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The Village Of The Damned
I was never meant to be alone but everybody I've ever known has left me. I live in the marshlands of a tiny village in a country most people don't know of. I have never been anywhere in my life but in my village boundaries. I can't, we learn from an early age bad things happen when you leave. People go and never come back. We were a population of 1341 a few years ago before the Rains of Isolation, now there is just me. It's lonely having nobody to share my life with, no-one to love. So Ive decided, I must leave, or die in the attempt.
The animals thrive, but I have to keep them watered, sheltered and fed. Back in the old days there was no thought to this task, there were so many of us to share the workload. But when the Rains came they brought chaos, and those caught in the showers of The Great Downpour all disappeared. The water held a power, a horrible curse. For whoever it touched it transported them away to another dimension, and we have no control over it. We lost half our village in those three days and families soon learned to stay indoors. Those who went searching for loved ones were lost to us also. The Rains were a devastating blow to us, and the weeping and misery caused lasted us a lifetime.
Over the few weeks after the Rains of Isolation the skies returned to their normal colour and the birds returned. We were blind to the cause of the deluge, but we all soon quickly learned the hard way about the laws of the Rain.
Rule 1. Never drink from a still water source.
Rule 2. Any living thing that touches a contaminated puddle will disappear.
Rule 3. Always look before you move an object containing still water.
Rule 4. Don't irrigate your crops using a source of still water.
Rule 5. Don't walk under roofs or under guttering that might hold still water.
People thought they could escape our cursed village but the road had become flooded. Every wagon that left somewhere along the line came into contact with the Rain, and disappeared forever. Once we had promoted the Rules those left had more sense. Every puddle in the marshlands surrounding us may contain still a contaminant. There was no way of knowing. Any cattle out in the fields were all lost to us. But luckily that fateful day many of the herds were in the great barns still under cover. Those we had left we cherished, as without a food supply coming in we would surely have died.
By the time our population count was down to 548 after the first year, we knew things looked bleak. The Rains came sporadically but we were always hiding. But there were those unlucky one or two every shower caught by the very first drops. We never went out when the skies darkened and the red clouds came. We knew it spelled imminent fear. Yet the Rain could come on fast. It was only on long Summer days we grew more at ease.
Complacency though lead to death. For those who ventured too far, or strayed beyond the known confines of our safe perimeter were quick to be "ghosted". That's what we call it when a human we loved vanishes. My own parents and siblings were lost to me when they sought shelter in an old hunters shack on the village outskirts. They'd gone picking the strawberries and other fruits. Somebody had to do it, and in the Pickers' Draw that year, our family lost and were given the chore. Nobody liked tending the crops, but picking was worse. It took a long time and generally meant tending the fields for two days. That year had been a dry Summer, and they were confident they'd be okay. I was ill and stayed home. I never saw them again. It seems the roof on the old shelter had tiny leaks in it and poof they were gone. My dearest loves lost in moments. From then on, every life became a necessity, numbers were dwindling and nobody came to help us. We were 248 at the time.
We guessed they couldn't get in as much as we could not get out. We sent pigeons with little notes strapped to their legs. We knew horses and oxen carts couldn't get through, whether by path or off track. In the marshlands there were always puddles. We didn't have proper built up roads, we never had need of them before the Rains. And after we were too devastated, and our resources were very limited. We only made the food last longer because we lost so many mouths to feed. At the council meeting it was voted that someone should always stay as lookout in the church belfry. It was high up and pretty much contained, with a small walkable parapet around it that allowed you to see for miles pretty much 360° over all the surrounding marshland. Way out yonder there was never anybody spotted, and over the years, as the pigeon supply was exhausted so were our hopes of salvation. We surmised we were on our own, and had to learn to fend for ourselves.
Had it not been for our many underground wells we might have all died of thirst. Water was plentiful but you always made sure the bucket was left upturned. You were to check it before you ever touched it, and one person always had a pet or cattle drink before us...just in case. The years dragged out impossibly. After people had lost so many dear loved ones they were in a state of shock. People of vital positions and experience became crucial members for our continued existence. It became necessary we were all multi-skilled and learned from each other. If we lost a doctor or a farmer we'd be losing vital skills and knowledge. Jobs seemed less relevant like grocers and market stall vendors, teachers and bankers. Our needs were more basic, survival. So I learnt animal husbandry, medicine and waste recycling, I was taught how to nurse animals back to health and slaughter cattle humanely. I was taught to cook and assess the weather, about herbs and edible plants. And there was less time to mourn our lost ones, and with every person ghosted our own responsibilities grew.
