Everflame

by Peters, Dylan

  “I know…I guess I… I don’t know what else to say,” Murray chuckled bashfully.

  Then Rachael’s better judgment faltered. Her words were almost a reaction.

  “You could stay here tonight, I mean, in the guest room. The wind has picked up and it looks like it’s going to rain. You could go back early in the morning. No sense in getting wet from the rain. I mean–”

  “No…I really shouldn’t…the rain should hold off.”

  Just as Murray’s words escaped his mouth, rain began to pour from the sky. Rachael and Murray looked at each other and laughed.

  “Come on, I’ll show you to the guest room.” Rachael grabbed Murray’s hand and made to lead him away but Murray wouldn’t budge. Rachael turned back to Murray. “What’s wrong?”

  “Rachael, I can’t stay the night here.”

  “It’s pouring down out there. Don’t be silly.”

  “Rachael, there’s something I’m ashamed to admit to you but I think that it’s about time that I come out with it. You’re a married woman and…I would like to think of myself as a respectable man. You see… I have…feelings for you, Rachael, and I know it’s not right. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sorry.”

  Rachael’s body moved without a thought as she threw her arms around Murray. They looked into each other’s eyes and without another word kissed.

  Murray never did go home that night.

  • • •

  Thunder rolled across the land and shook everything underneath the sky. The rain continued throughout the night in torrential sheets, thrown across the land by violent gusts of wind. The weather pounded Shein farm, drowning out all other sound and leaving the air inside the house slightly damp. The storm was all that existed to Rachael and Murray, apart from each other as they lay in bed. Wrapping the two lovers in their own cocoon of noise, separating their consciousness from the outside world. Nothing existed but their new love for each other.

  They were oblivious to the skittering of a small mouse across the floor as it darted from a leaky wall, into the dry safety of another. They couldn’t hear the snores that came from both Edgar and Blue as they slept through the storm in the room upstairs. They couldn’t even hear the rocking chair as the wind knocked it back and forth, rapping against the wooden porch. They heard none of it.

  So as the gate to Shein farm swung open and closed, they never heard its creaky warning. They were oblivious to the impending doom of each footstep of large boots as they walked up the porch. Deaf, even, to the front door as it opened and then closed like the sealing of a casket. However, in the dark of the bedroom, where Rachael and Murray held each other in the throes of passion, a sound, cunning and sharp, suddenly cut its way into the minds of the two lovers. Gasping with shock and spinning to greet their shining intruder, Rachael and Murray found themselves at the mercy of a man scorned. Joe had returned, with a rapier at Murray’s throat and wild vengeance in his eyes.

  “Seems I’ve been gone far too long.”

  Murray was speechless, he couldn’t move. He knew that his death was standing in front of him. Rachael jumped out of the bed, scrabbling for her clothes and pleading with Joe.

  “No, Joe! Please!”

  Sweat poured from both Murray and Joe’s brows. One man hot with panic, the other with rage. Rachael continued to plead. Joe didn’t say a word. He was motionless, poised to strike at any moment. Only his face revealing the gravity of what he was about to do, contorting as he battled with himself. Murray finally gathered the air to speak, rasping, begging for his life.

  “Don’t kill me, Joe. Please. Don’t kill me. I’m sorry. Joe. Please. Forgive me.”

  Hearing Murray’s voice had ended the battle in Joe’s head. His face became resolute and he straightened his shoulders.

  “You’re forgiven,” Joe said and plunged the tip of his rapier deep into Murray’s throat.

  “Nooooo!!!” came a yell at the bedroom door. Rachael and Joe spun to find Edgar standing, eyes wide at the horrific scene. Tears began to stream down his red face and he gasped for air.

  “Edgar?” Joe’s hardened face grew soft as he realized what the boy had seen. “Come here, Edgar. I’m sorry you saw that. Edgar? Please.” Joe began to slowly walk toward the boy but the damage had already been done. Joe had become a monster to the boy and Edgar ran, screaming, from the house, Blue right on his heels. “Edgar!” Joe shouted after him. “Come back, boy! I’m sorry! I had to!”

