The Orientation

Prologue

The sun began to lower, signaling the end of another tedious day of the Mayan people. Women herded their children indoors, scolding them if they happen to shout or laugh too loudly. Night was approaching. Time was running short for one sorry Mayan.

"Hush now...or else Ah-Puch will come with his dogs of the underworld to rip the mouth off of your face" A mother warned her noisy offspring, ushering the now quiet boy into the hut.

The Mayan people were advancing by the day, however, they still cowered and prayed for mercy by the gods above, but especially the one lurking below the earth. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the light bounced off of the straw and hemp covered roof tops of the modest living areas. The sound of a cough sounded in the otherwise quiet early evening air. Some Mayan's began to pray, hoping to Itzamna, their lord, that he will spare the sick from Ah-Puch's otherworldly power.

Once the sun disappeared and the stars began to take its place in the sky, the coughing continued. An elderly Mayan gripped the cloth sheets, hacking into his palm, unable to stop for too long. His stark white hair lay limp against his gaunt face, the skin seeming to barely cling to his flesh and bone, as if it were cloth itself instead of human skin.

He's coming.

The owl screech in the night was more than enough to alert the still awake Mayan's of the coming presence. Though the odor that penetrated the air was a message all itself. Shadows on the edge of the otherwise peaceful village began to shift and hiss. Tendrils of smoke rose in the air for a few moments before spiraling downwards, dissipating, but leaving someone else in its stead.

The god of death had arrived.

A skeletal figure with protruding ribs sticking out of misplaced chunks of rotting flesh was illuminated in the moonlight. The head, was an atrocious sight in itself, made of a hollowed out owls head, feathers never-ending in molting. A feather or two would fall if the God happened to move. The eyes, glassed over and long dead, scooped out from the last chief of the village as a gift from grievers and mourners of moons past.

Ah-Puch's footsteps were slow, following the unseen path to the home of the sick. Mayan's had stopped their prayers, aware that each beg had fallen on deaf ears. There was simply nothing that could be done. The god emitted a putrid stink as he raised a decayed fist and knocked.

"Go...go away...please," Came the hoarse reply from within.

Ah-Puch's beak curls in a gruesome smile, the God had a cruel sense of humor. He presses the palms of his ruined hands to the door, splaying out his fingers and fell silent. The coughs from the home subsided long enough for a sigh of relief to be heard. The god then pushed, and pushed, his fingers leaving cracks with each amount of pressure added to the wood. The Elder sat up against his wooden bed frame, shaking his head and praying frantically, his fists clenched the cloth sheets until the knuckles turned stark white, liver spots becoming more prominent.

The door shook once with the final push, the wood seemed to just age, rotting in place. Pieces of now softened wood began falling off, dissolving into unusable mush, until the entrance was revealed to him. Upon resting his gaze on the terrible God's face, the elder let out a deafening screech of horror.

The last sounds of the night...an unearthly wail...and a crunch.