The Flesh Eaters

by L. A. Morse

  “For a small fee, I will grant you an indulgence. It is a very small fee when you consider the centuries in purgatory that you will be spared. My good friends, I can save you hundreds—nay, thousands!—of years that stand between you and Paradise.” He makes an extravagant motion with his arm, as though he were pushing open the Heavenly Gates. “And for a small additional token, you may touch the relic of your choice and absorb the holy power it contains.”

  Tom and his wife move away. “Should we not listen further?” she asks. “He was talking about reaching heaven sooner.”

  “If we take care of ourselves in this life, and do our best, we can trust God to look after us in the next—without assistance from the likes of him.”

  They walk briskly through the fairgrounds, but stop when they hear the discordant clamor of bells chiming, gongs ringing, drums beating. The sounds come from a large wagon that has been set up as a stage for a troupe of actors, who are playing the various instruments to attract attention. One actor is beckoning people to come closer.

  The woman asks her husband if they can stay to watch, and though he is anxious to be off, he lets her have her way. They join the crowd before the stage.

  The actor who has been beckoning is still prancing about. Like the others of the troupe, he wears an outlandish costume, the most striking feature of which is an enormous stuffed codpiece that hangs nearly to his knees. This he twirls occasionally, in a lewd but comic fashion.

  Now the actor begins the actual performance. His address is accompanied by much eye-rolling and grimacing, but the audience hangs on every word.

  “Gather round, good people, and you shall see

  The most frightening story in history.

  It will open your eyes and rattle your teeth,

  And you will say it is beyond belief.

  But pay attention to what I am telling you—

  Every word of this story is totally true.

  So move up close and you shall be told

  About the terrible monster of the Coast Road”

  The last line is accompanied by such a fearsome grimace that the audience gasps. Now the actor disappears behind the painted curtain, and another actor steps out. He indicates that he is walking along a road in a happy, carefree manner. He rubs his stomach to show that he is hungry. From the pack on his shoulder, he takes a large carrot and begins to eat it. As he chews contentedly, the monster, a man wearing a grotesque mask, appears from behind the backdrop. The audience squeals with delight. Despite the shrieks from the crowd, the actor continues to eat his carrot, unaware of the danger.

  The monster sneaks up behind him and, with great interest, watches him eat. The man tosses the last of the carrot over his shoulder. The monster catches it, tastes it, and spits it out in disgust. He crouches, then springs. But as he springs, the man walks away, and the monster catches only air in his arms. Unaware of his close call, the man leaves the stage. The audience is frantic with delight.

  The frustrated monster paces back and forth. Hearing a noise, he hides behind the backdrop and peeks out. Another man comes along, and the monster jumps out and catches him. They have a long and exciting fight. Eventually the monster triumphs, and, in a clever trick of staging, seems to tear off the mans arms—actually false arms filled with straw and rags. The audience shrieks when the arms are thrown out to them. The monster roars his defiance, then exits, dragging his victim behind him.

  After a brief pause, the “Sheriff” and another man appear on the stage. The Sheriff looks very nervous and unhappy. He flourishes a large, inflated pig’s bladder. The other man speaks.

  “Sheriff, we must find the reason

  Why people disappear in every season.

  Why they are never heard from any more,

  And their arms and legs wash up on shore.”

  The Sheriff responds.

  “You know that I am without fear,

  But it is dark and scary here.

  (he turns his head quickly from side to side)

  There! We have had our look around.

  Now let us hurry back to town.”

  The other man objects.

  “Sheriff, we cannot go just now.

  We have to find out why and how

  Good people vanish without a trace.

  We must look the monster straight in the face.

  But stay. What is that I hear?

  I think something approaches near.”

  The Sheriff is in a panic.

  “Quickly, man, then let us fly!

  I know I am too young to die.

  (he falls to his knees in prayer)

  Oh God, I know I am only a sinner,

  But do not let me be some creature’s dinner.”

  A young boy, eating an apple, appears and walks slowly toward the two men. The Sheriff is greatly relieved.

  “Only a boy! Now that’s the stuff.

  I’ll show him that I can be tough.

  (he turns to his friend, swaggering)

  Ha! I had you fooled with my little act.

  I was not frightened and that’s a fact.

  Now stand aside. I’ll run this show.

  I’ll get from this boy what there is to know.

  (turning to the boy)

  You there! Stop where you stand.

  Where did you get that apple in your hand?”

  The boy grins and responds.

  “The answer to that is not hard.

  It came from the tree in Master Bottom’s yard.”

  The Sheriff roars his disbelief.

  “Ha! You killed Master Bottom, you struck him dead,

  Then you cut off his arms, his legs and his head.

  You threw his body into the sea,

  Now you eat his apple as nice as can be.

  Confess now! I have caught you cold.

  You are the terrible monster of the Coast Road.”

