In Darkness Dwells

BOOM!

Volker blasted one of the wolves with a shotgun, knocking it off its feet with its pelt turning red. The crack of a pistol didn't dissuade the wolves, but the thunderclap of a shotgun decimated their courage. They hastily retreated, but surprising everyone, the wolf Volker shot slowly got up and limped away, wounded but alive.

"We might have to rethink splitting up," said Sam, panting heavily while others tended to the wounded man. He instinctively checked his pistol and removed the empty bullet casing. Four bullets.

"We can't stay here, not with those prowlers close by," said Volker.

"It's because of those prowlers that we have to. Almost half the survivors can't travel. What do you think is going to happen to them if they get left behind? Besides, how long will it take to reach Runa on foot? A day? Two? Do you really want to be out in those woods during the night?"

"My friend, I've hunted lions and elephants in the Savanah. This is not my first time in the great outdoors."

"Well when you were in the Savanah, were you shooting those lions with fucking rock salt like you did that wolf? You do that to a bear, and all you'll accomplish is pissing it off. He'll take the time to eat your soul along with your face. At least here, we have some decent shelter. I'm not normally one for waiting, but I say we dig in, try to fortify our defenses, and wait for help to arrive."

"And the bodies? They'll lure every beast of the wild."

"We could just stick them in one of the cargo cars."

"If you do that, the moment you open those doors again, you'll be awash in a tidal wave of maggots. We need to bury them."

"Less than a dozen of us came out of that train alive, and not unscathed. Digging a grave for every corpse simply isn't feasible." Sam then paused. "Actually, there may be a way to do one without having to do the other."

The dead bodies were lined up at the very base of the cliff, with the newest addition bearing fresh bite wounds. Sam, Volker, and the few other capable survivors climbed above them with shovels and began digging into the cliff, with all the loose dirt and clay falling down onto the bodies below. It didn't take much to set off a small landslide, leaving many bodies sufficiently covered. The mass burial was repeated down the line, and once complete, a cross was hammered into the ground.

With that taken care of, the survivors worked on defending themselves from wild animals. One of the cars tipped on its side offered the best defense, and the broken windows overhead were covered up with logs and metal. That night, the survivors huddled together, sleeping on scavenged bedding with what space they could find. Sam stayed up, cooking a can of beans over a fire and drinking. Volker sat across from him, nursing his own liquor bottle with his shotgun across his lap.

"So what business does an American have this deep in Romania?" he asked.

"The same business I have everywhere else: none at all. I'm just wandering across Europe."

"You didn't see enough of it during the Great War?" Sam glanced at him. "The way you check your gun five times a day and the way you drink tell me you spent time in a trench."

"I spent a lot of time in a trench, and plenty other places. Once the war ended, I decided it would be nice to explore Europe without getting shot at, so I've just been roaming from one country to the next for the last few years. You're on the few Germans I met that hasn't held a grudge."

"I was never in the war. I'm a scholar, and what is the point of knowledge if I end up dead in a futile battle? What about you? I hope you don't hold a grudge against my people for the deaths of your friends."

"I wish I could, I really do, but I can't. Speaking to prisoners, I learned that your guys really were no different than ours. There was no malice or ideology on the battlefield, just men told to kill each other. We were merely pawns, fighting over nothing." He paused for moment and eased himself with a sip of spirits. "Anyway, what brings you out here?"

"Runa, that's where I'm headed. The train crash just made the last leg of my journey extra cumbersome."

"And what's in Runa?"

Volker took a long drink from his bottle. "The truth, in all its beauty and horror."

"And you expect an answer like that to satisfy me?"

The German chuckled. "I'm a psychologist, a doctor and researcher of the mind, from the Wilhelm Wundt Institute for Psychology in Leipzig. I'm looking for someone, someone in Runa I believe is worthy of extensive study."

"You're looking for a madman."

"That wouldn't be far from the truth. My goal is to find what caused his condition, see if it can be fixed, and if it can't, then to bring him back to Leipzig for further study."

"So that's what the rock salt is for."

