The Stranger

The cloud mixed and stirred in the sky; lighting lit up the heavens as below the forest of Narrser weathered the storm. Winds smashed into the dark oak trees, its trunk being reinforced by its own layer that it had amassed throughout the years. The tiny critters hid in the many cracks and corners from the heavy downpour as the horses’ hooves smashed into the muddy path. The wooden wheels churned the mud as thunder crackled throughout the forest; the horses turn towards nature’s mighty roar and wince in a bit of fear.

Ruan steadied his horse as his old hands tightly gripped the lead; the pitter-patter hit the head of the old man. He had been a travelling salesman for most of his life as the never-ending war between the East and the West proved profitable for people like him; travelling with his young granddaughter Casa and their mutt Kain, they went from town to town, buying and selling wares. The rain poured down heaver and heaver as Ruan found it more challenging to lead the horse; his sight blurred through the cascading rain, but through the rain, he saw a silhouette of a person trudging through the mud. As Ruan’s carriage got closer, he could see the mud clung to his leather boots, his rugged cloak that hid his figure as the batted rifle slung to his back poked out of the boundary of his silhouette. Still, Ruan noticed something on the stranger’s cloak, an old symbol he hadn’t seen in years. Ruan knew to both fear and respect that symbol throughout his years of travel.

‘You need a ride to the next town, sir?’ Ruan asks the stranger. The wanderer turned to face him. Ruan could see that the wanderer’s mouth and nose had been covered by bandages as the cracked goggles hid his eyes.

‘I’ve got an extra spot in my carriage that’s ripe for the taking’, Ruan said. The wander looked out into the forest, and to Ruan, it seemed the stranger could see something far out in the distance. The wander looked back to the old man, then back to the back of the carriage, and started walking over. Ruan opened the flaps and peeked into the carriage as the wander was walking over. Casa was sitting there rubbing the head of Kain, who was diligently watching the back of the carriage.

‘What is it, grandpa?’

‘We’re going to have a guest in the next town’.

‘But you never give out any rides to people... Why now?’ Casa questions her grandfather as she had seen him refuse to be paid to take people to the next town.

‘It’s a story I’ll tell when you’re a little older.’ Ruan pats Casa’s head and goes back to attending to the horse. Before Casa could question anything, Kain started barking as the back flaps were opened by the wanderer, and his right arm pierced out from his cloak to hoist him up onto the carriage. Kain bared his teeth at the stranger, letting out a low growl until the stranger looked at the dog, the lamplight inside reflecting off the goggles. The dog quickly hid his teeth, let out a small whimper, and sat still before Casa. The wanderer turned his head back to where his body was facing and sat down against a bench.

They travelled in silence, as only the sound of the rain hit the carriage and clanged to metals. Casa could feel the heavy presence of the stranger; she tried to comfort herself with the soothing sound of the rain, but as the hours went by, the sound of the rain started to dim and fade away, leaving Casa with only the stranger again. She holds her and channels her courage in her chest to fill the silence.

‘So … what do you do, mister?’ The stranger turned his head slightly towards her. Casa saw movement in the stranger’s jaw, but no words came out, which sparked curiosity in the little girl as she started to examine the stranger honestly. As the carriage rocked side to side, the stranger’s cloak would flap to the rhythm of the carriage. Every time the clock would flap up, she tried to see what was under it, but the vale of darkness hid most of the stranger’s secrets from her except for one. Casa saw a satchel with a red stain at the bottom of the bag. Her heart dropped as her thoughts raced about all the possibilities that this man could be as she lingered on the satchel. She was too preoccupied to notice that the carriage had stopped and Ruan had poked his head in the carriage.

‘Alright, we’re going to camp here for tonight’. Casa was startled but quickly calmed down at the sight of her grandfather.