After two decades of life like this I was old enough to marry. Polygamy was now common place, because children were the future and there were more dying than being born. Plus we knew the awful affects of the melancholy of losing a loved one. You could still depend on others if you lessened the chance by not putting all your eggs in one basket. Yet this was my first wife, and I was her fourth husband. We all knew each other by now, because our numbers were 101. And I loved her, I did, and we were a happy match, even though she was ten years my senior. She'd once been the village school mistress, and I knew she was patient and kind. I lost her in childbirth three years later when the midwife hadn't checked the birthing water. All three were ghosted that awful night, and at the loss of my wife and child I was truly broken.
That fateful day our numbers had dropped to double digits. I was lost for many years, though I worked by rote, and the routine kept me alive. I wasn't fit to marry again and I never found another lover. By the time I came out of my mental fog my beloved village totalled less than 28 in number. We couldn't possibly sustain ourselves now. We tried to recall what we had learnt and put it into use. Some had written their knowledge down in an effort to pass it on to future generations...but that was a hopeful dream. Children were too playful and didn't follow the Rules very well. We were all adults by the time of that final wild storm. That night the Rain was torrential and the wind shattered many windows and ripped roofs right off the homes. We were all scattered about the village to allow us privacy. When I woke that fateful day I found I was the only survivor. I searched for a whole week. I left no stone unturned, but I was the only one. What good is a village of 1? That's when I decided to leave, and if I ghosted myself then what the hell, so be it.
I ripped the wood from any place I could. I didn't need a village for there was now only me and my beloved animals. They kept me company, kept me sane in those months I built. I was making a bridge. Slowly building a wooden track above the marshland over to whatever awaited beyond. I was hammering day and night, and hiding in our church during the Rains. I had to be careful of course, the structure had to be devoid of puddles and dry. It was slow and laborious work, and many of my cattle died in the testing of its safety. I was determined I would make it out of my ghost homestead. To me it had become a symbol of death and sadness, and every day in it was a nightmare. I was slowly going crazy, but I kept working. And my structure became longer. It grew and eventually there was very little salvageable materials left for me to use. My bridge extended well beyond even my wildest dreams....but not far enough.
That fateful first step I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. I was leading my horse and had my faithful companions with me. Three dogs, a cat in my rucksack, and a whole host of other four legged friends trailing us not knowing what real danger they were in now I'd let them out of their pens. It didn't feel right to me they should be left trapped behind in that accursed village whilst I made my bid for freedom. I tried to keep my eye on the dry land. Every drop or splash of water I felt I might lose myself. Each step was a battle for concentration and sure footed belief. I lost two of the dogs and my heart sank. It's a wonder I didn't lose the horse for it held all my supplies. I was a wreck and I was so much older and more worldly wise than when I was a naive teenager back before the Rains of Isolation. But what does wisdom buy you if you're alone? It perhaps buys you more years of surviving, but for what? Life isn't about survival only, it's about living it and enjoying it. Finding quality in the existence we have. There was precious little for me with only my animals as company, I needed more, and that need kept me pressing on. Longevity isn't a sign of a happy life. Every step I took was my attempt to find the happiness I felt I deserved.
To fall is to be defeated. I was tired, my eyes were drooping and my muscles hurt. Even my horse was gone now, and there was just me and my cat and my favourite dog. I ran my fingers through his fur as he pressed against me feeling my anxiety and trying to comfort me. The cat mewled relentlessly and still I pressed on. The night was full of stars and thankfully it was a full moon. It was dangerous to be walking in the dark, but by this time I was pretty much putting my fate into the hands of the Great Spirit. I had to press on. I had to try to find some civilisation beyond the marshlands of my home. And I stopped and allowed myself the luxury of a few tears as I turned to look back.....and even the church spire wasn't visible. That life was over, those people just a dream of a memory pushed far back in my mind lest the thought of them rip me open and the gaping wound be beyond mending.