  The Sheriff begins to hit the boy on the head with the inflated pig’s bladder. He does

  not notice that the monster has come up behind him. The monster hesitates, then taps him on the shoulder. The Sheriff continues to beat the boy. The monster taps again, and the Sheriff brushes him off without looking around. When he raises the bladder again, the monster snatches it from his grasp. Furious, the Sheriff wheels around. He finds himself face to face with the monster. His mouth falls open. The boy sneaks off the stage.

  The Sheriff starts to run, and the monster chases him in circles, swatting at him with the bladder. At last they run off the stage.

  After a moment, the actors return to the stage. The audience applauds. The monster comes forward and bows. He removes his mask, revealing an even more horrible mask, and roars one last time, scaring even the actors. Now all exit.

  The narrator sneaks back on stage, looking nervously about him, and addresses the audience.

  “The show is over—we must soon go away.

  But first, good people, you have your part to play.

  If we pleased you, you must let us know,

  Let the sound of your coins say you liked the show.

  When the hat goes around do not be tight,

  Or the monster might follow you home tonight.”

  The audience, especially the children, cheers the high-spirited performance. A collection is taken up.

  Tom has thoroughly enjoyed himself. “That was very good.” He beams at his wife. “Very good! I am glad you made us stay.”

  The woman seems distracted. “What?... Oh, aye. It was very good.”

  “What’s wrong? Did you not enjoy the show?”

  “I liked the show, but”—she starts to say something, then reconsiders—”oh, dear, you will think me foolish. What road will we take home?”

  “Why, the one we came by, of course.”

  “The Coast Road?”

  “So that’s what’s bothering you!” Tom laughs, but kindly. “I do think you foolish. That was just a show, all in fun.”

  “I guess you’re right, but couldn’t we take ano
ther way home?”

  “Any other road would take at least an extra day.”

  She sighs. “I know. I am just being foolish.”

  “That’s my girl. You know I would not let anything happen to you. You are much too precious to me.” Embracing her, he puts on a lustful leer. “And the sooner we get home, the sooner we can get into our bed. Then I will show you who the monster is.”

  They leave the fairgrounds.

  A few minutes later, four men enter the area where the horses are tied. They are in high spirits, having had a good deal to drink, and all reel slightly.

  As the men near their horses, Jonathan Aird turns to his friends. “I’d like to meet that old monster, I would. I’d show him a thing or two.” He swaggers as he says this and almost loses his footing.

  “Sure you would,” Angus Whyte says.

  “What would you do?” William Clarke smirks.

  “I’d... I’d... I’d...” Aird’s brain and tongue are not quite in harmony. “I’d walk up to the old monster and pull down my breeches and—”

  “That would show him a thing or two,” Clarke interjects to much laughter.

  “Though not much,” Whyte adds.

  “—and piss all over the son of a bitch!” Aird concludes.

  The fourth member of the group, Douglas, considers this seriously. “Is that an effective way to deal with monsters? It doesn’t seem like it to me.”

  “It would show him not to trifle with me,” Aird responds.

  “If you ran into the monster,” Clarke says, “you’d more likely shit in your pants before you could drop them.”

  “You can laugh if you want,” Aird says, “but I’d know how to handle myself if I saw such a creature. Why, have I told you about how I met a bear in the forest?”

  His friends groan and say in unison, “Many, many times.”

  “And every time the creature gets larger and more ferocious,” Whyte says.

  “It was probably a bear cub,” Douglas says.

  “Or a bare-faced poacher,” Clarke says.

  “Or maybe a bare-assed strumpet,” Whyte says, hooting.

  “All right! All right!” Aird sighs. “I am too drunk to continue this. We should be off. With such bold and fearless companions as you, I am reluctant to be on the road after dark.”

  “You lead and we will follow,” Whyte says, and the men prepare to mount their horses.

  Aird rolls his eyes to heaven. “I’m to lead, is that it? I might have known. You will all be pushing and shoving to make certain I stay in front, my brave warriors.”

  “If we meet a monster, I have no doubt that you will be in front”—Douglas pauses before concluding—”of the retreat.”

  Aird joins in the general laughter. “You may be right. But let us go. The others are getting well ahead of us.”

  The four friends mount their horses and hurry to catch up with the other men, the remainder of their party, who are already far down the road.

  Tom leads the horse along the Coast Road. His wife sits in the wagon, looking uneasily from side to side. The light is failing, and the woods and hills seem dark and forbidding. There is no sound except for the crunching of the wagon wheels. The woman calls to her husband, who stops the horse and goes to her. “What is it, my girl?’

  “I don’t like it here.”

  “There’s nothing wrong. You can see that.”

  Shivering, she pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s so quiet.”

  He listens, but hears no sound from the black woods. “It is quiet, but that means nothing.” He speaks briskly, but he too is somewhat uneasy now.

  “I wish we had taken the other road. This place feels evil to me.”

  “Don’t talk like that!” Immediately, Tom regrets having raised his voice. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit nervous as well. Cheer up. Tomorrow when we are safe in our house, this will be forgotten.”

  They continue down the road. Suddenly a strange whistle sounds from somewhere in the hills.

  “What was that?” the woman asks.

