Before this time, I, Jordan DiMarche, born a citizen of England to French parentage, have considered myself a man of science. A man of rationality and reason. I recently re-read The Origin of the Species and The Descent of Man, published this past year, and agree wholeheartedly with Darwin's findings. But my standing has been shaken by the events of this past month. Let it be known that this testimony is entirely factual.
It was the year 1872; July, to be exact. The past month had been, in large, a blur to me, but I believe it was on a Sunday that I was approached by the man. He was tall wearing… a stovepipe hat. I distinctly remember that, for some reason. His face was nothing special; not entirely homely, but not overtly handsome, although I suppose some lady would enjoy his company. He had his black hair slicked back, and had not recently shaved, or if he had, had not done so carefully. I also noticed that he had a rather odd scar, running down the side of his face, and continuing down to his shirtsleeve.
I had met him waiting for a lecture to be given by Darwin himself; it was cancelled at the last moment due to his carriage having a wheel break, delaying him indefinitely in the next town. The man introduced himself as Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood, as the crowds dispersed. We went down to the local tavern, a hole-in-the-wall known as The King George Inn. He began a rather odd conversation in a rather boisterous voice.
"How good are are you with a rifle, Jordan?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"A rifle. Any type of rifle. Hunting or musket? Or perhaps a pistol? Maybe the bow? Or the throwing knife? Perhaps the "shuriken" that they use in the Orient? Or perhaps know any individual who's good with any of those? Or any wide-bore atomic guns? Or perhaps firebombs, even?" I stared at him for a spell, and admitted to him that I had practiced with a firearm up until six months ago, when I was injured due to a misfire from a Colt revolver, and had not fired any form of gun since."Wonderful. You're hired. Meet me here tomorrow morning, no later than eight. Your pay shall be 500 pounds a day, plus traveling expenses and board."
"Hired, sir? Hired for what?"
"For a hunt! I am on a case, Mister DiMarche! I shall fill you in on the details during our ride!" And with that, the eccentric man left me with a genuine gold coin to pay for our drinks, but not before I stopped him to inquire further. "I suggest you consult the papers on that matter. The village of Renard's Hollow, near the border of Kent, has been plagued by a rather intriguing problem of late, and have hired me to take care of it. Again, inquire in the papers;" The eccentric man handed me a copy of the Sunday Times, with the 9th page earmarked; for brevity's sake, I shall not include the article here, but instead explain its details later in my account, at a more appropriate time. Before he headed out the door, I asked why he hired me. He replied:
"Because, sir, I have no-where else to turn to. The Crown and Parliament both refuse to give me any assistance, saying that the matter is too… inconsequential for them to give me aid. All of my contacts agree. I only have my funds and my loyal Mr. Deeds. Now, then, Mr. DiMarche: will you help me?"
I could not refuse an plea such as that. I went back to my home that night, wondering exactly what I had gotten myself into.
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I stepped out of Lord Blackwood's automated carriage, still reeling from the ride. "My lord, man! That must be the fastest vehicle on this earth!"
"Sadly, it is only the third-fastest that I own, and I have yet to purchase a train!" Lord Blackwood had an expectant look on his face as he stepped out, giving a nod to his driver. "Park it somewhere out of sight of the village, Deeds; these are conservative types here, and may not be overly thrilled by a horseless carriage." He adjusted his hat and offered me his cane to balance on. "You'll get used to traveling in it eventually. It took me a fortnight of driving it once a day to even get out of it without vomiting; you're doing rather admirably, DiMarche." I nodded in thanks, and started walking towards the village.
It was a quaint place, with perhaps only 10 buildings on the main street; an inn, a doctor, a courthouse, what looked to be a boarded-up general store, and so on. Towards the far end of the street was a small, stagnant pond filled with duckweed and algae, standing in front of what I suspected served as the town hall. Not a soul was out on the dirt street; curiously, the square at the end was cobbled, indicating that they intended to pave the entire avenue before some unknown occurrence. "Lord Blackwood-" He stopped me and insisted I called him Theodore. "Very well. I read that article you showed me last night. It was… rather odd. Vanishing children is a tragedy, I must concede, but shouldn't the proper authorities be called in for this? Scotland Yard, perhaps?"
