The Woods Are Dark

by Richard Laymon

  Medusa!

  In the palm of each hand, she held a dark nipple of the man who had worn her on his chest.

  Who wore her no more.

  Well, his chest still wore her.

  “But I’m wearing his chest,” Lander said. He put it on. It clung to his back with a clammy touch that made him shiver.

  Suddenly, he heard a voice. A distant voice, but too close. From the direction of his tree. He stood motionless, listening. The whispering rush of the stream was loud. It hid all but the most obvious sounds. Good thing one had talked.

  Blessed is he who speaks, for he shall warn Lander.

  He gazed along the shore, but saw no one.

  He looked downstream. Twenty yards off, he saw a bend. If he could make it that far, he’d be well out of sight.

  But so would the intruder.

  Lander wanted to see him. Or them.

  Fair game.

  So he quietly sidestroked downstream. Halfway to the bend, he swam toward the shore. The bank, here, was high and steep. Roots of a nearby tree hung out the dirt wall and drooped into the water. Lander squeezed among them. He squatted so that only his head remained above the surface of the water.

  At once, he heard splashing. He looked upstream through the cage of roots. There, just where he’d been standing a minute ago, a girl was plunging through the water.

  A chubby thing, by the looks of her. She swam a bit, then waded out, skin shiny, ass jiggling. On the far shore, she turned around. A pudge, all right. With tiny, glossy boobs. And a spare hand hanging over her hairless slit.

  It dropped from sight as she sat down and crossed her legs.

  She called, using unknown words.

  Male voices called back.

  Then Lander saw three boys in the stream, carrying arms and legs. All teenagers. In the deep part, they swam awkwardly under their burdens. As they waded ashore, Lander counted the severed limbs. Four arms, but only three legs.

  Caught themselves a gimp.

  Or snacked on the missing leg.

  There’s food for thought.

  No heads.

  Fancy that.

  How could he tell who belonged to what?

  No torsos, either.

  He stared hard at the legs. They looked like boys’ legs, didn’t they? The one certainly did. It was bigger than the other two, and hairy.

  Belonged to a tall chap like Ben.

  His eyes jerked to the other legs. They were smaller. Slim, almost feminine.

  Ah, but the skin was too dark.

  Definitely, too dark. Not the legs of the fair Cordelia.

  The chubby girl spoke. She raised an arm and pointed toward Lander.

  The boys turned. They all stared directly at him. One pulled a knife from his belt.

  Lander pushed through the hanging roots, eyes on the group, heart racing. He moved toward the middle of the stream.

  A boy called out to him.

  Lander raised both arms above his head, fists clenched, and roared.

  “Get him!” yelled a voice from behind.

  He swung around, glimpsed a pair of savage girls, and dived.

  He swam underwater. His heart thundered. His lungs began to burn. He touched the bottom, and pulled himself forward by gripping the slippery rocks. When he thought his lungs would burst, he arched toward the surface. His head broke free. He spun, and looked back.

  Nobody there.

  He’d passed the bend.

  But they might be coming.

  He charged ashore, and scrambled up the bank on his own side of the stream. Then he ran. He dodged trees. He crashed through bushes. He tumbled into a gully, and crawled along the bottom until he came to a dead tree that had fallen across it. He scooted under the old, barkless trunk.

  He stared at the gray wood, less than two inches above his face.

  Each time he sucked air into his aching lungs, he felt his chest press against the trunk.

  They’ll never find me here, he thought.

  The wily fox has gone to ground.

  As time passed, he heard no pursuers. Nothing to worry about, on that score.

  But Lander felt uneasy. He’d seen something back at the stream—something terribly important. But he didn’t know what.

  An ugly yellow spider scrambled over the trunk, just above his face. He watched it, hoping it wouldn’t drop. When it was out of range, he tried to concentrate.

  What had he seen at the stream?

  Girls and boys and bodies.

  Arms and legs.

  Legs.

  The girls had long, slim legs. Not the chubby girl—hers were short and thick. The other two, who showed up late. The two he only glimpsed.

  One, he suddenly remembered, had called out in English.

  “Get him!”

  Was that what troubled him? Her English?

  No, her legs.

  Or the other’s.

  Legs.

  He tried hard to picture the girls. Both naked and filthy. Bloody. One taller than the other.

  Nice tits.

  Pubic hair like arrowheads pointing the way down to dark mysteries.

  Ah, he would like to give them a roll, to clutch those tits, rut in those hidden holes.

  The head of his erection rose against the wood.

  He forgot the uneasiness he’d been trying to fathom. He had a new uneasiness, now, an ache that shouldn’t be difficult to cure.

  It only required a woman.

  A girl.

  He squirmed free of the trunk, and stood. He breathed deeply. The morning air was perfume. The perfume of a lovely woman.

  He could have taken one last night. He could have taken many. They’d been so available, as he stalked them in the night. If he hadn’t been so timid…

  “Wee timorous beastie,” he muttered.

  He looked down at his erection, and chuckled.

  Not so timorous now.

  Nor so wee.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Why didn’t they go after him?” Cordie asked.

