The Woods Are Dark

by Richard Laymon

  “Two survived his savagery. They mated, and their numbers grew. Though many were slain in the years after the great slaughter, many survived. They lived like fearful beasts, hiding in the treetops at night to escape the avenging father.

  “At last, they had a great gathering and decided to take his life. While the women and children took refuge in the tallest trees, the men went forth. The forest trembled, that night, with howls of rage and pitiful, tormented cries. Morning came, but the men did not return.

  “Among the women, one was brave. She climbed down from the safety of her tree, and traveled through the woods to the home of her father. When she returned, she told of finding the head of every man mounted on a cross of wood before the father’s door. Then she broke her own head open with a rock, and fell dead.”

  “How many did he kill?” Cordie asked.

  “In that one night, he took the lives of thirty-two men.”

  “How could he?”

  “Because he is the Devil, Manfred Krull.”

  Cordie stared at Grar. The old man’s eyes held fear. “The Devil?” Cordie whispered. “That’s who Lilly said I saw, last night. The one who killed my boyfriend.”

  “Lilly spoke the truth. You saw our found er, the Devil, Manfred Krull.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It couldn’t…Not the original…”

  “It is,” Grar said.

  “That’s impossible. The man you talked about, he’d have to be three hundred years old.”

  “Far older.”

  “Can’t be.”

  “His evil is ageless.”

  Cordie shook her head. She couldn’t buy that. No way. But arguing might anger Grar, so she kept silent.

  “We have tried, many times, to kill him. Always, we fail. Always, he takes terrible vengeance.

  “Our numbers are few.”

  “How few?”

  “Less than a hundred. Many died in the winter. We must multiply, or our family will soon perish.

  “You will give us children,” he said. “Children to replace the many who have fallen. And you will give us fresh blood to mix with the blood of our fathers. Without new blood, the children come forth weak and crooked, like Heth.” He nodded toward the deformed man in the corner. “The blood of his parents was old.”

  Too much inbreeding? Cordie wondered. She didn’t realize it could create such monstrosities.

  “You will give yourself to any man, until you are with child. After your firstborn, you may accept those you wish, rejecting others.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Now we must go.”

  Her heart slammed. “Where?”

  “To your friends.”

  “I don’t…Who?”

  “Those who escaped with you from the trees. You will go to them.”

  “I don’t know where they are.”

  “They have taken shelter in the house of the Devil. You must go to them, and bring them out.”

  “Me?”

  “Only you, among us, may enter the land of the dead.”

  “Oh Jesus, I don’t…”

  “The women are young. Like you, they will give us many children. We must have them.”

  “But there’s a guy.”

  “You will take his life.”

  “Me? Kill him?”

  “You have killed others. You killed Kigit, who was gurlaw.”

  “This guy’s got a gun.”

  “You are a woman.”

  “That’s not…” She stopped herself. Defiance would do her no good—and might get her killed. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do what ever you say.”

  “I hear deceit in your voice.”

  “No. I’ll do it, honest. I’ll kill the guy. I really will. Then I’ll make the women come out.”

  “If you betray us, your death will be horrible beyond nightmares.”

  In a dry voice, she said, “I won’t betray you.”

  “Heth.”

  The creature scuttled forward.

  “Your hand, girl.”

  She raised her left arm.

  The old man lightly took her wrist. He guided her hand toward Heth. She made a fist.

  “Open your hand.”

  Her fingers fluttered open.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “You must learn a lesson in obedience,” Grar said, and moved her little finger toward Heth’s mouth. The dry lips sucked it in. She felt the edges of his teeth. The tongue stroked the length of her finger.

  Then he bit.

  She saw her bleeding stump. She saw Heth chewing. The ceiling of the hut tilted strangely, and went dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “What time do you think it is?” Neala asked, staring through the doorway.

  Sherri shrugged. “Cordelia’s the one with the watch.”

  “I’d guess it’s past noon,” Johnny said. “Maybe one.”

  “It gets dark around eight?”

  “Yeah,” said Sherri. “That gives us seven hours. Can you die of thirst in seven hours?”

  “I doubt it,” Johnny said.

  Neala wiped her face. “I wish night would get here.”

  “It will,” Johnny told her.

  “And then,” said Sherri, “the real fun starts.” She lay down on her back, folded her hands beneath her head, and stared at the ceiling. “Hide and seek with the bogey men.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Neala said.

  “If we had water, we could.”

  “But we don’t.”

  “Maybe just one of us should go out, to night, and bring some back. He could fill that pot….”

  “You volunteering me?” Johnny asked.

  “Sure.” She grinned at him. “You game?”

  “Not hardly. By the time I could make it to water, I’d be home free. I might as well keep going.”

  “Right! Great idea! Keep going, and get help. Bring in the cavalry. Get us out of here in a chopper, and blow these fuckers to hell.”

  Johnny remained silent. Neala turned to him, alarmed. “You’re not seriously considering it!”

  “Well…”

  “Damn it, Sherri!”

