The Wandering

Part 1: The Farmer

The old farmer wipes the sweat from his forehead. His body aches from the labor. He’s been working since the morning. The sun is beginning to set, telling the old man to return home for food and rest. He leaves his tools behind, too sore to carry them. He’ll get them in the morning.

The farmer strolls back to his home with his head down. He’s eager to lie down and rest. He’ll be getting up early again tomorrow.

In the corner of his eye, the farmer spots a man standing far in the distance, close to the big plot of trees surrounding the back of the farm. The farmer stops and watches. The stranger stands still.

“Who’s that over there?” The old man calls out.

The stranger remains still. The farmer is far too tired to walk over.

“Hey!” He yells out again.

The stranger turns slowly and returns to the cover of the forest. The farmer keeps his eye on the woods for a few more seconds before shaking his head. He continues walking. It’s a full moon tonight, you can already see it peaking out despite the sun still lighting up the sky with a beautiful golden hue.

The farmer reaches his home. He lifts the lid off of a barrel of water. He washes the dirt off of his hands, they’re callused and wrinkled. He then splashes some of the water on his face before putting the lid back on the barrel.

The farmer sits at his dining table with a plate of corn and potatoes. The lantern on the table lights up the room. He’s still in the same clothes he wore all day. His skin glows from his sweat. He looks at the empty seat that his wife had occupied for years. She used to cook up these great meals every day while he’d be out in the fields. Before every meal, they’d pray for their crops and good health. He hasn’t prayed in months. It’s rare the farmer even utters a word anymore. The stranger had been the first person he’d spoken to in weeks.

The farmer barely touches his meal. He places his worn-out fork onto the plate, scratching the surface and making a slight screeching noise. He pushes the old wooden chair back and struggles to stand up. He grabs his plate from the table and limps over to the kitchen sink. He puts the plate in the sink without removing the food. He turns back around and slides the chair back under the table. He grabs the lantern and walks towards the stairs to his bedroom.

In front of his home stands a stranger. The farmer stops. He wonders if it might be the same stranger he saw before. He opens the front door.

“Who’s there?” The farmer asks.

The stranger remains silent. The farmer scoffs.

“This is private property! You best be going now!” says the farmer.

Still, the stranger doesn’t move or speak. Frustrated, the farmer walks back inside his home and grabs the old rifle leaning against the wall. He walks back outside with his weapon aimed at the Stranger.

“This is your final warning! Leave now or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

The stranger begins to walk towards the home. The farmer fires a warning shot into the sky, scaring a few crows from the cornfield. The stranger stops in his place. Still, he says nothing.

“Are you deaf? Go now!” The farmer yells.

The stranger does nothing. Though now that they’re in the light, the farmer can see them better. The stranger wears a large black cloak, but his face is covered by a large hood. The farmer returns inside the home. He heads over to the kitchen to grab some ammo stashed in the cupboard. The back door is open. The farmer stands still. He gazes around the room. Lifting out his lantern to every corner.

“Who’s in here?” He yells out.

No answer. The farmer turns around to look out the front. The stranger is still there. The farmer slams the door. A light coming from the side of the home catches his eye. He opens the cupboard and grabs the ammo. He marches back to the front, the door is wide open. He now sees five strangers standing on his front lawn. They’re all dressed in the same black robes. Two of them are holding torches. The farmer raises his rifle at them. Behind him, in the shadows of his home walks another stranger in black robes. He sneaks up behind the old man and knocks him on the back of his head. The farmer stumbles out onto the edge of the deck. The stranger knocks him down again, and this time the farmer falls to the ground, hitting his head. He doesn’t move.

Two of the robed strangers grab him by his legs. They begin dragging him towards the woods in the back, led by one holding the torch, with the other torch lighting the back of the line.

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In the forest, the farmer begins to regain consciousness. He sees the two men dragging him by his feet. Though, his vision is impaired, and he can’t make out their faces. He can’t move, his body is in agony. He groans in agony. The strangers remain silent. all he can hear is the sound of the trees blowing in the wind, and his body being dragged through the damp dirt path.

They come to a stop. They’re at a clearing in the woods. It’s dark here, even with the torches. Two more men grab the farmer's arms. The farmer is panicking. He pleads for his life. His voice is low, muffled by his whining. Tears slide down his face, cleaning some of the blood caused by his head injury. The two men with torches march forward, glowing up the area. They light more torches that were already there. The whole clearing lights up. The area is bare and dead, not even grass is growing. On the ground is a giant pentagram painted in what seems to be blood. On the side is a few pig corpses. Their guts are all poured out. The smell of it is awful.

