Act I, Chapter I
1943
It was a dark, stormy evening in mid April. It had been raining nonstop for a week. Reporters claimed that it would continue for many more weeks to come, and if anything would only get worse.
A train sped through a dark forest. It left a thick, billowing trail of grey steam as it snaked through the trees, an iron cloud upon an emerald quilt. The train was relatively empty, only a handful of passengers were boarding for this journey. One of these was a man in his early thirties, dressed in a dark grey, pinstriped suit with fedora to match, a long grey overcoat that fell past his knees, and thick, black goggles that reflected the gaze of any who dared to look into them. Quiet and stoic, he sat arms folded in front of him, ignoring the scenery flying past. He had more important things on his mind.
The whistle blew at the front of the train signalling the end of his journey. It was getting quite dark now, and he would have to get moving.
The train pulled to a stop at the station. Quickly and quietly the man left his seat and stepped out into the cold evening air. The sky was deep gray, with no hint of the suns' light staining the solid hue. It had taken the man longer than he'd expected to get here.
He was to get a cab to his location. Of course the train hadn't taken him directly there; the location was top secret and hidden quite far from civilisation. Even he only vaguely knew of its position. This was going to be more hassle than he'd hoped. He could feel it.
Swiftly he left the station and embarked down a small concrete pathway to the nearby parking lot. If luck was on his side there would already be a cab there waiting.
It wasn't.
The man cursed to himself and took a seat on a nearby bench. It creaked loudly as he sat down, and he searched around him. The station and the parking lot seemed empty now, the other passengers having gone their separate ways.
He slowly slid his right hand underneath his overcoat, feeling the weight of one of the pistols against his left rib. Thankfully no one had searched him before he got on the train; that was attention he really did not need.
Not now.
Something rattled to his right. He spun round, leaving the bench as he did so and reaching simultaneously for the two pistols. His eyes were fixed on one point somewhere in the darkness round the corner of the station. It was completely dark now, only the feeble light of the streetlamp casting a soft orange glow over the parking lot.
No movement. It was probably just a cat.
But he didn't sit back down. He stood on the spot, still staring into the darkness near the station. Where were all the fucking cabs?
Then it happened. A fine white mist floated in from the shadows at the corner where the man still stared, growing steadily thicker as it approached him.
Approached him.
He knew all too well what this mist meant. He quickly pulled out the pistols from their holsters and checked the ammo.
Man: (in thought) shit, this won't do: wrong kind of ammo. I need to find something that will work-
He backed up slightly. The mist was too close now. And he could just hear it, soft as the wind stirring dead leaves but all too real and very dangerous to a normal human:
Voices: Come...please us...there's nothing but peace in our arms....
The man knew how to ignore the voices. It was one of the first things they taught you. And then through the mist he could see three forms slowly materialising, growing more solid as they drew closer. All female he could see now, their grey white skin catching the light of the streetlamp and their dark eyes desperately trying to pry into his mind.
Vampires: Please...help us...we can please you....we are made to please you...
They were desperate now. And they were too close.
The man fired a single bullet into the vampire on his left. She barely staggered and then rose into the air, quiet as snowfall, and her arms reaching out to him like a mother reaches to her child. Her yellow eyes were glowering with rage.
Vampires: You will please us!
They were angry now, and very desperate. Not a good combination.
Knowing his bullets would be useless against them, and not wanting to waste the only weapons he had, he turned and ran from the parking lot down to the main road. If he could just find something to use against them, a stake maybe...
Bingo. A small thicket of bushes fenced off some houses on the far side of the road. And even in the dark he could see that they bore small dying blooms of white roses.
Perfect.
Wasting no more time and beginning to feel the cold vampiric mist wrap around him, the man sprinted across the road, pistols in hand, and threw himself down at the rose bushes. He holstered the pistols and tried to rip a sturdy branch off. The ones he managed to get were too flimsy to use against the monsters.
Man: Fuck...come on!
It was no use. At this rate he would have to uproot an entire bush to get a strong enough weapon. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the mist rolling over the road towards him, the three vampires gliding in its midst.
There was no time for this crap. Taking the bush in front of him in both hands, he pulled strenuously towards himself, his leather gloves slipping slightly against the damp bark of the trunk. He took a breath and pulled again, feeling the earth start to give underneath. One more hefty tug and the bush finally uprooted, ripping up noisily and trailing earth along the sidewalk. He broke off the bottom of the bush not without some struggle, and cast the rest aside.
He had to dive out of the grasp of one of the vampires, who was seconds away from latching onto his sweaty neck with ravenous hunger. He sprang to his feet and thrust the makeshift stake at the vampire, driving it with much force into her pale breast.
