Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1)

by Shawn Mackey

  The mayor shouted loud enough to gain our full obedience. He commanded everyone return to their homes and stay there until morning. Most complied immediately, the rest soon following. I had a perfect view of their house from my front window. Aiden sat in the kitchen for a whole minute before stumbling off to bed, rifle still in hand. I pulled up a chair and watched.

  About an hour passed before a gunshot rang out. Minutes later, two men dragged out the limp body of another. They carried it toward the area that was becoming our cemetery. I do not think it is a wild assumption to tell you that Vern has died again.

  I doubt this will make any sense in the morning. Unfortunately for us both, I am on my last drop of ink. Ten more days. Be patient, friend.

  Entry 27

  It happened again. And again, no body in the grave, no signs of entry or exit. Vern is now chained up in the schoolhouse. No class tomorrow.

  Entry 28

  It did not happen again.

  Entry 29

  Not only did I acquire a case of fresh ink bottles, but I managed to borrow a few wicks from Walter to continue my expedition. I have been quite busy since the last entry. Do I begin with my adventures or poor Vern’s fate? It would be awfully rude to keep you in the dark after nearly two weeks of silence.

  How do I explain that which defies explanation? Vern is shackled in the town hall cellar. I had the good fortune of visiting him before he went completely mad. There were no words exchanged, for the poor man has been incapable of speech since his second death. I refer to him as the third Vern, though Aiden believes the same Vern has been simply resurrected twice, despite hard evidence of no tampering to his grave, besides the lack of body. As I put that into words, I realize my theory is no more valid than my husband’s.

  According to the mayor, who permitted only he and the doctor go down the cellar, Vern has either lost his mind or contracted rabies. The latter would explain the former, as well as the heavy foaming from his mouth, but there are no signs of biting. All the diagnosis has accomplished is a mass panic.

  Judith pleaded to return home, since her reason for being on the island was gone. My uncle easily dissuaded her before she could bring the request to the mayor. The whole incident was unfortunate, but the safest place for her and Thomas was this island. I believed him at the time, but in retrospect, know he was lying. I am not privy to Vern’s history. Even if it was as severe as my father’s transgression, I doubted his wife had anything to do with it. In my uncle’s defense, a war-torn country may be the only place worse than a haunted island.

  I could not deny the supernatural presence. Every eye in town had seen Vern buried, and return unscathed the next day, with plenty of witnesses to his empty grave. To dig from six feet under was an impressive feat, one he showed no signs of achieving. For those with a keen memory, the second Vern looked identical to the first, as well as the third. Since a ghost is unshackable, it cannot be chalked up to mere apparition. Hilda calls it a fetch, and for the first time since her brain went soft, I am inclined to agree.

  Yet it only raises more questions. Did three Verns climb out of the cavern? I think so. Where did two of these three Verns come from? I will not even attempt to theorize. When the third finally chokes on its own spittle, will there be a fourth? Rest in peace, old friend, but allow us to do the same.

  The townspeople rarely speak of the whole ordeal. It is brought up casually from time to time, with little emphasis on the origination other than blaming it on some supernatural blight. The proper way to handle such bizarre circumstances.

  As for me, I have been making late-night excursions into the woods. Three times so far. First, for thirty minutes. Second, for two hours. Third, for three hours. That seems to be my limit, and even then, a tad too long. I use sticks and stones to mark my progress, occasionally marking the more unusual trees as well. Some townsfolk have discussed a thorough search of that section. Nothing would please me more than their discoveries.

  Last night, I found rocky hills that appear similar to Aiden’s descriptions of the caverns. Tonight, I plan to visit those hills for a bit. Not too deep. Eventually, I will attempt to inspect the interior during the day. It would not be difficult to drag Aiden along, though he will likely tell the others. How did they not notice such a sight? Perhaps I will tell my uncle after a thorough inspection. No sooner. I must be the first to step foot inside.

  Wish me luck.

  Truly, a malicious demon has his eye on me. The sticks and stones have been scattered, and many more markings have been struck. Despite the setback, I reached the cavern in less than two hours. Even stranger, the newest markings were destroyed on the way back. If not for my exceptional memory, I would still be fumbling around the dark.

  No more nightly excursions. I only wrote this entry upon returning so that I may read it in the morning and confirm it was not merely a cruel dream. In these pages, I am safest.

  Entry 30

  Vern died again this morning. The whole town is bracing for his return. A meeting was held a few hours ago, and according to Aiden, scouts will set up in all parts of the woods to await his entry. I will take the opportunity to search my normal route, since I am still convinced last night’s events were a dream, and if not, then a collective hallucination that should not leave me cowering. Half the men in this town are prepared to face the unknown; I will follow their example and traverse the woods.

  The whole ordeal has drained the people’s patience dry. At the very least, should we not look for other possibilities? The request was too logical for some, but gave enough credence to keep them waiting a bit longer. If there was going to be a fourth Vern, the others have devised a plan that would rid him from the town for good. At least, they seem to think so.

