Mangy Sheep

This story is nothing else but my report on the investigation conducted in a backwater town in the state of Oregon, USA. Due to the unusual nature of described events, the commanding officer dedicated to these matters allowed me to present the report in any comprehensible form.

And I chose literary.

My name is Richard Charles Warring, and I hold the position of a police detective in my hometown of Arkham, Massachusetts. During my internship, I established myself as an inquisitive officer who always poked his nose where it shouldn’t be, attracting the attention of the higher-ups. Contrary to my concerns, I was not fired, but had a meeting with an individual whose identity details must remain undisclosed. I will only say that I was assigned to a position, the name of which sounds very unusual for the ear of an ordinary folk — I became an occult detective. Since then, my job has involved investigating crimes whose explanations and details go beyond ordinary human perceptions of the surrounding world. It should be mentioned, that I found myself prepared for this kind of work, albeit entirely by chance. However, the details of those events are irrelevant to this report.

My first investigation in this new role, which this story is about, was a convoluted case in the town of Pinewood, Oregon, at the very beginning of 1911, which confounded the local authorities. At that time, I wasn’t even nineteen yet, and I juggled my legal studies with part-time work at the police. My youth and inexperience as a detective weren’t considered an obstacle by my superiors, and I was sent on a mission with all the ensuing consequences — travel allowances, falling behind in all subjects, and dissatisfaction from university professors.

In my journey to Pinewood I’ve crossed the entire America, via the continental railroad. For days on end, I wandered through the train and chatted with passengers, considerably annoying some of them. Strangely, no one had ever heard about my destination point. At one of the terminal stations, I switched to a bus cruising between the remote towns of Oregon. After several days with stops and overnight stays, I finally reached Pinewood. My bus arrived in the city on a frosty morning of January 15th. Ice formed patterns on the bus windows, my breath instantly turned into frost on my scarf. However, thanks to the sun that shone brightly in the clear sky and the absence of wind, I barely noticed the cold. The snow sparkled around the modest houses of Pinewood, and the whole small quiet town seemed calm and serene.

According to my superiors’ instructions, I now had to contact our colleagues, police officers, to learn all the details of the case. Although I hoped it would be an ordinary, albeit tangled, incident, unrelated to the supernatural, I stayed alert from the very beginning, prepared to encounter the unimaginable at any moment.

Leaving the bus, I noticed the first oddity of this town: three sullen old men were sitting on the bus stop bench. Two of them looked almost identical, while the third was slightly broader and sat with arms crossed on his chest. Stooped, frowning, all three silently sat and did nothing. Their clothes, though quite worn, had not a single stain, their scuffed shoes sparkled in the sun, and their perfectly set hats became quite shabby from years of use. The old men’s thick beards, though slightly tangled, were neatly trimmed, and their wrinkled, stern faces clean and well-kept. There was no luggage near the bench they occupied entirely, but many cigarette butts scattered in the snow. I hesitated for a moment, considering whether to introduce myself, and caught their suspicious glances. Hastily adjusting my collar, I briskly headed towards the main street.

It was completely deserted here, but I had no intention of going back, having no hope to find out anything from those three. Fortunately, I soon encountered a lone passerby. He was almost the complete opposite of those old men: several stains and holes adorned his brand-new coat, pants were splattered with dirt almost to the knees, and I won’t even mention the shoes. The shirt clung to his ample stomach and, on one side, wasn’t even tucked in; a hastily tied necktie leaned to one side of the unbuttoned collar. His slightly reddish face was covered with sparse stubble, and a large nose protruded between swollen eyes. Seeing me approaching, he recoiled a little, his small eyes quickly and intently scanned me from head to toe, and the man broke into a smile.

— Good morning! — he said, laughing. — You’re not a local, are you?

— Good morning, no, I’m new here. Could you tell me the way to the police station?

— Why would you need that? — he stepped back again and squinted.

— Well, you see, I’m a detective, and I was sent here from Arkham to assist the local authorities.

The man raised his eyebrows high and nodded significantly. Glancing around quickly, he leaned a bit towards me.

— Are you meaning to say that you’ve come to solve ‘That’ case?

— What ‘That’?

— The one which has been stirring the blood of the Pinewood residents for over a year, of course, — he glanced around again and came even closer. — About the body by the lake.

— Exactly, for that, — I actually had no idea what that man was talking about. — I see, there are a lot of talks about it in town?

— Oh, yes, you’ve noticed it well. Allow me to invite you to the bar; I can tell you many interesting things about this incident.

— I would gladly join you, my friend, but I’m in a bit of a hurry; I need to be at the station no later than noon. Maybe we can meet closer to the evening, around seven?

— Of course, I’ll be waiting. The station is right down the street. But don’t forget, precisely at seven! You won’t regret it, young man; nobody will tell you that legend better than me!

With that, we parted. I would have gladly listened to him right away, but I didn’t know how the local police chief would react to me sitting in a bar instead of carrying out the task for which I was sent here. And the first step of this task was to report my arrival.

Soon enough, I found police station and went inside. In the middle of the reception stood a tall policeman with reddish-brown short hair and a mustache, and a long rectangular face. His gaze was fixed on a diagram littered with photographs; a thick layer of ash had accumulated on his cigar. Hearing footsteps, he slowly turned towards the door and slightly frowned.

— You are... Mr. Warring?

Yes, that’s me.

— Thanks Lord, we’ve been waiting for you! — his face brightened. — My name is Captain Arthur Pike, the local chief. Follow me to the office, quick.

He led me inside and offered a seat. Then he closed the door, the blinds, took a thick folder from the cabinet, and sat across at his desk.

— Now I’ll tell the details of case for which you arrived.

— The case of the body by the lake?

— That one too. You see, it’s not as simple as it seems. First of all, there were more than one murder here over the past year. To my greatest regret, there were six of them. For such a small town like ours, that’s an insane amount. But the worst part of it is that the police proved powerless. When we were close to catching the criminals in the middle of last summer, several of our officers died in a shootout, and then two more — under the same circumstances as the previous victims. If we count casualties of the clash with the gang, then bandits took the lives of eleven people. We declared a curfew, although now hardly anyone goes out after sunset. Only old drunkards sit in the bar through the night because the owner allows them to sleep in the common hall if they don’t make trouble. We don’t mind, since there are no more fights in the bar now.

I opened the folder to take a look at the crime scene photos. Honestly, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

— I’ve been told that supernatural forces might be involved here, — I said, paling.

— I’m leading to that. The first body, as you already know, was found on the shore of Lake Wallowa, to the north of the town. It was one of the town’s old-timers, Marcus Prinsley. A stern and honest old man, never broke the law. His remains were found by Tobias Kopp, his old acquaintance who was hunting in the mountains at the time. Initially, we thought the deceased’s body had been torn apart by some kind of wild beast. However, the autopsy revealed deep cuts inflicted before death, and that bite and hoof marks found on the body didn’t match any local animals. The pathologist stated that the corpse looked as if it had been attacked by a giant goat. Tobias Kopp, who discovered and identified the deceased, soon followed suit. He was found in the woods, impaled on a sturdy branch of a dry tree. The branch pierced his chest, but there were other puncture wounds resembling the marks of pikes or horns. There also were deep cuts on his arms, and outlines of an unknown symbol on his chest. Tobias and Marcus were respected members of our community, and had no known enemies. Francis Dunwich, the gamekeeper, discovered Tobias’s body. He died next. The Dunwich family came to us from afar, and they weren’t immediately accepted here, but over several generations they became as much native inhabitants of the town as everyone else, although kept living separately in their house on the edge of the forest. After several weeks of searching, Francis was found by his daughter Felicity and the librarian Karl Orenbaum, who even gathered a squad for the search.

After glancing at the third photograph, I hastily closed the folder.

— And Karl was next.

— Exactly. I won’t go into details; you already understand all. Everyone who found a dead body in the woods died. Another commonality among the deceased, besides the fact that they died in this sequence, was that they were all over sixty-five years old.

— And no more leads at all?