The four men carry the farmer over to the pentagram. They place him on the ground. The leader of the group stands at the edge of the symbol. He wields an ancient-looking knife with symbols carved into it. The other members stand around the circle. The leader of the group begins reciting these verses with a deep voice. The language is so foreign to the farmer. He repeats the same words over and over as he slowly approaches the farmer lying still on the ground. Soon after the rest of the members join in reciting the verses. The leader now stands above the farmer. He repeats the same verse, only louder now. The leader removes his hood. His face is pale like a ghost. His eyes have a black eye shadow around them. His lips are dry, he has blood around his mouth. His teeth are rotten, not quite yellow, browner. He repeats the verse, louder. He descends to his knees, over the farmer. The farmer has a last-minute urge to fight, but it’s no use. The leader has his full weight on top of the farmer. He takes the knife with both hands and lifts it towards the moon. He repeats the verse, he’s screaming it now. The rest of the members match his tone. They’re like a choir. The leader lunges the knife straight down into the farmer's chest. Blood spills through the farmer’s shirt. The leader leaves the knife inside the man. He now whispers another verse, this one is different from what he was previously chanting. The farmer is drowning in his blood. Struggling to gasp for air but he can’t. He finally lays still. He’s gone. The leader of the group still on him takes his own hands and rubs them in the farmer's blood. He takes his finger and puts a symbol on the farmer's forehead. He continues to whisper the new verse over and over again. This time the other members don’t repeat. The leader stands back up.

The group stands closer together, in a line. The leader is in the middle of them all. They now begin chanting together. Staring down at the corpse in front of them. Waiting.

The farmer's blood drips down from his mouth and chest. The life in his eyes is gone. His skin is pale, just like the leaders. The light from the torches shines off of the blood puddle surrounding him. A few minutes pass. The farmer's fingers begin to move. The leader notices this, the chanting now begins to get louder. The farmer's corpse begins to twitch. The body slowly begins to move again. This is no longer the farmer. This creature rises from the ground. He stands slumped in front of the men in robes. They continue their chant. The monster shuffles slowly over to the group. Each foot drags itself closer. The leader takes a step forward toward the creature. He puts out his hands like Christ on the cross. The old farmer lunges onto the leader, wrapping his dead arms around him. They stumble to the ground. The creature takes a big bite out of the leader's neck. Blood squirts out onto the ground and mixes in with the dirt. The other members continue their chanting.

One by one they let the creature take a bite from their flesh. The chanting fades away with every last breath. The creature fills up on its flesh before moving on. It retreats into the dark forest, leaving the massacre behind it. Soon they’ll be like him.

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Part 2: The Wanderer

Birds squawk as the sun falls down. The spurs on the wanderer's boots sound like change rustling with every step he takes. With every step he comes closer to Dixon, the town ahead, hoping to find somewhere to rest.

It’s nearly nightfall when he gets in. The town’s quiet, except for the saloon. The wanderer breathes in the night air before entering. He gazes his eyes from wall to wall as he makes his way to the bar. There’s a man on the piano in the corner, playing a tune so beautifully he’s caught the attention of half the people in the room. The others are spread out, either brooding alone or laughing with friends. The wanderer takes a seat at the corner of the bar.

“What’ll it be?” asks the bartender.

“Whiskey, double.”

The bartender takes the bottle of whiskey from the shelf and pours him a cup. It’s warm and shitty, burns, but it makes for a nice sleep. The wanderer downs the glass in one go. To the right of him are two gentlemen, Bill, an older burly fellow with short white hair and great big beard with eyes as blue as the sky, and charlie, a younger, more lanky opposite to Bill. They’re telling each other stories of cowboys and criminals, catching the wanderer’s attention.

“I spoke to a man from Colorado the other day.” The old man begins his story. The bartender lends his ears as he shines glasses.

“Said he heard a story about a man named Mendez, ‘The Invincible Man” the old fellow paused to take a hit from his pipe before continuing; “The story goes like this; “Charming young banker with a wife and kid goes berserk one day, attacks his wife. The kid managed to run away to the nearest neighbor. They both come back to the house, and Mendez is still there standing over his wife’s body, covered in her blood, with her hair still stuck in his teeth, and her flesh in his belly-”

“Jesus,” says the wanderer under his breath.

“That’s not even the end of it. The neighbor points his rifle at him and tells him to stay put. Mendez had nothing in his eyes at that point and he lunged at this guy. Neighbor shoots him, right in the heart. Mendez stumbles back, but he does not fall. His eyes never left the neighbor’s, and he lunges at him again trying to get a bite out of him. Neighbor shoves him off, heads outside and shuts the door. He and the little girl grab a horse and head over to the nearest town. The next day a whole group of people came in looking for him, but he’d already vanished at that point. ”

The young man is in awe, but the bartender and the wanderer seem skeptical.

