rm-r comic Halloween Contest 2013
Down in the valley
Down in the valley, the valley so lowHang your head over, hear the wind blow
Down in the valley, the valley so low
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
There are many valleys in the high rolling hills of the Appalachians. The valleys are bright with sunlight, they are vibrant homes of all manner of thriving creature. Life abounds in all of its myriad forms, resplendent in its joy, all of its voices rejoice in song. The great wheel of fortune and life spins steadily. Creatures rise and fall supporting each other in exquisite, brutal balance.
There are some few valleys that are ignored. The sun never finds them, it skitters across the top of the hills, missing its mark. And here, in one particular valley a small village has been forgotten. A sickly unfinished note hangs in the air. The great wheel has ground to a stuttering halt. Life does not thrive, it runs, terrified for its own existence. But some things cannot escape. Some things are trapped, unable to live, unable to die. And the wind...a cold ceaseless wind gusts without fail.
Over ridge to the west there is another village, very much remembered by the sun. Morning is just beginning here, and a young man has set out to hunt. He waits in the trees, biding his time, soon his valley will offer him something to take home, so that he and his family may live a few more days, healthy and satisfied.
Our young hunter sits in his ancient chestnut tree. Deer come and go, young mothers, not suitable for sacrifice. His valley bids him, climb higher, see farther. There is more for you today. And so he works his way up the towering tree, he climbs higher than he ever has before. So high that he can see over the hills. He can see down into the depths of neighboring valleys. And startled, he stops. He has never see such bounty before. How far the hills stretch, rippling away into the distance. And he sees, to the East a darkness, as though shadow has gathered itself and made itself a tangible festering furrow in the land.
It is suddenly cold, though the morning sun beats upon his face. Fearful, he leaves his tree and cautiously makes his way to the ridge. He creeps down towards the neighboring valley. As he walks further, the trees become smaller, more twisted, and more desperate in their fight for life in the shadow of the great darkness. The exuberant song lowers to a muted struggling wail, as though the forest is mourning and singing itself from the world.
He reaches the edge of shadow, where it gathers into a dusky haze that will never be burned away by the sun. And here he waits, terrified to make himself known. Why should this place attract him? He could just as easily turn away, return home, and let the sun bake the chill from his bones. But he sees movement. A pale, oddly graceful shape moves along the misty edge, pacing, as though it can go no further but is unwilling to cease the struggle. Light is just there, out of reach, so close.
Fascinated, our hunter makes his way towards the paleness, the very air thickening against him, pushing him backwards, making every step a struggle. Wind blows in his eyes, the gale is without reason, and its only source is the cold, forbidding darkness. But our hunter is strong, and the memory of the sun's touch that so recently warmed him still lingers on his skin. He pushes his way to the pale shape and stumbles as though he has fallen through an unlocked door. Dazed, he looks up and slowly registers the face of the pale milk white woman standing above him, her head oddly cocked to one side. She is young, and ancient. He face is smooth and her eyes are full of startled despair.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in? Who are you?" It all comes out in a rush, as though she has not spoken for years.
Bewildered, our hunter gazes at her. "I came because I saw the gathering darkness, and I saw you pacing. How long have you been here?" he asks. He begins to see her sorrow, his heart strings pull tight, and he is lost in her ageless, beautiful face.
"I do not really know anymore. Forever. Maybe." She extends a hand and pulls him up towards her. "You had better go, if you stay...you will not leave".
Certain that he will leave, nothing here could possibly entice a long visit, he asks "Will you come with me?"
"You should go now." She says, and turns away.
Stubbornly, he finds he cannot look away from her face, her head leaning to one side, and he does not want to leave her. She walks away from him, back into the bruise-purple gloom. He follows. She does not slow for him, and he struggles to keep up with her pale form. Finally, she stops a small cluster of huts, a circle of buildings made of branches, dead leaves, and crumbling stone. She ducks into the closest, and he ducks in behind her.
"You cannot be here, it will smell you... it will smell the reek of verdant sun on your skin".
"I cannot leave you." He says as though it is a simple manner. "Come with me."
"I cannot leave, I have been too long in the dark."
Unconvinced he refuses to leave her. What should have been a night passes, each sitting facing each other on the ground of the hut, fascinated, unflinching. But when what should have been morning dawns, as it dawns on the hills above, the sound of something scraping and lurching its way towards them begins.
"You should have left while you could have..."
A mottled hand reaches into the hut with a keening wheeze, the skin green, grey and shinning stretched too tightly over bone. Repulsed our hunter flinches away, and the ancient young woman simply sits quietly waiting for the inevitable. The creature cackles, it is the sound of dry leaves scrapping over stone in the wind.
The hand is quickly followed by the rest of the sunken, hollow creature. Its head held horribly unnaturally askew. Perhaps it used to be a man, thinks an idle part of our hunter's mind. There is no escape and the creature grasps our hunter by the throat. It is impossibly strong. It begins to push our hunter's head to one side. Our hunter feels his neck and skin begin to stretch too far, and then it there is a sickening pop as skin and muscle tear. The creature thrusts its mean, emaciated face into the gore and greedily drinks. It greedily consumes all of the life force, all the days of sun and bounty, all of the green song and golden light burst from the hunter with his blood and are swallowed by the terrible creature. He does not die, horribly, he is aware of all of the light of his world fading from him. And when it is done, he is pale and colorless, and his head leans over loosely to one side. His despair fills him and listlessness follows as his memories dim along with all of the color of his life.
The pale woman gazes at him, and a single tear creeps down her crooked cheek. The wind picks up outside and rustles the long dead leaves. The creature, having nothing left to take, lumbers away, leaving the pair in desperate peace.