"Good sir, I am the Proper Authorities! Whatever scoundrels are taking these children shall have to deal with me, either by bullet or blade or bomb or any other means I have available! I am Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood, and I shall find them!" I sensed that he had a personal reason for taking this case; however, before I could inquire (and I now realize it would be rude to do so) the doors of the city hall flew open, and a large crowd of people spilled out. Many of them were farmers, tall and stocky with chiseled jaws, or milkmaids, with cowpox blisters on their hands.
A man, the mayor of the town, stepped out to greet us, and presented Lord Blackwood with a small sack of money. "That is all we have in the town coffers, milord. We are so poor. We want our children back. Please. Please…"
Lord Blackwood gave an expressionless nod to the mayor, and turned to face me. "You heard the man. Look around town and see if you can find any clues about the children. I will be discussing the matter with the mayor and his council."
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It was dark by the time I exited the cobbler's shop. As I did so, I looked at the pictures his son, David, had drawn. Though barely ten years of age, David had significant, if disturbing, artistic talent. David had given me a depiction of what resembled the result of a mastiff breeding with a dragon. It was looking in through a window, which, through my search through the man's shop, I recognized to be on the first floor, overlooking the field behind the shop. Several other similar creatures were in the field below, looking up at the window. It looked to be drawn from the perspective of the boy's bed, and surely must have simply been a fever dream; the boy was quite ill, and confined to bed. Nonetheless, the picture perturbed me for some reason…
"Jordan?"
I spun around at this; it was Lord Blackwood's voice, ringing clearly throughout the night. The source of the noise had come from a back alley, between the abandoned general store and the remnants of a burned-down building, which I now understood was formerly a bookstore. "Jordan, come over here!" There was an odd inflection to his voice as he said the word "come"; and again as he said "here". It was almost as if he had said it as part of a different sentence entirely. Suspicious, I reached for a small, unloaded flintlock that Blackwood had given me before the carriage ride; he assured me it "didn't need bullets", and I assumed that it was unloaded and lacked powder.
"Lord Blackwood? I'm coming over."
I started for the alley, pistol drawn, and again heard Lord Blackwood's voice calling "Come quickly!" I frowned at this. At every time I had addressed him as Lord Blackwood, the man had insisted I address him as "Theodore". This train of thought was interrupted as a child's scream pierced the night, from the direction of the alley. Several windows came open and lamps came on on the street; some even stepped out of their shops to observe the commotion. It was then that I was assaulted from behind, being knocked to the ground. I looked up at my attacker, to find that it was none other than Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood.
"What in d—nation? I just heard you from that alley over there!"Lord Blackwood replied that he had heard my voice coming from an alley down the street, but had rushed over to my location once he heard the scream. He stood up, and noticed the now-crumpled drawing in my hand. "What do you have there?" I recounted to him my findings in the cobbler's house, and he took on a look of grim fascination.
"It seems I have another special case of the para-natural on my hands… splendid!" I tried to explain to him that it was only a drawing, that there was nothing "para-natural" about this incident, and that perhaps we had simply heard some wild animal, but was cut off by a speech. "It is never just a drawing, just as it is never just a fairy tale or just a bump in the night or a shadow cast by the moon or raindrops on the rooftop. It is never just a wild animal making sounds, or just an odd stone disc, or just an escaped ape running amok in the woods." He turned away from me, looking almost giddy. "If there is one thing I have learned about the world in fifty-one years of my life, it's that it is never "just"!" He went off to the bar and bought me a drink before heading off to our room; when I arrived, he was cleaning his pistol, and had a look on his face as if he were a boy preparing for a safari with his father.
Rather appropriate, as Lord Blackwood was preparing for a hunt.
This exciting tale will be continued in next month's installment of Lord Blackwood and the Changelings, on sale August 2nd!