  The rain pelted Edgar’s face, mixing with his own tears, but he didn’t stop running. Nothing could stop him from running. Joe had killed Murray. Edgar had loved Murray, more than he had ever loved Joe. Joe didn’t care about him, didn’t care about his mother. He only cared about the Holy and his stupid missions. Edgar could barely see where he was going and tripped on a tree root. Blue was right on top of him, making sure that he hadn’t been hurt. Edgar reached up for the dog, still crying as the rain came down.

  “You’re all I got now, Blue.”

  The dog licked Edgar’s face and the boy held him, sobbing in the rain.

  Edgar sat there for sometime before he regained himself. Soon after, the rain stopped and a cool wind followed it, chilling Edgar to the bone. He shivered.

  “We need shelter,” said Edgar. Blue wagged his tail in agreement.

  The boy stood up and began making his way through the forest again, this time heading toward the village. It wasn’t long before Edgar and Blue had reached the outskirts of Hammlin. They stayed quiet as they slipped into the village, careful not to make any sound, trying to stick to the shadows. They reached Murray’s shop and stealthily made their way inside. Once inside, Edgar lit the hearth and he and Blue settled down with each other, beside the fire, and promptly fell asleep.

  • • •

  “What have you done!” cried Rachael.

  Joe turned on her with venom. “What have I done?! What have I done?! How dare you say that to me, you whore?!”

  Rachael fell to her knees as the tears fell from her cheeks. “I’m s-sorry,” she wailed and covered her face with her hands. “Where is my son? We have to find Edgar.”

  It’s moments like these that define the true nature of a person. The world seemingly spinning out of control, your mind darting from one issue to another. Instinctual priority takes over. Situations such as these will reveal a man’s soul.

  Joe stared at his wife as the night flew through his mind. She’s raving, he thought. She’s betrayed me. His adopted son had run away into the night, after he had killed a man that he had found sleeping with his wife. Rachael was reaching for him now. Pleading with him. Crying. She needed to find the boy. The boy isn’t our blood. The woman has betrayed me. The body is bleeding. The body. The man that Joe had killed was bleeding in his bed. He had to get rid of the body. Joe pushed his wife away from him.

  “We can find the boy later. We need to get rid of the body.”

  Joe’s eyes blazed maniacally. Rachael backed further away, disgusted. She no longer loved this man and she wasn’t sure how long it had been since she had. She spit at Joe’s feet and ran for the door. Joe didn’t pursue her. He had business to take care of.

  Darkness and Rage

  Edgar woke with a start, as if out of a bad dream. He looked around, expecting to see the comfort of his bedroom, only to find himself dirty and cold on the floor of Murray’s shop. The events of the previous night came rushing back into his mind, a cruel reminder that the nightmare was real. The sun still hadn’t crept up over the horizon yet. Edgar rubbed his eyes and looked down at Blue, who was still asleep. The hearth was still lit and Edgar edged closer to it, rubbing his arms to get his blood flowing. The sky was becoming lighter and Edgar’s senses were beginning to sharpen as he stretched his body. Suddenly, Edgar realized that Tiffa, Blue’s mother, should be somewhere. Murray had sold the other puppies as they were too much for him to take care of, but he had kept Tiffa. Edgar walked around the shop and back into Murray’s living space but the wolfhou
nd was nowhere to be found.

  As Edgar began to wonder if he should look outside for Tiffa, he heard the front door to the shop slam shut. He spun around only to find an evil yellow grin staring him in the face.

  “Well, well, look who’s back without his blacksmith for protection.” Pritchard Barton stood in the dim light with his arms folded, snickering. “And if you’re looking for that old wolfhound, well…she ain’t around to help you neither.”

  “What did you do with Tiffa?” growled Edgar.

  “Sold her to a traveling merchant. Didn’t think that idiot blacksmith would mind. Seemed like he had his concerns elsewhere.” Pritchard looked down at Blue, who had just woken up. “Maybe I’ll sell your dog too.”

  Blood boiled in Edgar’s head and he clenched his jaw.

  “You’re not gonna touch my dog…or I’ll…I’ll–”

  “You’ll what, Shein? Just what do you think a puny little scab like you is gonna do, huh?”

  Edgar’s hand went down to his belt and found the dagger he had strapped there, Murray’s dagger. He pulled it from his belt and pointed it directly at Barton’s head.