‘Kay!’ Casa enthusiastically jumped out of the font carriage as Kain followed her. The carriage was parked in the forest, surrounded by trees and darkness. The stranger slowly exits out the back of the carriage. He peers out into the forest, his ears picking up the crackle of fire behind him. Walking around, he notices the firepit Ruan had made; the wood burns furiously as Ruan sets up the spit.

‘Why don’t you come here and sit by the fire?’ Ruan points to an empty chair; the stranger moves closer to the fire and puts his right hand out to feel the warmth of the fire; he moves his hand up to the cloak and unbuckles it off him. Taking off his cloak, he reveals his tattered clothes and pouches, but what Ruan was his left arm’s prosthetic. The prosthetic was made from rope and bones. Ruan wanted to examine how that prosthetic worked but respected the distance he maintained as he knew what work line the stranger had been dedicated to.

The fire crackled and popped while the wind swirled through the trees. The stranger returned his hand under his cloak and stepped away from the firepit towards the shadows. Casa observed his movements from the edge of the makeshift camp, reminding her of when her father brought an injured cat back home. The feral cat would stalk around the apartment undetected; the only times that Casa would see the cat would be when their heater would work. The cat would just stand there and let the warm air soak in its fur, but before she left for the war, she went with her grandfather.

Ruan mindlessly spun the meat on the spit. He thought about the last time he had ever seen that symbol on the stranger’s cloak, as most people who bared that symbol were known to have met a grim fate. Ruan could remember seeing countless bodies adorned with that symbol as a young man. Ruan knew that the stranger had seen numerous battles, counting by the scars and bandages that littered throughout his body and …

The smell of burnt meat filled Ruan’s nostrils as he snapped back into reality and saw the meat on the spit had become a black mass with the smoke that escaped from the meat. Ruan quickly moved to take the meat off the spit and dropped it on the dirt.

‘Well… sorry… I guess we’re not having any meat tonight,’ Ruan gave a nervous chuckle.

‘I guess we have to settle o…’ A loud scream echoed through the trees. The scream sounded garbled as if whatever was screaming was physically tearing their throat out. Ruan, Casa, and Kain all snapped in the direction of the scream at once. The darkness’s abyss hid the sound’s origin from them, but Ruan and Casa knew what that scream indicated as they knew they were in a witch’s territory.

Ruan got up to run to Casa, standing at the edge of the light from the campfire, but saw that he was too late as the witch was hunched over her. The witch was 8 feet tall; its arms and legs were long and lanky as its spine protruded from its back. Saliva dripped from its teeth right onto Casa’s head. Casa was frozen in fear as its spindly fingers wrapped around her small body. Casa felt the hot breath of the witch on her get harder and harder as the witch moved its head down slowly as if it wanted to take in the little girl’s fear before devouring her. Three piercing shots rang out as Casa felt the fingers lose grip on her; the smoke of the rifle drifted up into the air, the witch’s left arm limp as the stranger had placed three perfect shots into its wrist, elbow, and shoulder. Knowing it was her opportunity to escape, Casa ran toward Ruan right into his arms; Ruan scooped her jump, ran toward the carriage, and headed back around to watch the stranger in his work. The witch lurched at the stranger and stretched out its right hand; the stranger fired two more shots into the witch, hitting its right shoulder and jaw. The witch’s blood painted the trees behind; its jaw hung down, only staying on one joint. The witch continued its charge as the stranger put the rifle back over his shoulder and pulled off his prosthetic arm to reveal a blade that sat on his stump. The stranger drove the blade right into the witch’s head; the blade poked out of the other side of the witch’s head, and the witch twitched and then stopped moving. Ruan watched the stranger put his other hand up to his like he was praying, and then he took out the blade, swiping quickly down to the ground as the blood flung off the blade. After hearing no more noise, Casa moved out of hiding place in the carriage and saw the stranger holding the head of the witch up by its neck. The stranger dragged his blade up to the witch’s bald head and cut off its scalp.

Both Ruan and Casa looked at him, horrified, as he took out his bloody satchel and opened it to reveal the many other pale scalps that filled the bag.