30 Days Of Undead Summer

Call of the Haunted

#FridayFreeForAll

Death rode upon lilting, mud covered horse on a chilly Autumn morning. The regal attire of a noble from Castle Sándorné, draped over the man on the horse's back. A cold wind swept scarlet coat to reveal the gaunt, skeletal face of Lord Cunningham.

The village guard had been asleep under thick woollen blanket when the unsteady clop of a horse woke him. The sight filled him with great dread for none visited so far deep into Sándorné, let alone one of nobility. It was then not due to his negligence nor failing that he rushed towards Lord Cunningham in great haste and brought death to the village of Greencrest.

As the guard drew closer, his nostrils flared at the stench of death that encompassed the man. He noticed the rheumy unseeing eyes and gasped. The horse seemed to sigh, legs trembling as though the weight was unbearable.

"Lord Cunningham!" The guard cried. The once boisterous noble, lanky and long-gaited, groaned with some form of affliction. The guard assumed it a magical malady perhaps from the nearby Forest of Black.

Lord Cunningham groaned once more and lunged off the horse towards the guard, only to tumble onto the hard ground with bone-crackling snap. Lord Cunningham's neck twisted to an awkward angle, yet he still mumbled into the dirt.

The guard pulled Lord Cunningham upwards, turning so he could carry the man on his back. He knew nothing of medicine and thought little of the discerningly broken neck, only that the noble was alive.

As he rushed through the main dirt road, past the wooden shelters the villagers had built, Lord Cunningham seemed to regain some semblance of life. The neck, still twisted, rested upon the guard's shoulder.

"Lord Cunningham, are you alright m'Lord?"

Lord Cunningham's reply was curt and precise. It pertained his teeth, the exposed flesh of neck, and a shrill scream from the guard. In moments the doors about the village parted as curious onlookers peeked. To their horror, they watched Lord Cunningham chew at the exposed skin of Percival the guard, who continued to run and scream and bleed. He only ceased at the door of the aged village healer.

Mary the Healer, a woman of herbology, threw open her door and blew white dust into the face of both guard and noble. Within seconds they had trembled to silence.

"Back to your duties!" She growled and the villagers hid. Yet none would forget the sight. Nor Percival's screams. Nor Mary's screams.

Brave villagers rushed to her door finding it barred. From beyond the wooden portal they heard quiet grumbling, and Mary's insistent cries for mercy. They broke the door down to a ghastly sight of Lord Cunningham feasting on poor Mary's twisted leg. They attempted to prevent the attack but Lord Cunningham would not cease. Even when a knife had been driven through his heart he continued to claw towards them.

They managed to restrain him against the woodstove, removing both the deceased Percival and Mary out of the house. An anxious guard was stationed at the door.

It was all to no avail. In the end, both Percival and Mary rose from the dead with a taste for flesh. Those who had sustained injuries from Lord Cunningham manifested the same cannibalistic appetite. By nightfall, Greencrest had become a haven for the undead.

I stood from afar and watched the fall of Greencrest with horrid fascination. With trembling script, I recorded the events, knowing many nobles had ridden from Castle Sándorné to the surrounding villages.

Now I wait with anticipation for word from my apprentice, for a new dawn awaits.