I took the next terrifying step towards the unknown, towards a future that filled me with hope...and then I heard it... a loud clap of thunder in the distance.
© .Garry Saunders
The animals thrive, but I have to keep them watered, sheltered and fed. Back in the old days there was no thought to this task, there were so many of us to share the workload. But when the Rains came they brought chaos, and those caught in the showers of The Great Downpour all disappeared. The water held a power, a horrible curse. For whoever it touched it transported them away to another dimension, and we have no control over it. We lost half our village in those three days and families soon learned to stay indoors. Those who went searching for loved ones were lost to us also. The Rains were a devastating blow to us, and the weeping and misery caused lasted us a lifetime.
Over the few weeks after the Rains of Isolation the skies returned to their normal colour and the birds returned. We were blind to the cause of the deluge, but we all soon quickly learned the hard way about the laws of the Rain.
Rule 1. Never drink from a still water source.
Rule 2. Any living thing that touches a contaminated puddle will disappear.
Rule 3. Always look before you move an object containing still water.
Rule 4. Don't irrigate your crops using a source of still water.
Rule 5. Don't walk under roofs or under guttering that might hold still water.
People thought they could escape our cursed village but the road had become flooded. Every wagon that left somewhere along the line came into contact with the Rain, and disappeared forever. Once we had promoted the Rules those left had more sense. Every puddle in the marshlands surrounding us may contain still a contaminant. There was no way of knowing. Any cattle out in the fields were all lost to us. But luckily that fateful day many of the herds were in the great barns still under cover. Those we had left we cherished, as without a food supply coming in we would surely have died.
By the time our population count was down to 548 after the first year, we knew things looked bleak. The Rains came sporadically but we were always hiding. But there were those unlucky one or two every shower caught by the very first drops. We never went out when the skies darkened and the red clouds came. We knew it spelled imminent fear. Yet the Rain could come on fast. It was only on long Summer days we grew more at ease.
Complacency though lead to death. For those who ventured too far, or strayed beyond the known confines of our safe perimeter were quick to be "ghosted". That's what we call it when a human we loved vanishes. My own parents and siblings were lost to me when they sought shelter in an old hunters shack on the village outskirts. They'd gone picking the strawberries and other fruits. Somebody had to do it, and in the Pickers' Draw that year, our family lost and were given the chore. Nobody liked tending the crops, but picking was worse. It took a long time and generally meant tending the fields for two days. That year had been a dry Summer, and they were confident they'd be okay. I was ill and stayed home. I never saw them again. It seems the roof on the old shelter had tiny leaks in it and poof they were gone. My dearest loves lost in moments. From then on, every life became a necessity, numbers were dwindling and nobody came to help us. We were 248 at the time.
We guessed they couldn't get in as much as we could not get out. We sent pigeons with little notes strapped to their legs. We knew horses and oxen carts couldn't get through, whether by path or off track. In the marshlands there were always puddles. We didn't have proper built up roads, we never had need of them before the Rains. And after we were too devastated, and our resources were very limited. We only made the food last longer because we lost so many mouths to feed. At the council meeting it was voted that someone should always stay as lookout in the church belfry. It was high up and pretty much contained, with a small walkable parapet around it that allowed you to see for miles pretty much 360° over all the surrounding marshland. Way out yonder there was never anybody spotted, and over the years, as the pigeon supply was exhausted so were our hopes of salvation. We surmised we were on our own, and had to learn to fend for ourselves.
Had it not been for our many underground wells we might have all died of thirst. Water was plentiful but you always made sure the bucket was left upturned. You were to check it before you ever touched it, and one person always had a pet or cattle drink before us...just in case. The years dragged out impossibly. After people had lost so many dear loved ones they were in a state of shock. People of vital positions and experience became crucial members for our continued existence. It became necessary we were all multi-skilled and learned from each other. If we lost a doctor or a farmer we'd be losing vital skills and knowledge. Jobs seemed less relevant like grocers and market stall vendors, teachers and bankers. Our needs were more basic, survival. So I learnt animal husbandry, medicine and waste recycling, I was taught how to nurse animals back to health and slaughter cattle humanely. I was taught to cook and assess the weather, about herbs and edible plants. And there was less time to mourn our lost ones, and with every person ghosted our own responsibilities grew.
