© 2021 Maria Vermisoglou The Plague I stumbled in the dark forest and glanced over my shoulder. The lurking shadows grinned at me over the patches of light, beckoning me in. My ribs and my legs ached from the long run, but I couldn’t stop now. I turned left, then took the next right and kept going deeper into the unknown. The Plague had sneaked in on our village one night, and many brave men tried to fend it off. One by one we watched in terror as it took the men first, then the women and children. It left no survivors. Locking doors and windows, we stayed isolated, but it found us there too and it attacked viciously. The Homen showed no mercy. With fear spreading throughout our village and no means of protection, I had decided to get my family to a safer place. Alas, when I returned to my house at night, I screamed at the frozen expression of their dead faces. I took off, with only my coat, some food and a hunting knife as my only possessions. My Beata and my Anatol still lived in my mind, their ghastly faces and white hair engraved in my memory. Glancing behind me, I pushed my legs to pick up the speed and heard the grinding of my old bones. Biting my lip, I tasted blood. An owl hooted, and I jumped, cursing the fat bird. The night had moved forward and the pitch-black sky showed no mercy for my poor eyesight. I took another left turn and came in front of a hut. Tears rolled on my cheeks, my heartbeat pulsating so hard my ribcage groaned. I had been in the forest all night and didn’t see another residence to seek out help. In my desperation, I had started to believe Homen had killed everyone. Such was my haste, I almost took down the door. With my heartbeat punching my throat, I pounded at the door. “Anyone there?” I screamed, breathless. “I need help! The plague is here.” I pushed with my shoulder and managed to crack it open. “I’m sorry for the…” My words hung in the musty air as I took in the dusty room, cobwebs strung in the ceiling and the absence of light. I cursed the gods and spirits. “No one has lived here and can’t help me!” I growled and fell into a rickety chair. My feet were holding me no more. I took some sharp breaths and stood. Dragging my aching body, I went outside and started collecting leaves and twigs. Seating by the fire was a pure bliss, but I could not rest. Rummaging my pockets, I found some bread and canned meat. The campfire’s crackle gave the false impression of security, and my stomach rumbled. I longed to curl up and gaze upon the stars before I fell asleep. But I could not. I cut the meat, laid it on the stale bread and stuffed it into my mouth. The bushes moved, and I grabbed the shotgun I had found in the empty cabin. Begging my shaky fingers to work, I found the trigger and lifted the weapon. A raccoon ran past me, screeching. I lowered the shotgun and waited to see the dog trailing him. His master could give me news and directions. But my hope fell into dead water. I stared at the majestic deer that leaped from the bushes, taking the same path as the raccoon. I scratched my beard. Something thrashed into the ground and I prepared to shoot when my weak eyes revealed a terrified squirrel. “Has the world gone mad?” My head snapped back and forth, watching the animals pass by, their fur standing on end, ignoring me. They run to escape from something, but what could it be that the wildest of animals would run side by side with their prey? When the bushes rustled again, I held the gunshot loosely in my hands, expecting another animal. It was a woman. The woman swayed, her white dress wrapped up like a bedsheet. As she approached, I noticed her milky complexion dotted with black blotches. When the moon shone over her, she grimaced. I lifted the shotgun to my chest. “Who are you?” I yelled. “Speak!” “I am only lost, farmer. Will you let me stay for the night?” she said in an alluring voice. I kept my gaze pinned on her papery skin. My wife, Beata, walked with a smile towards me. “Come on, dear. Let’s go home. Our son awaits.” Taking a step back, I blinked, my lip quivering at the sudden change. Was I hallucinating? Without lowering the shotgun, I shuffled, searching with my eyes at the quiet forest. The bushes stood ominous under the moon, the fire still burned in front of the hut, but the woman I saw moments ago had disappeared. “Where has that woman gone?” “What woman?” Beata quirked her eyebrows, smiling at me. “There’s only me.” My hoarse voice turned tight, and I winced as the information clashed in my mind. “But you were gone, Beata. I saw it.” My hands shook. It cannot be. Beata giggled, her gargling laughs out of tune. “Dear, were you having a bad dream? Of course, not. We were just strolling, and you wandered away.” She held out her hand. I rubbed my sweaty brow. “I wandered because of the ridiculous plague.” My wife’s face twisted, her eyes burning with a live fire. “The plague is not ridiculous,” she hollered. My wife’s figure melted into the strange woman. Rattling her claw fingers, she threw herself on me. I shot her. One, two, three bullets whistled, wedging themselves into her body. I retreated, watching the woman stand up, the holes in her chest shrinking until the metal casings fell off. “You idiot peasant!” Her voice froze my bones and reached my heart. “I am the Homen. No one can kill me. For every life I take, I retain my beauty. It's a small price to pay for the destruction humans have caused.” My arms trembling, I struggled to aim straight at the apparition. Patches of liquid skin gushed on the ground, the woman’s bones popping around her eyes. I shuddered. “I have found you now. You cannot escape your fate.” “So what if you’ll get me?” I glowered, ignoring the grinding of my teeth. “You’ll never be as beautiful as a woman. Now, you’re turning into a monster as punishment for the crimes you’ve committed!” I fired once more and reloaded. “You imbecile!” That terrible scream was worse than Hell’s demons. I pushed my fingers into my earlobes and despite that, I could hear her shrilling howl. Begging God and whoever was in charge to save me, I fired. But the bullets only seemed to irritate her as they removed more skin off her than harm her. The woman soared in the sky, screaming. I fired, having no other effective weapon. Begging the spirits of my village, I spoke the names of the deities. My wife was a believer, but until now, I only believed in blunt force. A howl cut the Home’s cries short. She turned her head the whole way until I was facing the back of her head. My eyes widened at the abnormality. It was impossible. But she was a bony ghost. A large dog leaped in front of me, its saliva dripping on the ground. The dog barked at Homen, who hissed. My heart that had been causing painful attacks in my throat and ribs relaxed some. Nothing could beat her and she seemed afraid of no man, but this dog made her crawl. I took the rope God tossed at me and pulled at my salvation. I clapped my hands and pointed at Homen. “Go get her, boy!” “Naah!” Homen’s strident voice lost her impact, and she dashed to the bushes, but the dog grabbed her ankle and sank his teeth to her bones. One by one, they cracked under the dog’s canines and she disappeared in a puff of smoke. I still live in that hut, guarding the woods with only my dog as company. I cannot see much now, nor hear the sounds around me. On chilly nights, I can hear the penetrating voice of Homen who spreads chaos. That’s when I take my shotgun and hunt. My suffering bones might not hold, but I will get her. One day I will. Acknowledgements Thank you for reading The Plague, which is part of the fairytale collection Quill & Dust. If you want to discover more of my stories, you can subscribe to receive monthly newsletters, or follow me on social media. Until next time, Happy Halloween! Boo! Maria Vermisoglou is an International Bestselling author of fantasy and paranormal with an obsession for witches. She loves throwing her heroes into impossible situations. Maria draws inspiration from books, travel, and…the ceiling. (So blame the ceiling!)
Maria started writing when the stories she read became too boring and the voices in her mind too loud. When she's not writing, she loves a good ride on the fantasy dragon, but a book can also be exciting, along with a cup of tea. Nowadays, you can find her in Athens, exploring the mysteries of the ancient world.
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About the Author:S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland. “Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.” Archives
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