  Aiden will not divulge the full details. They plan to take him alive, tie him to a row boat, and cast him out to sea. Will they provide him with food? Have they concocted an explanation? The meeting went on for quite some time, and my uncle is clever enough to have worked out the major details. Of course, this does not mean a fifth Vern will not emerge. However, it will be a learning experience.

  Thomas does not seem to fully grasp the situation. He understands that his father died a week ago, and can wrap his head around the concept of a fetch, but does not see why the rest are hell bent on killing the others. He sees how much it upsets the others, and assumes it is a bad thing, yet his mother tells me he wants his father to stay.

  These rustics are ready to wage war on the supernatural. Why battle brother and sisters back home when you can slay ghosts and goblins? As I write this entry, Aiden is cleaning out his rifle, whistling the tune of an old battle hymn. I fear the menace will not be thwarted through violent means. I envision two scenarios: this presence wants us to leave the island or it wants us to stay. If the latter, these stubborn people will meet their doom.

  I only call it a presence because of last night’s events. The destruction of my markings seemed far too deliberate. It may still be a series of unnatural events, but until I find a loose thread, it is a tightly woven ruse.

  Aiden is leaving. In case he comes home early, I told him that I may visit my mother’s or Judith’s. There is still plenty of daylight left. Once again, wish me luck, preferably a little more than last time.

  After tonight’s venture, I fear my mind will never know a moment of peace again. With sleep out of the question, I will relate the details in full.

  In the initial hour, while standing on the base of a craggy hill, I discovered a tiny grove surrounded by trees, an empty area with a little pit. I wanted to see it up close, and during the climb down, I thought about placing a bird bath in the center to make new friends. Upon reaching the site, the open area was gone, though the little pit remained, mostly filled with dead leaves. I traced my steps back to the hill and saw the view altered accordingly.

  From the direction I entered, a melodic hum brought me to my feet, the noise difficult to pinpoint with the ocean so close. I cannot put the sound to words, but if I
must, I would describe it as a hollow, almost flute-like single note tone, more of an attempt at a song than an actual song. I wandered around until dark, searching for the source, which continued to evade me like a skittish nymph. It sounded too deliberate to be anything but a breath in pipes.

  In my excitement, I neglected to leave a trail back. This occurred to me as I lit my lantern, and before I could leave a trace, the note reached a higher pitch. I thought it was nearby, and with a jump, dropped the lantern. Relighting the wick, my mind immediately shifted to the all-consuming desire to find that music. It was clearly in the vicinity, so I sped up to cover more ground, despite the cramps building up in my legs and belly. The latter probably should have alarmed me.

  The hum seemed to change notes whenever I neared, only to grow quieter as I kept in its direction. The whimsy in its tone fueled my search. I was content to play this game, since it would inevitably lead to the discovery of the musician. It was too vivid for a ghostly echo. I stumbled around the dark, careful not to drop my lantern again. This went on well into the night and would have gone into the day if uninterrupted.

  At some point, the music was overpowered by a loud buzz. A chorus of flies, I soon discovered. A foul stench followed the buzz, and after a few whiffs, I was forced to plug my nostrils and slow down so that I did not step on something rotten. The lantern light cast on a figure about ten paces away. I took two more and watched from a distance, which would have been short in the daytime. The light provided a dim view of the sight, enough to identify it with certainty.

  A mass of insects hovered and crawled over a body that appeared more like a heap of tattered flesh than corpse. The midsection was swamped with these bugs, a mass of white wings hungrily devouring the bloody cavern that had been Caleb’s stomach. I identified him by his hair and the edge of his face, yet at that moment, it was not enough. These white insects appeared to be moths, and though I had never heard of carnivorous moths, I figured a few steps forward would allow me a definitive glimpse of the dead man’s face before they decided to swarm me.

  I steadied the lantern over his head and quickly discovered these insects were not moths. A few crawled around Caleb’s chin, lapping at the fresh blood from his torn lips. Two tiny heads gnawed at the lower lip as another dug its way through his cheek. The creatures eating at the head and neck were larger than the swarm at his guts, though there was no mistaking they were the same species.

  Little winged men. It is difficult to write out those words, and though you may doubt me, dear friend, as the realization hit me, a bat-sized version fluttered in front of my eyes. It hovered for a moment, exchanging stares, its eyes red as rubies and teeth like a dog’s. I froze for few seconds, knowing this thing meant me harm, which I am sure it did, but before I could swat it away, the creature landed on Caleb’s mouth and snatched his tongue. Rather than watch it dine on my poor friend, I ran screaming.

  I could not escape the sound of fluttering wings. The woods were swarmed with the human-shaped gnats, especially around the trees. They engulfed the wet flower petals, carrying droplets like pearls and smothering them against tree bark. During my mad sprint, I nearly crashed into a construction of one of those webs. The winged monstrosities hovered around my flesh, but a shrill screech was enough to send them scrambling. It is a miracle none bit me.

  If only it all ended here! I soon found myself at the base of that craggy hill, now on the side opposite the beach. I could hear the ocean again. The incessant buzzing and rotten stench had been replaced by that familiar tune and the smell of smoke. Around the corner, just outside a gaping hole in the hill, I saw a campfire. The single occupant gnawed on a haunch of meat, holding a wine bottle in his free hand. He took a swig then tore off another bite.