The scream, as always, was hideous. Demonic. She stumbled back and, as the man watched, crumbled to dust leaving only a withered grey skeleton behind. Any other wood would not have done such a thing. Luck seemed to have taken pity on him.
The other two were furious. They rounded on him with nightmarish speed, baring their dry yellowed fangs and hissing with serpentine fervour. The man thrust the stake at them, a vibrant warning against them, and they understood all too well. They recoiled as if the very scent of the rosewood offended them to no end, and would come no closer.
He prepared to attack them. He could do it easily. But his focus was drawn behind them, where he saw a thick mist creeping heavily and quickly behind the now screeching vampires. Two he could handle, three or four single handed if he had the right ammo. But he could see that he was out of his depth here, and no way would he succeed with only his shoddy stake. He would have to retreat.
Still holding the stake towards the vampires like a makeshift shield, he quickly backed away and once he was a safe enough distance, made a run for it. He sprinted down the sidewalk glancing behind every so often, seeing them fast approaching. There were more of them now; the mist towered above them threateningly. At this rate they would surely catch up to him.
He kept running. If it came to that, he would go out fighting each and every one of the fuckers.
But it would not come to that.
At the end of the road, the man could see the headlights of a car drawing close. As it came into view, he could see the white sign atop the roof: a cab.
The man signalled furiously at the cab, desperate to catch its attention. Success! It slowed down and stopped beside him. He wrenched the door open and flung himself onto the backseat. The cabbie looked round, confused.
Cabbie: So where to man?
Man: Just keep going along this road, as fast as you can.
The cabbie still looked confused as he turned round. They sped along the road, through the fatal mist and into the darkness beyond.
Call it cowardice if you like, but sometimes the smarter option is to fall back and regroup. Much better to flee an impossible situation than give in to idiocy.
The cab continued along the main road, taking no turns and travelling at a steady speed. They had long since left the vampires far behind, though the man would have to let the others know of this when he arrived. He was surprised nobody had been sent out already, this didn't seem like a minor case...
Cabbie: So where you headed this time of night?
The cabbies' voice held a ghost of irritation in his thick New York accent. He didn't take his eyes of the road as he asked.
Man: Turn at the end of the road. Then carry on until the end. I'll walk the rest of the way.
The cabbie turned briefly to eye the strange man sitting still as a statue in the back of his cab. His eyebrows were raised in shocked admiration. He knew where that road would take him.
Cabbie: You know that'll leave you in the middle of nowhere, right?
The man was vaguely irritated by the cabbies question. Of course he knew it would take him to the middle of nowhere. That was the point.
Man: I know exactly where I'm going.
The cabbie simply dismissed the man's slightly arrogant tone and the two continued the journey in silence.
It was fully night-time now. Thankfully the man had enough of a mind to save his ammunition in the midst of the vampire attack. There would probably be more obstacles in the woods surrounding the location.
The woods. He hadn't thought of that. He looked up through the smog frosted window into the cloudy night sky. No moon, a good sign if he was to be traversing through a heavily wooded area. But that still didn't mean he was out of the deep end yet, and he instinctively let his hands fall on his pistols.
A few minutes later the cab turned at the end of the road, and continued along a much smaller street gradually leading them into ever more scenic territory. It wasn't long before they were surrounded by tall, thick trees. This area was whimsically named the Devils' Woods. Almost fifteen minutes later they reached the end of the road, a single flickering streetlamp lighting the way.
Man: This'll do.
The cab drew to a stop just before the very end. Indeed there was nothing beyond this point other than trees; he couldn't even make out a footpath. Stepping out of the cab he reached into the right pocket of his overcoat. He pulled out a handful of dollars and tossed them through the open window on the passenger's side.
Cabbie: Hey don't you want your change?! Hey buddy!
The man didn't reply. He simply walked away from the cab, without a single word, and stopped just outside the black woods. The cab revved up and screeched as it turned round, and in a cloud of blue smoke it disappeared back down the road into the night.
Finally alone, the man entered the woods, making sure to enter directly to the left of the road. It was perfectly quiet save for a light breeze gently stirring the trees. It would probably be quite peaceful to someone who didn't know any better.
In such a closed environment the man would need all the light he could get. He extracted a tiny black flashlight from his breast pocket and fixed it to the right hand pistol, twisting the head once it was secure. The small bulb burst into a brilliant cone of white light, casting strange spidery shadows against the spindly trees.
There seemed to be no threat here. But that didn't mean there wouldn't be. He would need to move quickly. For the first time since boarding the train he took out a small folded square of paper from his overcoat. Unfolding it, he quickly skimmed the short message:
Take 14:15 St. B to St. D, then cab to D.W.
Bearings from - 250N, 340E
Do not get lost
Man: 'Do not get lost'. Thanks for that, assholes.
