Forest of the Damned

by Lee Mountford

  That thought, as much as anything, spurred him to act.

  Ken swung, throwing every ounce of strength he had behind the movement—starting low and bringing the club upwards in an arc as hard as he could.

  Ken felt the vibrations of the impact run from the weapon and up through his arms, stinging his palms, threatening to shake the branch free from his grip. A sickening crack rang out when the wood connected with Roberta’s chin, and her head snapped back. A jet of black blood spat up into the air from her mouth, and Roberta fell backwards, sprawling out across the ground, staying motionless after she had settled.

  Ken didn’t need any further invitation to escape. He turned and moved away as quickly as he could, again using the branch—this time as a crutch to help him walk. Running was out of the question, his heart just would not take it, but he tried to push himself.

  However, the ground he had made up before that sound stopped him was minimal, managing only a few metres.

  The noise he heard was a groan, coming from Roberta. But it was not one of pain or grogginess. Ken turned back to see the floored woman begin to move. Her arms rose above her head as her back arched. The moaning continued, but to Ken it actually sounded… pleasurable. Then her body began to convulse, and she let out screams of pleasure and her fingers grasped at the ground, pulling out clumps of dirt.

  Ken couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Hitting her with the branch had, bizarrely, driven her to some kind of climax.

  Eventually, Roberta calmed down, and her convulsions eased off. Whatever pleasure she had been feeling had peaked and was now falling away. Then she suddenly sat up in one fluid motion. Her jaw hung loosely at a horrible angle, wobbling after her quick movement.

  And yet again, the mad woman began to laugh. It was a sound Ken was utterly sick of by now, but this time it was different. The laughter that bellowed from Roberta now seemed to take her over completely, and she threw her head back as her whole body shook.

  Ken turned away and again tried to escape, but he heard the cackling witch get to her feet as well. She began to run after him.

  And Ken knew he was fucked.

  35

  Ken should have just dropped to the ground and let Roberta take him.

  He’d tried to break into a run, an instinctual reaction to being chased. But his heart exploded in pain again, and he stopped short, grasping at his chest.

  He then felt a great force hit him from behind and shove him to the ground, face first. Ken could barely even summon the strength to lift his head out of the smothering dirt and grass.

  The agony that fired out of his heart with every beat was like an electric shock. He wanted to cry out in pain, but he could instead only create a pitiful mewling sound. He couldn’t even roll himself over to face the terror that plagued him, still cackling that maddening laugh.

  He then felt hands take hold of him by the arms and roll him to his front. Roberta stood above him, and he looked up at her naked, sickening form. Those black spots beneath the surface of the skin that he now knew to be alien-like eyes all focused on him. Others had broken free after warts that previously enclosed them had also popped.

  Roberta then slowly lifted her hands to her twisted jaw and took hold. In a quick motion, she snapped it back into place—a dull crack sounding as she did. A long, low groan escaped her. Then she turned her attention back to Ken and looked down at him.

  Without a word he watched as she again brought up a hand, only this time Roberta took hold of a greasy length of tangled hair. She yanked, and Ken winced as he heard the clump of threads pull free from her flesh. Then she bent down and used the rope-like hair to bind his wrists together in an inventive, if gross, restraint.

  The next words she spoke were garbled, thanks to her jaw, but still understandable. ‘Time to go.’

  Roberta took hold of Ken’s ankles, one in each hand, and began walking, dragging Ken along behind her. The restraints on his wrists weren’t even needed, as by trying to run again he’d exacerbated the attack he was having, causing it to flare up considerably and debilitating him completely. His only feeling was of pain, both from his heart, and from the rocks that dug into him as Ken was pulled along the ground.

  He could only look up at the stars above as dirt and old, dead leaves clung to him, caking his clothes and hair in filth. Helpless to fight back and save himself, Ken knew there was now only one way it was all going to end. And, perhaps, it was what he deserved after all.

