YOUR NARRATOR:

I...

He told me to sit down and say something to you tonight. 

What am I supposed to say?

What is this? 

I feel no need to talk to you. 

Whoever you are. 

What do I say? 

Good evening, my friends...

What now?

[Another Whisper, sharper though]

Don't be angry with me, Beloved. I'm trying to remember. 

But I have nothing to say. 

You mustn't be angry with me. 

I did what you wanted. I gave in. I went on the hunt with you. I was cooperative and accommodating and weak of will and obedient and I did what you wanted. I thought that might be better for both of us.

Why do you not love me more, then? Why do I not love you more? 

Because a part of me has died. 

Another part of me. 

Because of you. 

Because of you.

I'm not sure I'm glad that you found me again. 

I don't know what this is. Being Your Beloved. It comes at too steep a price. It was easier, I think, when you were a phantom in the streets. Haunting me. Chasing me. 

Hunting me. 

My friends, you know what he is, right? 

You must know by now. 

He doesn't want me to talk about this. He's not happy about this. He would prefer I smile and tell you a story about some delightful ghoul or goblin or...

(A long silence, followed by a strange drone sound under the following, which is delivered in a dark, monotonous tone:)

That's the message. The message you wanted me to deliver. Your message. 

Thank you. 

Thank you for being honest with me.  For trusting me. 

I was meant to...to do something else...

What was it, Beloved? 

(A low whisper again, this time gentle)

Oh. I was going to tell you a story. 

What kind of story would you like to hear, Sweetheart?

...I know. 

I have a story of another ancient creature in an ancient place. 

Yes. Sort of like you. 

[The sound of a rhythm played on tambourine accompanies a low, monotone chant]

In an older world, there was a circle of stones with a marble altar in the centre of them. An ancient cult of druids used to meet once a month at the full moon here, to make a sacrifice on the altar. What that sacrifice was specifically was not entirely clear. It did involve blood. That is certain. 

What were they sacrificing to? Who were they appeasing? No one knew exactly. 

[The music stops]

Well, one person would learn, at any rate. 

A young boy and a young girl came across this circle, many, many moons later. What were they doing there, so late at night? What had brought them there? Well, what brings young people to frightful places late at night, usually? Lust for life, lust for love. To experience fear and dread and excitement. To prove to one another that they are brave and bold. Young people are funny, in that way. And beautiful in that way, too. 

And so, these two young people - no older than seventeen, both of them - came to the circle of stones and the altar. Though they still stood, they were chipped, faded, covered in moss. 

They entered the circle, dancing and laughing under the full moon. They were drunk, both on wine and on each other. Not that they loved each other, mind you. But they were enjoying each other's company, and that is enough sometimes. 

And they saw the altar. The ancient blood stains on it were now black, and the boy sat on it. Careless. Laughing. 

The girl, meanwhile, approached one of the stones in the circle, and pushed aside some moss and dirt. "There's something here..." she said. The boy wasn't listening. 

She saw the crude image of a creature with horns and hooves. A circle of women surrounded it, holding tambourines, playing flutes, drums, all sorts of instruments. "How sweet!" She said, loving the image, loving the idea of this beautiful party. 

And the boy stood on the altar and laughed, and began to dance a little himself, his feet loud against the stone. 

And the girl went to another stone, brushing aside the debris on it. And there was an image of that same goat-like creature, carrying in his arms a cornucopia of fruit, vegetables, and flowers, and the women around him were eating and drinking. And the young girl giggled and imagined how delicious that food must have tasted, and the boy took a large swig of wine after raising the bottle he had with him to the ancient group in the drawing. 

And the girl went to a third stone and revealed its image. 

She gasped, and then she laughed a little. "You've got to see this." She told the boy. 

But he didn't come. 

She turned to tell him again, but he was gone. There was only an almost full bottle of wine on the altar. And the red wine had, apparently, spilled all over the stone table. 

No, wait. It wasn't wine. 

She called for him. He didn't come. She called again. Nothing. 

