Hero's Downfall

Update 6/6/2025 Since writing Hero's Downfall and the connected novel, Sinner's Pass, I created a reading of the short story. If you would like to hear the story narrated, you can hear it on my podcast Birds with Words with music and sound effects! See the button below.

BwW: Hero's Downfall

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Update 2/13/2026

Sinner's Pass received a re-release on 2/13/2026. Scenes were tailored to be more precise for the "realms" within Sinner's Pass. The hardcover (special edition) also now has the 3 short stories associated with the Sinner's Pass universe. With this, the short stories have all been rewritten for their debut print publication.

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Dan rose early. A light sprinkling of rain left early-morning dew that still dripped off the leaves. Mist still gently lingered, trying to fight against the subtle easing of the sun rising and piercing the canopy. Dan stood on the porch of his newly erected cabin, watching the mist recede under the sun’s rays. It was peaceful and calming. But his bones still ached, rigid in their memories.

His bones still remembered. A chill of worry slithered up his spine whenever he saw wet conditions. It was 1803, and the war had been over for twenty years, but his body couldn’t let go of the lessons. When he served under ‘the devourer of villages,’ the man who had become their first President, wet, misty conditions were dangerous. Powder for the muskets would get damp and fail to work when the enemy was right before them. It had almost spelled disaster for them several times. A moment stood out among the others. The Iroquois had sided with the British, prompting General Washington to order General Sullivan to devastate the Iroquois settlements.

As General Sullivan put the Iroquois lands to the torch, a British contingent received word and was on the move to attack the Continental forces. Dan was tasked with intercepting the British. Wet, misty conditions that morning, eerily similar to the weather he watched, had soaked the powder on both sides. Few volleys were fired, and with no other choice, the two sides clashed. Bayonets clattered as wood and metal met flesh and bone. Decimated, his Continental militia stood victorious over the dead. Many of Dan’s men had been cut down. Those who remained were wounded, or vomiting from the exertion of the melee. Dan himself had not escaped unscathed either. He had been slashed across his chest, stabbed in the left leg, and he was missing his left pinky and ring finger by the second knuckles each. They were vulnerable, and the world knew it, the enemy knew it.

Dan spied a second contingent re-routing towards them. They would never escape; they certainly could not fight. It was quick thinking, and it was a lot of luck. He rallied what was left of his men and rose with their colors. At the crest of a knoll, he gave a hearty call. “We got’em now boys! It’s the last of them!” Dan’s voice carried across the misty field, followed by the war cry of his remaining men. By the grace of God, it had worked. The pasty faces of their attackers were slack and ghostly white. With a quick turn, the redcoats retreated, fully believing they were against a vastly superior force.

Dispatches made him a hero. He never fought the title, he also never accepted it. He was lucky, that was all.

Content that it was time; Dan headed on foot out into town. It was not a long walk, and he saw no reason to mount his horse for such a leisurely trek. Passing his fence off his property, it bordered on a small farm belonging to the Landru family. It was just a father with his three boys. Dan had only shared a few words with the father. The boys mostly kept to themselves.

Further along the trail, it became a road, and he passed the recluse of the town. It was three homes that all were cursed with misfortune. Dan had inquired of one of the shopkeepers about the reclusive woman that still occupied the center home. The shopkeeper explained to Dan that just two years before the turn of the century, a man named James Bugden had lived in one of the now dilapidated homes. James had been visiting his neighbor, who had lived in the third house. There, James took a fatal plunge off the secondary story balcony. Many still whispered that the men had been arguing prompting Jacob, the owner to push James to his death. With no witnesses, there was no reason to doubt Jacob’s story.

The fatal story could have ended there, but Jacob’s house was now the recluse’s house. Jacob was seen less and less in town after James’s death, but when he came into town, his mouth was full of tales. Jacob Tanner swore there was a demon that stalked the forest at night. Curious, men joined him to search the surrounding hillsides for the monster, but nothing was ever found. Jacob became more and a more reclusive, and his stories became more fantastic about beasts that roamed the town at night, and stalking monsters in the forest. Curious newcomers would sometimes humor the man, but such outings did nothing but bring more shame to Jacob. Had it been shame of a guilty conscience, or a man sick of mind, no one could tell. Bleeding the man with leeches had not helped. Jacob’s adult daughter had to move from Philadelphia to live with and care for her father. Now only she was seen in town, and it was only to purchase the necessities. The young woman’s name wasn’t even known by the shopkeeper, who had shared the details with Dan.

