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"It's the Rough-Nights. It always happens on the Rough-Nights"

His grandmother had already said that. And now he was standing here. Tied to the village's mater pole. In the middle of winter, waiting for his death.

...

It was winter. The snow weighed heavily on the roofs of the small village. Everything was quiet. The villagers were asleep. It was the dark season. The nights were long and dark, the days dim and short. Here in the north, on the border to the Northlands, people stayed indoors at night. Even if the northern lights were an invitation to linger, the cold and the wolves ensured that people and livestock stayed in their dwellings at night.

The village was not that old. People had only been settling here for around 100 years. The fertile soil, which promised rich harvests even in the short summers, attracted the settlers to these cold climates.

The nomads who lived here and moved with the seasons had warned the settlers back then. That the north was not for soft people from the south, but they had not listened.

Over the last 100 years, the village had continued to grow thanks to rich harvests. More and more people had made the long and arduous journey north to seek their fortune here.

So far, they had found it. The warnings of the nomads were forgotten. Apart from the occasional wolf that strayed into the settlement and the occasional passing barbarian, who was more interested in trade than blood and treasure, the only danger here was the cold.

That was until that fateful day when Lorn had not come to the market.

Lorn had been one of the village's emigrants. He had built his farm just outside the village. He had come to the market every week to sell his hens' eggs and his own chickens.

This week there was no sign of him. His wife and children had not come either.

The village elders had decided that they would pay a visit to his farm just to see what was going on. It was possible that they were ill and needed help.

When the villagers arrived at his farm, they found nothing unusual at first, except that the door to the house was open.

When they entered the house, they found a scene straight out of a slaughterhouse. The kitchen, which was directly accessible from the front door, was completely devastated. There was blood everywhere and Lorn, the master of the house, at least the villagers assumed it was him, had been completely shredded. Parts of a human body had been strewn all over the room.

The villagers, who were not used to such sights, left the building in a hurry. Only when the question arose as to where the rest of the family was did they dare to enter the building again via the back door.

The back door had been torn off its hinges and the remains of the family lay some distance from the house. Unlike Lorn himself, however, they had "only" been beheaded.

Their bright red blood was an extreme contrast to the white of the snow.

None of the villagers knew much about tracks, so in their panic they probably covered more tracks than they found. Panic was the right word. Everyone was beside themselves. Who could have committed such an atrocity? The beheading of the family had been barbaric enough, but the fact that Lorn had been completely torn to pieces puzzled them.

When the villagers returned and reported to the elders, the excitement was naturally great. Who could have done such a thing? Why had the chickens not been touched? None of the farmer's few valuables had been missing. In fact, the attack had been aimed solely at killing the occupants of the house. That much they had agreed on. They had thought about who could be held responsible. Barbarians? Probably not. They could be trusted to raid a farm, but they would have taken anything that wasn't nailed down, and they would probably have taken the wife and children. Besides, even barbarians wouldn't have mauled a man like that. Wolves? Granted, wolves would be able to tear a man apart, but they would probably have eaten him afterwards and probably the family too. But apart from the decapitations, the bodies of the others had remained intact.

It was a mystery.

The elders had decided to set up a night watch in case anything else happened. Volunteers were quickly found. No one in the village wanted something like this to happen again.

And it didn't happen again.

There were no more incidents over the course of the entire year. At least none that did not have completely natural and explainable causes. And so the night watch was stopped again, and life went on as usual. With the exception that Lorn's farm remained uninhabited. No one wanted to take over the farm. No one even wanted to enter it.

After they had buried the bodies and distributed the chickens to the other farms, no one had been on the farm again. It stood as an abandoned memorial to what had happened there.

It was not until the Rough-Nights of the next winter that the villagers were reminded again of what had happened on Lorn's farm.

The morning after the second Rough-Night, the villagers woke up and the milkmaid had found him. Her scream could be heard throughout the village. The poor milkmaid had fainted after her scream had alerted the rest of the village.