"As much as my colleagues and I would enjoy dissecting his brain, I need him alive. I also brought a couple nets and a steel cage. They're in one of these cars. Hopefully the cage is intact, it's worth a great deal of money."

"Yes, THAT'S what you should be worried about...."

It was another restless night for the survivors. The beasts of the wild showed little fear, sniffing and growling outside the train cars. Fortunately, help arrived the following day. A hunter, passing through the region, spotted the crashed train and returned, leading a party of men on horseback. Tears of joy were shed by many as the survivors were finally rescued. Most of the survivors' luggage was left on the train, except for the most essential items. A few hours of riding brought them to a muddy road, which they followed to the town of Runa, a small farming community hidden in the mountains. Life here had experienced little development over the centuries. There was no electricity or running water, no cars, and the only machined steel was a handful of shotguns and rifles.

Sam and the other survivors were brought before the mayor in the Town Square. He was a wrinkled man with wool clothes and a bearskin coat, flanked by villagers. "Welcome to Runa. I'm sorry your arrival doesn't come under better circumstances, but my people will give you shelter as long as you need."

The villagers appeared genuinely sympathetic to the survivors' plight, but something felt wrong to Sam. They all looked tired, weathered by stress and fear, but of what? Sam and a few others managed to get rooms above the local tavern, a dream come true for him. It was a quaint establishment, a watering hole born of the soul of Romania. He parked himself at the counter and remained there for the rest of the day, nursing one mug of beer after another. But as afternoon turned to evening, his drunken solitude began to eat at him.

"Where is everyone? This place looks big enough to hold half the village, but the only other drinkers are from the train?"

The bartender, a large man with a thick mustache, shuddered. "It's not safe to be out at night. Four people have already been killed."

"What, do the wolves prowl the streets?"

"Wolves don't kill like this."

"You're saying a person is responsible?"

"Not a person, not anymore." He then spat on the floor to ward off misfortune and refused to say any more.

After some biscuits and rabbit stew, Sam went to bed in a spare room upstairs. He looked outside and expected to see candles burning in windows, much like his own, but shutters had been drawn, and curtains were closed across town. The villagers were blocking out the night as if the darkness was a flood leaking into their homes. They huddled around their fireplaces and surrounded themselves with candles and lamps, hoping the light would keep them safe.

Sleep came easily for Sam, thanks to having a real bed and a belly full of beer. His body was still recovering from the trauma of the crash, so he was out cold, but no matter how deeply he slept, some part of him was always on alert, and it ripped him from his dreams in the middle of the night. A gunshot and a scream rang across the town, opening Sam's eyes and sending him tumbling out of bed. He grabbed his pistol and checked it. Four bullets.

A second gunshot echoed, and the screaming continued. Sam stood by the window with his pistol in hand. He couldn't tell where the shots had come from, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The fearful screaming had now become a wail, a cry of grief. Someone had died this night, and no one who heard it managed to fall back asleep.

The following morning, Sam got up and was given breakfast by the tavern owners. However, as soon as he sat down at his same spot from yesterday, Volker entered the bar. "For God's sake man, the day has just started."

"Yes, and I'm already way behind on my drinking. A pint, my good sir," Sam said to the barkeeper.

"Come on, I need help catching my madman, and you're the perfect candidate to help me."

"Can't you see that I'm busy?" A stein was handed to him, but it was empty. "Excuse me, I know I was rather vague, but when I asked for a pint, I didn't mean a pint of air."

The bartender glared at him. "Due to your misfortune, the mayor has asked me to offer room and board to those on the train. I've agreed to feed and shelter you, but liquor is another matter. You used up all your free drinks yesterday. If you want a drop, I had better see some money."

"Et tu, Brute?" Sam stood up and emptied his pockets, building a small pile of garbage on the counter. He had the currency of numerous nations, but unfortunately, they were all just pennies. "There, that should be enough for at least an eye-opener."

The bartender continued to glare until Volker laid some marks on the counter. "Give him something quick." The bartender filled a shot glass, and Sam downed it. "Now come on, there is work to be done."

"Fine, but I want to be able to get absolutely smashed tonight."

