Leroy's Writing Space

The moon was full. The night was cold. The two boys shivered.

“Do you see anything, Simon?”

“Shut up, Michael!”

They were alone in the field, well beyond the village limits, with only a nearby rock for company. The distant echo of voices had long since died out.

Simon, the smaller of the two boys, did not blink as he stared out into the foggy mist. He thought of duty, honour, and glory. He thought of his mission, and the joy of the hunt. Michael, the taller, rounder boy glanced over his shoulder. He thought of his bed.

“Simon.” Michael tugged on his brother’s tunic. “Simon!”

“Quiet!” hissed Simon. “Keep your voice down, or it’ll hear you.”

“Sorry,” whispered Michael. “It’s just… we’ve been out here for hours, and… I’m not sure anything’s coming. Come on, Simon. It’s freezing, and if mum finds out…”  

“We’re not going anywhere,” Simon did not avert his gaze, “not while that thing is still out there.”

“But…”

“Be quiet and stay down,” said Simon. “It’ll come. Just keep an eye out.”

Michael sighed. He hated when his brother was like this, and his brother was often like this. Always right, always on a mission, and always dragging Michael along for the ride. Simon wasn’t the type to lie, but Michael wasn’t sure he was ready to believe that a monster had roamed these very fields the night before.

“I’m just saying,” said Michael, “it could have been anything…”

“It was a monster!” insisted Simon. “A thinly, creepy monster. And I’ll prove it to you.” 

Michael had no objection to the idea of monster hunting, but was firmly against the notion that he participate, especially in the dead of winter. He shuddered as the breeze picked up. Chills shot down his spine. “How do you even know it’ll come back?”

“It will,” said Simon. And That was that. They would stay put until the monster returned, or they both froze to death.  

Michael wiped his runny nose with a sleeve. Plenty of people spoke of seeing monsters, but whenever you went looking for them, they seemed to vanish. Plenty of stories, but not much else.   

The boys waited. The wind whistled ominously. The boys waited some more. Even Simon seemed to be growing impatient.  

“Do you see anything?” he asked.

“No.” In the misty gloom, Michael could barely see his own nose. “Come on Simon, let’s go. Before someone finds out we’re…”

“Shh!” Simon held up a hand. “Listen.”

Michael did listen. At first, he heard nothing, but then, in the distance, the stomping of feet. Many feet. With every passing moment, it got louder and louder. Closer and closer.

“Someone’s coming!” said Michael.

“More than someone,” said Simon.

He wasn’t wrong. Out of the mist, they shambled. Just one at first, then five, then a dozen, then a hundred, then a hundred more. They moved slowly, unnaturally. Their joints were stiff, and their movements awkward. They lurched towards the sleeping village, groaning and muttering.   

“My God,” breathed Michael. He wondered who all these people were, but as they approached, he could see they were not people at all. Not anymore. Some had clothes, hanging loosely off pale skin. Others however… “Simon, look!”

“They’re dead,” whispered Simon. For once, he didn’t sound so proud. “Undead.”

Michael couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Dark skin. Decomposed skin. Some were more bones than flesh. At least one had his entrails trailing behind him. An army of the undead, and they were not alone.

From their ranks emerged an obvious leader, draped in a dark cloak that billowed in the winter breeze. Their face was hidden beneath a black hood. Over a shoulder, they carried a long scythe, whose blade shimmered in the moonlight.

“God in heaven!” Simon leaned closer for a better look. “It’s a Plague Maiden!”

“A what?” said Michael.

“Don’t you pay attention in church?” said Simon.

Father Neil’s vivid accounts of Satan’s disciples was the only worthwhile part of his sermons. A Plague Maiden was a horror that visited quiet towns and hamlets. They preyed on the innocent, using the dark arts to transform the faithful into undead slaves.   

“What do we do?” said Michael. He didn’t know much about Plague Maidens, but he was quite sure he didn’t want to be anywhere near one.

“Hide!” cried Simon. Hide they did. Michael hid behind the large rock, Simon hid behind Michael and the Plague Maiden didn’t hide at all. She, and her undead army, limped towards the village, in no obvious hurry. The boys sat very still.

“What if she finds us?” whimpered Michael.

“She won’t,” said Simon.

“How do you know?”

“Because we’re well hidden,” hissed Simon, “she can’t see us.” It was true. The Plague Maiden couldn’t see them. She didn’t have to. “Just be quiet and she’ll walk pass.”  

“I think someone’s coming,” whispered Michael.

“Keep your voice down,” said Simon.

“Maybe she found us?”

“Maybe she’s just walking by.”

“Maybe she’s going to attack the village.”

“Maybe she won’t.”

“Maybe we should get out of here!”

“Maybe she would see that!”

“Or maybe…” came a harsh, rasping voice. The boys looked up in horror. A monster glared back at them. “Maybe she doesn’t like being spied on.” 