  It didn’t take him long to pass out, his body ravaged with exhaustion and pain.

  But Roberta kept going, dragging her victim for over two hours. To the original site of the village.

  Where Mother Sibbett awaited.

  36

  The light snapping and crackling sound was the first thing Ken noticed. Consciousness was slow in regaining its hold on him, and he could smell something smokey, everything happening before he’d opened his eyes.

  His thoughts aligned and Ken soon remembered the intense pain he had been enduring before he’d passed out. And he remembered being dragged along behind Roberta; however, he was no longer moving, though his hands were now unbound. He lay on his back on rough terrain, but knew that he was not alone, hearing the murmurs of things close to him. He could also detect pained sobs from farther away.

  His body still ached with pain, especially his chest, but the urgency and fierceness of that pain had eased, indicating the attack had passed. But its after-effects still lingered on.

  Damn it, why couldn’t I have died?

  Ken knew dying would have been preferable to whatever fate awaited him when he eventually opened his eyes, something he was reluctant to do.

  Eventually, however, he had to.

  Ken’s vision was initially blurred as flickering light penetrated his watering eyes. After blinking to clear his sight, he noted that the source of this light was coming from straight ahead. A tall bonfire engulfed in yellow and red flame licked at the night sky.

  And things moved within the flames, between the glowing waste material of logs, branches, and wooden doors that all fuelled the fire. Ken could see that there were people in amongst the inferno—their bodies black and bubbling.

  Looking around, he also became aware that he was lying on the ground in the centre of a small village that was similar to the last one he’d stood in. He saw the same circular well and, behind the bonfire, could even see that damned stone church.

  While Ken could see that the low, pained sobs were coming from the poor souls trapped within the bonfire, the hungry murmurs he heard were emanating from the other things that were gathered.

  The village folk Ken had previously encountered—with their twisted faces and drab, dark clothing—surrounded both him and the fire, though they gave a respectful and healthy distance to the flames. They watched the bodies writhe within and took great glee at the suffering, but with every pop and crackle they winced and jumped, as if scared of the purging element.

  Roberta sat next to Ken, cross-legged, facing off towards the burning that had so delighted all of the other souls present. He could smell her, but only just, as the odour of burning meat and smoke that came from the great fire was almost all-encompassing.

  When he studied the girl, Ken could see more of those horrible, clustered fish-eyes on her skin, and they rolled to face him. A smirk drew over her face. Ken wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but Roberta had changed even more during that time, now little more than a skeleton with a thin layer of mottled skin stretched tightly over her frame. Only the barnacle-like clusters of eyes broke up the boney expanse of dry, darkened flesh.

  ‘Awake I see,’ she whispered to him without taking her eyes off the fire. Her voice sounded much clearer now, her jaw working with no issues. Though it still had that hoarse, raspy quality to it.

  ‘You can see out of those things?’ Ken whispered back, referring to the fleshy bulbs that littered her body. He kept his voice low, not wanting to draw the attention of any of the othe
rs.

  ‘I see everything,’ she told him.

  Ken didn’t attempt to move. There was no point. So he turned his attention back to the fire, seeing the victims within still moving. He had no idea how long the fire had been going, but surely the life of those unfortunates should have been extinguished by now. Ken slowly raised a hand and pointed to them. ‘Will they ever die?’

  ‘They are already dead,’ Roberta answered. ‘But they will never stop feeling what is happening to them.’

  ‘Who are they? Why aren’t they out here with the rest of you?’

  ‘They don’t deserve a place out here with us. They are the unbelievers. People of this village who shunned Mother’s teachings. Resisted. So this is their penance. And there are others, too. Unfortunates who have wandered here and been taken throughout the years. All as sustenance and sacrifice to the Old One.’

  Ken’s mind ran back to the last time he had been in the village, to the well that had been packed with bodies. He didn’t need to be told they were the same people. ‘So, they are just tortured for eternity now?’

