by David Greer
Chapter 7
When there's a new monster around one of the last things anybody should do is go camping in the woods but that's exactly what Grimey and Smythe did. They had found a spot near Woodlawn Village away from any roads and trails. The forest was dense so there was little chance they'd be spotted by any villagers.
Woodlawn Village was nestled in the foothills of a wooded valley south of Quarry. There were no roads or trading routes that passed through there. The only way to find it was to follow a maze of hiking and game trails that spider-webbed throughout the hills. Only those who knew of the village knew which trails to follow. As a result, very few traders made the trek to the small village. The people of Woodlawn were mostly farmers and woodsmen. They were completely self-sustained and independent from outsiders. And they preferred things that way.
Grimey and Smythe made their way to the small village and crept along the surrounding treeline careful to stay deep enough in the woods so as not to be spotted. They knew they weren't going to be welcomed and figured it was best to keep their presence unannounced for the time being. They kept low and observed. They expected to see villagers tending to crops, woodsmen sanding and shaping wood for chairs, tables, handles for tools, and the like, and to see stablemen tending to their horses and ponies. Hard working men and women surviving together on their own with what the woods provided. Laboring day in and day out to see themselves through with no trade from the outside world. A secluded place. Peaceful and quiet except for the sounds of their labor. What the hunters found instead was entirely different.
Rather than diligent, focused villagers, Grimey and Smythe found a village full of tensed and hushed people. Mouths were tight and brows were heavy and their focus was on their surroundings. People often glanced nervously over their shoulders keeping a constant eye on the woods as though it had become a suspicious stranger. Even the most common of sounds, like a bird call, would alarm anybody within earshot and send them scurrying away from the treeline. Something was definitely out of the ordinary.
“Are you and your shiny new toys ready to settle in for a bit?” Smythe asked with a glance at the new hatchets sheathed on Grimey's belt. The bearded hunter scoffed.
Grimey had spent the past few days holed up in his workshop forging hatchets. It was hard, sweat drenching work which left his face singed with a reddish hue from the heat of the forge. But there was nothing quite as satisfying for the hunter as holstering up a weapon he had made, perfectly balanced and sharpened for his own hands.
“These toys will cut through your thick skull.” Grimey said. Smythe smiled.
“I'll go see what's happening on the other side. Sit tight.”
Smythe kept low behind the trees so as not to be spotted and quietly moved around the edge of the treeline. It wasn't long until he vanished in the woods. Grimey stayed put. But not for long. The bearded hunter decided to stalk closer to eavesdrop. He moved to the very edge of the treeline and remained hidden behind the trunk of a large oak. Slowly, the hunter peeked his head out and saw a group of villagers nearby gathered next to a small stable. The stable wasn't much more than a wood shack with three walls with an open front. There were two horses tied to a post inside the small shelter. The villagers were standing at the side of the stable. The hunter strained to overhear their conversation but couldn't make anything out although their tone hinted at a tense topic.
Gimey had to get closer. Keeping low he checked the area. Nobody else was near the stable except for a blacksmith hammering down on an anvil. But Grimey knew from experience the blacksmith would be too focused on his work to notice anything in the periphery. The bearded hunter emerged from the woods and, keeping his footsteps light, quickly made his way to the side of the stable opposite the villagers and out of the blacksmith's view. Two men and a woman were talking.
“But who or what would do such a thing?” The woman asked. She had a high bubbly voice.
“Indeed.” A rough voice said. “Whatever has made its way into our woods is crafty, cunning enough to avoid a trap, and smart enough to take advantage of it.”
“I heard it's a vicious thing.” The woman again. “Blood-thirsty, even. Morgan told me.”
“Poor guy.” A softer voice said. “He hasn't caught a thing in weeks. Traps keep getting picked clean by whatever's out there.”
“Have any of you news about Serena?” The woman said with a hushed tone.
“Heard she had fallen ill.” The rough voice said.
“More like she had fallen into the care of Conroy.” The woman said. “She fancied him ever since he arrived. Too bad the young man had to leave.”
“Yeah.” both men said at once with a chuckle.
“Don't reckon we'll see that trader this way again.” Said the man with the soft voice.
“All the better.” It was the rough voice again. “His goods were useless. What are we to do with paint colors that wash away with water? Worthless trader.”
Grimey kept silent and continued to listen. Apparently this Conroy lad was one of the few traders that came to Woodlawn and Serena found him handsome much to the dismay of her husband, Morgan the unfortunate trapper. The three villagers gossiped about Serena's want to trade goods with Conroy, which then turned into a crude joke. Conroy left the village several days earlier and then Serena fell suddenly ill and had been bedridden ever since. Suffering from heartache is what the bubbly-voiced woman believed.
At that moment Grimey became aware of something, or a lack of something rather. The blacksmith was no longer hammering. Instinctively, Grimey hugged the stable wall and moved inside. The horses didn't seem to mind his presence. The one nearest him turned its head and nodded as if to say hello and then turned away. But Grimey noticed another thing missing when the horses shifted their feet. None of the horses were wearing shoes. That's what the blacksmith must have been hammering and the sound of approaching footsteps meant he must have been heading toward the stable to deliver the horseshoes. Grimey crouched against the corner of the stable and kept still.
“Hey!” a voice called out. It was the blacksmith.
“All done then?” The rough man's voice said.
“Yeah. Here ya go.”