“I believe that man must’ve made a deal with the devil to end up like that.” says the young one.

The bartender scoffs.

“What? You don’t believe it?” questions the old man.

“You had me up until the end,” said the bartender.

The old man waves him off. He looks over at the wanderer; “What about you? Do you believe it?”

The wanderer thinks for a moment. “It’s a terrifying story for sure, but that’s all it is.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” The old man laughs. He gets up from his seat and throws some silver coins on the bar. “You boys have a good night.” He walks out of the saloon.

The wanderer watches the old man stumble out. He fixes his eyes forward again and asks the bartender for another drink. He takes the whole thing down in one glug and asks the bartender; “anywhere I could rest tonight?”

“There’s an inn across the road. They’ll take ya’”

The wanderer nods, places some silver dollars on the bar and leaves.

Once outside, it’s back to quiet; no piano, no patrons, just the night sky and the sound of the wanderers pouches and satchel and spurs bouncing around as he makes his way to the inn. He steps in a puddle that paints his boot prints into the dirt behind him.

He leaves early the next morning to get a head start on his day. Crossing desserts, rivers, and forests. He stops by a creek to fill his water tank. He kneels down to feel the water on his skin. He looks up at the ridge above when he spots a reflection of a man stumbling around the edge. The man is pale, his clothes dirty, bloodstained. The wanderer says nothing and stays still in the bush by the creek. The man above trips over his step and plummets into the shallow waters below, just in front of the wanderer. He remains still for a second, confused as to what he’s just seen, before creeping over to check the body.

Red comes off his boot and runs through the cold creek water.. The wanderer flips the body over. The man seems to have hit his head on a rock.The wanderer sighs, then checks the body. He takes a wallet with some cash in it, and his revolver. When he goes for the watch, he notices a bite mark on the corpse’s arm. He pauses and thinks back to the story he heard last night.

“The invincible man…” He laughs to himself. He grabs the watch and stands back up. A bird squawks, catching his attention towards the sky. It’ll be night soon, he’s gotta find a place to stay. He starts walking again, unsure of where he’ll end up.

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Back in Dixon, Sheriff Beau Connors follows a few bloody tracks making its way towards the in. He walks in and asks the host; “Any guests came in last night?”

She looks straight at him, focusing on the scars around his face. “Only one, but he left this morning, like a couple hours ago. He do something?” asks the hostess.

“Probably killed someone. Found a puddle of blood by the church this morning. Tracks coming through it lead me to you.” The sheriff says. He leans onto the front desk.

“Oh my, who’d he kill?” She asks

“Not sure, there’s not a body.”

“Well, that’s weird.”

“Yeah, sure is. Did this guy tell you where he was headed? He say anything?” The sheriff asks while lighting up a pipe. He blows his smoke down.

“I asked him where he was goin and he said east for some family or something. Not much else though. He kept it short and went on his way.”

The sheriff nods while taking a drag from his pipe; ‘Okay, thanks.”

The sheriff heads outside and walks over to Henry, his deputy.

“Alright he’s headed east, Get some men and follow after me. I’m gon’ head out now. This guy’s already got a headstart on us.”

“Alright.” The deputy says with a slick southern twang.

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It’s almost sundown again. The wanderer’s getting tired of wandering. He finds a nice spot to lay down his belongings, and heads out into the forest to forage some wood for a fire. He walks through the trees slowly, picking up twigs and broken branches, and birch skin. Every so often he’ll stop at the sounds of some animal rustling in the distance. He hasn’t stopped thinking about that story since he saw that man fall in the creek earlier. Was he crazy too, just like in the story? Or was he drunk? He thought to himself.

He gets back to his camp and begins forming a fire. The sounds of horse hooves hitting the dirt seem to be getting closer and closer. A light can be seen in the distance, growing with the sound of the hooves. The wanderer remains calm, especially with his revolver on his hip.

The horses come into view, about four altogether, along with the four men on top of them. Sheriff Beau descends from his horse and approaches the wanderer with his hands up.

“Good evening, sir” says the Sheriff.

“Gentleman.” Says the wanderer. He looks into the sheriff's eyes and notices the badge. He tries to make out the faces of the other men through the sheer of the light. He recognizes one of the men to be the old man from the bar.

“What’s this about?”

“Bill? Is that him?” Sheriff looks towards the old man.

“Yup, I do believe that’s him.”

The sheriff nods his head. “You were in Dixon last night, correct?”

The wanderer confirms, but is curious as to why he’s asking.

“Where you headed?”

“Mississippi. I have family there.” The wanderer responds. Some rustling in the forest spooks him out a bit. The Sheriff notices this. “You seem jumpy?”

“A little spooked is all.” he says, as a rotten smell breezes through the area, causing his nose to shrivel a bit.

