The Unknown Tales: A Collection of Short Stories, One Shots, and More

Corrupted Skin

You mustn't deem me insane for I have been through a far more frightening and horrific ordeal than many would be able to withstand. Those that might be strong enough may have been proud of what they accomplished. It is no small feat to stand while the fires of hell bear down on you as a thousand tongues of flame lit under the skin swell your flesh until it splits and all that is left is the soul, bare and naked as a newborn babe. Yes, they would be proud, ecstatic you might even say.

I am not a prideful man. No. Not, at least, in that. I am not proud to have survived such dreadfulness. How can I be? How can I bear myself with pride and dignity when it is I who has unleashed such beastly horror on my people? From any other perspective, it is I who am the villainous monster, the hideous beast, the untamable wolf. To me it is them who are the monsters, the wolves in sheep's clothing, the snake writhing beneath the tree of knowledge. They are as hideous to me as I am to them.

It begins on the night my son was born and I, fretting nervously, was sent out of our home by the midwife to breathe the fresh air. I wandered for a time, underneath the great black sky where countless stars glimmered and the moon shone full and bright. The world around me was turned to silver. A cooling mist swirled about my feet, wetting the grass and rising up on small breaths of air to kiss my fingertips. In the far depths of the Darkling Wood a wolf howled mournfully.

I remember little of what happened in the few moments that followed. I only remember stepping into the dreaded wood as if caught in a trance while before me floated two of the most fascinating of objects. Two identical lights floated a mere two feet higher than my head. They glowed with a fierceness of will and strange power not found in the natural world.

My mind was fascinated by these lights and like a child seeing a small candle burning I reached out to touch the pretty flame. Flames like daggers raced up my arm. The fire burned more strongly than the largest of blazes. To this very day I can feel the embers still sizzling deep inside my skin. They are as much a part of me as my own flesh and blood, as integrated as the wolf is in his pack.

A blackness fell over me, deep and consuming. Long I lay on the forest floor as the silver moon filtered through the bare branches of the shadowed trees onto my pale and bloodless skin. On my hand a warm, wet sensation trickled across my cold skin. I know not how long I may have lain there, swooning in the dark, if a doe and buck had not crashed through the brush. They stood upon slender legs, still as the night air, regal and proud as kings of old. Their tawny coats gleamed hale.

Seeing their bright eyes renewed inside me the strength to rise. My feeble movements startled them and away they bounded, crushing bushes and snapping twigs fallen to the ground in their haste. I staggered to my feet, clutching at the air for support that was not there. My right hand was inert and lifeless, yet warm with an inner fire. To even think of moving the tightly curled fingers of my hand pained me greatly. With immense difficulty I stumbled through the forest, using the sturdy tree trunks to keep me upon my feet when a spell of nauseating dizziness washed over me.

Slowly I made my way back until the dampness of the forest left me and I again stood in the free air, breathing the sweetness of a spring night. From inside my home, little more than a hut, yellow light shone through the windows, bright and glaring against my eyes. Blinking and swaying I stood at the edge of the forest, unable or, perhaps, unwilling to bring myself near that hideous light when the moon shone on me so softly and delicately.

All signs and thoughts of hesitation fled my mind when the wail of a newborn child pierced the stillness of the night. Tripping over my own feet, I rushed forward and fell against the door. It gave way with incredible ease. The hut was hot and smoky from the hearth fire blazing on the far side. Half a dozen women and one man, the doctor, stood around my wife. Their faces were red and sweat slicked. My wife lay on a mound of thick blankets, her eyes closed and chest heaving. The midwife cleaned the child with warm rags.