The third and final house was abandoned just as James Bugden’s house was. The property had belonged to a Gabriel Martin as recently as 1801. Gabriel was a shoemaker and well liked, from what Dan was told. That was until Gabriel started whispering that he, too, saw the apparitions roaming the town late at night. A distasteful joke, many residents of Sinner’s Pass thought, with Gabriel being a neighbor to the reclusive Tanners. Gabriel was apparently adamant he was seeing children, but possessed children whose eyes were like black pits that consumed light, and deer-like creatures in the woods that consumed flesh. Few had any interest in humoring Gabriel. In isolation, the town was awakened one morning to Gabriel breaking into the chapel. He had already destroyed all the windows and was attempting to dismount the crucifix when the men subdued him.

The shopkeeper explained it took five men to wrestle Gabriel to the ground. Gabriel raved that the church was a breeding ground for evil and was luring them all into damnation. The local sheriff had chalked Gabriel’s twistical behavior up to drunken behavior. Gabriel had spent a night locked up, and most were content to accept that until Gabriel came back even more devious. Townsfolk found Gabriel trying to light the town ablaze with hay he had laid out. It was pure luck they grabbed him before the flame could take hold. Seeing as Gabriel was too dangerous, they hung him the following day.

Dan shook his head at the thought of the three properties. Aside from the tainted three, Sinner’s Pass did not differ from most towns he had seen in the new states. There had been some early issues with the Indians, but a stern hand taught them not to try the small town. Otherwise, it was quiet, and quiet is all Dan wanted for his budding family. Judith was to arrive today, and Dan was intent on meeting her carriage in town. It was a hard decision to leave her behind to find their homestead, but she was pregnant. It was agreed that neither wanted to risk a birth in a small town without their home fully erected yet.

The town was fully up and moving. Dan waved at the owner of the general shop as the door swung open. Along the road from the south, clopped the heavy hooves of horses pulling a carriage. There were game trails in the north, but the mountains became too tight for safe passage for wagons. All heavy movement had to come from the south, crossing a river, slowing flow into Sinner’s Pass. But the wait for Dan was finally over, and he could taste the sweet, relaxing life on his lips as the red carriage came to a stop before him.

Dan hurried his steps, eager to assist his wife out of the carriage, but the door opened before he could reach it. Instead of his swollen wife, something more beautiful stepped down. Judith stepped out and clutched to her chest was a small bundle of joy.

“Judith!” Dan said, the word breaking free of him as he crossed the street. He wrapped his arms around her, careful—instinctively so—aware of the small bundle she held against her chest.

“Dan,” she said, smiling. “I wanted to surprise you. He came early, and I didn’t want to risk a letter going astray.” She shifted the child slightly, revealing a sleeping, round-cheeked face. “Meet your son. Adam.”

Dan stared. The world seemed to contract to that single, impossible fact. The child’s face was flushed and full, his breathing steady and soft. A warmth spread through Dan’s chest, rising into his throat, and for a moment he was afraid he might break down there in the open street.

“He looks just like you,” Dan said quietly.

Judith laughed. “Really? I only see you.” She adjusted her grip and glanced past him, toward the waiting house. “Come on. Let me see our home. Let’s finish making this day memorable.”

She paused, her gaze drifting upward. The morning sky had taken on a deep, ruddy hue, the light staining the horizon. “Red sky in the morning,” she said thoughtfully. “Sailors take warning. Looks like we’re in for some weather.”

Dan followed her eyes. “Who told you that?”

“The dockhands,” Judith said. “Just before I left. They said it always means a storm is coming.”

Dan smiled faintly and shook his head. “Good thing we aren’t sailors.”

Above them, the red light deepened, lingering longer than it should have. 

Dan paid the coach and paid for the two boys to carry the baggage to their house. Within the hour, they were settled as Judith admired the home Dan had built for them. It was cozy, and enough for the three of them. They had a root cellar, the main floor, and a second floor with their living area.

Judith rocked Adam in her arms as she peered out the front window from the second floor. “It’s everything we dreamed of.”

“It will never be enough for you, but it’s a start.”