— There was one legend that could be related to this case, but the investigation in that direction led to nothing. In the end, we decided that we had to comb through the forest to have any chance of finding the criminals. After long searches, our squad finally stumbled upon a solitary cabin not far from Lake Aneroid. When we entered it, we saw nothing noteworthy; the dwelling was completely abandoned. We decided to return to town and resume the search the next day, but as soon as we stepped outside, we found ourselves under intense fire from the bandits. And by ‘fire,’ I mean literally.

— In what sense?

— In the most direct. Clumps of flames flew at us from the forest. We returned fire; from guns, of course. Taking cover behind trees, we slowly advanced, surrounding the criminals. Soon we managed to corner them, and when the bandits had nowhere to escape, we rushed at them from all sides and almost point-blank shot those who were attacking us. When the smoke cleared, we were amazed and horrified to find that they were just women, four residents of our town and an old hag unknown to any of us.

— Interesting. But then who continued the murders if all the bandits died?

The captain let out heavy sigh.

— They did. As soon as we got closer, the women jumped up, attacked five policemen, grabbed them, and burned them to ashes. The next instant, these witches scattered into the woods.

— Are you trying to say that the bandits were actual... witches?

The captain gave me a meaningful glance, nodding slightly.

— Yes.

A shiver ran down my spine. Of course, as an occult detective, I am tasked with solving precisely this kind of cases, but I had still hoped that at least for the first time my assignment could be something ordinary. Unfortunately, my hope had now completely faded.

— Alright... were there any traces of flammable substances, like phosphorus, on the bodies of the deceased policemen? The bandits could have used chemical innovations to...

— Not a slightest — the captain impatiently waved off. — And besides, how do you think those women could defend themselves from their own fire?

— Perhaps they had some kind of armor that protected them from both flames and bullets.

— I doubt that armor would have saved them from a shot to the head, — captain grimly retorted.

— Fair enough. After these deaths, were there any more incidents?

— As I already said, two more of our colleagues died in the same gruesome way as first four victims. After curfew everything became quiet; only sometimes townspeople encounter some mysterious figures in dark alleys, but there were no more murders or robberies. People are very cautious now, and hardly anyone dares to go out after sunset. We made several more forays into the forest, set ambushes near that cabin, and deployed patrols, but found nothing new.

— I see. You also mentioned some legend that didn’t lead the investigation anywhere.

— Yes, that’s an old case. About fifty years ago, a group of townspeople went into the woods as if on a witch hunt, although supposed witnesses’ testimonies differ. We don’t even know exactly who was on this ‘expedition.’ Some claim they killed dozens of witches, others say it was just teenagers who were thoroughly scolded and sent home. The investigation hit a dead end in that direction—too many conjectures and too few facts, and each storyteller came up with their own version. The results are in the case file if you think they might be useful.

I nodded understandingly. It seemed that now I had to find out the reason for the current murders, figure out where to find these witches, how to destroy them, and how they were connected to the lonely hut in the woods. After a brief moment of contemplation, I gathered all the case documents and bid farewell to the chief.

First and foremost, I needed to find where to sleep. It was nearly evening, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, and weather was becoming freezing. Sleeping outside in winter was not something I fancied. Since it was unlikely that anyone would let a stranger into their home given the circumstances of the past few months, I headed straight to the bar. Spending the night in the common hall wasn’t the best variant, but the only alternative I had were cold streets.

As soon as I opened the door to the tavern, I felt like I had entered another world: it was hot and noisy inside, bar regulars apparently already drank their share, singing, playing cards, dice, and darts, while the pianist drummed out some lively melody for them. Life was in full swing here, as if the external world didn’t exist at all. I approached the bar and called the bartender. The elderly man smiled widely at me and asked how he could help. I mentioned that I need a room for the night, and almost immediately received a key, at a relatively low cost.

I checked the time, contemplating whether I should try my luck here and inquire about the recent events or head to bed right away. It was nearing seven o’clock, and suddenly I remembered the agreed-upon meeting with my new acquaintance, whom I had encountered a bit earlier on my way to the police station. I found myself in the very bar where he hoped to lead me, the only one in town it is, so perhaps he was already waiting for our conversation here. Carefully surveying the lively inhabitants of the common hall once again, I spotted a familiar face behind one of the tables. Staring at me intently, the man was twisting a mug in his hands. Catching my gaze, he smiled and waved me over, beckoning me to his table. Since our last meeting he tidied up his suit, fixed his hair, and judging by even redder face, drank a bit for courage.

— I’m so glad you came, — he exclaimed, as I sat across. — In haste I even forgot to introduce myself! Edward Benson, at your service!

— Richard Warring, at yours!

— Pleasure to meet you. Well, have you learned much at the police station today?

— Yes, — I replied hesitantly.

— Well, spill it. What have you found out?

— Didn’t you want to tell me stories?

— Well, I need to know which ones you’ve already heard and which haven’t.

— Let’s do it this way: you start, and I’ll tell which ones I’m familiar with.

— Alright. So, the story about the body by the lake...

— I’ve heard it.

— Okay, what about the curse of the torn-apart dead man?

— Also heard.

— And how about the immortal demonic witches?!

— That too.

— Yeah, it seems even I’ve got nothing to tell you! — my talkative companion sighed and leaned back in his chair. — Well, what about the story of the ‘night passerby’?

— Let’s delve into that one a bit more.

My loquacious interlocutor’s eyes lit up.

— Oh, you’ll like this one, no doubt. ...A long time ago, when I was still young, a guy arrived in our town, and his name was Stanley Blum. An unknown fellow, penniless, but ambitious. Well, his ambitions were quite modest, to be honest, but he had some nonetheless. He came to our town and got a job as a kitchen assistant in the bar. And one day, he was sent into the forest to gather firewood for the stove. It was getting dark, and the night was moonless. The dry grass rustled loudly underfoot; the cold autumn wind swayed the dead trees. The lad was collecting firewood when suddenly he heard a faint call from the forest. ‘Sta-a-a-a-nley,’ a sweet female voice whispered. ‘Who’s there?’ he asked. But got no answer. He continued gathering twigs and heard it louder this time: ‘STA-A-A-A-NLEY!’ He started looking around in fear, unable to move from the horror that gripped him. Dry trees surrounded him from all sides. And then, from the darkness, a woman in a cloak emerged. She pulled out a knife and yelled, ‘I’ll take your heart, Stanley!’ and rushed towards him. He ran for his life, as the thick tall grass was grappling at his legs, like hands of hungry undead...

— Thick? Wasn’t it supposed to be dry?

— Dry, but thick, don’t interrupt. So, like the hands of the undead, the grass clung to his legs, and the bloody lady was catching up to him. Stanley tripped over a root, fell, and the horrifying fury held a sharp, twisted dagger over him. And just a second before nearing demise, the lad heard distant bleating.

— Bleating?

— Exactly! The woman froze, staring into the distance. And again, there came the bleating, now much closer, accompanied by the sound of approaching hooves. The lady-with-the-knife twisted like a man-goose and vanished into the shadows.

— Did you mean ‘mongoose’?

— And what did I say?

— ‘Man-goose’

— Really? Nah, I couldn’t. Whatever, so the lad was lying there, unable to get up, his leg hurting, and a bone sticking out from his ankle! And then, something enormous approached him! In front of him, illuminated by bright moonlight...

— But you said the night was moonless?

— That’s irrelevant! Well, maybe there were clouds at first, who cares! So, illuminated by bright moonlight, a monster appeared! The size of a bear, but with tentacles instead of paws, — the storyteller began to gesticulate and grimace, depicting the creature. — Two thick legs with huge hooves, twisted horns, bulging eyes, and a giant toothy mouth. It grabbed the boy by the leg and extended its huge tongue to devour it! The boy closed his eyes in fear, and suddenly heard a crunch, as if a bone snapped in his leg! Out of sheer terror, he jumped up and ran full tilt back to town.

— Wait, but his leg was broken?

— Oh no! He burst into the kitchen, yelling and waving his arms, and, gasping for breath, told the cook what had happened. The cook looked at his ankle and said, ‘Where is it broken if you’re standing on it?’ And the boy realized that his leg was completely fine, no fracture, no monster in the woods, and no firewood. And he’s a dolt.