The two men approached the front of the stable. Grimey watched the blacksmith deliver a handful of horseshoes to the man with the rough voice, whom Grimey saw for the first time now. He was tall and thin with an unkempt beard. It was a full beard but couldn't compare to Grimey's by any means. He wore denim overalls stained with dirt and sweat. A hardworking man for sure, Grimey thought. The blacksmith was shorter with thick arms, a stocky figure, full black beard, and a barreled chest. His beard was a little thicker than the other mans but still couldn't hold weight to Grimey's. The blacksmith wore a thick leather apron charred from his work. The blacksmith dropped the horseshoes into a burlap sack the taller man had held open. The two nodded at each other and turned away. Neither of them had noticed Grimey in the shadows. The hunter let out a long breath while he listened to the footsteps of the three villagers shuffle away. A moment later he heard the blacksmith's hammer start up again. Grimey took the opportunity to silently move out of the stable and hurry back into the woods.
On the way to the campsite he and Smythe set up, Grimey reflected upon what he heard. He concluded two things: Morgan was a poor trapper, and a woman had gone missing.
Smythe returned to camp soon after Grimey. The bearded hunter shared what he had heard and Smythe agreed that a woman was likely missing – and that Morgan wasn't a very good trapper. Especially since Smythe had caught a brace of rabbits earlier with no hassle at all. The two hunters started a fire to cook a meal while there was still daylight. They didn't want to risk being spotted at night on account of a cook-fire. As Smythe set about filling a pot with water and preparing a broth for a stew,Grimey spoke on something that bothered him.
“Odd nobody seems to have spotted the thing.” The bearded hunter said, referring to the supposed new monster.
“Agreed.�
�� Smythe said. “No hint at what it can do or what it sounds like. Not much to work with. The village elder must be keeping news of the woman's disappearance quiet too. Probably doesn't want to alarm everybody.”
“Better a sick woman than an abducted one eh?” Grimey said with a snort. “Just means we'll have to be extra careful lad. Keep a keen ear for anything out of place. If the woodsmen are spooked of the woods there could be someone or something out here.”
While the hunters talked Smythe went to work on the rabbits, using his knife to gut, skin, and slice meat into chunks for the stew pot. He hadn't learned much else about Woodlawn but observed the same tense demeanor in the villagers. At one point a group of children were scolded for playing too close to the treeline. Something rare for Woodlawn considering the entire village thrived on the surrounding woods. The children reluctantly moped back to their parents, who wore faces of grim concern.
Grimey, meanwhile, reached for his travel pack and pulled out a small pouch of herbs and spices – compliments of McGrady - which he added to the pot for flavor. It wasn't much longer until the two hunters enjoyed their meal. They decided to continue eavesdropping on Woodlawn to see if they could learn anything more. Perhaps they'd follow a few trappers too and watch their backs. Monsters tended to be found where people go.
Once the sun went down the two hunters slept in shifts. Grimey took the first watch while Smythe rested on the ground. They didn't want to take any chances of being spotted by a nighttime wandering villager or this new rumored monster. The bearded hunter took note of his surroundings. He listened to the breeze rustle through the trees. A constant buzz from insects vibrated in the air. There was an occasional hoot from an owl and the scurrying of rodents and other small animals. All were noises expected to come from the woods. Grimey also took note of the earthy scent upon the air. Nothing out of place. And he waited.
Then something out of place rang clear in Grimey's ears. It was the snap of a twig followed by the shuffling of something larger than a rodent. Listening to the pattern of the shuffling Grimey figured they were footsteps from something on two feet. Somebody was sneaking through the forest rather loudly.
Grimey quietly roused Smythe and signaled the direction the footsteps came from. Smythe nodded his understanding. With weapons in hand, the two hunters stealthily stalked through the woods tracking the noise. Then the sound stopped and was replaced by something new. It was low rhythmic thudding. Something was striking the ground. The two hunters continued on and came to the edge of a clearing. At the center of the clearing was a man with a small shovel digging up the earth. It was very strange to see a man in the woods on his own at night. He wore an animal hat with a striped tail that dangled over the back of his neck. The man only had a small paring knife tucked into his belt. Not an adequate weapon to defend oneself, Grimey thought. This man was definitely not a hunter. A trapper more likely.
The digger worked his shovel until he had a hole a few feet into the earth and stopped. The man gazed into the hole, his head hung low with a scowl on his face. After a moment he pulled out what appeared to be clothing and a blanket from his rucksack and tossed them into the hole. At that moment a strange noise reverberated from deep in the woods halting the man's labors. Grimey thought it sounded like something trying to growl while gargling. Likely a rodent being killed by larger prey. The digger drew his paring knife and frantically looked around trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. The sound rang out again more clearly. It was getting closer. Odd, Grimey thought. Dying rodents usually don't move far.
The digger got spooked and dropped his knife into the hole. He didn't seem to notice as he quickly refilled the hole and hurried back toward Woodlawn. Grimey and Smythe followed the man until he was safely back in the village. The two hunters then returned to the clearing where they heard the strange sound. They stalked the surrounding area but it had gone silent. The strange gurgling noise was gone.
Back at their camp it was Smythe's turn to keep watch. Grimey laid back recounting the events of the night. Everything about it bothered the bearded hunter. It was all out of the ordinary. A woman was missing. Some fool sneaked into the woods alone at night just to dig a hole and bury some old clothes. What was that about? Was that strange sound the new monster or a small animal caught by a predator? But one question burned hotter in Grimey's mind than the others: What else was in that hole?
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