“Dan, who is that?” Judith was looking outside at a woman carrying a bucket across the far field. A sullen woman, with dark hair and a dirty tunic.

“That’s Ms. Tanner. She cares for her father, who has become simple.”

“Poor thing.” Judith trailed off. “Was it an accident? Her father, becoming simple?”

“I’m not familiar with the details,” Dan said as a half-truth. “I hear her father is not a kind man anymore.”

“Poor thing,” Judith said as if she were talking about a puppy and not a person. “We should invite them for supper. I am sure she would like to know a lady is nearby to be friendly with.”

“I see your heart of gold has only grown since we’ve been apart.”

The next morning, Dan woke up early to begin work on setting his fence. He was setting the first post, believing he was alone in the dark morning. A crawling feeling tickled the back of his neck, forcing his eyes up. A thick mist floated through the field under the gathering dark storm clouds. Movement always caught his eye. That drew his attention first, shifting. The haze there was a warm red glow. His thought was a fire, perhaps a lantern, but it was far too still to be a fire. A boxy body of darkness shifted, carrying the glow within it. A sharp, peaked head of a deer mounted the thing.

“Dan?”

Dan looked back in terror at Judith and then went back to the trees. The deer was gone.

“Dan? Is everything alright?” Judith called again.

“Yes, yes, just saw an animal is all.” Dan squinted. In the distance, he couldn’t see anything.

“Come break your fast. I want to go over and meet Ms. Tanner, see if she would like to join us later.”

After breakfast, Judith did as she said and went off to the Tanner residence. Dan went back to the fence. The sky had grown darker with the impending storm. Dan scanned the misty field towards the trees, looking to see if the creature had returned. The mist was still thick, unusual for the late morning. With the mist a renewed sense of dread crept through the air like a suffocating fog, seeping into his very bones. The old soldier in him said to leave. He harshly shook his head, hoping to quell the sensation, yet it lingered, like a sore on his tongue.

They were fortunate that the rain never settled in on them, but the clouds had stayed, threatening to release their contents at any moment. When supper finally came, Dan returned from the field to see the table was already set. Adam was sound asleep nearby, and at the end of his table sat the dark, tangled-haired Ms. Tanner.

  “Good day, Ms. Tanner.” Dan greeted as Judith brought out her savory meat stew. Ms. Tanner did not acknowledge Dan’s greeting. A sharp glance at Judith, Judith just nodded warmly to sit. “It smells amazing, Judith. I have to say I don’t know if I missed you or your cooking more.” Dan said, taking his seat.

“I wanted something to really warm the soul,” Judith answered.

“Ms. Tanner, your father didn’t want to join us?” Dan asked to engage their guest.

“He’s been ill.” Ms. Tanner’s eyes flicked to him. Dan’s heart tripped at the dark globes that were the woman’s eyes. Under her unruly brows, it was like looking at a rabid animal.

“I think you can take the excess with you.” Judith answered. “Maybe the stew will help him get to his feet.”

A long silence settled between the three. Dan couldn’t pull his eyes off the wild woman, but finally she dipped her head down. “Mayhap.”

“Dan, would you lead us in grace?” Judith asked.

Dan clasped his hands and bowed his head. He began the familiar words automatically, but almost at once his attention drifted. From the corner of his eye, he watched Ms. Tanner.

She had not moved.

Her head remained lowered, hands folded neatly in her lap, as though she were waiting for a signal rather than participating in the prayer. The long curtain of her dark hair fell forward, casting her face in shadow. Dan could not tell if her lips moved. He suspected they did not.

When the prayer ended, Judith immediately turned to her meal, appetite intact. Ms. Tanner lifted her bowl and took a slow, deliberate sip, as though timing the motion carefully. Dan continued to watch her, unsettled by the precision of her movements.

“Ms. Tanner,” Judith said gently, filling the silence, “what brought you here?”

“My father.”

The words were delivered without inflection, stripped of warmth or explanation.

“That’s very noble of you,” Judith said, smiling. “Caring for your father. I hope if anything ever happened to me, Adam would be as kind.”

Ms. Tanner raised her spoon again. “Just don’t do it here,” she said, as calmly as if commenting on the weather.

Judith paused, then glanced at Dan before returning her attention to her bowl. “Dan, how is the fence coming along?”