The storyteller burst into hearty laughter. After calming down a bit and wiping away a tear, he regained a serious look and continued.

— But still, the story didn’t end there. A few years passed. The boy grew up, opened a shop on the outskirts of our little town, selling all sorts of things, from vegetables and fruits to fishing gear and traps. And one dark, dark night, he went outside to take out the trash, when suddenly he heard bleating in the distance. He froze. On the road leading to the forest, dimly lit by night lamps, a dark silhouette appeared in the distance. Stan was seized by primal fear. And the silhouette approached, slowly and steadily, step by step, closer and closer. Stan threw away the garbage and locked himself inside his shop. And the silhouette kept getting closer, as it reached the lamps, they began to flicker and go out, and the ominous thud of the monster’s footsteps echoed through the silent street. And then, the dark silhouette appeared at the shop door. Huge, like a bear, in a dark cloak, a broad-brimmed hat, it easily opened the locked door and squeezed inside...

— And no one ever saw Stan again?

— Why? They did. He still runs the same store, ‘Stanley Blum’s Emporium.’

— But what about the monster? I mean, the silhouette?

— Eh, nothing. After about twenty minutes, he came out of the store and slowly returned to the woods. But here’s an interesting part: after his visit, a citizen disappeared. Even now, whenever he shows up at old man Stan’s place, someone goes missing, and they later find them torn apart in the woods!

— And who disappeared the first time, back then?

— Oh, that’s an old story. Our priest, Father Philip Rowell, may his soul rest in peace. A good man, already very old at the time. Oh! By the way, there’s an interesting legend connected to him...

— Maybe you’ll stop messing with people’s heads, Ed! — came a voice from behind my neighbor. — You spout this nonsense to everyone you meet. That’s why nobody comes to our town anymore — you’ve scared them all away.

The old man sitting behind my interlocutor, dressed in a worn-out military uniform blackened with time, released a cloud of cigar smoke, which then slowly merged into the thick smog hanging under the ceiling.

— Shut up yourself, grump! — Benson snapped menacingly as he clumsily turned to the old man. — For the first time someone is listening to me attentively, don’t spoil the impression!

— Honestly, I’m quite interested in hearing this story too, — I interjected.

— You see?! So be quiet over there!

— Well, what if I can tell it better than you! — the stranger replied, taking a seat at our table. — Bill Williams, at your service.

This old man turned out to be tall and sturdy, looking imposing despite his advanced age. Deep wrinkles gave his angular face with squinted eyes a certain severity and even harshness. I introduced myself, and we shook hands.

— So, you want to hear the ‘legend of the old priest’s crusade,’ as they call it here. It was a long time ago. The Civil War had just ended, and I returned home with the other survivors from our town. I was very young back then, just twenty-five, the prime of life. Our town had suffered little, but something changed here while we were fighting far from home. Something subtle, as if ominous ambience hung in the air. I tried to return to normal life; I had a family — my wife Martha and son Sam. But when I came back, I noticed that Martha had become someone completely different. She didn’t smile at me as before, didn’t greet me, and didn’t chat carelessly with the neighbors. And Sam had changed too — became withdrawn and moody. And at the slightest sign of danger, he would hide behind me, as if he weren’t a man. Well, he was very young back then, but still... Still, what bothered me was that at the slightest hint of danger, he always ran not to his mother but to me — a man he barely remembered; when I left for the front, he wasn’t even four years old. And Martha... Martha became completely unsociable. She treated me as if I were a total stranger. I too began to distance myself from her. In the evenings she would go somewhere, saying she was meeting friends and reading books together. At first, I didn’t want to let her go, but every time she somehow managed to slip out of the house at night. Nonsense! Sometimes I’d grab her hand, say, ‘Where do you go at this hour?’ She’d say, ‘Meeting friends.’ She doesn’t talk to anyone, and suddenly she has friends. I’d say, ‘It’s dark at night, let me at least accompany you.’ And she’d look at me, smile cunningly, and my fingers would just loosen. However many times I tried to follow her, she would just suddenly disappear from view. Neither pleas nor reproaches, nothing worked. In the end, I gave up. Time passed, year after year. And one day, after church service, Reverend Rowell called me over for a word. He closed the door to his office and said:

— Here’s a deal. You know about ‘Hammer of Witches?’

— Well, know.

— And I know that there are still witches on earth, and we have them in our town.

I sat down. Thought he was delirious. But he pulled out some papers, explained that he had been monitoring the witches and had seen their gathering place in the woods. And then he said:

— But the ‘Hammer of Witches’ is a pure nonsense. You can’t catch witches with such rubbish; they’re not made from that dough.

Then he took out a large ancient book, at the sight of which I shuddered and broke out in a cold sweat. He said that pagan witches are to be vanquished with pagan books but only with God’s help. He said he had prepared a plan, gathered trustworthy people, and asked me to join them. I hesitated at first, but Reverend convinced me that for the sake of my family, for the future of my son, I had to stand with him. I agreed. The following Sunday, at midnight, we gathered behind the church. The Reverend was there, also Dunwich, and several other men... there were twelve of us, like the twelve apostles, as the Reverend said. He ironically called me Thomas.

— And himself — Peter? — I asked.

— He mentioned only me back then, although later he called himself Judas because he alone knew what he was getting us into, and didn’t tell us.

He gave us weapons. I have no idea where he got them, and didn’t ask. We set out into the woods at midnight, navigating through tangled paths, pushing through the thickets until we heard the drumming. That’s when we began to sneak. The bright glow of flames appeared among the dry trees. We got very close to the pagan gathering place and hid behind the bushes to observe unnoticed. Figures in cloaks danced in a circle of torches around a massive stone, jumping like goats, and piercingly chanted some incantations. One of these pagans, probably their leader, raised a bound ram above his head and placed it on the stone altar. Then he pulled out two daggers, cut open the animal’s belly and throat, and then waved the daggers over his head. The ram’s blood flowed down the stone, but soon it suddenly rose into the air and whirled in a vortex above the altar. The pagans howled louder, the fire from the torches got drawn into a bloody whirl, and gates to the underworld opened above the stone. From there, a deafening bleat echoed through the entire forest, and a bifurcated tongue emerged, followed by a fanged maw. It was then that Rowell ordered us to attack. We rushed forward; the Reverend struck the monster with his sword, shouting something unintelligible. A loud roar sounded, the gates closed, and a shapeless piece of flesh, severed from the beast, fell onto the stone altar. The pagans went berserk, hissing, growling, and attacking us. We fought fiercely, killing them one by one, until there was no one left... Only at dawn did we finally return home after that horrifying, heavy night. We thought the worst is over. However, a new shock awaited us at home: many men in the entire town couldn’t find their wives. I don’t know if they were abducted by these forest pagans in retaliation or if some other unknown force took them, but no matter how hard we searched, our efforts were in vain.

— Wow, — I exclaimed.

— I’d tell that better, — Benson grumbled.

— It was supposed to be a secret, by the way, — Bill replied, and turned to the room. — But everyone already knows the ‘legend of the old priest,’ right?!

— Yes! — echoed the inebriated patrons of the tavern.

— But where could your wives have disappeared? — I asked.

— If we knew, we would have found them long ago, would we? After their disappearance, there was not a single trace left. But it’s too late to think about it now; so much time has passed. Speaking of which, it’s pitch-black outside; time to call it a day. You rented a room upstairs, right? Let’s go, I live here too.

Bill and I went upstairs, saying goodbye to Edward and leaving him alone with his mug. As we ascended the stairs and walked down the corridor, Williams maintained a sullen silence, occasionally puffing rings of smoke. When we were about to part ways to our respective rooms, he shook my hand and said something I never expected to hear.

— I know Captain Pike; we are old friends and have saved each other more than once. From him, I learned who you are and why you came to our town. I’ll tell you a secret that he has never heard, and nobody else but the participants of that campaign. I’m telling you this only because I believe that, as an occult detective, you will understand me correctly and act accordingly. When the Reverend killed the monster, and these pagans attacked us, we were horrified. Because our enemies turned out to be our wives and sisters. They seemed to have gone mad, as if demons had devoured their souls... and we killed them, every last one... Good night.

