The Wolves of Bellrose

Chapter Three

He awoke groggily with a pounding headache. A rock was poking into his shoulder. The smell of rich, heady dirt filled the air, underlaid with the scent of something that smelled vaguely of death. Shuffling and muttering nearby and a weird dragging sound drifted around the man laying upon the dirt. His eyes felt glued together and for a moment he thought himself blind and panic started to take hold. The last thing he remembered was walking the path to his homestead just outside the village after a successful morning of trading. He could remember nothing of the predicament he found himself in now.

He tried to move his arms so he could rub his eyes, but found his arms would not move. His eyes still would not open. Perhaps some creature had glued his eyes closed in revenge for glancing upon the naked body of a woman bathing in the river near his home. He had heard of such things happening to men who had looked upon women who had already been wed. He wanted to plead his case, to tell whoever had cursed him so cruelly that what he had seen was an accident. But his throat was so dry and parched that all he could do was croak weakly. All sound around the man stopped. His breath caught in his throat as he felt someone lean over him. Something touched the man and he flinched violently, jerking away from whoever was leaning over him. A maniacal laugh filled the cave, echoing over and over itself, until it sounded as though the cave was filled with people laughing. The man couldn't do anything as his bladder released, pure terror overtaking all his senses, making his breath come faster and faster until he was light-headed. The laughter went up a pitch as it realised he'd pissed himself. It showed no signs of stopping to take a breath.

Just as the man was on the verge of fainting, the laughter ceased. The echoes stopped. No sound remained in the world, no matter how hard he strained his ears. Not a single breath of fresh air brushed against the man. The world was void and empty and strange. He had never heard an echo cease so abruptly. The man still could not breathe properly. His lungs and adrenaline were working against him.

The stench of decay drifted closer and closer, stronger and stronger, until it was oppressive and inescapable. A hand (or what at least felt like a hand) brushed down the side of his face, almost tenderly.

A rasping voice filled the space, chanting words he couldn't understand. Heat suddenly flared around him, not burning him, but very unexpected. Then those same gentle and dainty hands tenderly lifted up his arm, only to snap it. He screamed. The pace of the chanting increased.

And then he fainted.