In a
small white washed cottage on the edge of Loch Rannoch, lived a middle aged bachelor
named Maddoc Murray. Preferring to live on the fringes of society; Maddoc was a
shy, eccentric Scotsman whose only interaction with the local took place on
Wednesday nights when he made his weekly trip to the Whiskybae Pub.
Wednesday evening, when the
water of life flowed; gossip of the day was conferred with classic Scottish
flare. A drunken dispute over who invented the game of golf was resolved over arm wrestling; a game of “Maw” and an
incoherent rabble rousing chorus of ‘Donald Where’s Your Troosers’ rounded out
the jamboree. It was sometime after midnight when the pub regulars trooped
home.
Maddoc was in a rather jovial frame
of mind as he started out on the two mile journey. A harvest moon shone bright
in the sky lighting his way. As the footpath wound through the woods that bordered
his property, an eerie flesh crawling realization dawned on the intoxicated Scotsman.
The comforting sound of the nocturnal beasts had gone quiet; a warm breeze carried
the sour putrefying stench of rotting flesh.
To the right of the path, rustling
came from the underbrush. Peering into the long shadows cast by the trees,
Maddoc could not find the source for the noise. Hastening his steps, he jogged
nervously for a ways. Nevertheless whatever was following him remained out of
sight in the brush; keeping pace with the frightened Scotsman, the odor of
decay persisted.
The end of the footpath emerged
in the distance. Just beyond that was the shelter of the white stone cottage.
Maddoc knew that if he didn’t gather his inebriated wits and make for the safety
of the cottage, there was a good chance the creature in the woods would cut him
off in the clearing ahead.
With all his capacity, Maddoc
took off like buckshot through the woods; just as before the thing followed in
close pursuit. Filled with dread, the Scotsman entered the clearing……and
nothing materialized. He turned and cast an eye over the woods; the night had again
gone still. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked the rest of the way to his small
house.
The moon shone through the south
window facing the woods, casting shadows throughout the one room cottage. Draping
his cloak over the back of the chair by the front door, he set about securing the
shutters and drawing the latch across the door; Maddoc proceeded to build a
fire in the fireplace. Underneath the south window a bed was situated. From
sheer exhaustion, he flung himself across the bed and passed out.
An hour or so later, he awoke
from a fitful slumber to “Thump, thump, thump.” Opening one eye, he noticed
that the north cottage window had become unshuttered, the shutters gently
swaying in the breeze. The guttering fire in the hearth threw irregular shadows
throughout the room. Closing his eyes once more, Maddoc tried to go back to
sleep, but he was interrupted again by a “Thump, thump, thump.”
Sitting up, he saw that the
shutters were still. “Thump, thump, thump,” in the darkest corner of the room,
something moved. The smell of rotten flesh pervaded throughout the cottage. Terrified,
Maddoc hid under the covers as the thing emerged from the shadows. His heart
beat loudly in his chest as the thing got closer and closer. The smell was so
overpowering he thought he might vomit. It stopped beside the bed, paused for a
moment; and then tore the covers away.
Maddoc’s eyes bulged with horror.
Opening his mouth, he tried to scream, the sound never left his throat.
Standing next to the bed was a fearsome creature with one arm and one leg.
Rotten, grey skin hung from its frame, maggots bore holes into its flesh. Thin black
hair stuck to the scalp; a singular clouded, bloodshot eye glared down at
Maddoc.
Wednesday evening came and went,
and Maddoc Murray did not make his usual appearance. This set tongues to wagging;
perhaps he had fallen into the loch and drowned or some other horrible mishap
had fallen upon the eccentric bachelor. Curiosity is a strong motivator. The proceeding
morning Alphin Lockhart; a regular at the Whiskybae Pub and probably the only
person who might be considered a friend to Maddoc Murray, set out for the
cottage near the Loch Rannoch.
When Alphin reached the woods
that surrounded Maddoc’s property, he saw a figure walking ahead in the
footpath towards him. The cloak was similar to the one his peculiar friend wore;
so Alphin yelled, flagging down the figure. As Alphin drew closer, the strong odor
of decaying flesh surrounded him.
Abreast with the figure, Alphin
realized the individual was a head shorter than his friend. Bidding the
stranger ‘Good Morning,’ he noted the odd manner in which the stranger kept his
face hidden in the cloak; it was equally as hard not to notice the smell which permeated
the strangers being. ‘Good Morning’, was the garbled reply, as the stranger
limped past Alphin.
Alphin continued in the
direction of the cottage. As he crossed the clearing, the small house in the
distance had an air of abandonment. Knocking on the front door, Alphin called
out to Maddoc without any reply. He pushed on the door and noticed it was still
latched from the inside.
He walked around to the north
side of the cottage; the shutters of the north window were open. Curious, Alphin
peered in and then stumbled backwards away from the window. Taking a
handkerchief out of his pocket, he held it to his nose and mouth to help mask
the smell of purification.
Looking in the window once more he saw Maddoc Murray lying on his bed;
or what was left of the Scotsman’s bloated decaying body. Everything from the left
side of his body had been removed, like he had been cannibalized. What remained
of the right side lay at a strange angle, as if he had struggled until the very
end. His glassed over eye stared up at
the ceiling in terror, his mouth frozen in a horrified scream.