He went to his room and locked the door. I, on the other hand, couldn’t believe my ears and remained in shock quite for some time, unable to move. Even when I returned to my room and lay down, his revelation didn’t let me come to my senses, and only at dawn was I finally able to fall asleep.

In the morning, or more accurately, after noon, I struggled to wake up. Quickly getting ready, I headed towards the outskirts of the town. I decided that I should temporarily ignore William’s candid confession of mass murder and focus on solving the current case. My next step was to visit Mr. Blum’s shop and inquire about his supposed unusual acquaintance. The shop was located at the very edge of the town, beyond which the road quickly narrowed into a barely visible path leading into the woods. The storefront was adorned with an ornate sign, the clean glass windows displayed neatly arranged goods, and above the door, a golden bell sparkled.

The shop contained a vast array of various items, just as the legend had described. It seemed like one could find literally anything here. On another occasion, I might have taken a closer look at the goods and even chosen some peculiar item for myself; however, on that day I was occupied with serious business, so I headed straight to the counter. Behind it stood a middle-aged, dark-haired man of medium height with slight balding, a long sharp nose, a pointed beard, and upward-curled mustaches. Spotting me, a potential customer, he smiled and straightened up, anticipating new sales.

— Hello, — he greeted me. — I see you’re not from around here? Are you looking for something specific?

— Good day. You guessed right. I’m looking for information on some recent event.

— Oh, it is your lucky day! We have a discount on information just for today.

— He was joking, of course.

— I want to know about the so-called ‘night passerby’, — I replied, leaning on the counter.

The smile instantly disappeared from Stan’s face, and he nervously fidgeted with his fingers.

— The ‘night passerby’? That old tale? It’s just a story for newcomers and children; don’t believe in such nonsense.

— Really? It’s amusing that you think so. People say he doesn’t just wander around the town but comes specifically to this place.

— Who, may I ask? And what’s the basis for such accusations?

— Watchful citizens, — I pulled out my badge and showed it to the vendor. — My name is Richard Charles Warring, and I’m a private detective from the city of Arkham. Mr. Blum, I have been assigned by authorities to investigate murders that may involve the ‘night passerby’. Please answer directly and honestly, as if in court.

Stan slowly sat on a short stool behind the counter, so only his pale face remained visible.

— But why do you think that th-these watchful citizens weren’t lying or mistaken?

— Why? Because it’s known that he lives in the woods, and your shop is right on the edge of town. Quite convenient, isn’t it? And fresh vegetables in the middle of winter? Your counter is practically bursting with them. Perhaps a mystical, maybe even supernatural figure is bringing them to you? And besides, I’m sorry, your behavior only confirms my suspicions.

— O-oh... well, okay, you’re right. Yes, he comes here. I’ll answer any questions, just please don’t tell anyone! Many of my regular customers come here only for these vegetables and pies.

— And pies from him too?

— Yes. And you guessed it right: I trade with the ‘night passerby.’ He comes here from time to time, usually once a month, brings vegetables, fruits, homemade pies, sometimes some furniture. In return, I order various literature for him from a neighboring town. He comes from the mountains, and then almost always returns right away. But believe me, he’s completely harmless! We talk a little about various trivialities, and he seems like a perfectly normal person to me. Moreover, I’ve eaten his cooking many times, and nothing bad has happened so far.

— So far?

Blum nodded.

— Goodness gracious... fine, what does he look like? Can you describe him?

— Oh, he’s huge! Like a wardrobe in a coat and a wide-brimmed hat, but his face is always covered. His giant hands could lift a horse, but he’s also extremely polite, and very well-read. I d-don’t think he could be a criminal.

— I’ll be the one to judge, Mr. Blum. Don’t forget that evil wears different masks. You mentioned, that he comes every month. When will be the next time?

— I’m not sure. Tomorrow, maybe tonight.

— Last question: where is the gamekeeper’s house, and does his daughter still live there?

— Right down the road towards the forest, yes, she’s there.

— Thank you. Don’t leave town.

At the door, I shot him another piercing look and headed straight to the gamekeeper’s house. The lady who now lived there alone, Felicity Dunwich, was the only person left alive among those who had found the corpse in the woods. A conversation with her could shed light on some things that still remained unclear to me, namely the forest hut, the witches and their possible lair, and also provide more information about the mystery of the ‘night passerby.’

The road from the town to the forest went almost straight, then it made a sharp turn to the south, and soon on the very edge of the forest it ended at the gates of a lonely house. It was a two-story building with an attic, sturdy log walls, and a sloping roof. The windows adorned with carved casings were lit, and smoke rose from the chimney. It looked very cozy and spacious, as if it could accommodate a dozen people. I approached the door and knocked. A few seconds later it opened, and on the threshold stood a young lady about my age or a bit older. She had a slightly elongated face with a sharp chin, long black hair, brown eyes, straight eyebrows, and a straight nose. Her gaze was wary and tense, like that of a young doe sensing danger.

— Good day, — I said. — Are you Miss Felicity Dunwich?

— Yes.

— My name is Richard Charles Warring. I’m a detective from the city of Arkham, Massachusetts, sent here to assist the police in investigating a series of recent crimes that occurred in this town. I would like to ask you a few questions as a witness to one of them. May I come in?

— Of course, please.

She invited me into the living room and offered an armchair by the fireplace. Despite her father’s recent demise, the lady looked calm and confident, as if nothing could break her. The house itself exuded a spirit of antiquity and rugged masculinity left by its previous owner, and his daughter seemed to have absorbed it herself. While I pondered on this, the lady left the room and soon returned with freshly brewed tea.

— Thank you. I heard that you participated in the search for your missing father. After that, a man who helped you find him also died. Tell me, could there have been anything in common between them, besides the so-called ‘dead man’s curse’?

— Of course, there could be. Most residents of our town are familiar with each other, to some extent, especially if they stand out from the rest. My father stood out a lot by leading a secluded life, and enjoying long solitary walks in the woods. All hunters knew him since he was the gamekeeper. And Mr. Orenbaum was a respected and honest man, known for always trying to help anyone in need. When he helped me with the search, he just did what was dictated by his conscience.

— Speaking of Mr. Orenbaum, I heard that many years ago, he and your father participated in a certain expedition organized by the Reverend Rowell. Could these two events be somehow connected?

— I don’t know; I never thought about it. But since you brought this up, yes, perhaps there is some connection.

— Did your father ever tell you about that day?

— Unfortunately, no. He was not talkative at all, and he especially disliked this story, not answering any questions regarding it. There was only one time when I dared to ask him about that story, but I got no answer. He sharply replied that he had no intention of discussing it, then closed up, and spent the rest of the day chopping wood.

— Right, — I pondered, trying to find a new path for thoughts. — You’ve lived here all your life. How well do you know this forest?

— Quite well, I suppose.

— And is there really an abandoned hut in the forest?

— Yes, near Lake Aneroid.

— And do witches live there?

— Witches? — She almost jumped in her chair. — I never thought they existed, — I caught skeptical tones in her voice. — Where did you get that idea?

— Townsfolk say that they dwell in these woods and supposedly even make bloody sacrifices to fuel their witchcraft.

— I know little about such rumors, — she said with unexpected, barely noticeable annoyance. — And never took much interest in them.

— I see. Are you familiar with the legend of the ‘night passerby’?

— An unknown dark figure appearing at night and frightening onlookers? Yes, I’ve heard.

— Witnesses claim he only appears in town once a month and then retreats back into the forest. Have you by chance noticed anything unusual?

Felicity tensed almost imperceptibly, and replied after a short pause:

— Do you mean to say that I’m involved in this foolishness?

— No, not at all. But you live in the forest; he most likely lives in the forest. You might have noticed him on one of his trips.

— I don’t have the habit of wandering around at night.

— I don’t think it’s you. Judging by the descriptions, he is enormous and may not even be h—

Felicity leaned forward, her eyes widening. I realized that I had almost said too much.

— Thank you for your time, I have no more questions.

I jumped up from my chair and quickly headed for the exit, but Felicity stopped me at the door.