The villagers, who had rushed over, were curious as to what had shocked the poor girl so much. They quickly regretted their curiosity.

Someone, or something, had smashed down the door to the village priest's house and completely disemboweled the man in the hallway. His entrails adorned the carvings on the banister and his mangled body was spread all the way down the hallway. The priest's blood had almost stained the entire wall of the hallway red. His housekeeper, probably awakened by the commotion of the attack, had been decapitated, much like Lorn's family, and lay on the landing of the second floor.

Again, the residents' valuables had not been touched. Again, only the man of the house had been killed in the most brutal manner, while his family had been treated relatively mercifully.

The village elders, who had not seen the massacre on Lorn's farm, were at a loss.

This time the attack had taken place in the village. The priest had been a respected man. The villagers had looked up to him as a valued member of their community. A man of God.

This time they couldn't write it off as an isolated incident, an unfortunate accident or something. The mere fact that it had befallen the priest, the link to the gods, would set the villagers in an uproar.

It would take a lot of their good will to calm the villagers down again. They would send for a new priest, they would reinstate the night watch and hope it didn't happen again.

It did happen again.

After a whole year had passed, it happened again during the Rough- Nights.

It always happened on the Rough-Nights.

On those darkest nights of the year. When the Wild Hunt traditionally swept across the land, these murders took place. If you could even call them murders, when an entire village household was literally slaughtered.

The village elders had sent for the paladins and the witch hunters of the realm. They were certain that they would not be able to deal with this phenomenon themselves.

The holy warriors of the emperor and the witch hunters of the holy church had come. They had set themselves the task of destroying evil wherever they found it and in whatever form they encountered it.

After inspecting the crime scenes and exhuming some of the corpses, they had set out into the surrounding woods to search for the beasts that could have caused these atrocities.

They had searched for a long time. Slaying wolves, bears and other wild animals. But nothing was found that could have caused these atrocities. Then they had moved into the nearby swamps to search for monsters, chaos cults and witches.

They had spent days and weeks combing through the swamps, burning down large areas and returning to the village without having achieved anything.

The witch hunters had got it into their heads that this must be the work of witches and heretics and, following their unsuccessful search, had organized a sheer witch hunt in the village. Under the pressure of the interrogations, innocent villagers were accused of witchcraft and of making amments to the dark forces.

Nobody contradicted a witch hunter, there were easier and more pleasant ways to commit suicide, the villagers knew that much.

During these weeks, many of the villagers burned at the stake, completely innocent.

When the witch hunters finally considered the village cleansed and the evil eradicated, no one questioned this decision.

And when the paladins and the witch hunters finally left, they promised that if the village was ever suspected of being in league with the dark forces again, monsters and barbarians would be the least of their problems. The village then decided that they would never again seek the help of the empire. They would rather arrange themselves with the barbarians from the north

The village got together and discussed how to deal with the situation. They did not want to abandon the village. The soil was good, the harvests plentiful. Why should they give all this up? But how should the matter be approached?

Some of the villagers suggested building a protective wall and gates around the village. This suggestion was well received, but the fact that there were still many settlers who had their farms relatively far away from the village and would therefore not benefit from a wall, and the fact that they would never be able to complete a wall around the entire village by winter, as there was too much other work to do in the summer, ultimately spoke against this suggestion.

They would keep it in mind, but for the moment another, more pragmatic solution was needed.

They decided to fortify the large hall, the village hall, and house the villagers there for the Rough-Nights. They would be together. They could fight any attackers together and a building could undoubtedly be secured before the wind came back.

This proposal was accepted by a large majority and put into practice.

And so the entire population of the village gathered in the great hall over the next few Rough-Nights. They waited and hoped together.

And it happened... nothing.

Spurred on by this success, the village began to secure the individual houses.

Certainly. They could and would hold out together in the great hall over the Rough-Nights for the next few years, but this was not a permanent state and they wanted to enable the villagers to live as normal a life as possible.