  “Hey, it was only a suggestion.”

  “It has some merits,” Johnny said.

  “No!”

  “I probably could get help. Search and rescue, over in Melville, has a copter. If I get to them, they could set down right outside the door. Only thing is, it would take a while. I’d have to make it to the road, and get my hands on a car. My car, if it’s working. Then I’d have to make it through Barlow.”

  “What’s the problem with that?” Sherri asked.

  “Barlow? Everyone knows me. If I’m spotted, they’d try to stop me. But Melville’s only half an hour past Barlow, so I could get there pretty fast, if nothing goes wrong.”

  “Yeah,” Neala said. “If nothing goes wrong. In the meantime, we’d be sitting here alone. No food, no water, no way of knowing if you made it.”

  “The thing is, you’d be safe here. Out beyond the heads, you’d be vulnerable.”

  “Just like you.”

  “I can move fast, alone. If I make it, I’d be back by morning with that copter.”

  “And if you don’t make it?”

  “You’re no worse off than if you’d been with me.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Sherri said.

  “Hold it. Just a minute, damn it. Johnny, didn’t you say it’s twenty miles to get out of Krull territory?”

  He nodded. “That’s if you head east.”

  “What’s this if? That’s the way you led us, last night. East.”

  “If I go out alone, I’ll head west.”

  “Back the way we came?”

  “I’ll try to get back to my car. If I can get it started…”

  “The place was crawling with Krulls.”

  “Last night,” Sherri added.

  “Okay, last night. So do you think they just vanished since then?”

  Sherri
smirked. “They’re right outside.”

  “That’s right,” Johnny said. “Right outside. Must be fifty of them surrounding this cabin. That’s fifty who aren’t prowling the woods. If I can just sneak past the ones right here, the rest of the way should be a cinch.”

  “If it’s a cinch,” Neala said, “let’s all go together.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lander moved silently through the woods, seeking prey. Finally, he heard voices. He made his way toward them. Crouching behind a tree, he saw four Krulls sitting in the shade nearby.

  Three men, one woman.

  They were talking quietly in their strange language.

  The woman sat with her back to Lander. Her thick, blond hair hung almost to the ground. Her skin was tanned and shiny. It would feel moist in his hands. Moist and pliant.

  He wished he could see her breasts.

  If he waited, perhaps she would stand and turn.

  But the men were most vulnerable now, sitting and relaxed. One had no right arm. The other two, however, looked lean and fit.

  I’ll hack them before they…

  With what?

  Lander frowned. He glanced down at his empty hands.

  Passing strange.

  What had become of his hatchet? He’d had one earlier, he was sure of it.

  He patted his vest. He looked down at himself. He drew a hand across his naked rump. He turned, and studied the ground behind him. His hatchet was gone.

  Gone!

  How could he have lost his hatchet! How could he take this girl, and clutch her breasts, and plunder her dark wet hole….

  Lander saw spears on the ground within reach of two of the men. A knife hung by a thong at the side of the woman. The one-armed man had a hatchet.

  He would go for the hatchet. If he could get to it quickly, before the others…

  The woman got to her feet.

  She turned.

  She held an infant in her arms, its mouth latched to one of her swollen breasts.

  Lander ducked out of sight.

  Oh, a baby. He didn’t wish to kill a baby.

  Why not? They all were babies once. Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms. The worst were babies once. A swift death would stop this one from growing villainous.

  But he cringed at the thought of killing it.

  No pleasure there.

  No pleasure fucking the woman while her murdered infant lay in the bushes, watching with pale, dead eyes.

  No no no.

  He would let them live.

  He waited, and listened as the group departed. When the last sounds of their chatter faded in the distance, Lander stood.

  He headed for the stream. That’s where he’d seen lots of fine women. He could wade into the cool water, and drink his fill, and wait for a young, lovely one. And if none pleased him, he would head to the village, this night, and take his pick.

  When Lander drew near the stream, he crouched and listened. He heard only birds, and the rush of the water. He crept to the shore, just at the point where he’d entered the water that morning.

  The stream was deserted.

  He took a step forward. His bare foot came down on a smooth, hard surface.

  The head of his hatchet.

  “Passing strange,” he said.

  He picked it up. Inspected it. This hatchet looked markedly similar to the one he’d lost.

  He took it with him into the water. Ducking, he felt the coolness rise to his shoulders. He drank. It tasted fine.

  A heady brew.

  Staying close to shore where the water was waist high, he began to walk downstream. His eyes searched the shores. He saw no one.

  At the bend, the water moved swiftly. It slid over his skin like a caress. He crouched to savor its touch.

  Something flicked his thigh.

  A snake?

  Heart racing, he stood and gazed into the water. His pale legs, rippling with shadows, vanished into the darkness.

  A silvery shape glided past his knee.

  A fish!

  He could eat a fish! Feed his grumbling stomach. He smashed down his hatchet. Water exploded into his face. He pounded again and again. Then he waited for the fish to float up, dead. It didn’t appear.

