We came upon their sorrow and watched it feast.
The hound and I had settled down in a small thicket overlooking a rough cemetery. Several of the graves were fresh, and there was an air about the place I found displeasing. Thorn did as well, and as we broke our fast, we did so quietly and on the alert.
As we finished our short repast, the rise and fall of conversation caught our attention, and the dog and I hunkered down to see what was coming toward the cemetery.
In a matter of minutes, a half-dozen men in various uniforms entered the burial ground and made their way directly to the back where a flower-covered grave stood. Their tones became reverent, and one of the men spoke a plain and simple prayer in French. When he finished, he sank down to one knee beside the grave and spoke in a voice too low for me to hear.
Unfortunately for him, the graveyard heard him.
Dull gray hands broke the surface of the earth, fingers long and curved, black taloned nails hooking into boots and pants. The men drew their sidearms, firing and trying to free themselves.
It was no use.
The creatures of the earth rose up as a swimmer might breach the surface of the sea.
I recognized them as dark elves, long and thin, orange eyes glowing and sunlight shining in the silver rings hanging from their long ears.
The battle that ensued was short, fierce, and horrifically one-sided.
Within two minutes, the last of the men was dragged beneath the surface of the cemetery, and the ground appeared as though it had never been disturbed.
I waited to see if they would come for the dog and me, and when they did not, Thorn and I stood. I gathered up our possessions, made sure the Colts were loose in their holsters, cradled the Spencer, and left the graveyard behind me.
Beneath my feet came the thrum of drums, and I knew the dark elves were eating well.
#horror #fear #art