Little by little, the villagers' houses were secured. The walls were reinforced. Meter-thick quarry stone walls, like in the fortified castles of the border regions. Thick shutters made of ironwood with double bolts and reinforced with iron spikes. And doors made of thick planks shod with iron.

The villagers' houses looked more like small fortresses than the typical thatched houses and huts of a typical village. They also lit large fires at night to provide more light in the village.

But their success proved them right. There were no more incidents over the next few years.

Slowly but surely, things began to relax. The villagers began to believe again that the gods had not abandoned them.

It had been a test. A test of their faith and perseverance. The gods had placed them at a crossroads. Either they would take the easy path and give up, or they would take the hard path, the one that would ultimately lead them to success.

...

The years passed and they felt safe.

And then it happened again.

After the last Rough-Night of the previous winter, the village elder's house was found completely devastated. The heavy door that was supposed to have prevented an intrusion had been torn out of the wall. And lay several meters away from the house.

The picture that had presented itself to the first witnesses was unsurpassable in its cruelty.

Unlike in previous cases, this time not only the master of the house had been brutally dismembered, but also his family, his servants and even the house dog. Everything had been torn to pieces in the most gruesome way. The entire house had been devastated. Blood and the remains of the inhabitants were everywhere.

The servants had been armed and yet even they had been left without a chance.

The attacker had escaped through a window at the back. But thanks to the heavy snowfall, no usable traces had been found.

The panic and fear among the people of the village had been great.

Not even the protective measures had had a lasting effect.

Redical voices had quickly become loud and demanded various measures.

Some wanted to abandon the village. It was cursed and it would be better to start again somewhere else.

Others were sure that the gods wanted to punish them because they had strayed from the right path again.

And still others were sure that the gods had not abandoned them, but that they had probably been worshipping the wrong gods all these years.

The discussions went on for the whole year. Some left the village. Others entrenched themselves in their cellars and worshipped their gods. And still others convinced the rest of the village that more radical methods were needed to please the gods.

...

And so the Rough-Nights descended on the village once again.

Like every year, the villagers barricaded themselves in their homes and shivered.

But something was different this year.

He stood in the middle of the village square.

The villagers had decided. He would be the sacrifice they offered to the dark forces to save the rest of the village.

They had tied him to the mater pole in the middle of the village square.

He would die for the good of the whole village. Whatever had committed all the murders over the years would take him and leave. That was the plan, that was how it would happen.

At least they were sure it would.

The young man, wrapped in his heavy cloak, stood at the stake freezing. He would die, of that he was sure. If the beast didn't come for him, he would freeze to death here.

He wasn't sure what would be better. To freeze to death slowly and agonizingly, or to be torn to pieces by a hitherto unknown monster.

The latter would at least be quick.

Why had he been chosen? He had done nothing wrong. He was the blacksmith's assistant. He was an important member of the community. So why him?

He was shivering.

He was incredibly cold, but it wasn't that alone. He was afraid. Afraid of the unknown, afraid of death, of what came after. He would leave his wife and children behind. What would become of them?

He looked around.

In the glow of the fires they had lit everywhere, as they had done on Rough-Nights for decades, the village seemed to glow orange-red. The snow was melting in the immediate vicinity of the flames, but it was cold enough that it remained meters high everywhere else.

Every winter they dug paths through the village and the snow sometimes piled up several meters high against the houses.

"What was that?"

He asked aloud and wheeled around. He was sure he had heard something. He searched the square and the paths leading to it. But he couldn't see anything.

Probably just snow that had fallen from one of the roofs. He tried to calm down and tugged at his bonds once more, but it didn't help. He was tied to the pole and there was no escape.

He could hear it again. That characteristic sound of someone walking through the snow. He turned his head as far as he could and looked in the direction the sound had come from.

His breathing quickened. He almost couldn't keep his trembling under control. His breath formed thick clouds in front of his mouth, temporarily obscuring his vision.

He could see nothing. He desperately tried to calm himself down.