  “Don’t touch my dog.”

  Barton laughed, unfazed by Edgar’s attempt at bravery. He looked down at the dagger Edgar held in his hand and then looked around the room. Pritchard’s eyes went to the hearth and he saw a log, only half taken by the fire. He slowly edged his way around Edgar, closer and closer to the fire. Edgar watched him with tunnel like vision, waiting for Pritchard to strike. As Pritchard reached the fire, he slowly bent down and retrieved the log, brandishing it like a torch. Edgar hadn’t expected that and stepped a few paces back from Barton. The bully, realizing that he once again had the upper hand, began to taunt Edgar.

  “C’mon Shein, let’s fight for the dog. That dog probably doesn’t want a worm like you for a master anyway. You weakling. I bet he doesn’t even like you. Why don’t you just go run back to your mommy before the sun is up? Go run to her bed and cry that you had a bad dream.”

  Edgar’s mind flashed back to the rapier as it pierced Murray’s throat, the blood pouring down his chest. His mother crying and his father’s eyes like fire.

  “NOOO!!” Edgar screamed. He couldn’t hold himself back and he lunged at Barton with the dagger clutched so tightly, his knuckles had gone white. Edgar was blind with rage and his movements were wild. Pritchard Barton easily sidestepped Edgar’s thrust and countered by plunging the smoldering log into Edgar’s face. Edgar screamed and fell to the ground, dropping the dagger.

  The pain was intense. He brought his hands up to his face but couldn’t touch it. His face seared in agony. Edgar moaned, rolling on the ground, writhing in pain. He tried to open his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. The world was black. All that existed was pain. Edgar tried to scream but nothing escaped his mouth. Slowly, sound trickled in to his consciousness. Yelling and what sounded like growling. It was so faint that Edgar wasn’t sure if he was really hearing things or if the pain was beginning to drive him mad. He strained against the wall of pain and suddenly, his hearing came back in a rush.

  “Get off me, you mutt!” yelled Barton.

  As soon as Pritchard Barton had hit Edgar with the log, Blue had attacked him, latching onto his arm. Blue knocked the bully to the ground, thrashing his jaws, trying to tear Pritchard to shreds. Edgar could hear everything perfectly now, though he could still see only blackness. The dog was growling and Edgar could sense that he was out for blood. Edgar tried to scrabble to his knees, fighting against the pain. Then he heard scraping metal across the stone floor and he knew that Pritchard Barton had found the dagger he had dropped. Edgar was paralyzed in fear.

  “BLUE!!!” he yelled. But it was too late.

  Pritchard Barton lifted the dagger and stabbed repeatedly at the dog that had him pinned to the ground. Blue yelped and fell away from him. Edgar fell to his hands and knees, crawling through the blackness to the place where he had heard the yelp. Closer and closer Edgar crawled, groping the air to find the dog.

  Then he found him, a warm fuzzy heap upon the rock hard floor. Edgar ran his hand over the dog and felt the warm wet flow of blood. “Blue,” he sobbed, “no.”

  There was no sound from the dog, no movement. Blue had died.

  “That bastard dog deserved it! It bit me, Shein! Your ugly dog bit me and I’m bleeding! Serves it right it’s dead!”

  Edgar no longer felt the pain. The sound of Pritchard Barton became more and more faint until he heard nothing but a low hum and the pounding of his own heart. The beat of his heart grew louder in his head until it shook his body with every new beat. His legs and arms began to tingle with heat and it was spreading. It had reached his stomach and made him nauseated. His body shook and the heat continued to rise in intensity. He was cold with sweat but burned inside like a fever. Then the heat reached his head, filling the blackness of his world. Edgar slowly rose to his feet and turned to where he knew Pritchard Barton was standing. Every muscle in his body was screaming for blood, as if each and every one had its own insatiable hunger. The drumming of his heart grew louder and louder in his head until it was deafening. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth until he was sure that they would shatter in his mouth. Then, the blackness of Edgar’s world exploded into a white rage.

