Silent Night.
An Iron Age Media Prompt - The Calm.
This piece of flash fiction is a continuation from another Iron Age prompt i had done in September called ‘Hand to Mouth’. Although short, it tells of the fate of the people of New Haven in the aftermath of September’s prompt.
Here, let it be recorded by Charleston Mc Avery, part of the last surviving remnant of New Haven.
Hunger has dwindled the population of New Haven down to the hundreds, and for weeks, people have been reported missing. First it was children, then more noticeably, adults started disappearing.
Desperate, the townsfolk pleaded with the mayor, but their messages went unheeded. The Mc Neilly farm became a place of taboo, with sightings of the missing, and reports of the mayor forsaking the town.
In fear, the townspeople imposed a curfew, but this did not last long, as an ill fog engulfed the town. With it, people started turning up dead in their very own beds. Survivors report that victims had wounds on their necks and looks of utter horror frozen on their face.
That was five days ago. Since then, whatever has fed on us in the cursed fog has ceased. As we, the survivors, have taken up our last stand in the towns church.
The men rush to bury the last of the dead, giving them a Christian burial, while we who are left, ask ourselves why God has forsaken us.
Night comes and still the chill fog freezes, while we sit, fireless, huddled together. No words has come back of the messenger we sent to the nearby town of Westport, and we fear that they share the same fate as the others.
Only a dozen adults have made it thus far, and the women weep in lament of the unknown fate of their little ones.
In the dark of the sleepless night, past the zenith of the moon, we hear the sound of children’s voices coming from the wood. Shrill laughter, and merry voices call out to their mothers, so that the men must hold their women at bay, lest this cursed happening force us all to perish.
We cover our ears, as the ill voices sing nursery rhymes and plead to be taken into the safety of the church. Then finally, when it can no longer be tolerated, we open the doors to find the recently dug graves empty.
Searching by firelight, no explanation can be found and we seek solace in prayer, which in our hearts we know falls on deaf ears… This town is cursed and God has forsaken us.
Fear and panic are now in the hearts of the survivors, and when we have chance to count our number, only eight have made it back to the church. Four have been taken by the night and in our desperation and hopelessness, we weep, lest our souls be sent to some place worse than this purgatory we now linger.
In our grief, we realise that this will be our last night on this earth. Either by the evil outside, or by our own hands, we will perish.
One by one, each man makes their own decision. Five decide to venture out and seek sanctuary at Westport. While the remaining three choose to end their suffering by hanging.
Lord knows if the evil got to them first, but as we, the remaining five set out, the fog is as thick as ever, so that we cannot reckon if it is still night or morning.
On we trudge, to what fate?
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