“Almost finished,” Dan replied. “I lost some time this morning. I saw an odd deer and went looking for it.”

The spoon slipped from Ms. Tanner’s fingers and struck the side of her bowl with a sharp clatter.

Dan and Judith both turned toward her.

Ms. Tanner’s face had gone rigid. Her eyes were wide and glassy, fixed on Dan with an intensity that made his skin prickle. The flesh of her cheeks pulled tight, as if fear had hollowed her from the inside.

“What did the deer look like?” she asked.

Dan felt a sudden, irrational reluctance to answer. He wanted to look at Judith, to ground himself, but he did not take his eyes off Ms. Tanner.

“It was… large,” he said. “Very dark. The weather made it hard to see.” He gave a small shrug, attempting to dismiss the memory. “Probably nothing.”

Ms. Tanner shook her head slowly. “It was one of them,” she whispered.

The words drained the warmth from the room.

“One of who, dear?” Judith asked carefully.

Ms. Tanner lifted her hands. They were trembling. She stared at them, as though surprised by their movement, then pressed her palms downward, patting the air as if to steady herself.

“I came here to care for my father because his mind went wrong,” she said haltingly. “He saw things. Terrible things. I thought it was the illness.” She swallowed hard. “But I see them too.”

Dan felt his chest tighten.

“If you look at them for too long,” she continued, her voice dropping, “they begin to whisper. Not aloud. Inside you. In your most private moments. They tell you things you don’t want to know.”

Her gaze drifted toward the darkened window, toward the forest beyond.

“In this forest,” she said, barely audible now, “even the trees whisper. They keep dreadful secrets.”

A skeletal cold grasp seized Dan. He felt himself pulled tightly to his seat. “You mean, like ghosts?” Judith asked with a worried chuckle. The glance from Judith told Dan Judith thought it all to be a joke.

Ms. Tanner slammed her small fist on the table. Both Judith and the bowls jumped at the impact. Adam woke and began to cry. “It’s real. A-a-a-all of it is real. They know you better than you know yourself. Sometimes, sometimes they tell you what they think of others.”

“I think it’s time you went,” Dan said, getting to his feet.

“But you saw one of them!”

“I saw a deer.” Dan snapped back. “Now, please, leave.” Dan said over Adam’s cry.

Ms. Tanner turned and saw herself out as Judith rushed to Adam. “Do you think she’s sick, too?” Judith said over shushing Adam.

Dan watched out the window as the woman faded into the night’s darkness. “I don’t know, but I think we should avoid her.”

As night settled in, their small room was filled with the soft breathing of Judith and Adam asleep. Dan couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. His mind was wired from their evening with their neighbor, and the gripping truth Dan knew. Something about that deer had been wrong. A glow had come from the chest of the beast, soft, but it was undeniable.

Dan slithered out of bed, careful not to wake Judith. He peered out the window. The moon’s cool white glow cast night shadows that danced with an eerie malevolence, whispering secrets that chilled the soul. Storm clouds still lingered high above. It was odd how the light seemed to come from everywhere, yet nowhere. No moon was visible, yet still the light reached the ground. He looked along the treeline, hoping to catch a glimpse of the monster again. He scanned the area twice and was about to turn back when a soft glow peeked out from the far-left field.

Dan held his breath. Through the mist and night light, a muted orange glow shuffled through the brush. At times, dipping and disappearing, then reappearing for a moment. Dan leaned against the window, wishing he had the telescope from his service days to see the beast now. It was coming out to the field. He simply had to wait, and it would reveal itself.

The light wandered out into the field. Dan clenched his teeth, the pressure straining against his molars. Not a monster, but a robe-wearing figure came out. The person held a lantern out as they dragged something long and wet behind them. Dan watched the hooded dark figure trek across the field and head for the three cursed houses. The figure disappeared behind the center house, the Tanner residence.

Seconds passed, and the muted orange glow could be seen briefly through one window of the Tanner’s place and then was quickly extinguished. The hour was late. Dan could only think of nefarious things one would be up to at such an hour. “What are you doing?” Dan muttered to himself.

“Dan? Is everything alright?” Judith whispered through a sleepy haze.

 “Yes, couldn’t sleep,” Dan whispered back as he crawled into bed.