"I'll show you to your hut" she says, and slowly walks away.
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
There are many valleys in the high rolling hills of the Appalachians. The valleys are bright with sunlight, they are vibrant homes of all manner of thriving creature. Life abounds in all of its myriad forms, resplendent in its joy, all of its voices rejoice in song. The great wheel of fortune and life spins steadily. Creatures rise and fall supporting each other in exquisite, brutal balance.
There are some few valleys that are ignored. The sun never finds them, it skitters across the top of the hills, missing its mark. And here, in one particular valley a small village has been forgotten. A sickly unfinished note hangs in the air. The great wheel has ground to a stuttering halt. Life does not thrive, it runs, terrified for its own existence. But some things cannot escape. Some things are trapped, unable to live, unable to die. And the wind...a cold ceaseless wind gusts without fail.
Over ridge to the west there is another village, very much remembered by the sun. Morning is just beginning here, and a young man has set out to hunt. He waits in the trees, biding his time, soon his valley will offer him something to take home, so that he and his family may live a few more days, healthy and satisfied.
Our young hunter sits in his ancient chestnut tree. Deer come and go, young mothers, not suitable for sacrifice. His valley bids him, climb higher, see farther. There is more for you today. And so he works his way up the towering tree, he climbs higher than he ever has before. So high that he can see over the hills. He can see down into the depths of neighboring valleys. And startled, he stops. He has never see such bounty before. How far the hills stretch, rippling away into the distance. And he sees, to the East a darkness, as though shadow has gathered itself and made itself a tangible festering furrow in the land.
It is suddenly cold, though the morning sun beats upon his face. Fearful, he leaves his tree and cautiously makes his way to the ridge. He creeps down towards the neighboring valley. As he walks further, the trees become smaller, more twisted, and more desperate in their fight for life in the shadow of the great darkness. The exuberant song lowers to a muted struggling wail, as though the forest is mourning and singing itself from the world.
He reaches the edge of shadow, where it gathers into a dusky haze that will never be burned away by the sun. And here he waits, terrified to make himself known. Why should this place attract him? He could just as easily turn away, return home, and let the sun bake the chill from his bones. But he sees movement. A pale, oddly graceful shape moves along the misty edge, pacing, as though it can go no further but is unwilling to cease the struggle. Light is just there, out of reach, so close.
Fascinated, our hunter makes his way towards the paleness, the very air thickening against him, pushing him backwards, making every step a struggle. Wind blows in his eyes, the gale is without reason, and its only source is the cold, forbidding darkness. But our hunter is strong, and the memory of the sun's touch that so recently warmed him still lingers on his skin. He pushes his way to the pale shape and stumbles as though he has fallen through an unlocked door. Dazed, he looks up and slowly registers the face of the pale milk white woman standing above him, her head oddly cocked to one side. She is young, and ancient. He face is smooth and her eyes are full of startled despair.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in? Who are you?" It all comes out in a rush, as though she has not spoken for years.
Bewildered, our hunter gazes at her. "I came because I saw the gathering darkness, and I saw you pacing. How long have you been here?" he asks. He begins to see her sorrow, his heart strings pull tight, and he is lost in her ageless, beautiful face.
"I do not really know anymore. Forever. Maybe." She extends a hand and pulls him up towards her. "You had better go, if you stay...you will not leave".
Certain that he will leave, nothing here could possibly entice a long visit, he asks "Will you come with me?"
"You should go now." She says, and turns away.
Stubbornly, he finds he cannot look away from her face, her head leaning to one side, and he does not want to leave her. She walks away from him, back into the bruise-purple gloom. He follows. She does not slow for him, and he struggles to keep up with her pale form. Finally, she stops a small cluster of huts, a circle of buildings made of branches, dead leaves, and crumbling stone. She ducks into the closest, and he ducks in behind her.
"You cannot be here, it will smell you... it will smell the reek of verdant sun on your skin".
"I cannot leave you." He says as though it is a simple manner. "Come with me."
"I cannot leave, I have been too long in the dark."
Unconvinced he refuses to leave her. What should have been a night passes, each sitting facing each other on the ground of the hut, fascinated, unflinching. But when what should have been morning dawns, as it dawns on the hills above, the sound of something scraping and lurching its way towards them begins.
"You should have left while you could have..."
A mottled hand reaches into the hut with a keening wheeze, the skin green, grey and shinning stretched too tightly over bone. Repulsed our hunter flinches away, and the ancient young woman simply sits quietly waiting for the inevitable. The creature cackles, it is the sound of dry leaves scrapping over stone in the wind.
The hand is quickly followed by the rest of the sunken, hollow creature. Its head held horribly unnaturally askew. Perhaps it used to be a man, thinks an idle part of our hunter's mind. There is no escape and the creature grasps our hunter by the throat. It is impossibly strong. It begins to push our hunter's head to one side. Our hunter feels his neck and skin begin to stretch too far, and then it there is a sickening pop as skin and muscle tear. The creature thrusts its mean, emaciated face into the gore and greedily drinks. It greedily consumes all of the life force, all the days of sun and bounty, all of the green song and golden light burst from the hunter with his blood and are swallowed by the terrible creature. He does not die, horribly, he is aware of all of the light of his world fading from him. And when it is done, he is pale and colorless, and his head leans over loosely to one side. His despair fills him and listlessness follows as his memories dim along with all of the color of his life.
The pale woman gazes at him, and a single tear creeps down her crooked cheek. The wind picks up outside and rustles the long dead leaves. The creature, having nothing left to take, lumbers away, leaving the pair in desperate peace.
"I'll show you to your hut" she says, and slowly walks away.