Continuing from the first part of this manuscript, which my publisher assures me will be published in a reputable scientific periodical, I spent the next three days in Renard's Hollow investigating the matter of the missing children with Lord Blackwood. No other abnormal events such as the imitation of our voices occurred during this time, and the source of the child's scream was unknown, and remained unknown until that faithful day.
Lord Blackwood rationalized, after three days of fruitless investigation, that we should continue our search in the derelict general store. However, this was going to be no easy matter; the building had been condemned for the past two years, and none had entered it. We consulted with the mayor of the town, Mister Micheal Renard, for who's family the town was named. His response was simple enough: "Absolutely not."
This being said, Lord Blackwood decided to take a more direct approach to the investigation, if not necessarily a legal one. The following morning, at daybreak (Lord Blackwood thought it would not be wise to enter the shop at night), he attempted to beat the boards on the back door of the shop using only his cane, with not much avail. I noted that the cane was remarkably sturdy, and should have broken, or at least dented, several times by this point.
"Ah, so you've noticed. It belonged to my uncle, Thaddeus Blackwood. The man left me his lands and title, along with this cane. My parents… died in an unfortunate accident when I was young; Uncle Thomas was there to take care of me. He was killed in a duel." He twisted the head of the cane, and produced a short rapier. "I found out about this much later. Saved my life during the Opium Wars; I was almost considered for general back then. Glorious days!"And with some of the deftest sword-work I have ever seen, he cut through the boards covering the door, and indeed, the door itself. He commented that the place was condemned anyway, and entered the shop just as dawn broke.
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"Lord Blackwood-" He corrected me once again, insisting that I call him Theodore- "There is nothing here. Now let us leave before we are caught." I must be truthful, at this point; the atmosphere in the shop was unsettling. Between the smell of the decayed wood, the questionable stains on the stonework, and the odd sound of flies buzzing around the shop, it was enough to any man a sense of dread. Lord Blackwood looked about, and admitted that perhaps we should leave. We made for the door, when we heard a sound from upstairs. It was the sound of a child crying, I would swear to it.
Lord Blackwood insisted that we couldn't leave until we investigated the second floor and found the source of the noise. "How? The stairway is collapsed." He simply drew a pistol out of his coat, and loaded it with a hook-like attachment. With a look manic joy, he took aim at a beam on the first floor, visible through the stairwell, and fired; the hook, which I now saw was attached to a spool of wire, held fast, as Lord Blackwood secured the other end to a still-intact cabinet. It was then that I noticed a perfectly good ladder, standing in the corner, and felt a distinct feeling that that entire show was completely unnecessary.
Lord Blackwood began his climb up the rope attached to the hook, and beckoned me to do the same. Not being a man to risk my own health, I propped up the step-ladder, which nearly reached the first floor, and climbed up it, making a small jump onto the landing. It was then that I noticed a stench that filled me with even more dread than I had felt downstairs. The smell of death and decay. Having apprenticed in a funeral home at a young age, it was a familiar smell to me; but never in this advanced of a state. "G-d…" Lord Blackwood offered me a kerchief, which I held to my nose to block the pungent fumes; he imitated this action with his shirt-collar, as to keep his hands free. It seemed to be coming from a bedroom at the far end of the upstairs hallway… the hair on my neck stood up on end as we approached it, with Lord Blackwood holding his cane-sword high. It was then that I realized something: the crying we had heard downstairs was emanating from that room… it was then that I saw the beast.
The beast seemed as big as the entire hallway(in retrospect, it was much smaller), and… I cannot even say that it had flaming eyes or anything so poetic, for it had no eyes! Its skin was scarlet and flayed, and its teeth were a disgusting shade of orange; yellow teeth with red blood caked on, I suspect. Startled by the creature, I drew the pistol that Blackwood had given me, intending to intimidate it- "No! Wait!" It turned to face us, and in a panic, I pulled the trigger. There was an incredibly loud sound, and I missed the target entirely, the recoil sending me back into the wall and nearly tearing my arm off. The beast turned at us and said- it SPOKE I swear-
"Hello, sirs. Good to meet you." And with that, it dived out the window and ran off into the distance.