— Wait, maybe I can help somehow? I’m the gamekeeper, after all, I know how to track, set traps, and, in general, I’m a decent hunter.

— Don’t worry, there’s no need for that, really. Sorry, but I must make it before sunset, to... well, to my place, to continue the investigation. Goodbye.

I hurried back to town without looking back. Only when I returned to my apartment did I sigh with relief. I should be more careful when dealing with witnesses, not to reveal too much about the case or my profession in general, as it is unclear how ordinary people might react to it. In the end, I learned almost nothing useful from her, only gaining another potential suspect. The thought that Felicity was hiding something, that she knew much more than she told me about her father’s expedition and the mysterious stranger, did not leave me. But currently I couldn’t get anything else out of her, and my only chance was to wait until dusk and go to Blum’s Emporium, hoping to see the mysterious passerby, one of the main suspects, in person. Could the disappearances really be linked to his arrival? Many more citizens would have perished in that case. Only personal encounter might give me the answer.

I remained in my room until the sun disappeared behind the horizon. The walk was short, and I waited for the curfew, ensuring that all townspeople had left the streets. I checked my pistol; back in Arkham, my superiors had prepared it for a possible encounter with the supernatural, at least that’s what they said. I headed straight to Blum’s, moving as quietly as possible, stepping cautiously from shadow to shadow, then slipped into a dark alley, hidden from view. As night fell, it became much colder, and during my watch, I regretted many times that I didn’t dress warmer. Nothing happened for the next following hours; the sky turned pitch black, and only dim streetlights interrupted the light of the stars. Still, I had to remain vigilant. It was uncertain whether the passerby would come today, but if I left my post, the opportunity might never present itself again. When I was already freezing to the bone and nearly desperate, my patience finally got rewarded.

One of the street lamps faintly flickered. The light slightly trembled at first, but then it almost turned off, and the same happened with other lamps. The twinkling illumination made my eyes strain. Soon, heavy footsteps echoed from the direction of the forest, their muffled sounds reverberating through the entire street. Some lamps went completely dark, but in the light of the remaining ones, a long and broad shadow emerged from around the corner. I heard the door opening, and a bell jingling. I then crept closer to the street, listening carefully: Stan and the passerby were talking about something, but I could only catch fragments of their conversation. Nothing extraordinary, mostly just exchanges which Blum had mentioned earlier. After a couple of minutes, the heavy steps echoed again, and I readied myself. As soon as the door opened, I burst onto the street, hoping to startle the legendary creature, catch it off guard, and gain an advantage in a potential confrontation or interrogation, whichever came first. However, it was I who was left in shock. I couldn’t even fathom how enormous the ‘night passerby’ truly was! Standing at least seven feet tall, he was thrice as wide as me. A massive wide-brimmed hat adorned his head; gigantic body was completely cloaked by a high collared long trench coat, with hem nearly touching the ground. The passerby’s face was wrapped in white fabric, and large sunglasses covered his eyes. In his left hand he held a small bundle of books. I stood there, mouth agape, silently staring at him. He immediately noticed me and looked back, showing no sign of agitation. Then, he gently touched the brim of his hat.

— Good evening.

The giant’s voice resembled a steamship’s horn. The behemoth turned away as if nothing had happened and walked towards the forest. Was it some kind of enchantment, or just an astonishment, but I came to my senses only when the passerby was already far away. I chased after him as fast as I could, but he managed to disappear into the trees. Fortunately, the huge footprints he left revealed his path, although I later noticed that over time they disappeared on their own. I sped up as much as I could, maneuvering between the trees that stood in the way. Suddenly, the forest ended, and as I reached the edge, I again saw the passerby, heading towards the solitary hut on the hillside. I didn’t dare to call out to him but kept moving. He noticed me too and hurried to reach the safety of his dwelling. I have no doubt that if I were even a second late, I would have never been able to catch up in this chase. I raced so fast that I barely managed to trace the path, to avoid stumbling and falling, and almost lost sense in my frozen feet, that were landing heavily on the icy ground. The ‘passerby’ clumsily waddled, trying to evade the pursuit, but his enormous weight and, apparently, uncomfortable clothing prevented him from moving as swiftly as I did. When he already slipped in the house and almost closed the door, I stopped it with a sudden jerk, swinging it wide open.

— In the name of the law, stop!

The giant shuddered and turned around.

— I... don’t understand, what do you want from me?

— The truth! Who are you, where did you come from, and how are you connected to the murders?! And don’t try anything funny, I’m a detective, and I’m armed!

I tried to take out my pistol, but my numb fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Either my hand got tangled in the coat fabric, or what, but as I managed to pull the weapon from the holster, I immediately dropped it right at the stranger’s feet, and the bullets rolled across the floor. I had a sudden and unpleasant feeling that I might get killed.

— Alright, I’ll tell you everything. Please, come in, have a seat, — he said unexpectedly, and after a short pause, added, — You too, miss.

As it turned out, I wasn’t the only pursuer that night. While I was chasing the ‘night passerby’, Felicity, like a shadow, followed closely behind me. She seemed quite embarrassed that she got noticed. Entering the house completely silently, she sat at the table in the middle of the room. I also came in and took a seat.

— To start, allow me to introduce myself since I’ll have to reveal my secret to you, — said the ‘passerby’.

He picked up pistol from the floor, so carelessly left there by me, gathered all the bullets, and placed them in front of me on the table.

— My name is Ha’D’Baoth. I was born in this forest forty-four years ago. I’ve never met my biological mother as well as any other relatives. I was raised here by the kind people of this town, although by nature, I am a monster.

With these words, he took off his coat. His entire body, covered in dense white fur, immediately began to change its shape, resembling a huge sphere. His head merged with torso, and enormous black eyes appeared in the middle of his body from beneath the fur. Legs, shaped like two thick pillars, ended with massive hooves, and both hands stretched into powerful tentacles, with another one emerging from behind. Horns protruded from his head through the fur, the left one coiled like a ram’s, and the right one spiraled as of some exotic antelope. A giant mouth spanned his entire body from one side to the other.

I jumped up in astonishment, knocking the chair over with a loud crash, unable to utter a word. Felicity covered her mouth with hand and, frozen, stared at the imposing creature.

— I live here alone, leading a quiet life and bothering no one, — Ha’D’Baoth continued. — I trade with Stanley Blum from time to time, as you already know. Since early childhood, I dreamed of becoming a part of human society, and I devote most of my time to studying various magical practices, desperately trying to find a spell or potion that would allow me to at least briefly look like a real human.

— But... but... — I stammered.

— Perhaps some tea?

— Yes, please.

Ha’D’Baoth added some logs to the stove and placed the kettle to boil, simultaneously lifting with his hind tentacle the chair I toppled. Maintaining my gaze on the giant, I cautiously sat back down.

— You’re a detective, right? — he said. — Mr. Blum told me about your meeting with him. You must have some questions for me?

— Y-yes, indeed. Have you heard about the murders that occurred here?

— Yes, those are gruesome events. I’ve seen the unfortunate victims with my own eyes.

— Did you... did you kill them? — I blurted out.

— I understand your suspicions, — he sighed. — No, I am not involved in that, but I don’t have an alibi either. I can only give you my honest word.

— In that case, I’m afraid I’ll have to place you under arrest.

A heavy silence hung in the air. The crackling of the fire in the stove became deafening, and the ticking of the clock seemed to be making a countdown to Judgment Day. Sudden sharp whistle broke the silence, and Ha’D’Baoth placed the kettle on the table.

— How do you envision this, Mr. Warring?

— Well... I don’t have handcuffs with me, so I suppose you’ll just walk in front of me to the town, and I’ll take you to the police station until the investigation is complete.

— If I were indeed a murderer, then you can imagine my strength. I can snap a hundred-year-old oak in half. I doubt the walls of a cell would hold me.

I did not respond.

— Also, if even you, detective, can barely sit here without fainting, what will happen to ordinary townspeople when they see me?

— Well, Felicity handled the encounter quite well.

— I’m not a faint-hearted child, Mr. Warring, — she responded harshly. — And don’t forget that I’m the one who found my father. After that, nothing scares me anymore.

