The Book of Dead Gods

CHAPTER IV: The Witch of the Woods

The forest was quiet, and the fog hung to Alistar like a cloak. The trees here seemed dead, infected, foreboding. Like a warning to the vampire to cease walking and turn back. He had never cared much for warnings, and as such, he pressed on. The dead branches, like skeletal hands, grabbed at his clothes, pulling them, scratching at his face and neck. Some of the branches got tangled in his long, dark, hair but he simply grunted and broke them off.

There was no trail here, why would there be? Nobody in their right mind would be trekking through a Serbian forest in the early hours of the morning searching for an old woman amidst the fog. Yet, here he was. He knew her home would be hard to miss, the problem was it kept moving around. He had found the house's footprints two or three hours ago, and he would occasionally see another as he walked, just enough to let him know he was headed in the right direction.

Normally, she'd cover them up. She knew he was following her, how wouldn't she. She has eyes everywhere, even now Alistar knew he was being watched. He swore he could almost hear her cackling on the deep wind that bellowed through the dead branches. He sighed as he trudged forward. At the very least it was summer, and not a brutal winter amidst the forest.

He looked down at his boots, and huffed angrily. They were very expensive, black leather, and now they were sullied with mud. Not that money is of any importance to him, but it was unfortunate to have a good pair of boots ruined in the mud. He found his mind drifting to the hunter he had reacquainted with in Italy, Agent Pierce. He assumed the hunter couldn't give any less of a damn about the cleanliness of his own boots. Well, that was painfully obvious of course, but why would clothes matter to someone in that profession. "Uncivilized," said Alistar out loud, "and they think I'm the monster. At least I know how to dress."

He straightened his jacket out again, as it had become disheveled by the branches. He walked forward while picking small pieces of branch out of the jacket and smoothing back his hair, muttering about clothing choice and presentability, when he stepped off a ledge.

For a moment, Alistar was suspended in the air, weightless and falling towards the muddy ground below. He managed to twist his body in the air so that his feet hit the ground with a squelching sound as his boots sunk into the mud up to his ankle.

He looked around bewildered, he stood in a small clearing in the forest that almost appeared to be a crater. He patted his jacket, just to ensure the contents of his pockets were safe. He also reached a hand towards his neck, checking his necklace. He sighed as his hands found the silver.

The moonlight shone down on him from above but was partially obscured by a structure. Alistar looked upon the structure which appeared to be a shack in the clearing, in the woods. A rather shoddy looking shack with a patchwork roof, and thin walls, but inside the shack was a warm orange glow as if a fire was going. The shack itself appeared almost normal, an old design to be sure, it's stone chimney held together by perhaps will alone. Yet when one studied the building more they would notice it's oddness. For one, it sat on a slant no matter where it was positioned. It was always leaning to the right or left, and wobbling slightly. Secondly, the windows and door seemed to make an eerie face that seemed angry and at the same time inviting. The smoke coming from the chimney seemed to twist and twirl with malintent in the moonlight, swirling its way around trees, suffocating the clearing. Yet perhaps the most odd thing about the house, and by far the most noticeable when looking at the lower half, was that the house itself sat upon two scaly chicken legs. They were in a crouched position as Alistar studied them, the three claws dug into the ground holding the house mostly steady. The feet were larger than Alistar himself and were covered in scales all the way up the leg until a few feathers poked out just under the floor of the shack.

Unlike most structures, this house was a living being, it could walk around, see, hear, there is even rumor that it can eat, though Alistar didn't want to think about that. It was also fiercely loyal to its occupant. Alistar couldn't see her, but the cackles he thought he had imagined had become clearer now, they were mocking and vile. Filled with, what Alistar thought to be, contempt. The house shifted slightly, moving its massive weight from one foot to the other, changing the tilt with the sound of scraping wood and sliding furniture.