Dan didn’t sleep through the night. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the odd beast. He tried each time to convince himself it was just a deer. There was no glow, but then the image would come back. Gaunt legs, a dark body, a sharp face with a thin hazardous rack, and the glow emitting from within.

 “I should bring a pale up with how the weather is looking.” Judith said, rising in their bed. Dan had lost track of time in his thoughts. “Are you feeling alright, dear? Your eyes are red.”

 “I didn’t sleep well,” he confessed.

 “Stay in. Watch Adam for me? I won’t be long. I just want to beat the weather.”

Dan sat up and looked, saw the sky had darkened even more. It was oddly well lit for how menacing the clouds appeared. The glow was… otherworldly. “I’ve never seen weather like this.”

Judith straightened her collar. “It reminds me of play lights.” Judith compared. Judith had been a patron of the theater and had seen many plays compared to the two that he had ever attended.

 “Are you sure you want to go? I don’t mind doing the hauling. You’ve been traveling for so long.” Dan’s mind was on the creature. Hadn’t the shopkeeper told him one of the sick people had said the deer eat flesh?

“Because I’ve been traveling. That’s why I want to go. It feels good to roam again. After all, it is my wifely duty.”

Dan saw no signs of breaking Judith’s resolve. He thought about them all going, but Adam would be a hindrance and just expose the entire family. “Please, be safe.”

“It’s just a trip through the woods.” Judith said reassuringly.

Dan picked up and held Adam in his arms as he watched Judith leave. As she faded out of view from the front window, Dan moved to the upstairs window. There he watched Judith trek further, out into the woods. It did not take long for her slender form to disappear completely among the bush and trees. High above, the sky roared. A cracking thunder rumbled. The lighting was unseen, but the storm was here finally.

He scanned the sky. With the crisp treetops and the otherworldly skies, the view would be vernal. No appreciation lightened his mind. He couldn’t help but think the creature had somehow conjured the storm, or the storm had brought the beast. He wondered if this was how Gabriel and Jacob had felt, if they had seen the same thing.

The first tapping at the window drew Dan out of his thoughts. Rain. Rain was patting against the cabin. Judith will be soaked, Dan thought. With Adam falling into a nap, he would make a pot of tea for Judith. Perhaps the warm liquid would do both of them some good, warm her and calm his old soul.

Down in the kitchen, Dan focused on the kettle. Steam curled upward in thin, erratic threads, fogging the air and trapping the heat against his skin. The room felt claustrophobic. Outside, rain hammered the house with relentless force, each impact tightening the coil already wound in his chest.

Judith was still out there.

The thought returned again and again, refusing to settle. He glanced at the low window above the counter. The mist had returned with the rain, a dense white veil that erased distance and depth alike. Dan clenched his jaw until it ached. His eyes drifted, unbidden, to the musket mounted above the fireplace mantel—then to the wooden chest beneath it, where his hatchet and his old uniform were stored.

He turned away sharply.

That path led only to the same end his neighbors had met. Judith would return. He would wait with warm tea. That was a reasonable future. He forced himself to believe it.

When the kettle whistled, he removed it from the fire and carried it upstairs. He told himself he was checking on Adam. He did not admit that he wanted a higher vantage point.

Adam lay exactly where Dan had left him, breathing softly, untouched by the storm. Reassured, Dan moved to the upper window and peered out.

The fog thinned here. Enough to see.

What he saw made his mouth go dry.

In the field nearest the tree line stood children. A cluster of them—ten, maybe twelve. Dan couldn’t be certain through the rain. They moved without urgency, without hesitation, as if the downpour did not exist. Their clothes clung to them, but they did not stumble. They did not react to the wind.

They were heading towards the trees.

Toward the direction Judith had taken.

Dan did not think. He reacted.

He bolted from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. At the bottom, he nearly collided with the mantle as he lunged for the musket. Powder horn. Shot. He kicked open the chest and seized the hatchet. His hands worked automatically—measured, practiced—as he primed the musket, poured powder, rammed the shot home.

He burst into the rain.

The storm struck him like a wall. Water poured from the sky in sheets, blinding and disorienting. He ran anyway, slipping over stones, crashing through brush, forcing air into his lungs as the world narrowed to forward motion alone.

At the treeline, he paused just long enough to orient himself.