  I moved a bit closer, expecting one of my fellow neighbors. It was quite a distance away, but even in the moonlight, I could see something was off. My suspicions were confirmed: a horn jutted from the side of the shadowy figure’s head, and the haunch was a human arm! It looked my way, and in an instant, I was sprinting in the other direction.

  By some miracle, I stumbled into the village an hour later. As I finish this entry, I can hear the birds sing and see the first signs of dawn. With the sunrise, perhaps I can garner enough relief to safely sleep.

  I told Aiden to notify the others of my sickness. One of the perks of pregnancy is the urgency those around you feel. I will be sure to take full advantage of this for a few days. In truth, I may abandon you for some time, as well. Anything to keep me away from my thoughts.

  A final note: Vern did not come back.

  Entry 31

  I have skimmed through my last entry over and over to see if I made omissions or accidental embellishments. The man’s horns were not a shadow trick, no matter how many times I mulled the notion in my mind. The corpse was Caleb’s. I believe his lack of a return is confirmation enough, though my lantern had lingered over his countenance long enough to convince myself. The winged creatures may or may not be little men. Very close, I am sure, but a precise analysis is still up in the air. My memory may have been slightly warped, and a dissection in broad daylight may prove only a near resemblance. This is what I aim to accomplish during my feigned illness.

  Unfortunately, daytime ventures will prove impossible. My mother has already visited me, and no doubt the others will do the same. Even during my supposed convalescence, they will continue to pester me. The excuse proves to have done more damage than help. My belly is fat with child, due in a few months, making this the riskiest period of my pregnancy. Despite my fatigue, I must go to class tomorrow.

  The creatures will need to wait. Perhaps a few days, some weeks, maybe even a month. If they are real, I will find them and bring their wretchedness to the day. But for what purpose? Revealing these monsters to the townsfolk will reveal my nightly excursions. I am putting Aiden’s child at constant risk, consciously putting its life on the line to sate my curiosity. After all, these people have been spooked enough. Showing them certifiable proof of monsters roaming around their homes will only cause panic. I do not want an exodus.

  So I will ward off temptation and put the whole event in the back of my mind. Not for too long, since a problem is growing inside me. Once it’s seen the light of day, we may as well be shackled.

  It is settled. A week and a day. Until the appointed time, I aspire to be the most amiable young lady in the world, an even more pleasant ray of sunshine than usual. At the most inconspicuous moment, I will run for the woods and snatch one of those winged monstrosities in a jar, and if my courage has not waned, I will confront the horned man.

  Entry 32

  A few days have passed, and the entire Vern incident is beyond us. Thomas has been in good cheer. Judith is a bit downcast, though she seems to be recovering gradually. Give it a week and everybody will chalk it up to the imagination. Most will probably forget about it entirely in a month, courtesy of endless days of hard work and alcohol consumption.

  Hilda’s illness seems to be the current item of gossip. Is it her final hour? Of course! Unfortunate, since her mind has hardened as of late. We had a long talk this afternoon, mostly regarding the children of this island and the importance of education. Nothing of value, to be honest, but it was a relief to hear her speak coherently.

  Aiden does not stop talking about the discoveries at the cave. Apparently, some fool claims to have seen gold dust in the darker recesses of the cave, and instead of journeying deeper to gather some, he ran outside and shouted his discovery. He claims the air sucked the specks inside, that if they went a little further a gold deposit was inevitable. Morale was high and much digging was done. No gold, but plenty of talk. Why discourage it? Even Aiden seems to have been reeled in. I must admit, I find the notion humorous. These rustics have no business striking it rich. What would they do with it all?

  Imagine a cave full of ancient treasures: a royal stash, full of gem-encrusted goblets and coins minted by some forgotten kingdom. Jewelry so ornate it makes the m
odern mind reel in its ostensible resplendency. It makes me wonder. I may have a wild imagination, but the thought is worth exploring.

  What if this island were the tip of a sunken continent? What if the former inhabitants really did flee to subterranean catacombs? The world may not be hollow, but surely pockets of hollowness exist. An inner atmosphere is a silly proposition, and an intelligent life surviving underground is even sillier. The degradation would be so severe, it would be impossible for them to last without eating each other.

  But my first question is an interesting one. The frequent earthquakes and unstable land prove a connection to some deep recess, one that must have been above sea level at some point. Long before human civilization, but maybe a great deal after life itself sprouted. All that remains is an itty bitty tip, possibly the highest point of the largest mountain of that dead region. Will the entire planet’s surface one day be submerged? Mankind will need to build a boat that puts Noah’s Ark to shame.

  Enough rambling for now. To keep up this charade, I plan to visit my parents. If I leave now, I may have enough time to cook them dinner. I will be so bothersome, so persistent, that they will have no choice but to yield to my accommodation or create a scene, thus disrupting my already brittle health. My craftiness is without equal.

  I nearly went to bed before a devilish idea crossed my mind. Why not go back to the wilderness and feign illness again in the morning? The pregnancy has given immunity to all allegations of laziness, at least verbally. I grabbed the lantern and went as soon as Aiden started to snore.