He folded the note back into his overcoat and scanned the area. Still no movement. He'd better get going; he knew he had a long trek ahead of him. He looked to the right of where he stood, and noted the small wooden sign withered with rot and completely illegible. If it were legible, it would say 'Devils Woods'. Devils Woods sign; .
Unfortunately the coordinates offered a strictly fixed route through the woods, which meant that he would not be using a footpath for any period of time. The good news was that he did have a compass, which would get him though the woods fairly easily. The bad news was that if he were at any time accosted by enemies it wouldn't do to use the compass during combat.
He whipped out the compass; a plain steel disk bent slightly at one edge; and checked his bearings. Perfect. Holding the compass in his left hand and the pistol-flashlight combo in the right, he set off through the tangled thickets.
The embracing growths snapped and crunched beneath his steps, and each came easily up to his knees forcing him to raise his legs considerably. A thorny branch snagged on his overcoat, nearly tearing the left pocket clean off. It was becoming ever clearer to him that this was not the ideal place to be overwhelmed by enemies, and so he began to move quicker.
Man: Thank fuck the moon isn't out tonight.
Onwards he battled though the thickets, checking the compass every so often to make sure that he was on track. Once he almost veered horribly off course, prompting him to check more frequently. It would have been pitch black in the woods now, the dim light of the streetlamp completely extinguished by the ever thickening trees. At least his flashlight was fully charged.
A branch snapped somewhere in front of him.
He stopped and held the gun firmly into the trees. The flashlight would definitely draw the attention of whatever had made the noise; assuming it was something; but at least he would be fully prepared.
Nothing stirred.
He didn't waste another second. He trampled through the foliage even quicker now, scanning the area for any sign of movement. He checked the compass; still on track. Any moment now he could turn right, and embark on the final part of his journey.
Man: The longer part.
It wasn't long before he heard it again. Another snapping sound, this time followed by an odd crunch. Something vaguely familiar to the man.
Turning on the spot, carefully examining the surrounding area within reach of his flashlight, he tried to spot anything unusual.
There was something just to the left of his pathway. Something moving.
He marked the spot where he stood with five sticks, drew a circle around them in the mud and ventured out to find the source of the movement. He couldn't possibly avoid this thing, whatever it was. It might follow him.
It took him longer than he'd expected to reach it. And when he got there he was almost startled by what he found.
A squirrel.
He almost felt disappointed at seeing the small grey mammal, staring at him with blank black eyes just within the very outer reaches of the flashlight. He was going to turn back; when he found the circle of sticks he could continue his trek-
Man: Shit...
He couldn't help letting it slip out as he shifted the focus of the flashlight, ready to turn back. The squirrel was not alive.
He didn't notice before in the dim light, but the squirrel seemed to be propped up against the dark trunk of a tree. Or at least what was left of the squirrel. Blood soaked the rough bark at the base of the tree and the plants surrounding it. Traces of entrails hung from the foliage like macabre Christmas decorations. The smell of death grew strong on the dawdling breeze.
And then the crunch. That familiar sound that he had heard earlier but nearly forgotten. The sound that he was suddenly beginning to remember all too vividly.
He stepped forward to cast more light on the scene.
Then he saw the figure.
It stood quite easily at around seven foot tall, the sickly yellow skin lightly sagging off the sinewy, deceptively thin muscles. Its spindly hands would pick up whole watermelons with no trouble at all, and the long sharp fingernails were encrusted with gore and grime. Its face was covered; it was feeding now. Another small squirrel was being mercilessly eviscerated by the deadly fingers, slowly unravelled into a sticky mound of flesh, blood and fur. The smell was unholy.
It noticed him. It looked up, fully exposing its face which was covered in blood and squirrel innards. Even in the dim light the man could see the ghastly features; the bulging dry white eyes, the nightmarish mouth pulled into a leering perverted grin, showing all of the sharp blackened teeth. It had no hair; they never did.
The grin grew wider. It wasn't interested in squirrels anymore.
No time to waste. Ghouls were deceptively fast and strong, and tended to go a bit berserk if they got too hungry. And despite having guzzled two squirrels already it didn't look to be full any time soon. It lurched forward with eerie jerking movements, almost spiderlike, reaching for the man's face.
In one swift movement he back stepped out of the creatures grasp and fired the pistol into its wrinkled breast. It barely flinched, and continued to grope towards him with startling speed. More shots were fired, but it wasn't going down. Time to go.
He backed up, knowing he wouldn't have time to find the sticks now, and tried as best he could to run in the opposite direction. The ghoul had no trouble getting through the woods; its hands served as machetes against the tangled plants. The man fired more rounds at the creature, hoping he could get enough into its brain to kill it, but he could only aim so well when trying not to fall down. He almost completely forgot the compass; he was going in the right direction but not on track as he should be.