The rain thinned beneath the canopy, but the forest was thick with shadow. Shapes shifted at the edge of vision. He saw no children. No Judith.

They were here. I saw them.

“Help!”

The voice cut through the rain.

Judith.

All caution vanished. Dan ran.

“Dan! Anyone!”

“I’m here!” he shouted, weaving between trees, boots sliding on wet earth. The sound of water grew louder, swelling into a roar.

The river came into view—no longer a river, but a torrent of white water, churning violently between its banks. On the near shore lay the buckets Judith had been carrying, overturned and abandoned.

“Dan!”

He saw her then. She was trapped in the current, clinging desperately to the limb of a fallen tree that stretched partway across the flood. The wood bowed and groaned beneath the strain.

Dan dropped to his knees and crawled onto the trunk, inching forward as it creaked beneath his weight. The rot was visible now—soft, unreliable. Judith was crying, babbling, her voice breaking as she begged him to hurry.

He stretched out the musket. “Grab it,” he shouted. “Grab the stock!”

She reached with one arm, the other locked around the branch. Her fingers brushed the wood—

The limb snapped.

Judith vanished into the torrent.

“Judith!” Dan screamed.

The river answered with a roar.

Something moved on the far bank.

Dan looked up.

A figure stood there—tall, humanoid, wrong. Its shape was dark against the rain, but at its center burned a dull red glow, pulsing faintly, like a buried coal. It watched him.

Dan raised the musket, braced it against the tree, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

The flint struck wet powder.

The creature roared.

Dan threw himself into the mud, rolled, and staggered to his feet. He ran, fingers fumbling at the lock as he went, hoping—praying—that only the flint had failed. He would not have time to reload. If the powder was ruined, all he had left was the hatchet.

Behind him, branches snapped. Brush exploded outward. The thing was fast.

No time.

Dan skidded, sank into soft ground, and twisted around, raising the musket toward the sound of pursuit. He fired.

The blast tore through the rain. Smoke billowed outward. The ball ripped through brush and vanished into the trees.

Silence followed.

No monster stood there.

Only rain.

***

The neighbors came after the shot.

Dan understood, even then, what happened to men who spoke of monsters. So, he told them it had been an accident—panic, a wild discharge while he searched for Judith. He needed their help, and the lie worked. They formed search lines along the riverbank, moving with the practiced efficiency of men accustomed to loss. As if in response, the storm weakened. The rain thinned. The river gave back what it had taken.

They found Judith downstream, her body pinned against a boulder where the current folded in on itself. Drowned. That was the word they used. A clean word. It reduced her to a fact.

After that, events no longer connected in Dan’s mind. They occurred, but without sequence or meaning. His wife—his only constant—was gone, and the world continued as if this were acceptable.

Someone told him to go home. Someone else reminded him of the child.

Adam cried, hungry and unaware, his small body demanding attention with mechanical insistence. Dan cared for him because the task existed. He fed him, held him, rocked him. The motion required no thought. He later believed there had been a funeral. He believed he had walked there carrying Adam. But the memory was indistinct, as though it belonged to someone else.

They were the only Wilkins left, so of course they attended.

Men from the search stood in clusters. The Landrus family was there, silent, their faces closed. Charles Landru—the youngest, barely old enough to shave—kept staring across the gathering. At the only other person standing apart.

Ms. Tanner.

She wore black and gray. Her hair was pulled back tightly, though it still appeared unkempt, slick with grease, resisting order. Dan felt pressure behind his eyes.

She did it.

The thought arrived fully formed, uninvited.

No, he told himself. No. Ms. Tanner could not have done this. The monster—perhaps the monster.

She’s a witch, and her father is a murderer.

The words did not feel like his own.

No, he argued silently. I saw the creature before I knew her.

“Mr. Wilkins?”

The pastor’s voice cut through him. Dan realized the others were gone. The grave had been filled. Dark soil, tamped down. Adam was crying in his arms, and Dan had been standing there, unmoving, for an indeterminate length of time.

He muttered an apology and walked home.

The cabin was no longer a home. It was nothing more shelter. Even in daylight, it felt cold, as if heat could not be kept within its walls. Dan sat with Adam, narrowing his world to the child’s needs. He stared out the window for hours. The fields grew wild. Weeds choked the edges. His thoughts grew invasive, threaded with whispers.

Everything went wrong when she arrived.