And then, as the last cloud of breath dissipated, there it was.

He couldn't see it clearly. It was still too far away and the shadows cast by the high snowdrifts made it difficult to make out the details. But there was something there. It was tall, certainly 2 meters tall. It stood on two legs. It was dark and swayed slightly back and forth.

He could clearly see the clouds of breath that appeared regularly from the creature.

What was that?

It bent down as it slowly came closer. It almost looked as if it was scenting something. Again and again it stopped and stretched. Its movements seemed strange and awkward.

When it finally stepped into the glow of the flames, his heart almost stopped.

What was standing there was not human, even if its stature had almost suggested this from a distance. But it wasn't an animal either. At least not one that he had ever seen.

It looked like a dog or a wolf, but it was standing on its hind legs. It was bent over, as if it wasn't really able to walk upright. Its fur was sticky and dirty... It was dark, but that could have been due to the poor lighting conditions. But what was that hanging all over the creature? Clothes?

No, it wasn't clothes. It looked different. It looked heavy and wet and... no, it couldn't be.

As the creature got closer, he could see it better.

It really did look like a wolf. It had large, standing ears, a long snout whose mouth was constantly open a little. The teeth in its mouth were long and pointed.

It was big, too big, and yet it looked strangely malnourished, almost emaciated. You could clearly see the ribs through the thick fur. The limbs seemed far too long compared to the stocky body and they were so skinny that they looked almost spider-like. The long tail hung down behind the beast and swayed slightly back and forth. The fur was definitely black, or at least very dark, and it was damp and sticky.

The rags that hung down the creature like torn clothing... oh no... it was skin... human skin. It looked like the creature had burst out of the skin. So what was gumming up the fur was... blood...

He stood there, tied to the mater pole, looking at this... this thing... slowly approaching. He wanted to flee, but he was tied up. He wanted to avert his gaze, but his body would not obey him. He wanted to scream, but his scream got stuck in his throat.

His whole body was trembling. He could already see his end ahead of him. There was no escape.

The beast was getting closer. It walked on its hind legs, but when it moved, it bent forward until its front legs, or arms, almost touched the ground. As soon as it stopped, it still seemed to be in motion. The body was always swaying a little to the left and right and the head was always moving, as if it was looking for something.

Now that it had come close enough to him, he could hear the constant sniffing and subliminal growling of the beast. And it wasn't just sniffing and growling, it was making a whole series of soft noises.

It whimpered, grumbled, gasped, growled and whined.

And then it slowly came straight towards him. He closed his eyes and pressed himself against the mater pole, as if that would help him. At least he could no longer see it.

But he could still hear it, and he smelled it. That heavy smell of iron and copper... blood... and that mochus-like, savage smell of wet dog. He could feel the beast's breath against his clothes as it sniffed him. He could hear it slinking around the post, sniffing and growling constantly.

He could feel the beast's claws scratching the wood of the pole and how it plucked at his clothes.

He almost lost his mind with fear. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes tighter.

And then there was... silence.

For a moment, he no longer heard it. He no longer felt it. He no longer smelled it.

All he could hear was the pounding of his heart, the rushing of his blood in his ears and the cold of the night on his skin.

He didn't dare open his eyes, breathe or do anything else.

Only when his brain screamed so loudly for oxygen and he could no longer suppress it did he exhale and greedily inhale new breath. Before his nose could register that the beast was still there, he made the mistake of opening his eyes.

He looked into the eyes of the beast standing directly opposite him. In the semi-darkness, the beast's eyes seemed to glow. It did not move but just looked at him, unmoving.

His breath came in quick, trembling gasps.

It seemed to be grinning. Its long, white teeth looked like a closed bear trap from which there was no escape. It slowly raised its clawed paws and showed them to him. It opened and closed its paws a few times and ran its claws carefully over his coat. It seemed to want to show him what it would use to kill him. It had realized that he had no way of escaping and so there was no hurry. It looked at one of the scraps of skin still clinging to its arms. With sharp claws, it pulled the rag off and lifted it to its mouth. It pushed the scrap between its teeth and seemed to chew on it with relish before finally swallowing it.