— My condolences, miss, — Ha’D’Baoth said, pouring us tea. — Is there anything I can do for you?

— I would be very grateful if you could find his murderer.

— Speaking of which, — I said, — Let’s assume for a moment that you are genuinely innocent, as you claim. Let’s assume that I won’t arrest you because leaving you here would be safer for the town than keeping you in jail. Do you know who might be responsible for these crimes?

— Yes. Unfortunately, the town and these woods are infested by a group of rather unpleasant individuals, followers of my mother’s cult. Undoubtedly, it’s them.

— Why are you so sure?

— The bloody rituals they perform require sacrifices. I can feel it when there is a rupture in space, and that allowed me to interrupt their rituals and banish those of my brethren they had summoned into this world. But each time by the moment I intervened, the victims were already dead.

— Your brethren? Does it mean that witches summoned you here as well?

— Not quite like that, but they served as the reason I came into existence. As you probably understand, my kin usually don’t come into this world on their own, and without magical intervention, it could never happen. The people who raised me said that I came into the being during one of those rituals, but I don’t remember anything from the realm of my ancestors. My very first memory was already here, in the forest, on the stone where the witches conduct their rituals.

— So, you know where it is? Why haven’t you destroyed it?

— I did and many times, but the witches always managed to rebuild the altar. That spot somehow accumulates a significant amount of power, and the fabric of space is thinner there than in other places. I enchanted the ground, shattered the stones, tore up the earth, but after a couple of months, the same altar would reappear in the same spot. I try to check that place regularly, but sometimes I get there when it is too late.

— Have you ever encountered the witches themselves?

— Yes, I’ve seen a few of them when they were restoring the stone with their magic. They scattered as soon as they saw me.

— I see. In that case, I have no more questions for now, but keep in mind that I may return for additional information. We’ll take our leave.

— Actually, I don’t mind staying, — Felicity said unexpectedly. —Someone has to make sure that respected Ha’D’Baoth doesn’t leave his home. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to discuss.

— Of course, stay if you want, — he replied. — And you, sir, may go. Unfortunately, I can’t escort you visibly, but don’t worry, the path from here to the town is under my protection. Goodnight.

I nodded, picked up my weapon, and left. I didn’t stop until I reached my room. Only there, in this small haven, could I relax and recover from the shock. Although the meeting turned out to be quite pleasant overall, I couldn’t shake the vague feeling that I shouldn’t have just left that hut so easily and that something important still remained there. I washed my face thoroughly, heated the small stove in the corner, and boiled some water. Warming up with a cup of tea, I lay down, and as the heat spread through my body, sleep enveloped me.

Unfortunately, I woke up very early in the morning, plagued by nightmares. In them, maddened figures danced around a fire, roasting the brutally torn bodies of the victims, whose deaths I was investigating. I barely managed to escape from the fiends who dragged me to the altar, and then I was pursued through the forest by the pounding of countless hooves and the bleating of unseen monsters. When they caught up with me, I fell into a whirlpool of blood and flames and woke up. My head ached from lack of sleep, my legs tingled, and my throat was sore from yesterday’s chase.

Since I couldn’t continue sleeping in such a condition, I decided to take another look at the case files I obtained from the police. I brewed some coffee to get a little boost and started working. After carefully reviewing the list of victims, I realized that I had heard all these names before. More precisely, later — right after reading them for the first time at the police station. I couldn’t believe that I missed it that day; perhaps my lack of experience played a role. But now I knew exactly where the next link in the chain was; the big picture was coming together in my mind. After tidying up a bit, I went into the corridor and knocked on the door across the hall.

Fortunately, Williams was there; no one had stolen or killed him last night. As soon as he opened the door, I immediately asked the burning question:

— The victims are the members of your expedition?

— Good morning to you too, — he replied, twisting his mouth in dissatisfaction.

— You mentioned Rowell and Dunwich, — I continued, entering the room. — And there also were Prinsley, Kopp and Orenbaum, as well as police officers Thomas Black and Christian Michelson. All victims of recent murders.

— Yes. Exactly right.

— And you think you might be next? That’s why you’re living in the tavern?

— I live here because it has nothing to do with my son and his family! I don’t know if I’ll be next or not, but it won’t affect him. And I won’t give up without a fight — I still have Rowell’s bullets and rifle, and I’m not afraid to face anyone.

He sat down at the table and struck a match several times, trying to light it. Frustrated, he tossed it away and pulled out a new one.

— I see you’re determined, — I said, approaching him. — You are aware of what might come after you, right?

— Witches, yes. I’ll manage.

— There’s something much more serious, brethren of a certain individual living in the woods.

— What do you mean?

— The one I tracked down last night. The so-called ‘night passerby’.

The old man became alert and stared at me without blinking. I was on the right track.

— I asked him a few questions, — I continued. — He said that the witches, who are somehow involved in his existence, were conducting summoning rituals which created him.

— So what? If you think he killed someone, you’re wrong! And witches were wiped out over forty years ago.

— Not all it seems, since the police officers encountered them recently. And our mutual acquaintance mentioned that he has seen their altar in the woods.

— They must be ordinary people. If any witches remained, they would have to hide exceptionally well among us, given that they could live unnoticed here for so many years.

— The town may be small, yes, but it’s not the only place to hide. If they were hiding, let’s say, in the forests, then... — a brilliant insight struck me. — Of course! How did I not realize this earlier! The high witch must be Felicity!

— What?! — Bill jumped on his chair in surprise. — This is complete nonsense!

— No, it’s true! Look, every member of the expedition has aged a long time, and their children are not young either. Only Felicity looks as if she’s still twenty! The reason is probably magic, maintaining her youth for all these years, and her father kept quiet because he was under her spells.

— It’s more likely you’re under the spell of nonsense! — the old man waved off. — It’s much simpler. Yes, Dunwich’s wife, like everyone else, turned out to be a witch on that terrible day, but twenty years later he simply remarried. Felicity is his daughter from the second wife.

— But where is his wife then?

— On the cemetery.

I sat down and rested head on my hands.

— Well, now I’m completely baffled. Where did the new witches come from? Did Ha’D’Baoth lie to me and mentor them?

— Ha’D’Baoth? — the old man laughed. — Is that how he calls himself now?

— It seems like you know his other name as well. Should I tell why, or do you want to make a heartfelt confession?

— You say it as if I committed a crime. Yes, I raised him, me, the Reverend, and Dunwich. And I must say, he’s a great guy, so don’t involve him in this mess.

— It’s not my fault that he turned out to be involved in this from the very beginning. Better tell me, where did your ward come from? You didn’t just find him in the woods, did you?

— Well… to be honest, exactly something like that did happen. More precisely, I saw how he came to existence. On that very day when we were fighting the witches. Remember, I said that the Reverend cut off part of the monster, and it fell onto the altar stone? When we killed most of the witches, the piece of the monster began to move. The surviving witches ran away, and I was ordered by Rowell himself to deal with what was on the altar. When I was ready to strike that piece of flesh with my bayonet, I suddenly noticed how white fur quickly grew on it, and it curled into a small, soft ball, like a cat. Then it developed twisted horns and tentacles. I watched this mesmerized, and then he opened his big eyes. He looked at me with such indescribable sadness that my heart ached. This furry lump trembled in fear, like a little child. And it didn’t look evil at all. I’m not a monster myself, you know, and I have compassion. I risked putting the weapon aside and petted the creature. In response, it began to nuzzle against me just like a cat. When Dunwich returned, followed by the Reverend, I explained that I didn’t want anyone to kill this creature, and I would try to raise it so it wouldn’t grow up evil. And if it didn’t work, I would deal with it myself. My comrades were good people; they accepted my decision and even agreed to help. That’s how it happened. And we named him Headbutt because he occasionally butted heads.

— I guess it explains why he didn’t kill me, but… wait, you said you didn’t chase the witches and stayed near the stone, right?

— Well, yes.

— But were all witches killed then?

Bill almost dropped his cigar.

— Are there any other members of that expedition alive? — I asked. — If so, we must find them as soon as possible and figure everything out before it’s too late.

— The Farthing brothers are alive. Former bankers. Follow me!