Blackwood threw up his arms and shouted, "You fool! You scared it off. We could have captured it, and I could have had a fine trophy for my collection!" He lifted me up by the hand and inspected the pistol. "You're lucky you didn't tear off your arm using that thing; Dr. B.T. Moth's Thunderbuss is not to be toyed with, and is certainly not to be fired using only one hand!" I insisted that he told me the gun had no bullets, to which he replied that it didn't need bullets. Without any further explanation, he demanded the drawing I had acquired from the cobbler's son; I produced it hesitantly, for I could tell Blackwood was displeased. He snatched it from my hands and confirmed his suspicion; the creature in the drawing and the one we had just seen were one and the same.
"Now do you believe me, Jordan, about it never being 'just'?" He turned to look at the room the creature had been in- and found a horrific sight.
There, lying in the center of the room where the creature was, was the head of a child, partially eaten. Blackwood removed his hat in mourning; if he was displeased before, he was now furious, and sad. "We must inform the town of this. They can help us lead a hunt against these… child-eating voice-mimicking monsters. And we shall wipe them out." He strode toward the staircase. "Snap to, Jordan! Snap to!"
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"You cannot be serious, Lord Blackwood. We pay you all the money in the town's coffers, and you come back with reports of child-eating hounds from H—l?" Mayor Renard scowled at us from behind his desk; also present in the room was his daughter, Margaret, who was relatively the same age as the cobbler's son; she was sitting in the corner and playing with a small doll.
"Lord Mayor, please, you do not understand the gravity of this situation. These creatures are capable of mimicking any sound that they hear; any noise that is heard in the night may be one of these beings attempting to lure children off and devour them; if you look on the first floor of the general store, you will find-"
The mayor interrupted us. "This is the most preposterous thing I've ever heard, Blackwood! If you insist upon these ludicrous stories, then I shall fire you post-haste!"
I interjected at this point that Blackwood's story was true, to which the mayor said several things about myself and my heritage that I shall not reproduce here.
"Very well then. I concede my theory is irrational. Surely, Lord Mayor, in your infinite wisdom, you have a better reason as to why all of the children are vanishing?"
The mayor thought about this for a moment, and replied "That is your job, Lord Blackwood, not mine. I simply run this town." Following this, Blackwood and I departed from town hall, the pair of us scowling.
"Perhaps, Theodore, if we explained to them that we had found the… we shall say individual that was stealing the children away, we could lead them in a mob hunt! There are easily half a thousand able-bodied men in this village, and surely we could enlist them to hunt down this beast!"
"Beasts. Plural. There were at least two mimics that other night…" He put his hat down over his eyes and scanned the town's square; all of the village's people were at home, spending time with their children in light of the crisis. In the apartment over the doctor's office, we heard the sound of a babe crying out for its mother. Blackwood stopped and turned his attention to the upstairs window. "The babes of the village have not been taken… why? They are easily more vulnerable than the rest…"
I tapped my chin, pondering this revelation. "Perhaps they prefer, pardon the expression… older meat?" Blackwood simply shook his head.
"Tell me, Jordan, when you searched the village the other day, how old were the children you encountered? Did you find any adolescents or teen-agers?" I thought on this, and… I realized that none of the children I had found in the village were over ten years of age! I relayed this information to Blackwood, who tapped his cane against the pavement twice.
"Why, though? Why is ten years the maximum age of this place? Perhaps there was a period of infertility…" His eyes widened. "Perhaps ten years is the maximum age here because…" He snapped his fingers. "That is when they are taken! Why, though? Why wait so long… this needs further investigation. I shall once again go to the town hall-"
"-and I shall inquire around the village." I conceded that I would be rather worthless in interpreting the records of the village.
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We awoke the next morning to make a rather saddening discovery; not one, but three, children had vanished the previous night; among them was the cobbler's son, David, who had furnished me with the picture of the creature that was stealing them away. This, as it were, was the last straw for the villagers, who had gathered in a mob outside of the inn, awaiting our arrival. They were brandishing various farming implements, and demanding to know why Blackwood hadn't found the children yet, or, indeed, had done apparently nothing to help the village.