It came towards him again. Came very close to him. And then, out of nowhere, it roared at him. It opened its mouth to show him its many sharp teeth and roared like nothing he had ever heard before. It was so unreal that he couldn't place it anywhere. All he could do was roar back and express his sheer panic.

When they had both emptied their lungs, the beast's mouth snapped shut with a loud clacking of clashing teeth.

He clung to the stake and stared at the beast. Unable to avert his eyes. It did not move any further. It only swayed slightly back and forth again, as it always did when it stood still.

Desperation made him brave and so he gathered what courage and defiance he had left in him. If he had to die, then he would hurl all his rage, all his anger and all his defiance at the beast. And so he shouted:

"What do you want anyway? Tell me what you want!"

His voice was hoarse and he didn't know if the beast could even understand him. He didn't wait for an answer but followed up:

"Now come on! Do what you came for! We all know why you're here! Do it and then get out!"

He never thought he would be able to shout so loudly, but all he achieved was that the beast perked up its ears and tilted its head to one side. It bared its teeth and came closer again with its head, sniffing at him excitedly.

"Bloody hell! Can't you do it when your victim is defenceless? By the gods. Do it already!"

He shouted again and the beast backed away. It stopped about three meters in front of him and raised its head. It stretched as far as its crooked stature would allow and began to howl.

It was a strangely plaintive sound, not unlike the wolves in the woods. It held this piercing sound for a surprisingly long time before falling back into its hunched posture. It turned away from him and fixed its gaze on a house at the edge of the village square. It sniffed intensely.

He couldn't quite follow what it was doing at first. But it seemed to have lost interest in him. He tried to turn his head far enough to see where the beast was looking. Perhaps other villagers had come out to help him, to drive the beast away.

Then he saw where the beast was staring and his heart stopped. It was clearly looking in the direction of his house. The house where the rest of his little family lived. His wife. His children.

His eyes widened as he realized the implications of the beast's gaze.

He rebelled against his restraints.

"No! Don't do that!"

He shouted. His fear, his desperation gave him new strength. He braced himself with everything he had against the shackles that bound him to the stake, but they were too strong. There was no escape, and as the beast slowly began to move, it was as if it was mocking him. He knew there was nothing he could do but scream and plead.

"No! That's not what you're here for! You're here for me! Take me!"

He shouted desperately, his voice breaking. The beast stopped for a moment and looked slightly over its shoulder. It was as if it grinned before continuing on its way.

"Help! Do something! It's killing my family, not me!"

He roared against the closed doors and shutters of the houses as he finally realized that the beast didn't care what he was shouting.

It moved slowly, but soon it was at the door of his house anyway.

For a moment, it seemed as if the beast just wanted to stand in front of the house and do nothing. It continued to sniff the air intensely.

He made one last desperate attempt.

"Hey, you mangy mongrel! I'm here! Leave the others out of it! It's me you want!"

But even these cries faded into nothingness. Tears streamed down his face. Watching the beast ravage his house would be worse than death. He didn't want to see it, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. He tried to turn a little more, but could do nothing against the restraints.

The beast reached for the door. He could hear the wood cracking and creaking. The beast seemed to have more strength in its scrawny arms than it appeared. His mouth was wide open as the beast growled louder and finally just ripped the door off its hinges and flung it across the village square. Frantic shadows could be seen in the light shining out of the door.

His eyes widened as the beast looked back at him with a sneer before entering the house.

"No, don't do that! Don't do that!"

He shouted again. But it was no use. The beast was already in his house and the panicked screams of his family reached him outside. Again he tried to tear himself away from the stake. But apart from almost dislocating his shoulder, he had no success.

"Why won't anyone help me? Why won't you help my family? You cowardly bastards! The beast shall get you!"

He shouted in a hoarse voice. But nothing happened. No window opened, no door was unlocked.

