The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 46 - The One in Black

England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
Unknown place - Somewhere in the woods

5 November 1898, 10:18 p.m.

The dead bodies pelted down on them like a shower of hail. The ravens' bodies were enough to cause dull pain when they abruptly hit somewhere on their bodies. Where before the sharp beaks had pecked at his eyes and his hands, the bloody and torn open wounds burned. To protect his eyesight, Benjamin had inevitably had to pull his arm across his face.

His hair was ransacked and a deep claw mark stretched across his cheek and chin. Although his hands were bleeding and had also been torn open by claws, he still clutched the revolver tightly. His warm blood smeared the grip.

Now he expelled the held air and tried to size up the situation. In his first reflex, Ben wanted to step protectively toward Kyle again. But to his horror, he had disappeared. He stared, then his head flew back and forth searching. The ravens were gone, the lanterns too, and there was no trace of Kyle or the threat in the shadows. The loud cawing had stopped, the wild flapping of wings had disappeared and the stifling, oppressive silence had returned, broken only by his heartbeat.

"KYLE!" Benjamin's dark bass surged into the silence. But no response rang out. There was no movement to be noticed or heard anywhere in the darkness. There were only the black trunks and the leaves swaying in the wind on barren branches. Benjamin fought down the ever-rising unease as his heart sank into his pants.

Last time he had just been able to save Crowford from death. What if he was too late this time? Likewise, Ben wouldn't have stood a chance against the mighty wolf alone. How was he supposed to defend himself against these terrors without the mage? Ben's thoughts flickered like a candle in a storm. He did not cope well with being alone. Dark memories reached for his legs, reminding him of the skirmish in the sand. Nervously, he rubbed his revolvers.

There was no way he could panic now. Still, the memory of what had happened forced bitter bile into his mouth and made his fingers grow cold. The muscles on the man's jaw tightened and made the angular chin harden. Benjamin brushed his hair out of his forehead and looked around with narrowed eyes. It took a while for his vision to adjust sufficiently to the darkness without light.

He was obviously no longer in the same place where the ravens had attacked him and Crowford. Here, the rows of trees were no longer so dense and hardly carried any leaves in their gnarled branch forks. The foliage at his feet covered the forest floor like a vast carpet almost without gaps everywhere. The dead leaves formed heaps of hills and only in a few places did grass peep out. But even that seemed stunted as if it had withered despite the constant moisture from rain and bog. Wisps of mist drifted across the ground like ghostly figures and a strangely stuffy, heavy smell was in the air, which Benjamin did not know how to interpret.

A dark sound, a humming or melodious whispering, came from one direction. Cold tingles rolled down his spine and dissipated in his belly. Ben slid his finger back in front of the trigger of his gun and set his steps with deliberation. Leaves slid aside and crackled under his weight as he crept forward. His heartbeat galloped in his chest and the pressure steadily increased. Distant drums to a guard march that in all its perfection was never more than a charade. Cold panic rose slowly and inexorably within him. It took all his concentration and strength to quell it. As if someone were putting a noose around his heart and pulling it tighter with every step he took toward the voice.