Bill grabbed his jacket and cap, throwing them on as he rushed outside, and I hurriedly followed him. In a couple of minutes, we noticed one of those old men I had seen on the day of my arrival; he was racing down the street towards the bus stop.

— Joe, stop! — Bill shouted. — Got a word.

— Sod off, — he mumbled in response.

Williams tried to grab him, but Joe swatted his hand away, looked at a watch, and continued walking even faster towards the stop, so we had no choice but to follow him. Near the same bench where I saw them on the first day, another old man stood, an exact copy of this one. He constantly lit a cigarette and almost immediately threw it into the snow, pulling out a new one.

— Did you find him? — he asked.

— No.

— Why did you bring this guy here? And who’s this kid?

— I didn’t call them.

— Jake, calm down, — Bill said. — This is a detective from Arkham.

— I’m Joe, idiot. Ha, that’s the guy from the bus! — Joe said, lighting another cigarette. — Hey, detective, have you seen our brother?

— Uh... no, I haven’t, — I replied, bewildered.

— Quite a lousy detective, — Jake grumbled.

— Phineas disappeared? When? — Bill asked.

— Supposed to come in the morning, as usual, but he’s been gone for almost an hour.

— This is bad; he might’ve been grabbed by wi...

Jake snorted at him, and both brothers looked at me.

— I already know everything; I’m investigating this case.

The old men crossed their arms over their chests and gave Bill disapproving looks.

— You spilled it all, soldier, — Joe said. — Probably blabbered forty years ago too?

— Actually, it was you, — Jake whispered.

— Shut up!

— Knock it off! — Bill scolded them. — Richard, interrogate!

— Tell me, on that day when you were chasing the fleeing witches, did you miss any?

— Not one, — Jake replied.

— The two of us were chasing two, — Joe continued.

— They decided to fight before death.

— One hit me, and I lost consciousness.

— And I killed a witch.

— Yes, mine.

I didn’t even know what to think. Jake frowned and turned to his brother.

— No, mine.

— What? You said you killed her!

— No, I said I killed a witch!

— And what about mine?

— You were supposed to know that!

— Joe grabbed his head and sat down.

— You messed up, guys, — Bill said. — How come you didn’t figure this out earlier?

— Did you discuss that day with anyone? — Jake asked.

— Touché.

— Wait, but if he disappeared recently, we can still save him! — I said.

— Yes! — Joe jumped off the bench. — We still have the Reverend’s weapons!

— Then hurry after it! — Bill shouted. — Richard, do you know where the witches might be?

— There’s only one altar, and it’s in the same place as before.

— Excellent, then we’ll meet at the Dunwich’s, just like back then. Hurry up!

The twins nodded and sprinted away as if they were in their twenties.

— And you, go to my room, take the rifle from the closet, — he tossed me the keys. — I can’t run fast anymore, so I’ll go ahead. There should be Francis’ rifle.

I raced to the tavern, bulleted up the stairs, opened the room, grabbed the weapon, and ran back. I was in a hurry like never before. Luckily, the town is small, everything is within a walking range. Just a few minutes later, I found myself at the edge of the woods, where three impatient old men and Felicity were waiting for me.

— Finally, there’s no time to lose! — Bill exclaimed. — I still remember the way to the stone! March!

We set off. Bill significantly underestimated his strength — we barely kept up with him through the snow-covered forest. We were so thrilled, that it seemed like the time stood still. Seconds dragged on like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. An eternity passed until we finally heard the ominous drumming sound. Bill sped up even more, but his steps were completely silent, his old combat skills still with him. We reached the stone just in time. The high witch grabbed the hand of the helpless old man lying on the huge rock. She raised a knife, about to cut the veins of her victim.

Our shots rang out immediately, and the witch fell to the ground. Her accomplices noticed us, but only when we were already rushing into the battle. The twins fought like tigers, fiercely defending their brother, and age seemed to have no power over them. They stood right at the altar, delivering crushing blows to their opponents, and shielding themselves with enchanted weapons from enemy flame. Felicity had Rowell’s sword, probably left at Dunwich’s after their campaign, and she cut the bonds that tied Phineas. The onslaught of the witches intensified, and we barely managed to drag their prisoner away from the altar behind the nearest stones.

During this brief respite, the witches showered our shelters with a fiery rain. The twins, who now sat behind a neighboring stone, suffered the most in the first part of the battle: they were covered from head to toe with cuts, and their clothes were blackened with soot. Joe, with a trembling hand, tried to light a cigarette, while Jake cursed loudly, attempting to reload the rifle, his fingers sticky with blood. Bill, like a machine, systematically reloaded his gun, swiftly emerged from cover, aimed for a brief moment, and made a precise shot, followed by a wild cry from our enemy, and a new barrage of fire. I also tried to fend off, but I didn’t have the toughness of my older comrade, so my performance was mediocre. Felicity was smearing the blade of her sword with unknown potion, constantly whispering something I couldn’t understand.

— Guys, take your brother away, it’s too dangerous here! — Williams exclaimed. — If witches want to kill him, we must not let them do it!

The twins threw us their weapons, dragged their brother behind the nearest bushes, and then away from the forest. During the next reload, my rifle jammed, and as I tried to fix it, I suddenly noticed movement in the bushes. One of the witches had sneaked up from the side, intending to incinerate us unnoticed. I instinctively drew the pistol from my holster, she leaped towards us, chanting a spell, and I shot. As soon as the bullet hit the witch, she literally exploded with a bright blue flame, and there was nothing left of my enemy, not even ashes.

— Wow, Warring, where did you get that? — Bill asked, laughing.

— I brought it from home. Honestly, I didn’t expect it do that.

— Then let me demonstrate what I can do too! — Felicity replied.

She jumped out from behind the stone, shouted something incomprehensible, and with a sword swing sent a huge wave of bright blue flame towards the enemy. The witches caught off guard by the attack were ignited like matches and completely evaporated. A few surviving ones, shielded by their magic, got stunned by the blow.

— Charge! — Bill commanded, and the three of us rushed into battle once again.

The old veteran attacked the nearest witch and showered her with bayonet strikes so furious, that two of the three remaining witches fled into the forest. Felicity and I chased after them, while Bill stayed to fight the last one by the altar.

We almost caught up with our opponents, but they skillfully maneuvered between the trees, and I couldn’t aim. Suddenly, they vanished for a moment, but almost immediately appeared in front of us, ready to strike again. One of them lunged at me, knocking the pistol out of my hand and throwing me to the ground. She jumped on me with a dagger, but at the last moment, I managed to thrust the rifle forward, held in my other hand, and the bayonet plunged deep into the witch’s chest. To my horror, this didn’t stop her at all; instead, it seemed to fuel her with even greater rage. I struggled with all my might to keep the dagger away from my face. With her free hand, she tried to tear out the rifle from my hand then my eyes from their sockets. I don’t know how it happened, maybe one of her blows shifted the cartridge in the rifle, but the weapon unjammed, and a shot rang out. A bright blue flash blinded me, and when I came to my senses, I was completely covered in blood of my lifeless enemy.

I almost vomited. I shuddered and pushed the body aside, trying to wipe the blood off my face with snow. The virgin whiteness around was stained with bloody patches, as if the earth itself had been hacked and bled. Slightly regaining my composure, I looked towards Felicity. Her opponent, noticing the death of the other witch, tried to run away, but Felicity forcefully threw her sword into her back, piercing her through. Witch fell, without making a sound. Felicity calmly took back her sword, approached me, grabbed my shoulder with force, and stood me up.

— Ready your weapons and go to the altar.

I did as ordered, trying not to look at my fallen enemy, and hurried to Bill. When we arrived, he had already finished off his opponent and was struggling to catch his breath.

— You got them? — he asked.

Felicity nodded.

— It was... horrendous, — I whispered. — Couldn’t this have been avoided? Wasn’t there another way to save them?

— No, — Williams replied. — I discussed it with the Reverend while he was still alive. He spent years trying to find a way to cleanse witches from evil without killing them, but death turned out to be the only relief from the curse.

— There’s no relief from our curse! — a creaky voice exclaimed.

