Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33904527-20190525194703

''Bang. Bang. Bang.''

Three knocks on the cabin door. Loud knocks. Desperate knocks. Victor smiled. Customers, finally. It had been a while.

The door squeaked on its hinges as it opened. Cold, mountain air rushed into the cabin, and Victor shivered as a sudden chill gripped his body. A pale, gaunt man with high cheekbones stared anxiously from a few feet away, clutching at the body of a larger man unconscious on the ground. Fear was stained in his eyes, like a deer in headlights.

“I’m J-Joseph. My…my friend, Mark…he’s injured,” The man’s tone wavered as he spoke, like a crying child. “Please, he won’t last much longer. We need help.”

Victor raised his hand to his chin in contemplation. There was a dark red trail in the snow leading up to the cabin, winding its way across the mountain like a snake. The wind was menacing in its intensity, ramming against the cabin as if it were trying to lift it up to the sky.

“You come from the village?” Victor responded, his head tilted upwards in uncertainty.

“We’re t-tourists. Our camp is a while away, past the village and left. Me and Mark – we were hiking, and there was-

“Enough,” Victor spoke, sticking his hand out suddenly. “Come inside, I’ll help you with your friend.”

Slumping Mark’s body over his shoulder, Victor walked back inside the cabin. A warm blast of air wafted across Joseph’s body as he too stepped inside, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

Victor stepped to the middle of the cabin with a long stride while Joseph paused near the fire, rubbing his hands together. He sighed deeply, glancing out of the window with a worried glare.

“Neck injury. Looks quite serious. You’re lucky you got to me now. A few more minutes out there and he’d be gone.” Victor spoke.

Joseph turned suddenly, raising an eyebrow. Victor was pouring through a blocky manual-type book of sorts, having laid Mark on a large table in the centre of the room.

“Is it true, what they say?”

“What who says?”

“The villagers, down by the river below. They told us about you. A healer up in the mountains. We thought it was superstition, just a local legend.”

“The villagers say a lot of things. Tales of ghosts and demons and pixies and such. Easy to imagine why. All that time spent in the middle of nowhere, not much to do or say. No wonder there’s so many stories.”

“They said you’re a trickster, you know. A conman. They said you can’t be trusted.” Joseph spoke.

“A bunch of ungrateful bastards is what they are. Always wandering about, getting injured, dragging themselves to the cabin, pathetic little tears in their eyes. Walking out again without a word of thanks. They aren’t too agreeable with tourists, either, as I’m sure you’ve experienced.”

“That’s how Mark was injured. They turned on us. Acted friendly at first, then ambushed us as we leaving and tried to rob us. One of the littler shits wedged a pickaxe right in Mark’s neck.”

Victor laughed coldly.

“Figures.”

“So is it true or not? Can you really heal people like they say?”

Victor set down the manual on a large bookshelf, cracking a sly grin. There was a sudden flash of light as he began chanting some strange dialect that Joseph could not understand. The words echoed through the room as if it were a cave.

“What-

A final flash shot across the walls, and Joseph clamped his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was stood outside the cabin, Mark and Victor by his side.

“You’re welcome.” Victor spoke as small wisps of snowfall landed on his face. “Mark’s gonna be fine, he’s just a little dazed right now. Side effect from the process. Give it a few minutes, and he’ll be perfectly normal again.”

Mark mumbled quietly in confusion, blinking and scratching at his head.

“Thank you, sir.” Joseph replied. “If I can just ask you one last favour…”

“And what would that be?”

“Don’t let the villagers get away with what they did. I don’t know what sort of crazy powers you have, but you must teach them a lesson. Please.”

Victor bit his lip, seemingly contemplating the offer. Saying nothing, he nodded his head.

Joseph nodded back, and the pair set off for camp again.

-

Descending the snowy peaks was not an easy task, and Joseph struggled to find his footing as him and Mark slid downwards, moving past the village. Mark pushed further towards the bottom while Joseph stopped, trying to get a peek at what had caught his eye below.

There were people all over the village streets, but none of them seemed to be moving. Stranger still, they were lying down in the snow, as if engaged in some sort of ritual.

“Go on ahead, Mark, I’ll be there in a second.”

Joseph recognised one of the bodies as Mark’s attacker. A strange wave of dread washed through his head as he noticed a pool of red below the boy’s body. Below everyone’s body.

On the boy’s neck was Mark’s wound. The exact wound, like it had been copied and pasted onto his body. Bug-eyed, Joseph approached another body. Another neck wound, still identical to Mark’s. And another. And another.

They were everywhere, inside and outside the buildings. Not a single one without the wound. Dead in their own blood. Even the babies, all the small children, they had the wound too. It was a sea of corpses, and the more bodies he saw, the more convinced Joseph became that he was the only living person left.

Dropping to his knees, Joseph stared upwards to the sky, unable to speak in the moment. A movement up above gained his attention. It was Victor, stood in the cabin window, smiling widely. 