  Roberta nodded. ‘That’s right. Such is the fate of the unworthy. You know,’ she deftly lowered her head to him, ‘If you look closely, you may recognise some of them.’

  It was her turn to point now. ‘Towards the tip of the flames, right at the top. Do you see it?’

  Ken squinted in an attempt to see more clearly. He could make out something impaled on a branch at the very head of the bonfire. It was being held just out of the main body of the inferno, but was still being cooked by the heat and the jumping flames. Something on that object was moving. It took Ken a moment to realise that it was, in fact, a black and blistered human head. The jaw was opening and closing in a silent scream. But at this distance, Ken could make out no more, which he took as a blessing.

  ‘Who is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Tony,’ Roberta answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Ken felt his blood turn to ice despite all of the heat of the raging fire. ‘That is his existence now. Mother Sibbett twisted off his head after she took him. But not before laying claim to his essence.’

  If Ken had felt guilty at the fates of his friends before, now that he could see and understand the full nature of their suffering, his shame only intensified. Ken hadn’t just cost these people their lives; he’d given them everlasting damnation.

  ‘Jesus,’ he uttered.

  Roberta scoffed. ‘Well, he can’t help you here. And neither can his dad. Not that his father even existed, of course. The only God you need to worry about is the Old One. Because, if you don’t please it, you can look forward to the same kind of existence Tony and James now share.’

  Ken took a moment to answer back, still struggling with what he was seeing. ‘And what could this Old One possibly want with me?’ he asked, feeling tears well up in his eyes, unable to turn his attention away from the head of Tony at the tip of the fire.

  She shrugged. ‘It knows you feel immense pain. An agony built up over many years. I think the Old One has taken an interest in that. Pain and agony help sustain it here, and we must give it what it needs.’

  ‘I’ll never be like you,’ Ken said. ‘I’d rather die.’

  ‘And exist forever like that?’ Roberta asked, again pointing to Tony.

  Ken paused. The thought of willingly giving himself over to this entity—whatever it was—sickened him. But knowing he could share the same eternal pain Tony was now feeling terrified Ken to his core.

  ‘Thought not,’ Roberta said. ‘Now, ready yourself. It’s time. She is coming to take you.’

  Ken wrinkled his brow, and he was about to ask Roberta who she was talking about, but saw that the witch was no longer looking at the fire, instead at the church beyond it. Both leaves of the door were now open, and from the blackness within something came out. A sight that made Ken’s bladder release.

  Like a spider emerging from a small hole, long and thin limbs poked out from the black. They pulled with it an elongated body covered with the same fleshy eyes as Roberta. The face of the wretched thing, as it rose up, was a horrific mess of features—some human, some not. The thing then pulled itself up to its fullest height, towering far above the head of the door it had just emerged from. Ken noticed something strapped to its sagging torso, but could not focus on what as the spindly, nightmarish form of Mother Sibbett strode over towards him, its thudding footsteps sending vibrations through the very ground beneath.

  Excited sounds went up from the villagers, and Ken began to scream in manic terror.

  37

  ‘Help me!’ Ken yelled to Roberta, praying there was a shred of humanity left in her. ‘For the love of God, please help me!’

  But Roberta didn’t. Of course she didn’t. There was truly no mercy or compassion left within that ruined body.

  ‘Sorry, Ken,’ she said as the giant beast stalked its way over, making sure to avoid the roaring fire. ‘There is no surviving this. You’re hers now. But you still have a choice to make. Remember that. It could save you, in a way.’

  Ken tried to move, to wriggle himself away, but he could do little more than slither across the ground like a snake. Mother Sibbett, now impossibly large, planted her feet on either side of him and stood tall, looking down at his cowering form.

  Ken kept up his screaming. At this close a distance, the sight of her was even more overwhelming to him. Those disgusting, roving fish-eyes all moved of their own accord, flitting around in different directions. Her dry skin pulsed and moved as if something was shifting beneath the surface. And, to his horror, Ken could now plainly see what it was that had been strapped to her torso.

