked and slowly slid the pencil from my boot. Without hesitation, I drove the pencil with all my might into the titan's stomach. Lombard buckled from the strike and dropped to his knees. I heard blood gurgling in his throat. I snatched the typewriter from the desk, slid it across as hard as I could, and smashed it across Lombard's face. The headmaster collapsed to the ground in a puddle of his own blood.

Turning, I was able to make my way out of the room when I heard quiet laughter emanating from behind me. I spun around to see a bloodied Lombard rising from the carpet. His mask was now distorted and blood-soaked. You, friend, are smarter than the average fool we drag off to this place. He croaked. I gritted my teeth. I'm leaving this place.

I know what happened a week ago. Now tell me what really goes on here. Lombard chuckled. As you wish, what I told you about our history that morning was in fact true, though there are a few things I left out to keep you under my thumb. Those two cousins who founded the town are closer to us than you think. One of them was my great grandfather, and the other was yours.

Medicine was no longer working to drive away the blight, and my ancestor, great visionary that he was, decided to turn to other means of treatment. He found an old book amongst what he had found sightseeing in the old country. You seem to be familiar with it. It outlined how to give praise, to an ancient goddess. Sacra, exchange for a human life.

Sacra would save another. We soon began using her divine will to save the community. However, your great-grandfather, blinded to reality by his morals, left the village. Just before the birth of his child, he made a vow to Daelus. the brother and polar opposite of the glorious sacra, god of morality and justice,

that his bloodline would be forever devoted to the eradication of our order. This whole ordeal has been our effort to destroy the one human that can destroy us and end the bloodline once and for all. I shook my head at his story and asked, So all this was planned? How much of this is a plan? How long have you people been trying to do me in? I shall get to that in a moment.

But here is a secret that you will truly enjoy. Normally, one of your blood could cause a member of our order with an aura as dark as mine to drop dead at a single touch. I took this into account when dealing with you. I have been nullifying your power with the one thing that will weaken it. Human, flesh, and blood. I went white at Lombard's statement. He began to laugh even harder. That's right, friend.

I have personally slipped a little bit of human into each of your meals since you got here. You never even knew. Oh, your ancestors would be proud of you. Little did he know I hadn't eaten in days. I flung my hand out and grasped Lombard's wrist. Renshing down, I felt a texture similar to squeezing raw meat. The giant roared as droplets of liquefied flesh dropped onto the floor. I apparently still had some power.

He roared with pain and anger. I continued to twist and yank with my vice-like grip. I felt the crunching and oozing of now gelatinous bone pulling away from muscle. Suddenly, I jerked with all my might and gripped on to Lombard's severed hand as the rest of him fell to the ground in a writhing heap. Lombard clutched his bloody stump. I see you wizened up to my trickery, clever man that you are. No matter, you will not leave this place alive. I will see to that.

You will never kill me, you monster. As soon as I escape, I'm taking Elizabeth and getting as far from town as we can. You will never be able to find us. Lombard began his hoarse laughter again. You will never be safe, friend. Even when you think you are the most protected, we will be there watching you. We will never forget. Not even with that girl of yours are you safe.

Wait to you hear that tale. Surely you noticed how your emotion. motions distorted when you were close to her. You should know we took the liberty of turning her into a tool of sorts. We altered her mind to force you into awakening that ancient blood in your veins to drive you apart and into the arms of the circle. She was one of the most instrumental tools in our plot. She was such a naive girl.

What a fool. Pretty, too. I lost it. I flung myself at my captor once again, and pressing my boot into his chest, I wrapped my hands around his horns and began to pull. Lombard screamed with pain as I pulled at the mask. I felt each stitch pop as I wrenched upward. The titan began to flail his hand and stab at my body, but every contact with my skin resulted in a feeling akin to the man punching a slab of molten metal. With one last ferocious pull, I felt the final skin.

ditched hair, and I flung the headdress against a wall in a spatter of blood and teeth. Lombard's body flailed and I ran to the door. His disfigured face writhed as he cried out into the air. I swear it, Robert Elm, you will never escape the hand of the black circle. You will die by my hand. I smirked at my handiwork. We will see, friend. I promptly sprinted down the staircase and out of the silent house.

My legs ached from the fight with the giant, but I shrugged off all the pain and ran across the grass as fast as I could. As I passed the Great Hall, I could hear shrieks of terror and sorrow. I chuckled at the reaction I'd caused. I'll never see that thing again. I muttered. I hurried myself to the concrete shack at the edge of the property. I figured now was a good enough time as any to see if I can get it. into that mysterious building. Halfway through the field, I turned to see hooded men with torches

beginning their search for me. I quickened my pace. I was able to reach the unlocked door while the search party went off to investigate the barn in toolshed. Taking advantage of my moment of safety, I slowly slid the door open and saw a rather anticlimactic sight. The room was dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Several barrels stood around the corners and walls. A workbench was fastened to the wall next to another large metal door at the end of the room. Just as I got to investigating the room, I heard footsteps from behind the second door. My heart skipped a beat, and I had no choice but to conceal myself in one of the barrels. I slid back the lid and was met with the horrendous stench that caused me to gag uncontrollably.