In horror, we turned around. The main witch, who lay near the altar, although seriously wounded, was still alive. Clutching a dagger in her wrinkled hand, she carved some incomprehensible symbols on her chest straight through the robe, climbed onto the stone, and began reciting an incantation. Bill aimed, Felicity tried to stop him, but the old man managed to shoot the witch right in the forehead.

Blood gushed from all her wounds, and the body collapsed to the ground. A crimson vortex appeared in the sky, tearing through the fabric of our reality. Gigantic gates opened, through which tentacles and horns of monstrous, filthy creatures began to seep into our world. With a heavy rumble, they pounded their hooves on the ground, emitting an unbearable stench from their enormous maws. Felicity grabbed a flask from her bag, threw it onto the altar. The flask shattered, spreading its contents all over the stone, and the altar instantly ignited with blue flames. The enormous gates gradually disappeared, tearing apart one of the monsters. However, the beasts that had already entered our world remained intact and now advanced towards us, roaring fiercely and waving their tentacles.

— Quick, to Ha’D’Baoth! — Felicity shouted. — He’s our last hope!

We immediately rushed towards the hut, but the monsters pursued us like hunting dogs. With their gigantic horns, they easily broke trees, and with powerful hooves, they crushed the remaining stumps. We managed to distance ourselves a bit by the time we reached the lake and climbed the hill to the hut. Felicity and I pounded on the door, while Bill shot at the giants emerging from the forest. Soon, Ha’D’Baoth appeared.

— Bill shot the old witch on the stone, completing the ritual, — Felicity said. — and the monsters had invaded our world!

— I already noticed. Hold on for a couple more seconds; I’m almost ready.

We continued attacking the beasts from a distance. Bill was shooting like a machine, his enchanted bullets significantly slowing down our enemies. I gave my rifle to Felicity and defended myself with a pistol. My weapon turned out to be incredibly effective, and I even managed to knock down one of the creatures, although others continued to advance relentlessly. When it seemed that they were about to reach us and grab, Ha’D’Baoth returned.

His entire body was covered with blue patterns. He shouted an incomprehensible spell, and the lines flared up with a bright light, illuminating all around. Enraged monsters roared from unbearable pain piercing their disgusting hulks, and the curse pinned them in place. Ha’D’Baoth continued chanting the spell, and blue cracks began to appear on the bodies of the writhing monsters. Soon, tongues of blue flames burst from their gaping maws, and the roar of fire drowned out the growling of the creatures, and the spell completely consumed and incinerated them.

I fell to my knees, unable to believe that it was over. Bill looked at the burning monsters without a hint of emotion, occasionally puffing on his cigar. When I looked at Ha’D’Baoth, I thought I saw a momentary sorrow in his eyes. But it was replaced by surprise when Felicity burst into laughter.

— It was incredible! — she exclaimed. — Ha’D’Baoth, thank you! If not for you...

But she was interrupted by an unexpected flash of light that blinded all of us. A huge fireball erupted from behind the trees and crashed onto the roof of the hut; its explosion scattered us. The building burst into flames, and fires quickly engulfed its walls, rising high into the sky in a roaring column.

— NO! My home! My work! — the giant cried and running inside.

— Ha’D’Baoth! — Felicity shouted, jumping after him into the fire.

My first impulse was to rush to their aid, to pull them out of the blazing building, but Bill firmly grabbed my hand and stopped me.

— No time! You won’t save them anyway, only get yourself killed! We must deal with whoever caused this!

I nodded. Grabbing Felicity’s sword, I followed Bill into the forest, where the last shot had been fired from.

The snow was cowered in blood. Crimson streaks and tracks led from the altar to the edge of the forest and then away deeper into the woods. We chased after our wounded enemy, and soon caught up with her. The ugly old hag was barely hobbling, but still unwilling to surrender. Williams knocked her off her feet with a butt of his rifle; she immediately writhed on the ground like a snake, attempting to burn her assailant with magic. However, the old man, with one lightning-fast motion, impaled the witch’s left hand with the bayonet, pinning it to the ground.

The witch’s right hand had been crushed since the first onslaught of our shots, preventing her from killing Phineas at the beginning of the battle. Witch’s forehead was covered in blood, beneath which sparkled a steel plate.

— So that’s how she survived! — I exclaimed. — But wasn’t she supposed to die for the ritual to work?

— Of course not! — the old witch hissed. —You, miserable beast, understand nothing about magic! Just the incantation and blood are enough! And know, that your mangy sheep will never stop me! I won’t let myself be killed so easily after wandering these cursed woods for all these years!

— Give me the sword, kid, — Bill said. —And go check the hut. You don’t want to see this...

Without asking further questions, I handed him the sword and quickly left the old man. The last thing I saw there was him looming menacingly over the wriggling witch. When I reached the edge, the hut was still ablaze, and it felt like heat could reach even here. The roof had collapsed, the walls were blackened, and the flames, still rising high up in the sky, spewed thick clouds of black smoke. I dared not approach the furious fire and just watched it, unable to look away.

Heavy clouds covered the entire sky, and snow began to fall. The flames started to weaken, and soon they extinguished completely. I hesitantly approached the smoldering ruins and looked inside, fearing to come across the remains of my friends. However, I saw only glowing embers from the roof and furniture inside, piled up between the charred walls. I picked up the weapons discarded around the ruins before the fire started and noticed Bill standing a bit deeper into the clearing. He was completely motionless, only the cigar smoldered in his mouth, and a thin stream of smoke rose from it. When I approached, I saw that the old man was covered from head to toe in dried blood. His face appeared deathly pale, and his graying hand clutched the sword. Land under the blade, just like everywhere around my comrade, was covered in blood. Snow accumulated on the veteran’s shoulders and his cap.

— Bill?

He silently brushed the ash off his cigar and calmly walked away. I didn’t say a word. It was enough that the high witch had perished once and for all.

On our way back, we stopped by Felicity’s house to freshen up a bit before returning to town. Then we headed there. Bill went straight to his home, and I went to the police station to report to the captain about the completion of this case.

— Spectacular, my dear friend! — Arthur exclaimed, shaking my hand. — But why didn’t you call us? We would gladly help!

— Unfortunately, our journey started so suddenly and spontaneously that there wasn’t even moment to get to the station, — I replied in a weak voice.

— I understand. I hope you know that we’ll have to come up with a more plausible version that the public can accept?

— Of course.

— Your previous idea about bulletproof vests and phosphorus, I think, will fit perfectly. Let’s tell everyone that it was just a simple satanic cult.

— Yes, an excellent version.

I was exhausted, and I no longer cared about how they would handle this matter. Honestly, this investigation turned out to be too heavy an experience for me, one that I will remember for a lifetime.

I didn’t leave my room for several days, just lying down most of the time. Then I forced myself to get up, said goodbye to Bill, and left. At the bus stop, I once again met the three Farthing brothers, who now looked much happier than during our first encounter. They warmly thanked me for help and, as a farewell gesture, gave me two bottles of excellent whiskey.

Soon, my bus arrived. When the doors opened, a very tall and broad-shouldered silver-haired man with a thick beard and mustache stepped out, wearing a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat. A delicate lady came out after him, dressed almost the same way, though her clothes looked much more elegant. Her face was covered with lilac scarf to protect it from the cold, on her feet were long-heeled black boots. The giant looked at startled me, smiled, and touched the brim of his hat before they both walked away. I stared at them for quite for some time and snapped out of it only when the driver called me. I immediately boarded the bus and headed home.

On the way back, I pondered over everything that had happened. Why was Ha’D’Baoth so different from those monsters that were so similar to him and, as he said, even turned out to be his kin? Perhaps, there was more of that unfortunate sacrificed ram in him than of his ancestors, and his upbringing rooted in him good and bright qualities, while overcoming all the negative traits. And can he be called a mangy sheep in his herd, as high witch claimed, if he is the best among them?

When I returned to Arkham, I immediately wrote to Bill to ask if everything is okay, and if anything new or unusual had happened. Soon he replied that nothing special had occurred, only a new gamekeeper named Heath Bud, along with his wife Joy, had arrived, and they settled in the Dunwich’s house.

The end.