Blackwood attempted to explain. "I have not apprehended the men who have taken your children because it was not men who have taken them! They were beasts!" The villagers shouted at this, and advanced closer to the pair of us. "It is true, I swear it upon my name! Beasts out of the inferno itself! Beasts that can steal voices and- and have been-"
"These beasts have been eating your children!" I called. The crowd stopped advancing, aghast.
"What form of perverse jest is this?" Inquired the seamstress, holding her knitting needles as if they were daggers. "Eating our children?"
"It is true! I would swear it upon the Bible! We saw it for ourselves in the general store!" The villagers grew even angrier at this, and advanced closer to this; it was at this point that a child's voice spoke up.
"It's true! I saw it!" The crowd parted and Margaret, the mayor's daughter, came forward. "It was looking in my window last night! It said that I was "almost ready"! Daddy said it was a nightmare, but I know better! It's real! It ran off in the direction of the river!" The villagers glanced between us, the child, and back to us;I must say, she was rather well-spoken for a ten-year-old. "These men are telling the truth. I miss your children- my friends- just as much as you do." Lord Blackwood placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, smiled his thanks, and stepped forward.
"If you cannot trust the words of a child, then I ask, what can be trusted? This girl, and I suspect several other children in the village, have seen these creatures, which you have dismissed as illusions." He produced the drawing that the cobbler's son, David, had created. "This is what they look like. Mark it well, for soon we shall clear the Earth of these creatures… if you will assist me. People of Renard's Hollow! If your children still live, I, Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood, shall return them!"
The mob of villagers began cheering at Blackwood's speech. Several of the men, and even a few of the women, stepped forward and demanded to be included as part of a hunt for the creatures. I believed Lord Blackwood. I believed that the children could be found, alive, and we could slay these foul, many-voiced creatures.
If only we knew then how wrong we would be.
Don't miss the exciting continuation of Lord Blackwood and the Changelings, Available September First!
Continuing from the previous part of this manuscript, Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood and I had discovered that horrendous creatures were haunting the village of Renard's Hollow, and that they were responsible for stealing away the children once they reached the age of 10. There had been 3 recent victims, including the cobbler's son, David, and the town was out for vengeance. They would stop at nothing to kill these foul beings. It was agreed that the men should go out and hunt for the creatures, while the women and children (along with the mayor, who had refused to accompany us) take refuge in the town hall. Lord Blackwood provided the armaments for the entire town, courtesy of his automated wagon, where he kept what could best be described as a miniature armory. There were, as Theodore said, Bullets, Blades and Bombs of all sorts. Although, I will swear that the trunk was bigger on the inside than on the outside…
Lord Blackwood concluded from the lack of eyes that the creature- I shan't call it that anymore. Blackwood gave it the name of Many Voices, due to their mimicry abilities. Blackwood concluded that the Many Voices were nocturnal, and navigated with sound or some unknown form of vision that detected body heat, but came out in the daylight to hunt and feed on occasion, as we had previously seen. It was agreed that we would meet again tomorrow to discuss the attack plan. Lord Blackwood and I retired to our rooms, where he proceeded to cleaning and checking his various guns, bombs, and daggers, as well as his sword-cane.
"You've done it, Theodore! We're going to get the children back! The entire town's celebrating; let's join them! Let's go to the pub downstairs and pour ourselves a drink! Let's celebrate!"
"We can celebrate when these things are captured; I do not want to be inebriated in the morning we go to fight them. I want every one of these things stuffed and mounted upon my wall. Then, I shall drink myself dumb." He turned towards the window and set his hat in his lap, looking down at it. I sensed that his hat had some significance to it; perhaps it had belonged to an old friend, or was given to him by a lady as a present? He seemed oddly determined on this case; perhaps the person who had given him the hat had lost a child, as well. I thought it impolite to ask. Blackwood looked at me, hands resting over his cane. "Do you believe in God, Jordan? Even if you don't, I suggest you pray. Something is bound to be listening." He bent his head in prayer, mumbling something in an unfamiliar language; Hebrew, perhaps. I joined him, praying silently for the return of the children.