They left the bar, with Sam groaning in the sunlight. "So you got a plan to catch this guy or what? I hope you don't expect me to put on a wig and be your damsel in distress."

"I've been trying to talk to the people around town about this madman, they're too afraid to even give me his name. I have managed to learn a few things, though. Follow me." They went to the town church, only to find that the doors, heavily damaged, were chained shut. "Let's check around back."

"If you're telling me to break into a church, then it's clear you're the madman. Wait a second...." Sam held his hand up to the gap between the doors. "There is a strong draft coming through. There may already be a way inside."

"If what I've heard is true, there will be no need to break anything. Come on."

They went around the side to find all the windows were broken, allowing them to climb in. "Good God," Sam muttered, looking around.

Many pews had been smashed to pieces, and the floor was covered in shredded bible pages. The effigy of Christ was even missing its head. Birds had already begun making their nests in the rafters and claimed the building as their home, for clearly, this was no longer a House of God.

"What the Hell happened here?"

"Apparently, our madman was the subject of a failed exorcism."

"And just what is an exorcism?"

"The process of driving out a demon that has possessed a person. Romania is Eastern Orthodox, but when a priest dies while performing an exorcism anywhere in the world, the Vatican hears about it. I have a friend in the clergy who relayed the story to me."

"And what? You want to prove he wasn't possessed, but just crazy?"

"Exactly. We're in the 20th century, but mental illness is still seen as something caused by ghosts and demons, and those who suffer from neurological afflictions are considered morally corrupt and condemned."

"Look around you, Doc, I think this guy might be the real deal."

"All I see here is broken glass, wood, and stone, nothing that a mortal man couldn't accomplish in an agitated state."

"You said that the priest died while performing the exorcism, right?"

"That's correct."

"Did your friend mention how?"

"Only that it was horribly gruesome."

"Strange."

"What do you mean?"

"In the war, I've seen blood splatter in every way imaginable from every type of wound. Gunshot and knife wounds, artillery shredding, concussive force and beatings, and the most gruesome deaths usually make quite the mess. There are a couple drops of blood on some of these pages and the floor, but I've seen nosebleeds make more of a mess. It's easy to kill someone without leaving traces, but to make it gruesome implies some kind of splatter. The priest couldn't have been hanged, maybe strangled? Either way, all of my instincts are telling me that something terrible happened here."

"What are you two doing?!"

Sam spun around and drew his pistol, finding himself staring down the sights at a raven-haired woman. She was in her early twenties and quite attractive, but her scowl was off-putting.

"Sorry about that," Sam said, lowering his gun.

"Excuse us, please," said Volker. "My name is Volker Hofmann, a doctor from the Wilhelm Wundt Institute for Psychology in Leipzig. I'm here investigating the rumors of a madman who escaped an exorcism. This is Sam Wilks, my assistant."

"Whoever you are, you do not have permission to enter this place!"

"People are dying and we're trying to stop it. Don't pray for help and expect it to knock."

"Samuel, you're not helping. I'm sorry for intruding, Miss...."

"Bucur, Sorine Bucur."

"Ms. Bucur. I heard that a priest was killed during the ritual."

"He wasn't just a priest; he was my father," she said softly, pressed by grief and rage. She turned to Sam. "He was murdered right where you're standing."

"Sorry," Sam said, stepping away.

"We want to find the man responsible for your father's death, and prevent further deaths, but no one is willing to answer questions. Please, will you help us?" Volker asked.

"Everyone is afraid to talk, but I'm too angry to remain silent. Call me Sorine."

"Thank you. What can you tell us about the man in question?"

"His name is Danut Zaituc, a hermit who lives in the outskirts of the village. He is rarely seen, but weeks ago, he started wandering into town, talking to himself and ripping out his hair. When someone tried to help, he attacked them, then ran off. It happened two more times, Danut turning violent whenever someone approached, and on the third occasion, he was captured. He was chained up in an empty shed, in the hopes he would calm down with some time, but he refused to eat or drink, and only spoke in curses and nonsense. We worried that he was suffering rabies, but when he started scrawling things on the wall, my father realized that he was possessed."

"What happened during the exorcism?" Sam asked.

