CHAPTER 1
The New World
Sutton, Connecticut, March 1666
A shadow deep in darkness.
A whisper …
Another.
“No.”
More whispers—urgent.
“I do not hear you … I cannot hear you. For the dead do not hear.”
A chorus of whispers.
“Leave me be.”
You must wake.
“No. I am dead. And dead I shall remain.”
You can hide no longer.
“There is nothing left for me out there.”
There is blood.
“No … no more. I am done.”
They come.
“For the sake of all, leave me be.”
They are here, at your very door.
“I care not.”
We have brought you a gift.
“I want nothing.”
Blood.… Smell it.
“No, I smell nothing. I am dead.”
But the shadow did smell the blood drifting around it, into it, becoming part of it, and with it came the hunger—but an itch at first, then, as the smell permeated the air, a painful clawing.
“Oh,” the shadow moaned. “Sweet blood.”
The shadow opened its eyes, shut them, then opened them again.
There, in the dirt, lay a four-legged beast, not a deer, not any animal it recognized, but a shaggy thing with split hooves and thick curling horns. It lay broken with its guts spilling from its belly, its eyes flickering and its breath fast and shallow.
The shadow drifted toward the animal. The beast fixed wild eyes on the shadow and began to quake, then bleat. The shadow fed on the fear, sliding closer, closer, pushing its smoky tendrils into the warm gore, drinking in both the terror and the blood.
The shadow began to find its shape, the blood forming arteries and veins, cartilage, bone, sinew and muscle. It began lapping the blood, then—realizing it now had teeth—tore into the animal, shoving its muzzle into the warm guts, devouring flesh and bone alike. The shadow felt a thump in its chest, another, convulsed, then a heartbeat, drumming faster, then faster. The shadow, which was no longer a shadow, lifted its head and let out a long howl.
Good, said the other.
“Good,” said the shadow, now a beast. And for the first time in ages heard its own voice echoing off the cave walls.
Are you still hungry?
“Yes.”
Would you like more blood?
Copyright © 2021 by Gerald Brom