His foot caught in some weeds and he slammed into the base of a twisted tree. Before he knew it the ghoul was falling on top of him, tearing frantically at his overcoat. Its freezing breath stank of dead squirrel as it shrieked in frustration, trying to taste his warm sweaty flesh.
With difficulty, the man angled the pistol up to the temple of the ghoul. The flashlight cast eerie shadows over the creatures face, further distorting the already hideous features. Suddenly it lurched down at his face, the giant mouth growing impossibly wide.
It was now or never.
The shot rang out into the forest seemingly louder than the others. The creature jerked and gave one final rasped gurgle as thick, blackened blood oozed from the fresh wound in its skull. The woods were silent.
But not for long. As the man shoved the offensive creature off of himself, brushing dirt and dead leaves from his overcoat, his stomach dropped as he heard more shrieks stabbing out from the woods like shattering glass, and the rapidly approaching sound of snapping foliage told him to get the hell out of there. He was ignoring the compass now, running blindly in the opposite direction. His only thought was to survive.
They were getting closer. He could smell the sickly rotting of their skin pressing against him like a brick wall, the unholy shrieks like spikes piercing through. The man pointed his gun behind and fired blindly into the wall of noise and smell, still trying desperately to stay on his feet.
Just as the heavy crunching of the ghouls' feet drew close enough for them to reach out and grab him, the man saw the trees beginning to thin. There seemed to be a clearing mere feet beyond the woods, just close enough to be seen outside of the flashlights beam. A ghoul swiped the back of his overcoat with the ends of its' bladed fingers, and in one spontaneous move he dove out through the trees.
He rolled out into the clearing. He clambered to his feet and turned to face his assailants. There were three of them, all as hideous as each other with the same perverse grin stretched across their yellowed faces. They towered over him as they stumbled forwards into the clearing, desperate to tear the man to shreds.
The compass meant nothing to him now. Throwing it aside, he pulled out his other pistol and began firing relentlessly at the monsters. The flashlight pistol had run out of ammo by now, so he found himself using only the left pistol against the three monsters. They were too powerful, however, and within seconds they had advanced upon him. The ghoul on the left grabbed the pistol and threw it aside; the one on the right tore into the overcoat to get to the meat underneath. The middle ghoul grabbed his throat, the razor sharp claws cutting into the flesh easily like a knife through butter. He tried to butt this one in the head with his pistol but it was no use; the right ghoul had his arm in an iron grip and the weapon fell heavily to the ground. The one on the left was pulling vigorously at his left hand, trying to tear it clean off. The one in front squeezed his neck ever tighter, leaning in to taste the succulent flesh of the mans' purple, pulsating face.
What a way to die.
BOOM!
Something exploded into the night, cutting through the screams of the reeking ghouls. At first the man thought it might have been thunder, a passing thought through the sense of impending death. But even as he acknowledged the sound, and just as he was about to lose consciousness, he felt the grip around his neck loosen, and felt a cold splatter on his cheek as the rain began to seep through the trees.
No, not rain. It felt much too thick. Then the man realised that it was actually blood, and when he looked up it was gushing from the forehead of the ghoul sitting on his chest.
BOOM!
Another explosion, only this time the man knew full well what the sound was. The ghoul on his right shrieked as its' left shoulder exploded, the shot tearing the whole arm clean out of its socket.
BOOM!
Right into the neck, obliterating the entire lower half of its face. It stood there for a moment, swaying gently as thick black blood gushed over its chest, and then crumpled heavily into the damp mud.
Snapping to his senses, the man shoved the dead ghoul of his chest and threw a fist forcefully into the last ghouls face, shocking it slightly and giving him enough time to free his hand. He tried to get to his feet but he was still dizzy from being strangled, and could only clamber backwards away from the ghoul who had now come to its senses. Once again it lunged forward with another glass shattering scream, long hands outstretched towards him, and fury in its white eyes.
BOOM!
One final shot tore into the creatures' skull, spreading the brown brains messily across the clearing. It made no further sound as it slumped into its own filth.
All was quiet.
After a few moments the man slowly stood, the throbbing in his brain dissipating steadily. As the stars disappeared from the edges of his vision, he observed the carnage in the clearing. It was spectacular how much of a mess had been made, and the stench was worse than ever. If he had been anyone else he would have been violently sick.
Man: That must have been one hell of a gun-
He remembered that he wasn't alone. Realising that he was unarmed he suddenly felt extremely vulnerable; who knew if his saviours' motives were entirely amiable. He turned about quickly to face whoever had rescued him.
He almost couldn't believe his eyes when he saw him.
Colonel Hapscomb: Stranger...I'm glad to see you've arrived.
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