The next day, Lord Blackwood, myself, and all of the able-bodied men in the village set to work. We set off for an abandoned cathedral that Theodore had speculated was the nest of the creatures, despite the protests of the mayor, who claimed that the church was hallowed ground, despite its disrepair, and refused to let Blackwood to approach it. In the end, however, Margaret, his daughter, had convinced him to give us the keys.
The Cathedral of St. Jacob, as we learned it was called, lay a half-day's walk uphill from the village, and as such, our party set off at daybreak the following day. By the time we had reached the cathedral, the July sun was sweltering against our backs; several of the men were half-disrobed, and we agreed to set up camp in order to rest in front of the cathedral before starting our rout of the Many Voices. "At the very least," Lord Blackwood commented, "the sun will almost certainly assure they're asleep, being nocturnal beasts." An hour later, after water had been passed around, we were ready to begin the raid.
The plan was that Blackwood would toss in several bombs containing a special gas made out of some sulfuric compound; the theory was that they would be smoked out into the open, much like smoking a rabbit out of its hole. Once they fled the church, the plan was for the party to aim for the heads of the creatures and destroy their brain matter; for this purpose, the entire party had been equipped with wide-bore muskets, furnished by Lord Blackwood. Blackwood had also brought along a silver hand bell, lacking a chime; he referred to this as our insurance.
The raid began as Lord Blackwood ignited several bombs, and tossed them into the broken windows of St. Jacob's Cathedral; much screeching was heard from inside, followed by several gurgling sounds and, finally, silence. After waiting five minutes for the gas to dissipate, The party rushed in- and found the church empty. Not a single creature in it; Blackwood reported that a "peculiar smell" emanated from the church, and dared not enter; I followed his lead as the party stumbled out, dazed.
Something had happened to the villagers, that much was clear. They were standing around in a daze, and asking questions repeatedly; Lord Blackwood checked their eyes and cursed. "They've been drugged something in the air in there, perhaps in the creature's breath. It's…" He inspected the man's eyes closely. "It's a hallucinogen, in part. Also an amnesiac; anterograde. They are completely incapable of forming new memories." I thanked heavens that they we did not join them in going in, and then suddenly, the men started screaming about things that weren't there. "Blast! We've been tricked!"
And then the whole thing went to H—l, pardon the expression.
The Many Voices burst out of the ground all around us. They had, as I later learned, constructed an elaborate tunnel network beneath the church, which was simply used to lure poor souls in. They attacked the still-dazed villagers, and- I have forced myself to forget this. Forgive me for the omission of details here. All I remember is that Lord Blackwood rang his bell, called for his butler, and pulled out a bizarre gun of his own as the villagers fired blindly at the crowd of monsters surrounding them. I held my breath for as long as I could so I wouldn't inhale the drug these foul creatures exhaled, and fired Blackwood's "Thunderbuss" at several of them, the explosion of pure sound dismembering them of their arms, legs, and even their heads- but it was all in vain! The wounds they incurred didn't even draw blood, and they somehow continued existing without their craniums attached! It was like nothing I had seen before.
Blackwood was not having much better luck, and was accompanied by a man I recognized as his cab driver standing by him- even though I was certain he had not been in the crowd when we had come to this cursed place. Both were fighting admirably, not letting a single one come within ten feet of them- and then a pair of hands burst up through the ground and and dragged Blackwood's butler into the tunnels. "D—n and blast! Not again!" He looked over his shoulder, and saw the massacre that had occurred; almost all the men were dead, but at the same time, several of the creatures lay on the ground, immobile due to their lack of arms, legs, head, or all of the above. The rest were retreating back underground. The remaining men, still dazed by the drug, cheered, but I suspected they knew not what for.
All in all, the battle was over in a half-hour or less. There were seventy-six casualties after the fight; counting myself and Blackwood, we had come to the battlefield with one-hundred and twenty men. Six of the creatures, out of an unknown amount (speculated to be around fifty or so) were "killed"; they still breathed, by some obscenely unnatural process, but mercifully did not speak, presumably due to the gas they had inhaled in the church.