  “Just a night bird,” Tom says. “Nothing to worry about. Just a bird’s cry.”

  “It sounded strange to me.”

  “I said it was just a bird,” he snaps. “Stay calm.”

  Sawney Beane and the entire family are hidden in the woods next to the road.

  First Hunter and several of his siblings are now in their twenties, but for the family exact age has no importance. The only significant event is when a child becomes a hunter. Several of Sawney Beane’s grandchildren (though he could be their father as well) are full-fledged hunters; the others attend the hunt to watch and learn.

  The family’s lifestyle has remained simple and well ordered. They hunt, they eat, they sleep, they copulate—and they wait. External events do not intrude upon their rhythms and routines. The family is a single self-contained organism made up of a variety of parts, like a beehive. Though there are occasional minor dissensions and upheavals, the remarkable harmony that existed during the early years has been maintained.

  After several tentative thrusts by First Hunter, Sawney Beane’s position as master has gone unchallenged. He rules with enough latitude to avoid unnecessary clashes, but no one questions that he can withdraw any privilege he may have granted.

  Fourteen of Meg’s children have survived; a number of others have died at birth or in infancy. Meg now no longer becomes pregnant, but the family continues to grow, faster than ever, since the girls of childbearing age each produces a child almost every year. The family now numbers close to forty.

  In recent years, food shortages have become more frequent, due to the diminished number of travelers on the road. Second Hunter and several others once considered going elsewhere, but Sawney Beane quickly put an end to that idea. The children are not possessed by the driving urge that sent their father into an unknown wilderness. They are the hunters, but he is the gray wolf of the forest.

  The family is enduring one of the lean periods now. Sawney Beane and the older hunters are accustomed to these times, but the younger children find them difficult; they long for the hunt, for the taste of something fresh. In recent weeks they have had nothing but old dried meat, potatoes and turnips. Now, waiting near the road, they scratch and fidget, eager for something to happen.

  When the whistle signal sounds, all the hunters spring to attention. At last!

  “Two come. Mates. We will be ready. Get to your places.” Sawney Beane smiles. “We will have something fresh today.”

  The family scurries among the bushes. Each knows where to go, what to do. Sawney Beane sees a child in a poorly concealed position and motions for it to move. The child obeys instantly. The family crouches, eager.

  The large party of men returning from the fair moves slowly along the road. The influence of their drink has worn off, and they are silent, oppressed by the dark stillness of the woods.

  Aird and his companions are now near the front of the main party. Aird asks if there is any wine left, and is told there is not. “That’s too bad,” he says. “I could use something that would raise my spirits.”

  “What’s the matter?” Douglas teases. “Do not tell me you no longer feel like taking on the monster?”

  Douglas pantomimes a fierce sword fight with some gigantic creature, but he has misjudged the mood of his companions, who only stare at him as he persists in his foolery.

  At last Whyte says coldly, “I think this is a good time to remain silent.”

  “Oh, you do? Well, I think—” Douglas becomes aware suddenly of the expressions of the others. He shrugs. “This is an unpleasant place. Let’s get on.”

  The stillness is broken by a terrified scream. Almost as one, the men jump. “My God, it’s the monster!” someone whispers, and there is a torrent of confused chatter about what it was, where it was, what they should do. Then another scream is heard.

  Aird calls out, “Come on! We must help,” and runs down the road towa
rd the source of the scream. One by one, the others follow. No one wishes to be left behind alone.

  The woman screams again and again.

  Sawney Beane and his family have appeared without warning from the trees on either side of the road and surrounded the wagon. With their ghostly skin, dark shining eyes and filthy appearance, they are more frightening than any monster the helpless couple could ever imagine. The family stands quietly, staring, savoring the moment.

  “What do you want?” Tom’s throat is dry with fear.

  The only response is small, cold smiles. He repeats the question, but still the family does not speak or move. He asks a third time, desperate now.

  In a whisper, Sawney Beane replies, “You.”

  Tom does not understand this. He fumbles at his belt and unfastens his coin purse, filled with the money for which he has worked hard for almost a year—but a year is a small price to pay for release from these creatures. He holds out the purse, but no one moves to take it, and he throws it at the feet of Second Hunter.

  “There,” Tom begs. “There! You have all my money. We have nothing more. Please let us go... we’ll not tell anyone. Just let us go... please do not harm us. There is no need... what do you want? Say something!”

  Second Hunter bends slowly and picks up the purse, looking at it with distaste. He opens it and lets the coins fall to the ground, then kicks dirt over them.

  “That is shit. We do not want shit.” His tongue darts from between his lips.

  “What do you want?” Tom cries. “Please... let us go.” He looks aghast at the circle of grinning faces. The worst are the small children, who slowly begin to chant.

  “Stick... stock... stuck.

  You’ve run out of luck.

  Kill... kill... kill.

  We will eat our fill.”

  The other members of the family join in and move slowly closer to the wagon. Mesmerized by the unblinking stares and the monotonous chant, Tom and his wife are unable to move.