He stared tensely at his house. The screams became shriller and then... silence.

"No! Nooooohohohohohooo!"

He screamed, pleading. He still hoped that perhaps his wife had hidden the children in the cellar, or had somehow taken them away.

A single shadow loomed against the glow of the lamps in his house. Then the beast appeared in the doorway again. He couldn't see it clearly, but it seemed to be carrying something, or dragging something behind it.

"Please don't...please, please don't..."

He begged, straining his eyes to see what the beast was carrying as it slowly approached him.

When he finally recognized it, he no longer wanted to live.

The beast was carrying one of his two children, or what was left of him, and dragging his wife's body behind it.

He was no longer able to form coherent sentences or even make himself understood in any way. The sight of what the beast had done to his family was beyond his mental capacity.

The beast came to him, besides the caked blood he had been carrying from the beginning, his fur was now wet with the fresh blood of his family. It stopped in front of him, its teeth stained with blood. It lifted up the lifeless body of his son.

He shook his head and just wanted to scream, to throw himself at the beast, but his body no longer obeyed him.

Powerless and defenceless, he stared at the beast, which placed his son's corpse on the ground next to him and leaned against the stake before dragging his wife's body into his field of vision. Her lifeless eyes looked at him and the beast seemed to grin before this corpse also found its place at his side.

He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, his daughter wasn't there. Maybe at least she was still alive, but if he showed this to the beast now, it would probably search the house again.

It turned out that he didn't have to show it to the beast. It lifted one of its bloodied paws and turned around. Slowly it went back into its house.

Whimpering, he looked down to his sides and then back to his house.

The beast was already on its way back to him. It pulled his daughter carelessly behind him by the collar. It stopped in front of him and lifted her in front of its face.

There was still life in her eyes. Her breathing was weak and she was unable to say anything or fight back.

His eyes widened. He was about to say something when his daughter's eyes shot open and gurgled. Before he could do anything, he saw her body buckle briefly before the beast's claws plunged through her chest. Her blood sprayed over him and his inarticulate scream echoed off the walls of the surrounding houses.

The beast tore its paw from his daughter's now lifeless body and dropped her at his feet. It grinned maliciously at him as he gasped heavily.

"You... you... monster...!"

Was all he could get out. He wished now that the beast would kill him too. He didn't want to... he couldn't go on living with these images in his mind. It turned to him once more and smeared its paw, stained with the blood of his family, across his face.

Then it let go of him and simply trotted off.

"Hey... HEEEY...! You can't just leave me hanging here!"

He shouted after the beast.

"Come back you son of a bitch! At least kill me!"

He followed up, but the beast just slunk away. He looked for a moment in the direction in which the beast had disappeared before he let himself hang from the pole. He could no longer scream, he could no longer fight. He had lost everything. Really everything.

When morning came, the villagers found him. He had frozen to death on the stake. The blood he was stained with was frozen crystalline and the bodies of his family lying at his feet were frozen just as hard.

They had all heard his screams. They had all been too cowardly to raise their weapons and drive the beast away.

They were all sure that this method would not be successful either. They now had a year to come up with a new method before the beast would strike again.

Once again, the voices that wanted to simply abandon the village were raised. And once again they were silenced. They would not abandon the village. They would stay, even if it was the last thing they did.

Not far from the commotion, he awoke from his sleep.

His skull droned and threatened to burst.

He looked around his small hut. Tufts of disheveled, black fur lay all around him. It was caked with blood and stank of death. As he pushed himself up onto his knees, he realized that he was naked.

It had happened again. He looked at the door and blinked. It was only ajar.

He had taken measures to prevent this from happening again, but it probably hadn't been enough.

He wondered who it had been this time.

Will it ever end?

Concept and Idea by

El Poyo Diabolo

Written by

El Poyo Diabolo

Characters by

El Poyo Diabolo

Edit by

El Poyo Diabolo

Published by

El Poyo Diabolo