The boys reeled backwards. The Plague Maiden was even more menacing up close. Empty eyes peered out from a gaunt, hopeless face. She was impossibly thin, like a skeleton wrapped in skin. Her scythe, long and sharp, hung over the boys, like the blade of a guillotine. 

“Who are you two?” said the Plague Maiden. Her half open eyes narrowed when they didn’t answer. “Speak mortals.” 

“Er,” said Simon.

“Er is not an answer,” snapped the Plague Maiden.

“We’re… nobody really…” said Michael, “just two boys from the village.”  

“Oh?” The fire in the Plague Maiden’s gaze went out at once, and her shoulders slumped back. “Well, that’s alright then.”

For a while, nothing was said. The boys stared at the Plague Maiden. The Plague Maiden stared back. As things were getting awkward, Simon decided to do some investigating. “Are you a Plague Maiden?”

“Yep.”

“Told you so,” said Simon, nudging Michael.

“Why are you here?” asked Michael.

“I’m just here to kill you two and massacre the village,” said the Plague Maiden.

“Kill us?” whimpered Simon.  

“And massacre the village,” said the Plague Maiden, “but first…” She lifted her scythe. The boys shrieked and fell to their knees. Paralysed with fear, they covered their heads and waited for the blade to fall. It didn’t. Daring to look up, they noticed the Plague Maiden had passed it to one of her undead servants and was now sitting on their hiding rock. “Lunch.”

From her cloak, the Plague Maiden produced a small bundle. From the small bundle she pulled out a shrivelled, black thing that might have been a carrot once. To the boy’s extreme displeasure, she took a bite out of it.

“We have to get out of here and warn the village,” whispered Simon, to Michael.   

“Yeah, but how?” whispered back Michael, “her undead creatures have us surrounded.”

It was true. Simon looked about desperately, but the undead had them completely surrounded. “We probably should have run away before they did that.”

“Live and learn,” said Michael, “but what do we do now?”      

“I’m not sure.” Simon risked a glance at the Plague Maiden, who gazed off into the distance, chewing thoughtfully. “I think we can outsmart her, she doesn’t look too bright.”

“You think so?” said Michael.

“She has empty eyes,” said Simon, wisely, “and empty eyes means an empty head.”

“I can hear everything you’re saying,” said the Plague Maiden.

“So what are we going to do?” said Michael.

“I may have a plan. Follow my lead.” Simon got to his feet and pointed a finger at the Plague Maiden, who continued to eat.

“Evil Plague Maiden…”

“Sam,” said the Plague Maiden.  

“What?”

“It’s Sam.” The Plague Maiden pointed at some stitching on her cloak. It read: Samantha Mortem.   

Simon shrugged. “Evil Sam, then. I declare that this noble village shall suffer no transgression from either you or your godless horde. We are protected by the Lord above and His word is our sword and shield.”

“You have a bold tongue,” said Sam, “and an extensive vocabulary. Neither’s gonna save you tonight, I’m afraid. Your village is scheduled for destruction, and the moment my lunchbreaks over, I’m going to deliver it.” She took another bite. “Nothing personal.”

“Can’t you just let our village live?” said Michael, hopefully.

“Wouldn’t be doing my job if I did that,” said Sam.

“Your job?” said Simon.

Sam sighed and reached into her cloak. She pulled out a scroll, which she then unravelled. “Tonight, I am scheduled to fetch… twenty undead servants,” she read. “Your village has at least that many people. So, the plan is to murder everyone in sight and harvest their bodies.” She rolled the scroll up and shoved it back into her cloak. “Again, nothing personal, but the mountain always needs more servants.”

“The mountain?” said Michael.

“Mount Bola,” said Sam, “where I live. Lovely place. If you want to visit it, don’t. The air is full of toxins. I can breathe it, and so can they,” she nodded at her undead army, “but you’d die in seconds. Then again, you’re about to die anyway, so the point’s pretty much moot.”

“What would you even need servants for?” said Simon

“What for?” said Sam. The primary duties of an undead servant on Mt Bola included lifting boxes, holding open doors, and a whole host of other things the Plague Maidens couldn’t be bothered doing themselves. “Stuff.”

“But you would be killing people,” said Michael.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Sam poked her thumb at the nearby army. “That’s what they’re for.” 

“Michael,” said Simon, suddenly, “I have another plan.”

“Better than the plan to point your finger and shout at her?” said Michael. 

Without answering that, Simon took to his heels. He dashed past the undead horrors, who made no effort to stop him, and hurtled back towards the village. “Distract her a moment!” he called over his shoulder.

Michael watched him disappear into the fog, then turned back to the Plague Maiden. She hadn’t moved.

“I’ll get him later,” she said.

“He runs a lot faster than your minions do,” said Michael.