"At least there's that." Blackwood looked far for the worse; though he had sustained no wounds during the fight, you would swear that the man had just fought with Beezlebub himself. His hair was a mess, his coat discarded and trampled, and his hat sat crookedly on his head. He picked up his coat and drew from it a small bottle filled with oil, and had the men, already affected by the Many Voices' mind-altering breath, douse each of the creature's bodies with them and pile them together. Blackwood then threw a match on the foul beings and set it alight. Though I am still not sure the creatures were well and truly dead, a half-hour later, they had been burned to the point of immobility.
We departed for Renard's Hollow, unsure whether we had succeeded or failed in our venture. On one hand, a handful of the creatures were now, if not dead, immobilized, but on the other hand, three-score and sixteen men had lost their lives today, and the remaining men had been driven to madness; even as we walked back to the village, they were plagued by visions of foul beasts assaulting them, and displayed an acute aversion to the blood on their arms. And furthermore, where were the children?
I am sad to say that the final question was answered upon our return to the village.
Don't miss the thrilling conclusion of Lord Blackwood and the Changelings, on sale October 3!
I have seen the face of H—l. It is a scarlet, eyeless abomination with many voices that eats children. I say "eats"- I do not dare say what it actually does to them, for it is far, far worse.
Blackwood, the remainder his now-mad hunting party, and myself all trudged back onto the main street of Renard's Hollow, past the stagnant duck pond, and towards the town hall; by now, it was quite dark out, nearing midnight. It had taken far longer to return to the village than it had to leave it, due to the constant gibbering of the men who had been affected by the breath of the many voices.
Blackwood paused at the door of the hall, sniffing the air inquisitively. "…something is not right here." He put his hand on the latch and pressed his ear to the door. "I don't hear anyone inside… and… do you smell that, Jordan?" I did. It was an… ironic smell. That is to say, it smelled like iron… "Blood. Oh dear god."
Blackwood opened the door, onto a horrific scene. The hall was splattered with blood, some of it wet, some of it already drying. All over the hall were the corpses of the women of the village, all missing their heads and parts of their necks. There were nail-marks on the door, and they were human; they had tried to escape. I also noted that there were bloodless body-parts of the monsters scattered around; a finger here or a bit of an arm there. The women had put up some semblance of a fight, it seems. And there was no sign of the children…
That was when the sobbing started. "It hurts, daddy. It hurts too much to cry. Help, daddy. Help." Unsure if it was one of the d—ned mimics or not, Blackwood cautiously called for them, scanning the room and attempting to locate the sound of the noise. "Daddy, I'm hot and I don't feel good. I feel like my skin's coming off and ithurtsomuchwaterIneedwater."
"Come out here, please. It-it's Mr. Blackwood. I won't hurt you." And with that, several of the children of the village that remained stepped out from behind desks, under their parent's bodies, and out of doorways. Margaret, the mayor's daughter, crawled out of the shadows, sobbing silently; I could see that it was she who was the source of the crying.
"It hurts so much, Mr. Blackwood… my skin's coming off. Look…" She revealed her arm to him, and Blackwood drew in breath sharply; I could not see the reason as to why, but Blackwood simply took off his hat and kneeled by the girl.
"Margaret. What happened here?"
"They came after you left. They did bad things to all the adults… they took daddy away from me! And after they came, I started hurting all over and daddyyyyy…" She trailed off into incoherent sobbing once again. Blackwood stood there, shocked senseless. I think it had finally settled in for him that he had failed; he had failed in his protection of the village; but surely the children could still be saved? Taken away from this place to somewhere safe?
It was then that the creatures attacked. Three of the blasted beings burst forth from the stagnant pond, and made for the surviving members of the hunting party, ignoring us almost entirely and going for the more vulnerable prey; upon the sight of the red-skinned beasts, the remaining men of the village fled into the night, never to be seen again.