She turned back to the image on the stone she had wanted him to see. The image that, she had thought, would frighten him and them cause him to laugh his fear away. As she had done. But now, she didn't feel like laughing anymore. 

The image showed the creature, standing alone, holding in his arms a sacrifice. A bloodied, human corpse, that he held to his bloodied lips. While the women around him prayed, celebrated, and exalted him. 

And she heard it. 

Hooves. Clip-clopping. On stone. 

And she turned, and there was a figure...perhaps eight feet tall, much larger than a man. He was covered in brown fur. His face, though not quite human, vaguely suggested the idea of "human", and he had two large, curling horns sprouting from his head. His legs were bowed like a goat's. And his arms, strong and huge, were stained with blood. As was his mouth. 

She retreated a little, slowly. terrified, until her back was pressed up against one of the stones and she had nowhere else to go. The creature raised its head to the moon and let out a cry that was the strangest, most inhuman, unnatural sound she had ever heard. And he ran off into the woods, quick as a flash. 

Silence. 

She waited, only hearing the sound of her frantic breath.

Until she heard the clip-clopping once more. 

He returned, and looked at her expectantly. When she did nothing, just stood in shock and confusion, he snarled, and threw at her feet piles of fruit - exotic fruit she had never seen before, fruit she had never known existed. He crouched down, and he began to feast. 

She watched him for some time as he did so, too frightened to move. But also, fascinated with him. But mostly, too frightened to move. 

He ate. He seemed to focus only on that. It seemed that this beast could only focus on one thing at a time. And right now, he was ravenous. But, when he noticed that she still wasn't eating, he grunted, and pushed the fruit towards her once more. He didn't understand why she didn't join him, it seemed. 

She sat across from him and took a bite of a fruit. It was the most delicious, most intoxicating thing she had tasted, perhaps in her whole life. And perhaps it was something in the food, perhaps it wasn't truly reality, but as he sat there, she could swear that fresh grass had begun to grow around him. Beautiful flowers of brilliant colours. And to her, the colours seemed to much more vivid. The night seemed wonderfully bright. The stars, twinkling above them, seemed so much closer. And the night seemed to hum with a kind of music. 

[The same rhythm and chant appears again, with more accompaniment on guitar and voice this time. It's more of a creepy, ancient, celebratory piece now]

With the sounds of invisible drums and bells, and ethereal singers. He was some kind of spirit of spring, it would seem....some kind of terrible, ancient god, or demon, or faerie. Something. He took, and he gave. And he consumed. And he made the night come alive. 

She had feared that she had let him loose on the world, you see. That he would demand more "sacrifices" and kill more, just like that poor boy. Who would never be seen again. The boy who was almost her friend, almost a little more than that. 

But, she realized, he had only surfaced because they had fed him, somehow. They had awoken him. They had danced, they had drank, they gave him an offering, even if it was unwitting.  They had given him everything he had wanted, and he wanted more now. 

(Just like a girl in a tower accidentally released a similar, ferocious creature unto the world. Without even knowing it.)

He was so focused, so engrossed in his feed, that she thought she had only one option.

[The music stops]

 To run. 

She quickly, desperately, took off into the night through the woods towards her village. Again, that horrible, inhuman howl behind her. She ran as fast as her feet could take her. She ran through the trees, under the light of the full moon, surrounded by the brisk, clear air, and - ah - she tripped on a rock, or a root, or something of the like. She fell to her feet, crying to herself, "No, no, no..."

And the grunt came from behind her. And his huge, powerful hand grasped her ankle. And he dragged her, kicking and screaming, back to the ancient ruins. He carelessly tossed her into the ruins again, among the terrible, now horrifying images etched into the stones, close to the fruit that he viciously wanted her to consume more of with him. 