  “ ’Cause they’re dorks,” Lilly said. “They’re too damn lazy. Or just chicken. Those Thaks can be dangerous, but they’re worth it. You get to keep the whole carcass, and don’t have to share. It’s like a reward—a bounty, you know?”

  “What’s a Thak?”

  “Like an outcast. If you’re a fuck-up, you get kicked out of the village. Then you’re fair game. The woods are full of ’em.”

  “How do you know he was one?” Cordie asked. She stopped dragging the body to wipe sweat out of her eyes.

  “You can tell,” Lilly said. “For one, they act crazy.”

  He had acted crazy. Yelling like that. And not recognizing Cordie. Of course, it was no wonder he didn’t know her, the way she looked. And he’d only given her a glance.

  She’d come damn close to calling out. She stopped herself, though. He would’ve tried to rescue her. They’d have killed him, for sure.

  “Also,” Lilly said, “you can tell because they’re strangers. If you see a stranger around here, you can bet it’s a Thak. Gotta watch out for ’em. My best friend got killed by one. The shit he did to her…”

  Cordie wondered what could shock a girl like Lilly. She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know.

  “One came in the village, just last night. Christ, he killed half a dozen of us. They’re bad. Real bad. Most of us, we never go anyplace alone, case we run into one.”

  They resumed dragging the body. It seemed heavier than before. “How much farther’s this village?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  “God, I hope so.” She struggled forward. The woods were hot and still. Not a breeze stirred.

  Sweat rolled down her skin. Kigit’s ankle was slippery in her wet hands, and several times she lost her grip.

  “Can’t we rest?” she asked.

  “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I saw a Thak last night. I’ll tell you about it, if we can rest a second.”


  “Okay. Make it quick, though.”

  Cordie dropped the leg. With sweaty hands, she wiped ropes of wet hair away from her face. She was dripping. She wished she had a towel.

  “You saw a Thak?”

  Cordie nodded. “Yeah. It killed some kid. And…” She couldn’t bring herself to speak Ben’s name. “And my boyfriend.”

  “You mean them?” Lilly nodded toward the boys who were walking a short distance ahead, with their burdens of arms and legs.

  “That’s…?”

  “That’s them. Who do you think?”

  “I guess I knew,” she admitted.

  “Let’s get moving,” Lilly said.

  They lifted the legs, and started forward.

  “That wasn’t any Thak you saw.”

  “Huh?”

  “Their heads got ripped off. That wasn’t a Thak. What’d he look like?”

  “He was huge,” Cordie said. “I don’t know, maybe seven feet. That’s about all I saw. It was dark, and I only got a glimpse. But I heard him. God, he had a voice like…it was horrible.”

  “He yelled ‘Krull,’ right?”

  “Yeah.” Cordie blinked sweat off her eyelashes. “Who was he?”

  “The Devil.”

  In the village, Cordie was led directly to a hut. “Stay here,” Lilly said. “Grar has to see you.”

  Then she was alone. She sat cross-legged in the center of the hut. The floor was specked with sunlight from the leafy roof. She sighed. It felt good to be rid of the body. But later…

  She didn’t want to think about later.

  At least for the moment, she didn’t seem to be in danger.

  They’d accepted her.

  They’d fucked her raw. Kigit had tried to kill her. But she’d done everything right, so far. She was almost one of them.

  With both hands, she wiped the dripping sweat from her face. From her shoulders and breasts.

  She would like to go back to that stream.

  And Dad.

  The pelt over the hut’s entrance flapped open, and a creature swung in on hairy arms. Cordie flinched. She gripped her thighs, digging fingernails into her wet skin, fighting her urges to flee or scream.

  The creature, she realized, was a man. A man of hideous deformity, legless and bloated. His mouth twitched into a mockery of a grin.

  “Grar?”

  The monster swung himself closer.

  Cordie squeezed her thighs harder. Her fingernails pierced her skin.

  Inches from her knees, he stopped. His eyes roamed her body.

  No!

  Not him!

  Watching his gummy eyes, she knew she would die before letting him take her.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts.

  The creature growled.

  “No,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Robbins woke up, and found Neala asleep beside him on the bed of fur. He raised his head. Sherri was at the front wall, keeping watch.

  He gently removed Neala’s hand from his belly, and got up. He went to Sherri. “What’re they doing?” he asked.

  “Just standing there.”

  He peered out. “What the hell are they waiting for?”

  “Maybe they plan to starve us out. Beats getting their heads shot off.”

  “Yeah.” He stepped away from the wall, and lifted his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. Then he picked up his rifle. He went to the door, and opened it. The air from outside gave no relief; it felt even hotter than the air inside.

  “Actually,” said Sherri, “I think we’ll die of thirst long before we starve.”

  “We’re not gonna do either.”

  “What do you plan, a mass suicide?”

  “I plan to get us out of here.”

  “Rotsa ruck.”

  He stepped into the sunlight. Squinting, he looked through the weirdly tilted crosses and mounted heads.

  Must be two dozen Krulls out there. Not doing a damn thing. Just lounging around, like it’s a picnic.

  Picnic.

  Robbins made a grim laugh.