Reluctantly, I climbed into what felt like runny swamp sludge and held my breath. As soon as I did, the man I saw earlier pushed the door. door open and hobbled inside the room, holding what looked like a corpse slung over his shoulder. He approached the workbench and flung the body onto the table. To my horror, he began meticulously working at the body with an assortment of knives, cutting and slicing with surgical precision. The entrance to the room opened again, and a group of hooded searchers entered and asked the man if they had seen anyone matching my description anywhere.

He insisted that he had not, and after scanning the room for a few seconds, the men left as quickly as they had come. I waited stiffly in the barrel, holding my breath as best I could, taking in brief sips of air and staying as quiet as possible as not to reveal my location. Suddenly, I heard the man mutter to himself. Oh, yes, you will cook up nicely, won't you? He let out a quiet chuckle. I gagged again, half with sickness and half with shock. I had caught the man's attention. Deciding it was time for me to make a move, I slightly lifted the lid of the barrel and slid my side.

soaked for him onto the dark floor. Fear gripping tight, lid in hand, I raced towards the stunned butcher and struck him on the head with the hunk of wood. He dropped to the floor with a dull thud. I snatched the blade from his hand and made a dash for the door, but not before looking at myself under the dim light. My stomach turned as I saw an entire body soaked in a heavy coating of blood and chunks of meat. It drizzled and pooled on the floor. It sickened me. Holding back the urge to vomit, I nudged the door open, revealing a dark tunnel, far more organic than anything I had seen in a while. All was silent except for the drips of blood from my skin and clothes. I quickened my pace as I heard shouting from far behind me.

I held my breath, ignored the looming claustrophobia, and soldiered on through the darkness. The near endless tunnel finally opened into a small candlelit room. It was only about 20 feet across with an arching ceiling. I had little time to examine my surroundings, for when I entered the room I saw a hooded worshipper with his back facing me, holding what appeared to be an old hunting rifle. Though at first my heart raced as I anticipated my own death, I was stunned to realize that he was unaware of my presence. Seizing the moment, I lashed out at the crown of his head with my stolen weapon. The man let out a quick yelp, fell to the ground, and lay motionless as blood pooled around his hood.

I let the knife rest in his skull and snatched up the firearm. Here's something I can use. I mumbled to myself as I slung it over my shoulder. On the floor, I noticed a small metal hatch. Seeing somewhere else to go and remembering the search party on my tail, I opened it, descending the ladder it revealed. The ladder met the ground in an alcove on the shore of a small pond. Near the ladder, I found plastic tubs filled with things like shoes, backpacks,

dog collars, among other things. Remembering the room with the old man and the cult's cannibalistic tendencies, the sight of these tattered belongings was bittersweet. Grabbing one of the largest packs, I saw a pile of metallic objects out of the corner of my eye. Bikes. Taking a deep sigh, I picked up the newest-looking one and rode off through the woods as fast as the wheels would spin into the night. After trudging onward through the woods for most of the night and subsisting off some trail mix I found in the bag I took, I finally arrived in town. Needless to say, my friends and neighbors were amazed by my return. However, I knew I could not stay in chat. Walking up to my house, Elizabeth rushed out to meet me. I didn't even look at her. I continued inside, gathered my

belongings, and climbed into my car with Elizabeth chasing me the whole way, asking me what was wrong and where I had been. I ignored her. She looked at me with a face of sorrow that I knew was just mask and when our eyes met, I could tell she knew the answers to her questions. I backed out of the driveway and made my way to the highway. I never saw that town or Elizabeth again. Many years passed, I traveled town to town, but every time they found me. They always found me. For years I have been running from them, but I doubt I will escape their grasp.

I have found a safe haven in this place for 12 years, but I fear that they are now drawing near once again. I'm too old to run anymore, my friend. Just too old now. The bartender stared in astonishment. So, that's why you've been so solitary? Yes. I have fooled myself into thinking that the more I kept to myself, the safer I would be. The bartender shuddered. And you're drinking in a sacrifice, the liver thing. Is that why? The storyteller let out a hearty laugh. Yep, when they do find me and bite into my flesh, I want them to choke on it. The bartender laughed grimly, and the old man noticed that the moon was low. He stood and dusted off his pants. I'd best be leaving now. The sun will be here soon. It was a relief to finally share this story with someone. The bartender smiled. It was a joy hearing it. Have a good rest of the night, Mr. Rom. Robert, nodded and started to the door. He took the subway home like he had every night coming home

from the bar, shaking his hands to keep the cold away. After a short ride, he made his way into his apartment building and climbed the stairs. He took a brief sigh and slowly opened his door. After hanging up his coat and scarf on the coat hanger and taking a seat in the armchair near the door, he looked off into the darkness and something caught his eye. It was a gargantuan figure with pale green eyes, watching him from the shadow of the apartment. Slowly, the shape plotted forward to reveal a grotesque face and a wicked, mangled grin. Robert Elm sat motionless as he looked up at the being. The thing spoke to him in a labored, devilish groan.

Good evening, friend.