Now, this girl was not unintelligent. She may have entered a strange forest with a silly boy under the influence of both alcohol and adolescent joy, but she was not unintelligent. And her keen mind, even keener now with this unusual, powerful fruit stirring her imagination and firing her synapses, was working diligently to find a solution to her problem. I cannot run, she thought to herself. But there must be something I can do. She went to the first ancient stone. The image of music, dancing, and celebrating. Next, the image of eating, drinking, and celebration. Next, the image of the sacrifice, and of the terrible worship of this thing. 

There must be more here, she thought to herself. But, as she brushed aside the dirt and the moss on the fourth and the fifth stones, the images were too faded, too ancient, and she could discern nothing from them. 

That's all right, she thought to herself. There is still a way. There is always a way. 

She stood there, and the creature fed and it fed. And it had no care of her whatsoever at this moment, with its focus on its meal. If that was the case, why did he not want her to leave? 

Likely, because he needed her. He needed her tribute, her worship. Even her fear and awe of him in this moment was feeding him in some way. She watched him carefully. And it dawned upon her. 

He won't let me leave. 

He needs me here. 

And, with the newfound power of this incredible fruit he's given me, Now more than ever, I may just stand a chance. 

I may be able to defeat him. 

It would be the only way. 

Fight, she told herself. Fight him. Fight him, tooth and nail. Fight him until you have no more strength left to fight with. You may die, but at least you won't be giving him what he wants. 

You may die. 

You will lose. 

And if you lose, you will likely die. 

You can't be sure, but is it worth the risk? 

And, if you do not risk it, then you have a lifetime beneath a beautiful moon, seeing things you never saw before, eating delicious fruit, with the company of a vicious monster. 

He is too powerful. Too strong. Too ancient. You could never win. 

[A lone guitar strain from the previous melody is heard]

As this dawned upon her, the music she had heard before began to swell again in her ears. The music of those women, many, many years ago, who had worshiped this thing. Who had given in, and given up precious, beloved things to him. So that he would bless them. Keep them safe in the circle. Feed them. Give them senses they had never had before. 

She could practically see them. Sitting in a circle around the altar. Women in plain white tunics, swaying, singing, dancing, celebrating, making this lovely and horrible music. 

And him, in the center, having his fill. 

I wish I could tell you that she took a great rock in her hands, and with her newfound strength, she bludgeoned the beast to death. Or, at least, weakened him long enough to run home. To run to her village, embrace her loved ones, and protect them against this ancient, voracious power.

I wish I could tell you that she had the willpower to forget the taste of that fruit, to resist the beauty that she saw in the nighttime after eating it. 

I wish I could tell you that she was brave, and that she had challenged him again. And taken her life back. 

But she didn't. 

She gave in to her new life.  

And the girl eventually forgot about the boy.

And she forgot about home. 

And she forgot about the will to rebel against the horned creature. 

She stayed there, and she took the fruit, and she listened to the music, and she danced ecstatically, and she did so willingly, rather than die trying to deny these blessings.

 

And so, my Stranger, you must believe me when I tell you that I will not hurt you..

That you can trust me. 

You take, and you give, and you are ravenous and you are monstrous and you take those that I love from me.

You long for a world where, one day, no one will be here to listen to my stories. Except you. 

I have not the will to fight you. Not now. 

And as for you. My friends. My ever-present, ever-listening friends. 

You must forget about me. 

You must leave me.

You must let me go. 

I can only bring sorrow and leave devastation in my wake. 

I warned you before. 

I warned you many times.

I warned you the first time I talked to you. 

I'm not really your friend. 

For your own sake. 

Forget about me. 

Leave me in the ruins. 

With the monster. 

For I may be the worse monster after all. 

I'm sorry. 

 

Hello everyone, happy June! This is Kristen Zaza speaking to you from beyond...the...internet. Ooooooohhh. Thanks so much for listening to Episode 22 of On a Dark, Cold Night. 

Nothing crazy to share with you this week - just your regularly scheduled reminder that if you want to support the show, there are many avenues through which you can do so! First, you can download a great app called RadioPublic. It's free for you to use, and every listen my podcast gets through it counts towards me actually getting paid for my time and effort. It's a great way to show your support for the show!