“Maybe,” said Sam, “but have you ever tried to outrun a creature that never sleeps, never tires, and never gives up the hunt?”  

Michael shook his head.

“Me neither,” said Sam, “but I imagine it’d suck.” She took the last bite of her disgusting meal and stood up. “Welp,” she dusted her hands, “I suppose I ought to get on with it.” She retrieved her scythe and stretched her back. “Anyway…”

“Wait!” cried Michael. “Don’t you feel sorry for all the people you’ll kill?”

Sam snorted. “Do you feel sorry for the cockroaches you step on?”

Michael looked at his feet. “Sometimes I do,” he said, quietly.

Sam winced at Michaels confession. “You’re weird.” With that she snapped her fingers. The undead gazed up, and the Plague Maiden half-heartedly gestured towards the village. “Go. Kill. Et cetera.” Snarling and growling, the ghoulish army lumbered forward.

Michael, red with panic, racked his brains for something, anything, that could stop the massacre of his home. “Don’t do this!”

“Too late,” said Sam, blandly. Her undead army surged forward, albeit slowly. Several of its members tripped over rocks, or fell into ditches, but Sam did nothing to assist them. “Not in my job description, actually,” she muttered.  

The undead monsters were closing on the village limits. They would soon be upon the sleeping villagers. Michael, unable to think of anything else, played his final, desperate card. “You’re better than this.”

Sam turned on him. She did not look pleased. “What did you say?”

“This,” Michael gestured at the advancing horde, “you’re better than this.”

‘You’re better than this’ was Father Neil’s favourite phrase for guilt tripping people, both young and old. Nothing quite shamed a person like pointing out that they had the potential for good, even if they chose to ignore it. Michael had no idea what effect it would have on the Plague Maiden. He was about to find out.

Sam said nothing at first. She glared at Michael, who shivered under her furious gaze. What followed, however, quite surprised him.  

“I know I’m better than this!” said Sam, abruptly. Her bony fingers tightened around the handle of her scythe. “Do you honestly think I’m out here because I want to be? Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think anyone does? Collecting servants?” She snorted in disgust. “Did you know that I was Third Cycle material at one point? I could have been in any stream I wanted to. Gone anywhere I wanted to.” Her voice softened. “Been anything I wanted to…”  

Michael didn’t quite know how to respond to this. “Uh…”

“Sure, I took a little break after Second Cycle,” continued Sam, more to herself then Michael, “maybe it stretched on a little longer than most, maybe four years is a little more than some people take to see the mountain, but that’s not reason to cut me off from life, is it?”

Her army continued its relentless march towards the village, more than a few falling down and not getting back up again. A crowd of the groaning beasts, however, took an interest in Michael, and staggered towards him from all sides. “Um, Sam…”

“I could have done Third Cycle, you know,” Sam stared at nothing in particular. “Both my mums told me I could have done it in a heartbeat, if I put my mind to it. By the time I applied, no one was interested. ‘Too long’ they said, too big a gap in your pathway. I applied everywhere. They wouldn’t even give me a chance. They didn’t want me…” Her voice cracked, slightly. “Nobody wanted me. I wasn’t good enough…”

Michael stepped away from an approaching monster, only to back into another one. Its skeletal hands grabbed him around the waist, and dragged the hapless Michael to the ground. “Sam!”

“This is the best I could do,” said Sam, quietly. “The only place that accepted me. After everything my mums did for me, this… this was the best I could do…”

Michael tried to yank himself free, but the grip of the undead monster was far stronger. It took all of Michael’s strength just to avoid the ghoul’s snapping maw. Meanwhile, more and more of the undead beasts limped towards him, closer and closer. “Sam!” 

“I was going to be great,” sniffed the Plague Maiden, “really great. No one was going to know how great I was going to be. My mothers,” she choked on the words, “were so proud of me when I graduated from Second Cycle. Now here I am, best years of my eternity, doing a dead-end off mountain job. No offers, no prospects, no promotions… no point really…” 

“Arggghhhhhhh!”

“Eh?” The Plague Maiden finally looked up to see the annoying fat mortal disappear beneath a wave of undead flesh and snapping maws. She prodded her servants away with the blunt end of her scythe. “Did you say something?” 

“No, no,” panted Michael as he got to his feet. “I was just screaming in abject terror.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then.”  

To Michael’s relief, the undead that had attacked him now marched off with the rest, towards the village. The relief was short lived, as Michael remembered his mission to save the village, a mission he was prepared to admit, wasn’t going very well. He turned back on the Plague Maiden, who was stifling a yawn. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “I know. Weren’t you listening before?” She cleared her throat. “I could have been anything I wanted to, if only I had…” 

“No, no,” said Michael, “what I mean is, you shouldn’t do this because it is a bad thing to do.”

“As I mentioned before, I’m okay with that.”

“But dozens will die.”