The wood of the cabin seemed darker. Older. He remembered seeing her once, returning late, dragging something heavy behind her. Her father was mad. There were no coincidences. Each day, Dan found his eyes drifting to the musket and the hatchet.

Time became unreliable.

Sometimes the world did not look right. He would glance at the stove and see it rusted, corroded beyond use—ancient. He would rub his eyes hard, feel a sharp crackle of pressure, and the stove would be normal again. Outside, the same thing happened. Once, he looked out and saw his field dead, the fence collapsed and rotting. He swiped at his face, and everything returned to its proper state.

Am I losing my mind?

No. No. It’s them.

The certainty was immediate, reassuring.

That night, Dan stood at the second-floor window. Adam slept behind him, breathing evenly. Mist lay thick across the field again.

They’re close.

The voice did not sound external. It did not sound internal either. It simply was.

In the distance, an orange glow moved through the dark. A lantern. A hooded figure trudged toward the Tanner house. The mist followed, thickening, carrying with it faint sounds—cries, distant and distorted, as if heard through water.

There she is, in her filth.

Dan whispered aloud, “What am I supposed to do?” The question hung in the empty room.

Cast out the vile. You know what lurks.

His eye twitched violently, the muscle spasming until his vision blurred. He snarled and turned away from the window.

Downstairs, he took the musket and the hatchet. His hands were steady as he primed the weapon. He stepped into the night.

The mist was dense, warm, foul. Sulfur tainted the air. Beneath it lay the unmistakable stench of rot.

They want her and her patriarch.

“I know,” Dan said.

In the war, he had never believed a death was necessary. Never believed sacrifice justified itself. Now he understood.

Light glowed in the Tanner house. Shadows moved behind the walls. Dan went straight for it. He raised the hatchet and brought it down hard against the window. Glass shattered inward.

Someone gasped. Footsteps fled.

It’s the witch.

Dan plunged through the shattered window, a serrated edge of glass tearing a line across his forearm. He felt it registered as pressure, not pain. Pain required attention. This did not.

The woman ran. He tracked her movement by sound alone—footfalls, breath, the scrape of fabric—until she disappeared behind a door at the rear of the house. Dan thumbed the flintlock back as he crossed the room and drove his shoulder into the door.

It flew open, unlatched, slamming hard against the wall.

The lantern behind her threw the room into violent relief. Its light revealed a second figure—male—bound upright to a central support beam. The man’s eyes were opaque, milk-white and unfocused. His skin had a dull gray pallor from a long illness, stretched tight over bone. When he bared his teeth, they were yellow and broken. He made a sound that might once have been speech.

The floor beneath them was stained dark—layered blacks and browns where blood had soaked in and dried repeatedly. Small bones littered the room: birds, rodents, something larger. Evidence, arranged without care.

The woman moved quickly. She cut the bindings.

The man surged forward with sudden, feral strength. Dan raised the musket, but the distance collapsed too fast. They collided. The musket discharged blindly, the report deafening in the confined space. Wood splintered somewhere behind them as they went down hard.

Hands raked at Dan’s face. Fingernails—long, thick, filthy—scratched skin and drew blood. Dan struck upward with his fist. There was no response. The man’s fingers closed around his throat with mechanical certainty.

Up close, in the flickering orange light of the spreading fire, Dan saw the eyes clearly. Empty. Not blind—vacant.

Pressure built. His vision narrowed. He forced his chin upward, buying a fraction of space, and swung the hatchet.

The impact landed with a solid, wet crunch. The grip loosened. Dan tore the blade free and rolled on top of the man. The body thrashed weakly, producing a bubbling gurgle as Dan brought the hatchet down again, straight and vertical, like the fall of a guillotine.

The movement stopped.

Flames climbed the wall where the lantern had shattered, feeding eagerly on dry timber.

Something struck him from the side. A heavy, blunt blow. Dan dropped instinctively as the musket passed through the space where his head had been. Ms. Tanner. She swung again, wild and desperate.

He caught her legs and pulled. They went down together, rolling across the floor. Heat washed over him as fire licked at his hair. He scrambled upright through the chaos of her limbs, dirt and grease smeared across her face, eyes wide with panic.

He raised the hatchet.

“No!” she screamed.

Neither Dan nor the voice paid any attention.

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