"I was only there for the first part, before my father sent me away out of fear. It was storming that night, with so much lightning that it was as bright as day. Even outside of the church, I could hear Danut's howling and the breaking of windows. Then, when others began screaming in terror, I could no longer stay back, and I returned to the church. When I got there, Danut was gone and my father was dead."

"Do you believe he really was possessed?" Volker asked.

"I looked into Danut's eyes, and there was nothing human left. What you hunt is no longer a man, but a monster. You can feel it, can't you? This place is no longer holy, it is cursed. Many others have died since the exorcism, and normally, we would hold the funerals here, but no one dares enter the church. I know my father would chastise me for letting it remain in this condition, but I just can't fix what has been broken."

"Someone was killed last night," said Sam. "Attacking strangers who approach is madness, but entering someone's home and killing an innocent has to have a reason."

"Agreed. Man or monster, his actions surely have a pattern. We should meet with the bereaved family, see if there are any clues in the way the victim died. Sorine, we'll need you to do the talking."

"At the moment, the body is being cleansed in preparation for the wake. We will have to go later in the day."

"But wouldn't now be the best time?" Sam asked. "We need to see the body to know how they died. Should we do it now, before the wake, or later, when their house will be full of guests?"

Sorine sighed. "You may come with me, but please be respectful. These recent tragedies have hampered our traditional funeral rites, but they are still very important to us." They followed Sorine out of the church and through the town, where she brought them to a house surrounded by mourners. "You two wait out here."

Sorine went inside, leaving Sam and Volker to stand with the grieving. This was a close-knit community, and the fact that these two strangers were intruding irked many. The men solemnly bowed their heads, hoping it would give them some invisibility. Eventually, Sorine beckoned them inside, but she looked hesitant.

"I've convinced the family to let you see the body and ask questions, but one wrong word or move will get you thrown out." Sorine then flashed Sam a glare of warning.

She led them through the house, smelling of timber and past meals. Everything was handmade and steeped in family history and local superstition. As per tradition, all the doors and windows were open, ensuring the deceased didn't become trapped in the house, and all the mirrors were covered. They were brought into the parlor, where the grief-stricken parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles were preparing for the wake, trying to keep their minds and hands busy. They wanted to remain strong at the arrival of the two strangers, but it was clear to Sam and Volker that they were on thin ice.

"Sam, Volker, this is George and Olga Cinca. They just lost their daughter, Ilena"

"Please forgive our interruption," Volker said as he bowed. "We stand before you, offering our respect and condolences, driven here by a sense of urgency. Our goal is to find your child's killer, and we hope that doing so will offer you and she some comfort."

Sam likewise bowed his head but said nothing, fearful of a faux pas.

The father, his face still wet with tears, cleared his throat. "What killed our Ilena was no man. It may look like a man, it may walk like a man, but it is a beast from the pits of Hell."

"I know this is difficult, but could you please tell me what happened last night?" Volker asked. "Any detail, no matter how small, will be of great help to us."

George turned to his Olga, wringing a handkerchief. "We were awoken last night by the sound of breaking glass. I lit a candle and George got his shotgun from under the bed. We went to our daughter's room and...." She broke into fresh tears, so her husband spoke up.

"The beast was standing in her room, holding our little girl off her bed by her arms. Her face was covered."

"Covered with what?" Volker asked.

George shuddered "It wore no clothes, and its body looked like it had been horribly burned and then healed." Sam thought back to his strange vision when he woke up in the train after the crash. He had hoped it was simply a hallucination caused by trauma, something he had suffered before during the war, but it was beginning to seem like someone had really been there. "My wife screamed and I raised by gun, but I could not fire without hitting Ilena. The monster turned to us and snarled like a mad beast. It dropped Ilena and I fired, wounding it with the first shot, but missing with the second as it jumped out the window. When we rushed to our daughter, she was... she was...."

"I understand. I can't begin to imagine how terrifying and painful that experience must have been. The monster you speak of was a man named Danut Zaituc. Do you know that name?"

"Yes, everyone knew about Danut, how he had gone mad. His body was in Ilena's room, but it was no longer his."