“As a collector of dead people, I’m sort of counting on it.” The Plague Maiden frowned at the look Michael gave her. “Hey, I’m going through a lot right now. You’re lucky I showed up at all.”

“I just can’t believe you have no problem killing people.”

Sam shrugged. “Mountain needs dead bodies. How else are you going to get them?”

Michael thought on this. “Dead bodies?”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “Dead bodies. The thing I am here for. We have walked down this path together more than once. I’m not sure how many times I need to…”

“All you need is dead people?” said Michael, again.

“Yes.”

“All you need is dead people?” said Michael, stroking his chin.

“Yes…”

“All you need is the bodies of people who are dead?” said Michael.

“Yes!” shouted Sam. “Satan beneath! You’re worse than the other one!”  

“Interesting…” Michael felt the warm touch of inspiration, but before he could do anything with it, something else emerged from the gloom. A number of voices, none of them pleased, headed straight for the undead army.

Sam sighed. “What now?” She banged her staff against the ground and her army shuddered to a halt.

“This way, he’s this way!” Simon was back, and he wasn’t alone. Twenty weary villagers trooped behind him, carrying hammers, hoes, shovels, and clubs. They yawned, grumbled, and dragged their feet. Every one of them wanted to be back in their warm beds, not out in the fields in the dead of night. The hastily assembled militia sleepwalked its way into the field.

“Alright boy,” said the village headman. He hefted a large axe. “Where’s that thief you were…” He trailed off as he belatedly noticed the hundreds of undead monsters. “Oh.”

“See Michael!” called Simon, “I woke everyone up and said someone was a grave robber in the fields! Isn’t that clever? You see, they wouldn’t have believed me if I said a huge army of undead monsters were out here, so I came up with a much more believable lie, and here they are!” He glanced up at his escort, now wide awake, staring in horror at the undead horde they had just blundered into. “Wasn’t I clever?”

“Yeah,” said the village headman, as the undead shuffled behind his party, blocking their escape, “thanks a lot, kid…”  

“Look,” Sam massaged her forehead, “I really need to get this show on the road here.” She nodded at Simon. “Thanks for bringing everyone to the field. That saves me the trouble of rounding them up. Anyway,” she waved a hand around carelessly, “prepare to die.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Simon.   

“I’m pretty damn sure,” said the woodsman.

“You’re not going to fight them?” said Simon, crestfallen.  

“Boy,” said the woodsman, “I was prepared to scare off some thief, not go into battle. Whatcha want us to do against an army like this?”

“You’re a woodsman though,” persisted Simon. “You cut down trees all day with your axe.”

“The trees don’t swing back, boy.”

Simon face fell. “So what is the plan?”

“I’m not sure it’s a plan,” said the village headman, “but I think we’re all about to die.”

“Indeed,’ said Sam. She raised her scythe.

“Wait!” cried Michael.

Sam groaned, and nearly flung her scythe to the ground. “What!?”

“You said you are here to collect dead people.”

Sam closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Why don’t you simply take the dead from the local graveyard, there should be plenty there,” said Michael.

“You don’t think I didn’t think of that,” snapped Sam, “I’m not stupid. But those old bodies would be degraded. Low quality. Nothing like the meaty corpses that come with a fresh kill. Management told me I have to get fresh ones when I can and only second-hand ones if I can’t.”

“So it’s against the rules to get old bodies when fresh ones are available?” asked Michael.

“Yeah.”

“But do you care?” said Michael, slyly. He saw something flicker behind Sam’s hollow eyes. “I mean, you came here to do a job, right? But did you come here to do it well?”

The Plague Maiden thought about this. She thought for a while. The villagers waited breathlessly as their fate was decided.

“Now you mention it,” said Sam, finally, “I’m not paid well enough to do this job right. Not even close. The fat mortal is right. It would be easy to kill every one of you, but it would be even easier not to. I’ll just collect from your graveyard and say it was the best I could find.” She snickered. “They’ll never know.”

“So, we’re not going to be killed?” said a villager.  

“Not by me, I can’t be bothered.” Sam was already making to leave. “You are free to waste your short, meaningless lives in whatever manner you see fit.”

A ragged cheer went up from the villagers.

“But what should we tell everyone?” said someone. “I mean, if she’s going around taking all the dead from our graveyards…”

“I don’t care,” explained Sam, “just lie, or something. Whatever.” And with that, she and her army lumbered away, disappearing back into the mist. The villagers, now alone, and safe, turned towards Michael.  

“Good thinking, boy,” said the village headman. 

“Good thinking, boy,” said the woodsman.

“Good thinking, Michael,” said Simon. 

It was some good thinking. The word was spread far and wide, and from that day onwards, whenever a villager saw some robed figure, with a long scythe and a black robe, prowling around the graveyards, they looked the other way and minded their own business.

After all, sometimes the easiest thing to do was nothing at all.

THE END