Satan's Shepard-Gothic short story

Satan’s Shepard

The frost of the screaming cold night snaked across brown, dead grass. The moon, in its own eluant manner shunned the expectation of a rising sun. A dead landscape, frothing with the innocence of mortality, beckoned a powerful, beautiful evil to bite at its white smooth neck. An evil of elegance and grandeur. A flawless terror, absorbed in the shadows, bathing in the blood of innocence. A self proclaimed god of evil, sunk beneath the looming night shadow. His eyes splashed with fire, and glazed with excitement. The power of his own will to practice evil giving endowments of constant, vibrant energy. Standing in the shadows beneath a cold, still tree, staring towards the moon, was Satan’s faithful Shepard.

B. Hedro’s Journal
One
My arrival in this township has gone seemingly unnoticed. The only contact I have had with a local as been to buy oil for my lamp. In the coming weeks I hope to document the activities of the owls of the woodlands here, so befriending the provider of such vital goods is a necessity. The town itself is one of bleak order. Children are seldom seen or heard. It seems that whatever work there is to be done is done, nothing further. In appearance, Morteal is very grand. The many churches I past all bore huge, beautiful stained glass windows, with huge spires that seem to never end. The cold stone of these buildings represent my feelings toward this place perfectly. Tomorrow or perhaps the day following, I plan to travel to into the looming ranges to the north west of here. The wildlife in these mountains is said to be exquisite. In the meantime I shall rest. The journey to this dauntingly silent place has been a long one.

Two
In waking this morning I was rather surprised to find the sun shining in through the greasy, stained window. Upon arrival I had almost forgotten the sun existed. My next actions involved packing adequate equipment for the journey to the Ranges. I was advised to bring items such as gunpowder and shot. Upon asking why, I was briskly told that there are wolves in the woods. This I did not question. Even though I knew there are no wolves this far south. Brushing this off, I made on to more trivial things such as drawing an up to date map of my journey so far. This took up more of the day than I had expected and by the time I was finished I was again, strangely tired, so with the anticipation of setting off on the morrow, I slept.

Three
This morning the crashing lightening woke me. Immediately I made my preparations for travel. As my coming journey was to be through rugged, mountainous terrain, I was travelling by horse. I had packed in my saddle bags all my tools necessary for a four month away. My room in the rainy morning light seemed so beckoning, as if to keep me; stop me from leaving. The humble room was lit with seven candles placed at strategic points so as to gain a maximum amount of light. The room itself had wine coloured, deep, floorboards. There was a huge bearskin rug sprawled across the floor. The walls were covered in items of decoration: from animal heads to a canvas depicting a starry, moonlit night in a meadow. This article drew my attention more than the rest. It was beautiful and powerful. Inside myself I felt a longing to be there.


Four
My little experience on horseback could be seen easily. My embarrassment was rife. After several hours of steady riding -through bleak yet beautiful landscapes- the rain had slowly began to harden. Most would complain hotly about this but I enjoy the rain. It brings resolve to things. The coldness and beauty of it amazes me. Having left the stark grey, towering Morteal I felt rather happy. The one thing that bothered me was that I did not know the name of my escort. He was a short ragged man with grey withered hair. His only words to me so far have been snappy. “I take you to the northbound pass only, there I leave you. The abode you seek for accommodation lies one hour directly down the pass.”
To me it seems as if the mountains are feared by the Mortealians. I feel some apprehension at this but my work must continue. Throughout the day we kept a steady pace, Travelling through fruitful forest, and bleak vast meadow. Not far off in front of us loomed a vast mountain range, I wondered where the Northbound pass would begin. Slowly the terrain became more and more rocky and uneven. Finally we came into an open rocky area filled with bristly shrubs. Here my escort stopped and pointed towards a tiny, barley visible path leading away into the forest. I gave my thanks and he left. It was on dark and the cold was getting colder, so I pitched my canvas and rolled out my bedding.

Five
According to my timepiece it is three twenty three am. I have been awoken to disturbing noises close by. The sounds of screaming. Crazy screaming, not a domestic squeal. It sounds as though a monkey is being tortured. My own fears are preventing me from investigating. Perhaps it is just the bizarre call of some night animal. I hope this is the case. My gun is outside my canvas tent as is my lamp and other items. I will remain awake and alert until daybreak, then I will venture outside.