“Is there a reason?” asks the sheriff, approaching the wanderer some more. He smells it too, now.

“Just tired, I was about to get some shut eye.” he says; “Was there something you wanted to tell me?” The wanderer asks. He looks behind him towards the sounds in the trees. The Sheriff stands before the fire now. The wanderer notices the scars across his face.

“This morning by the church we found a puddle of blood and a set of footprints heading straight to the inn. You know anything about that?”

“No Sir,” Says the Wanderer. “All I did last night was drink and sleep.”

“You kill when you’re drunk or when you sleep?” Asks the Sheriff.

The wanderer is taken aback. He scoffs at such an unusual question; “Neither, sir. I don’t kill for no good reason” he says.

The Sheriff nods his head. “Well, either way. I’m gonna have to bring you in til’ this mess gets settled.” The Sheriff looks back to his deputy, who then gets off of his horse and begins approaching the wanderer. He gets up quickly; “Please, Sheriff. I don’t have time for this!”

The deputy approaches him and takes a step back. The Sheriff pulls out his revolver and aims it at him; “Don’t make this difficult”

The wanderer relaxes, and the deputy turns him around to put on handcuffs. The wanderer notices something moving in the trees. He squints his eyes trying to make out what it is.

“Don’t worry, if you’re innocent, you’ll be set free and you can get back your way to Mississippi.”

The deputy moves him and begins walking him over to the horses, he makes eye contact with the Sheriff again. “I think there’s someone in there,” he says.

The Sheriff glances back quickly but brings his focus back on his men. “probably just squirrels.” The rustling in the forest catches the attention of the other men on the horses. They look out to see if they can spot what it is. “I don’t know if those are squirrels, Sheriff, they sound a little big.” Bill says with concern.

The Sheriff squints his eyes, trying to see something. Behind him, the fire shines light onto a dark figure shuffling out of the forest. The wanderer points his attention to it; “Behind you!”

The beast lunges towards the sheriff and shoves its teeth into his right shoulder, ripping out a chunk of him. He yells in agony while punching the creature in the face with his left hand. Finally he manages to toss him aside and take a step back. He tumbles to the ground behind his deputy. All attention on the Sheriff is short-lived, and all the men’s eyes turn back to the creature before them. All weapons are aimed at the beast, who’s covered in a long black robe that's ripped and dirty. It’s got a knife coming out of its chest. Bill’s eye’s grow large; “The invisible man…”.

The wanderer’s eyes look back at him. And turns back to the creature. “SHOOT IT!” Yells the Sheriff. The deputy instantly fires his weapon. The bullet rips through the creature’s neck and it stumbles back, but nothing happens. Bill is overcome with fear and takes his horse and leaves. The deputy looks back, and another creature comes from where they came from. The horses are becoming anxious, and antsy. They know they’re in danger. The birds begin squawking.

The wanderer begins walking backwards as the two men begin opening fire on the creatures approaching. He trips over himself. He hits his head on the dirt road and for a moment he stays still. He comes back to reality when he hears the screams of one of the men. He looks up and there seems to be four or five creatures now surrounding them. The man on the horse has been thrown off, and his guts ripped and pulled from his abdomen and into the mouths of the monsters. The Sheriff holds onto the deputy’s leg, pleading for help. The deputy panics, he kicks the sheriff off of him and runs over towards The Wanderer, passing him and heading straight into the darkness. The wanderer, still cuffed, manages to get up, there’s now a whole swarm of the creatures, and they’ve just noticed him.

He tries to run but his ankle seems to have taken some damage when he tripped. He limps in pain as hard as he can, following the tracks of the deputy. The sounds of hungry beasts, moaning and groaning, follow behind.

He finds a shack and limps over. He turns his back to try and open the door with cuffed hands, but it’s locked; “HELP ME!”

The deputy’s inside, unresponsive and on the floor.

“LET ME IN!” The wanderer yells and kicks the door, ignoring the pain. The creatures are so close, there’s nowhere to go. He creeps into the window and sees the deputy on the ground, full of blood. fuck.

“PLEASE!” He pleads!

The creatures surround him. Nowhere else to go. He kicks and thrusts his body into the wooden door over and over again. Each time hitting it harder than the last. One of the creature’s latches on to him, attempting to take a bite out. He headbutts it, knocking it back into the others. He turns around with one last body check that breaks through. He rushes in and shuts the door behind him, pressing his weight against it. He realizes he shattered the locks. Defeat creeps in, he has nowhere to go. The night is no longer silent. The moaning, the groaning of the creatures outside, the pounding on the old door, the only thing between him and death, the old wood creaking, getting closer to collapsing, wind blowing, his heart beating.