Chiron Academy

Tales to Horrify #45: The Beast of the Moor

"And so it remains," de Burgh mused. "Forever untouched, lost to men forever."

M. Leroux raised his hand towards de Burgh as if to dissuade him.

"I wouldn't vouch for the tale's truthfulness, monsieur," he said delicately. "Ali has been known to stretch the facts. I personally don't put much stock in such things. After all my time exploring the tombs, never once have I seen something that couldn't be explained with scientific means."

"Maybe, sir," de Burgh scoffed. "Or maybe you just see things in a way that is convenient for you to see it."

"Now if you don't mind, I have a tale to tell. One perfect for an evening like this.

"They say," de Burgh intoned," that when the mists roll in across the moor, that it can be the sign of something from the unseen world trying to reach out to to where it can reach the children of Adam.

There is a tale that is told, one that has been held in high esteem for many years, of a beast that walks the moor at such times."

------

The tale speaks of a young farmer, walking from one hamlet to another. Many times he had been warned of the danger of the mist, but time was of the essence and he needed to get to the next village to repay a debt and this was the very last day before the debt was to be repaid.

The man was a bit nervous, but he had traveled the road many times. He threw a scarf around his neck to keep the chill off and he kissed his wife goodbye.

He began his trip with some trepidation. The mist swirled around him, leaving his imagination free to conjure up all sorts of demons and spirits.

Was that a bird call he heard or the groaning of an ghost? Every tale he'd ever heard tumbled around his head.

And so, he walked on: step after nervous step. Here and there he'd see bits that he recognized of the familiar path he'd walked so often but now, with the mist blanketing all around him, it felt like a distant place, seeing specters in every swirl of the mist.

The journey was not a long one, and in only an hour or two, he reached his destination, an equally small hamlet as the one he had left.

For a moment, a sense of normalcy returned. The mist clung to village as much as it had to the moor, but here its hold seems weaker. Perhaps with the sounds of bleating sheep and children at play made him feel more at ease and the warmth of his hearth, though far from him, feel a bit closer.

He paid his debt as he had intended, and all too soon, it was time to make the perilous journey home.

The evening chill beginning to set in. And as he left the town, the light was beginning to fade.

He held a torch aloft, to keep the clammy cold off, but also in an attempt to bring some of the cheer of the town along with him on his lone sojourn.

The torch's light did little to illuminate the rough path beneath him, glowing futilely into the thick mist that still clung to the moor.

He tried whistling to himself, quietly, hoping that the the gay melody might instill him in with a little bravery and remind him of a happier time.

He stopped in his tracks. Had he heard something behind him? A rustling in the leaves perchance?

He didn't move. Just stood and listened, reaching out with his ears for any more sounds.

But he heard nothing.

Perhaps, he wondered for an anguished moment, it had just been his imagination. The free flowing mist around him must have filled his head with dread ideas. There had been nothing around him the entire trip and neither would there be. All of his fellow men were safely at home on this insufferably chilly night and the wilder creatures of the land themselves had been driven out of the area by his grandfather's' time. The only aspects of spirits was locked firmly in his own mind, having no substantiation in anything he'd experienced on this journey.