Six
The coming light brought me much relief. Even though the noises stopped shortly after they started, I felt it necessary to remain alert. As soon as the birds began to sing I exited my tent. The ground outside was covered in frost and crunched as I stepped on it. To my horror, I found the ground around my tent soaked in what appeared to be blood. I was physically ill at this. The blood was not just in small amounts, splashed on the ground. The ground, for at least four feet across, was soaked in blood. It looked as if some bleeding corpse had been dragged off into the trees. In a panicked state, I followed the path of blood. As I walked, a sweet sickly smell filled my head. About six feet ahead, strewn, in a heap, at the base of a tree, was a terrible mess of flesh and organs. The mess formed no discernable shape. As I stared in horror it came to my realization that the blood was not only at the base of the tree, but it continued up the tree. I looked up and gagged. Above in the branches of the tree, more bloody mess was scattered. Blood trickled through the dry leaves and down the branches. I turned and ran back to my tent and packed my things as quickly as I could. At this point, I came to the realization that my means of transport was gone. I must search for my horse.


Seven
The several hours I have spent in search of my horse have been haunted by a feeling of being watched. Even though the day is only relatively new it seems strangely dark. I have my gun loaded and ready. I have no idea what has performed these acts of mutilation. Perhaps it is a bear. Perhaps it is wolves after all.


As I wrote the previous sentence, I heard a distinct whisper of my name. I called out and received no response. I feel that I am in grave danger, and here I will end this journal.
End B.Hedro’s Journal

The demonic Shepard watched in silence as Mr.Hedro squirmed. He wasn’t going to kill Mr.Hedro. He wanted a friend. A companion. The breeze was freezing as it swept over the mountains. It was time to make impressions.

“Hello Hedro, it is my sincere pleasure” said the demon with an outstretched hand. Mr.Hedro quivered and wondered how this man knew his name. Then shook The Shepard’s powerful hand.

“Greetings, who are you?”

“I am a man.”

“That does not answer my question sir, WHO are you?”

“Oh but it does answer you. A man is who I am, names mean nothing. What would you gain with that knowledge? Besides a small amount of immature conviction as to whether or not you will befriend me.”

“Fine, what would you like me to call you?”

“Call me friend, for that is all I am to you”

“So be it friend. Where are you from? Do you live here in the mountains?”

“Yes you could say that. I sleep not far from here. Come let me show you my dwelling.”

The words of this man seemed strange to Mr.Hedro. Like the canvas of the starry night sky back in Morteal. Dangerous yet luring. The power and elegance of this man seemed extraordinary.

“I have lost my horse, he hasn’t crossed by you?”

“All will be well, now come.”

The words of the great Shepard sounded dangerous to Hedro, yet he could not say no. It was as if he had been pulled into a trance.

“A- alright”

“Follow me closely” said the beast.
The Shepard turned and walked into the scrub. Hedro followed. They walked through thick forest, green and grey in the more open areas. Hedro wanted desperately to turn and run, but he simply could not. So he tread lightly after the Shepard for what seemed an eternity. As they went further and further into the woods, Hedro’s mind became more and more muddy. Now the trees loomed over at him, menacing his movements. They had upside down-pentagrams carved into them, as did the fallen trees and all the others in the visible path. The world was spinning, symbols and signs flashed before Hedro’s burning eyes. The Shepard had stopped, and was turning slowly to face Hedro.

“Now my dear companion, this is the world you will be living in. The real world. Snatas Latrommi Esidarap. Your mind will become as mine, your body will become as mine, immortal. Live with me and feed on the souls of the lambs, whose blood runs sweet. Die now and be reborn, as the god you are inside.”

Mr.Hedro was on his knees, night had fallen. His mouth was full of blood. His mind was replaying the Shepard’s horrifying chant over and over. Sweat clung to him and made his clothes do the same. Snatas Latrommi Esidarap. The air was full of moisture. He was kneeling on a grassy hill in the middle of a clearing. Around him, lambs made soft bleating noises. His senses were totally altered, for better or for worse Hedro could not tell. There was something he had to do. Something he had forgotten. What was it? He had to know. He flung to his feet, jerking his head to the moon. Its pearly white texture was soothing. Again there was the bleating. This jerked at Hedro’s heart. He had to have the essence of that sound. Fumbling blindly down the hill, he saw a huddle of lambs around a fence paling. That was it. He had to feed on that essence. Before he could stop himself, Hedro had grasped one of the lambs by the torso and sunk his teeth into its throat. Hot blood flooded his mouth. The lamb was dead and dry of blood in seconds. Relief shot through him. The dead lamb he tossed aside. Hedro lay back on the grass and stared at the moon. In his new mind he saw the canvas from Morteal. The wind was cold and made the trees sway. Now the Shepard was lying next to him. Whispering to him.

“I must apologise for the fate of your horse.” Rasped the demonic cretin.

Hedro laughed and stood. He moved towards a tall tree past the fence paling. Here he crouched, watching; from the shadows.




SS.91, 2002