After two decades of life like this I was old enough to marry. Polygamy was now common place, because children were the future and there were more dying than being born. Plus we knew the awful affects of the melancholy of losing a loved one. You could still depend on others if you lessened the chance by not putting all your eggs in one basket. Yet this was my first wife, and I was her fourth husband. We all knew each other by now, because our numbers were 101. And I loved her, I did, and we were a happy match, even though she was ten years my senior. She'd once been the village school mistress, and I knew she was patient and kind. I lost her in childbirth three years later when the midwife hadn't checked the birthing water. All three were ghosted that awful night, and at the loss of my wife and child I was truly broken.
That fateful day our numbers had dropped to double digits. I was lost for many years, though I worked by rote, and the routine kept me alive. I wasn't fit to marry again and I never found another lover. By the time I came out of my mental fog my beloved village totalled less than 28 in number. We couldn't possibly sustain ourselves now. We tried to recall what we had learnt and put it into use. Some had written their knowledge down in an effort to pass it on to future generations...but that was a hopeful dream. Children were too playful and didn't follow the Rules very well. We were all adults by the time of that final wild storm. That night the Rain was torrential and the wind shattered many windows and ripped roofs right off the homes. We were all scattered about the village to allow us privacy. When I woke that fateful day I found I was the only survivor. I searched for a whole week. I left no stone unturned, but I was the only one. What good is a village of 1? That's when I decided to leave, and if I ghosted myself then what the hell, so be it.
I ripped the wood from any place I could. I didn't need a village for there was now only me and my beloved animals. They kept me company, kept me sane in those months I built. I was making a bridge. Slowly building a wooden track above the marshland over to whatever awaited beyond. I was hammering day and night, and hiding in our church during the Rains. I had to be careful of course, the structure had to be devoid of puddles and dry. It was slow and laborious work, and many of my cattle died in the testing of its safety. I was determined I would make it out of my ghost homestead. To me it had become a symbol of death and sadness, and every day in it was a nightmare. I was slowly going crazy, but I kept working. And my structure became longer. It grew and eventually there was very little salvageable materials left for me to use. My bridge extended well beyond even my wildest dreams....but not far enough.
That fateful first step I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. I was leading my horse and had my faithful companions with me. Three dogs, a cat in my rucksack, and a whole host of other four legged friends trailing us not knowing what real danger they were in now I'd let them out of their pens. It didn't feel right to me they should be left trapped behind in that accursed village whilst I made my bid for freedom. I tried to keep my eye on the dry land. Every drop or splash of water I felt I might lose myself. Each step was a battle for concentration and sure footed belief. I lost two of the dogs and my heart sank. It's a wonder I didn't lose the horse for it held all my supplies. I was a wreck and I was so much older and more worldly wise than when I was a naive teenager back before the Rains of Isolation. But what does wisdom buy you if you're alone? It perhaps buys you more years of surviving, but for what? Life isn't about survival only, it's about living it and enjoying it. Finding quality in the existence we have. There was precious little for me with only my animals as company, I needed more, and that need kept me pressing on. Longevity isn't a sign of a happy life. Every step I took was my attempt to find the happiness I felt I deserved.
To fall is to be defeated. I was tired, my eyes were drooping and my muscles hurt. Even my horse was gone now, and there was just me and my cat and my favourite dog. I ran my fingers through his fur as he pressed against me feeling my anxiety and trying to comfort me. The cat mewled relentlessly and still I pressed on. The night was full of stars and thankfully it was a full moon. It was dangerous to be walking in the dark, but by this time I was pretty much putting my fate into the hands of the Great Spirit. I had to press on. I had to try to find some civilisation beyond the marshlands of my home. And I stopped and allowed myself the luxury of a few tears as I turned to look back.....and even the church spire wasn't visible. That life was over, those people just a dream of a memory pushed far back in my mind lest the thought of them rip me open and the gaping wound be beyond mending.
I took the next terrifying step towards the unknown, towards a future that filled me with hope...and then I heard it... a loud clap of thunder in the distance.
© .Garry Saunders
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