It was then that I turned my attention to Margaret and saw…
Forgive me. Even now, almost a year after the incident, it is still difficult to describe. Her skin had sloughed off, revealing an atrophied layer similar to, if not exactly the same, as the creature's; before I could get get a better look, Margaret ran off into the duck-pond. I felt as if I would be sick at that very moment, for it was then that I knew where the missing children had gone.
It started with a fever, much like the cobbler's son, David, had had. As it grew worse, they grew hotter, and eventually searched for water- in this case, the stagnant duck-pond. Once there, they sat for an unknown amount of time- more than a day, at any rate- and their skin began to come off. In Margaret's case, she had been unable to reach water in time, and the process started early. Once in the water, their skin came off, revealing an atrophied layer below… and then, their head detached and was consumed by their new, horrendous mouth…
The creatures were not stealing the children away. The creatures were what the children had become!
Blackwood looked equally sick at this revelation. "God alive." He stared down into the murky depths of the pond, and revealed 9 shrapnel bombs, each the size of a fist, which he casually informed me had been water-proofed. He dropped them into the pond one by one, and stated, "It is preferable to the alternative." Then turned to me. "We must flee this village, Jordan. Go to the carriage and wait for me there; if there's trouble, ring this bell." He handed be the chime-less silver bell he used earlier during the fiasco at the church. "I have business to attend to here. Go."
As I ran to the automated carriage, Blackwood began beckoning the children out of the town hall, leading them out of the street. As I reached Blackwood's device, I heard several faint pops in the distance, akin to gunshots. I shall let the reader make their own judgement as to what happened in the village that night, as I am trying to forget what happened in Renard's Hollow.
"Jordan?" Blackwood's voice. Coming from outside the carriage. Still reeling from the shock of what had happened this past day, and glad to hear my friend's voice, I opened the door to the carriage- and stared into the maw of the horrendous beast with many voices.
I am not completely certain how I survived that ordeal; the next moment I remember, Blackwood was in the carriage with me, and we were riding along at far greater speeds than we were upon arrival at the village; I felt sick, and visions of serpents, insects and dragons swam before my eyes. I stared at the carriage, convinced that Lord Blackwood had a hungry look on his face and that the walls of the vehicle were closing in on me. I then saw that Blackwood's face was somber, and he had tear-stains on his eyes.
"Theodore? What happened? Where are the children?"
"The monsters got them." His hat covered his eyes, strands of his now-wild hair sticking out from underneath. "It is never just." And that was the last he spoke of the subject.
[DATA EXPUNGED FOR IRRELEVANCE]
I later learned that the village of Renard's Hollow had been plague with an illness due to chemicals from a disused factory built flowing into their drinking water. This illness caused all the men and women to become barren. The children who were still alive at that time almost all perished. This caused the village of Renard's Hollow to be left childless until one day a decade ago. The cobbler of the village inadvertently came upon the Cathedral of St. Jacob and found babies playing in the grass around the heathen place. Since that day, the village had organized a party from the village to venture up to the cathedral once every year to gather new children and bring them back; in doing so, they were populating their village with Changelings.
I sit here now locked in my apartment, writing this. Perhaps you shall believe me, perhaps you will not. It has been almost a year since that d—n villiage; I do not know what became of Lord Blackwood or of the village, nor of the monsters that inhabited it. I learned recently that a great explosion had occurred near the border of Kent, destroying the Cathedral of St. Jacob that we believed was their nest. Perhaps Blackwood had some involvement in it, perhaps not. I do not know.
I know that the Changelings are coming for me. I can hear them on the roof. I see them in the alleys. I fear any object with scarlet coloration, even my own blood. I have contemplated, and attempted, suicide several times; my landlord has considered having me sent to Bedlam. But I can NOT venture out of my apartment. I saw Changelings the other night, in the street. They looked up at my window, and spoke, in a child's voice:
"Hello, sir. Good to meet you."
Editor's Note: It is with great sadness that we must inform you that the author of this manuscript, Jordan DiMarche, was found deceased outside of his apartment, one week's time before the printing of the conclusion of this story. Cause of death has been determined to be mauling by a wild dog. Condolences may be sent to his family at[REDACTED]