  A few of the Krulls perked up when they noticed him. Some pointed. One young fellow ran forward, stopping at the edge of the pikes, and hurled a spear. Robbins watched it soar, knowing it would fall short. It did. It tore half the face off an impaled head. The head twirled, its black hair swinging behind it.

  Angry voices broke the silence.

  Two Krulls attacked the boy. They threw him down. They stomped and kicked him.

  Because he flung his spear at an impossible target?

  Or because he damaged one of the heads?

  Maybe the area’s sacred, Robbins thought. It would explain why the Krulls hadn’t entered.

  He walked along the front of the cabin to its corner. More Krulls along the side. He counted eight. They could be reinforced, though, by some from the front.

  He moved to the rear. More there. Thirteen or fourteen wandering idly beyond the barrier of heads.

  He gasped at a noise behind him. Swung around. Found his rifle muzzle inches from Neala’s belly.

  For an instant, she looked terrified. Then a smile came to her face. “Don’t shoot,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t think of it. What’re you doing up?”

  She shrugged. “Too hot in there.”

  “It’s hotter out here.”

  “But you’re here. What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a way out.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  She squinted across the field. Wet hair clung to her forehead. Her face was sweaty. The tiny, moist specks below her eyes glinted sunlight. A drop rolled down toward a corner of her mouth. She licked it away, then dried her face with the front of her shirt. She let the shirt hang open.

  “Why don’t they come for us?” she asked.

  “I’m not certain. I think we might be in the middle of a sacred area, or something. They always stop at the edge of the heads.”

  “I would’ve, too, if I’d had a choice.”

  “It’s more than just revulsion. Has to be. These Krulls think nothing of tearing people limb from limb. They must have a damn good reason for staying out.”

  “Like if these are their ancestors?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’d be nice for us.”

  “Except.”

  Neala nodded. She leaned back against the wall, and hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her corduroys. Her throat and chest and belly were glossy with sweat.

  “What’ll we do?” she asked.

  “We can’t stay here forever.”

  “We gonna make a run for it?”

  “I guess we’ll have to. We’ll wait till after dark, and sneak out. This way, I guess. The crosses aren’t quite as close together, back here. If we can manage to crawl through without knocking any down…”

  “Everybody decent?” came Sherri’s voice.

  Neala quickly pulled her shirt together and tucked in its front. “Yeah,” she called.

  Sherri stepped around the corner. “What’s cooking?” she asked.

  “We are,” said Neala.

  “Maybe that’s what they’re waiting for.”

  “We’re planning to get out of here to night.”

  “How do we manage that?”

  Robbins explained it. As he talked, he saw Sherri look toward the heads. She gazed at them. She seemed lost in her own grim thoughts. “I know it won’t be easy,” he said. “I don’t want to go out there, either. We can’t just stay here, though.”

  “I think I will,” Sherri said. She tried to laugh. It sounded more like a sob.

  “It won’t be so bad,” Neala said.

  “What it’ll be,” said Sherri, “it’ll be fuckin’ ghastly. Better than sticking around here, though.”

  “We’ll leave as soon as it’s dark,” Robbins said.

  Sherri nodded. “Which gives us all day to look forward to it.”

  CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

  A man entered the hut. An old, lean man. He spoke, and the creature scuttled away from Cordie.

  “I am Grar,” he said. “Our companion is Heth. Your name is?”

  “Cordie.”

  The man came forward on hands and knees; the hut was too low for standing. He wore a skirt of hair that hung to the ground as he crawled. It was many colors: brown, red, blond, and raven black.

  He sat in front of Cordie, and crossed his legs.

  “You are one who escaped the trees, last night.”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand that you wish to become one of us.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Was the question a trick? She saw no malice in Grar’s eyes. “So I won’t be killed,” she said.

  “Joining us is no guarantee of that. We have many enemies.”

  She nodded.

  “Are you appalled by our ways?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We live apart from the civilization you know. We despise it. Our fathers and forefathers despised it.”

  “Why?” she asked, and hoped the question wouldn’t anger him.

  “Laws. Rules. They’re hateful to us, just as they were hateful to our founder. He fled to this region of woods to escape the laws of civilization. That was long ago—a hundred years before your country’s birth. Savages inhabited these woods, but he was more savage than they. He slaughtered them, and ate their flesh as a token of his power.

  “Only the women did he spare. He took them to his bed, and they gave forth progeny.”

  “Progeny?”

  “Children, offspring, sucklings. They grew, and were as fierce as their father. They killed their enemies, and ate them after his manner.

  “Now the father had a woman he favored above all others.”

  Nobody talks this way, Cordie thought. He must’ve got his English from a Bible.

  “She was lean and fair, a woman of rare beauty. She bore him many sons. When the sons became ripe, the one named Raf went to her in the night. He took no care to conceal his act. It is our custom, you see, to bed whom we will, without shame or secrecy. But when the father learned what Raf had done, his cry filled the night. He raged through the village. All those who saw his anger fled before him, and hid in the forest. His wrath was terrible. He tore the heads from every son, and every daughter, and every living thing. And he took the heads away. He built himself a home far from the village he hated. And he surrounded his home with the heads of those he had killed.