  He walked downstream, eyes an inch above the surface, seeking it.

  Water plopped into his face.

  Had the fish jumped?

  No.

  His head jerked toward shore, but he saw only bushes and trees. Maybe something had fallen from above. He raised his eyes to the tree limbs hanging over the water.

  Plip.

  This time, he saw it—a quick, tiny blur passing near his face and dropping into the stream.

  He looked again toward the shore. Though he still saw no one, the nearby bushes were dense enough to hide behind.

  As he watched, an arm flicked into view and vanished. A stone curved slowly toward him. Reaching out, he caught it. He turned the stone in his hand. It was squarish, with sharp edges, but too small to inflict much damage.

  Someone, obviously, was toying with him.

  He tossed the stone into the bushes.

  A young woman pushed through the foliage and stepped toward the shore. Thick, tangled tresses of blond hair draped her shoulders and breasts. Except for the knife belt low on her hips, she seemed naked.

  She stopped at the edge of the stream. Feet apart, hands on hips, she smiled. But only with half her face. It might have been a sneer.

  She spoke in a whisper—words unknown to Lander, soft words. Then she drew apart the thick curtain of hair over her left breast. Her forefinger traced circles around the nipple. She spoke again. She bared her other breast.

  A hand on each breast, she sighed. Gracefully, she lowered herself to her knees. Her hands massaged. Her breathing quickened.

  Lander watched, standing in the chest-high water that concealed his erection.

  Was this her way of beckoning him?

  The Beckoning Fair One.

  Le Belle Dam Sans Merci…

  Her hands slid down her body, and over the leather belt. They moved down the fronts of her legs, then curved inward, stroking the inner thighs, moving higher, finally caressing her hair-tufted pubis.

  She moaned and writhed.

  La Belle Dam Sans Merci hath me in thrall.

  In thrall.

  What can ail thee, knight at arms?

  He touched what ailed him. It was upright and rock hard.

  The woman’s hands reached out to him. Wet and shiny from her juices.

  Lander waded forward. The water level fell, uncovering him.

  The woman’s eyes lowered to his erection. They stared as if locked onto it.

  Lander climbed the bank. He stepped close to the kneeling woman. One hand touched him. Its slippery fingers traced the length of his shaft. Her head moved in. She lapped at him, tongue flicking and pressing.

  Then she was easing backward, still lightly holding him. Her back touched the ground. She guided his aching cock into her.

  Lander pushed. The slick tightness swallowed him. He lay motionless on top of the woman, savoring the dark suction.

  He looked at her face. Her wild eyes frightened him, so he pushed away her thick hair and kissed the side of her neck. A leather thong was there. A necklace. His hand moved over the smooth globe of her shoulder, and down to her breast. He fingered the rumpled skin of the aureole, tweezed the upright nipple.

  Began slowly to thrust.

  Bent, and took the springy nipple into his mouth.

  As he humped, sucking and licking the nipple, his eyes focused on her necklace. A dozen shriveled, stubby thumbs were strung on the leather thong.

  No, not thumbs.

  His teeth clamped the nipple, grinding and chewing as a scream tore his ears.

  She bucked and twisted in pain.

  Lander held on. Held on with his teeth. Held on with his hands gripping her wrists. He pounded into her, harsh and breathless and finally shaking wit
h his orgasm.

  Then he hammered his fist against her face. He hit her again and again, splitting her lips, mashing her nose. He hit her for a long time after she stopped resisting.

  “Didn’t get mine.”

  He giggled.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Then he cut her throat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A giant chased Cordie over a barren, glaring land scape of dunes. She whimpered as she ran.

  Oh, if he caught her!

  His shadow blocked the sun from her body. Such a cold shadow. She tried to run harder, but the sand clutched her feet, slowing her down.

  The arms of the shadow reached out.

  A monstrous hand gripped her shoulder. Its fingers felt dry as bone.

  She bit off its little finger.

  Roaring in pain, the giant released her. She ran on, out of the cold shadow, leaving the giant far behind. But she was lost, and the dunes were strange. She didn’t want to be here, after dark.

  Where were Mom and Dad?

  They must be nearby. They wouldn’t just leave her all alone in this horrible place.

  She tried to yell, but the giant’s finger was still inside her mouth. She pulled it out.

  How odd! It was just her size.

  She stuck the giant’s finger onto her stump. A perfect fit.

  She began running again, but the finger fell off and disappeared in the sand. Dropping to her knees, she raked through the sand, trying to find it.

  Ah, here it is!

  She pulled, but it was stuck. She pulled harder. Out of the sand came an entire hand!

  She staggered back, suddenly afraid.

  Someone buried in the sand was rising!

  He sat up, sand spilling from his body, and grinned at her. “Hi, Cordie.”

  “Ben? I thought you were dead.”

  “Not me,” he said, and brushed sand out of his hair.

  No, not sand. Ants.

  “Ben!”

  He brushed harder. His head tumbled off, and dropped onto his lap, and Cordie sat up screaming.