  Edgar screeched like a wild animal and leapt at Pritchard Barton, knocking him over and pinning him to the floor. Barton screamed but Edgar heard nothing. He balled his fists together and began pounding Barton’s face as hard as he could, feeling the warm gush of blood flow over his hands. But he did not stop. He scraped and dug at Barton’s eyes, ripping, tearing. He lunged his head at Barton’s throat and sunk his teeth in as far as he could. Biting down, he ripped Pritchard’s flesh away from him. The drumming in Edgar’s head never ceased and he continued to pound Barton with his fists. Edgar could feel the bones of Barton’s face cut into his hands but the rage would not let him go. Edgar would never stop. There was nothing left in his world other than rage. He must annihilate Pritchard Barton.

  The villagers heard the screams and were struck with horror. The screams of a boy would bring any good person running. These were not the screams of a boy in trouble and they were not the screams of Pritchard Barton. These were the screams of a feral beast, a demon, a fiend. The frightened villagers proceeded with caution as they came closer to the blacksmith’s shop. The screams continued, deep, guttural, and desperate.

  It took three grown men to pry Edgar off of what was left of Pritchard Barton. Edgar never stopped thrashing, his screams becoming more carnal with the rush of each new breath. The men carried Edgar, writhing in their arms, to the doctor and only a few minutes after he had given Edgar a sedative did the boy calm down, finally giving up his fight, the white rage fading back to blackness and Edgar, fading into a deep sleep.

  Revelation

  Joe sat on his porch in a rocking chair as he watched the wind whip across the field. The sun had been beaming down for a few hours and had evaporated all of the wetness left from the previous night. Joe packed his pipe full of tobacco and began to puff at it nervously. Rachael hadn’t come home. The boy hadn’t come home. The body was buried under the porch and anything that blood had gotten on had been burned. I’ve made a mess of this, thought Joe. I never should have spared that boy. I should’ve been stronger in my faith. The day was hot but the breeze made it nice. He wished that he could enjoy it. His mind wouldn’t stop.

  Should he go looking for them? Should he wait? As Joe sat, pondering his regrets, a horse and rider came into view through a group of trees. Joe raised an eyebrow and made to stand, but thought better of it. If he seemed too eager to greet the rider, he may give away that something was amiss. So Joe continued rocking and smoking as the rider came nearer and nearer to the farm. It wasn’t odd that someone should come out to the farm, so Joe couldn’t be sure that this visit concerned his wife and son…or the blacksmith. However, the rider was traveling with some haste. Joe’s heart was in his throat
but he was disciplined enough not to let it show. He sat and smoked and waited.

  As the horse reached the gate to Shein Farm, the rider quickly dismounted. Without even tethering his horse, the rider opened the gate and began walking quickly up to the porch where Joe sat.

  “Rachael! Rachael!”

  “Rachael ain’t here, Bob.”

  The man coming quickly up to the porch was Bob Grennel, the town baker. When he heard Joe’s response, he dropped his shoulders and uttered a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, Joe. Thank the Holy you’re here, Joe. It’s Edgar. He’s with Doc Aron. You’d better come, right away, and Rachael too, Joe. She should come too. Right away. Did I hear you say Rachael’s not here?”

  Bob was speaking a million miles an hour. Obviously something bad had happened to the boy. Now Joe’s worry couldn’t be avoided. He jumped out of the rocking chair.

  “Tell me what happened, Bob.” Joe’s eyes narrowed on Bob Grennel and Bob took a second to catch his breath.

  “Calm down, Joe. Edgar’s with the Doc, like I said. He’s hurt bad but he’s alive.”

  “Tell me what happened, Bob.” Joe’s eyes became more intense and Bob took a step back.

  “Well, we don’t know exactly. But…well, maybe you should sit down to hear this, Joe.”

  “I’m fine where I am,” Joe shot at Grennel.

  “Okay, Joe. Okay, just calm down. Like I said, we don’t know exactly how it went down, but it seems your boy and Pritchard Barton were in a fight and…I…I don’t exactly know how to say this, Joe.” Grennel wiped a bit of perspiration from his brow. “Joe. Edgar killed Pritchard Barton.”

  “What?” Joe was stunned.

  “Yeah, we found the two boys in the blacksmith’s shop. Edgar was on top of Pritchard, pounding his fists into him. It took three of us to pry him off. Nobody really knows what happened.”