  A man groaned, eyes rolling in his head as if he was barely conscious. His stomach was open, and the intestines had been pulled out, wrapping around the large frame behind, securing him to it. The man’s legs and arms had been pulled into the flesh of the creature’s chest, disappearing beneath the skin. Looking closely, Ken could see that the borders where skin met limb were slowly advancing all the time, sucking the unfortunate man inside of it very slowly. Even the man’s head had begun to submerge, with the flesh lapping over the top of his skull.

  It was James.

  ‘Hi, lover,’ Roberta called up to the suffering man, waving as she stood to her feet. ‘Hope you are having fun with Mother!’

  She laughed. The giant witch also made a sound—a high-pitched, shrieking titter—that, while not exactly human, Ken took for laughter as well. A large hand, ending in blackened claws, lowered down and gently patted Roberta on the head. It was the affection shown to a pet.

  The sight before Ken made no sense on many levels. For one, it was disturbing to behold. But beyond that was the fact that he had seen this hag before, as a still image on the footage taken earlier. In it, though hidden behind a tree, she had been of normal height. And her features had not been as twisted as what he now gazed upon.

  ‘This… this isn’t possible,’ Ken stammered. ‘What happened to her? What is she?’

  ‘An emissary,’ Roberta said. ‘As I told you. Through her, the Old One can make its will known.’

  ‘But we saw her before. She wasn’t—’

  Roberta sniggered. ‘Mother can appear to you in many different ways.’

  Ken didn’t have time to ask any more questions. Another hand lowered, this one coming straight for him. Ken squirmed backwards in panic, and managed to get up onto his elbows, but his feeble escape was cut short as the sharp fingers grabbed his right leg, the tips of the claws digging into the skin of his thigh and puncturing the flesh. He screamed as he was hoisted high up into the air, dangling upside down, level with James.

  The groaning man didn’t notice Ken hanging before him, however, his milky eyes instead lost in pain as the flesh of the torso slowly devoured him. Ken was then lifted higher up, to the terrifying face of the monster. Rank breath flowed over him as Ken stared into the massive yellow eyes that blinked ahead of him. Would this living nightmare devour him? J
ust drop him into a maw lined with sharp, crooked, teeth?

  As it turned out, that was not her plan. Mother Sibbett instead turned and thundered back towards the church. A loud cheer went up from the village-folk. She rounded the fire, ducked down, and entered the church again, with Ken still struggling in her grasp.

  38

  Just like the last time Ken had been inside of this infernal place, the church was once again home to those displayed bodies, again intertwined and sewn together in poses and acts of debauchery. He could see them writhe and move, backing away from the great giant that stomped her way down the central aisle.

  Ken’s head filled with blood as he was carried upside-down—helpless—by Mother Sibbett while she moved to the front of the church. Again, seated at the altar he was being carried towards, was that goat-headed figure he had seen before, still in the same cross-legged position with one arm out to the side. The horns that sprouted from the black fur of its crown rose up high, ending in sharp points. And from the female figure’s wrinkled breasts—ones that hung low to the midsection—black liquid dripped free, pooling on the occult symbol on which it sat.

  Ken had no idea what this horrific depiction was supposed to represent, but he was dropped directly in front of it. He hit the ground hard, and the air was driven out of his lungs. He could scarcely stop shaking and, even though he was still weak, sat upright. He then looked back to the towering nightmare that looked down on him. The monster’s head was level with the roof rafters, where moving corpses with their insides on display were tied. The witch then, in what looked like an absentminded act, reached up a hand and grabbed the leg of one such captive. With a twist, the leg was pulled free, popping off like the leg of a cooked chicken, and dropped to the floor. The poor soul it belonged to—strapped with arms outstretched and tied to the horizontal crosspiece—whined in agony, but had no jaw to fully vocalise its pain. Ken couldn’t even tell the gender of the undead person, given the torn and mangled state of its body.