The Vanishing Village
Around the village fire, every member of the tribe is gathered tonight, sharing words and laughter. Drums beat, children are running and playing, and drinks are passed around the adults. The village elder takes his seat on a big stump near the fire, and everyone goes quiet.
The children stop their games and quickly sit down. One child asks, “Are you going to tell us a story tonight, elder?” He smiles at the child and says, “What kind of story would you like to hear?” The child digs his toe into the dirt and twiddles his thumbs. “Can you… Can you tell us a scary story?” The other children giggle, some excitedly, some nervously. “A scary story you say?” He strokes his long, white beard. “Very well. In that case, I will tell you all a story I haven’t told in a very long, long time.”
“The Inethriul Jungle is a place full of both wondrous and terrifying things. And on this night, so many nights ago, three men gathered within it to do something shameful. They planned to raid a village while its warriors were away. Possibly on a hunt or off fighting the Itotians.
One man carried an obsidian blade, the other a spear, and the last man had a bow. The bowman asks the swordsman, ‘what gives you the greatest joy in pillaging?’ The swordsman says to him, ‘to cut down those who would resist me. Or would run from me, or anyone I see. To feel my blade slice through tender flesh. To watch life fade away in someone’s eyes, and to know I was the one to extinguish it. That is what gives me the greatest joy.’
Then the bowman turns to the spearman and asks, ‘what about you?’ and then the spearman replies simply ‘The women.’ With a malicious smile and they all snicker together.
Then the swordsman looks to the bowman and asks, ‘And what about you?’ The bowman says, ‘I am a man of material pleasures. I do not care for the kill or even the women, I only care for what they possess. Food, tools, jewels, and jade. To take whatever they have and make it my own. That is my pleasure.’ The other two nodded, satisfied with his answer. The three then spend the rest of the night laughing and in revelry about the evil that they would do.”
“The next day they wandered around the jungle, hoping to come across a little village that would make for an easy target. After hours had passed, the bowman came upon a clearing in the jungle where a meagar village lay. He laced his fingers together and wrapped his closed hands around his mouth and made a chirping sound like a bird to signal to his fellow villains that they had found what they were looking for.”
“They approached carefully, looking for anyone that might be a warrior among them. But they did not find one. They didn’t find anyone at all. They checked the longhouse, the fire pit, and every single hut but still found nobody. As they stood together, shrugging and confused, a thick mist covered them all and everything around them. The fog was so thick you couldn’t even see the person right in front of you, only their silhouette. Within that thick fog appeared an orange glow that the three men walked together towards.”
“When they reached the orange glow, they saw that there was a fire burning within the village fireplace. Someone must have lit it recently because there was no fire when the men arrived. They readied their weapons, preparing for an ambush that could come from any direction. But nothing ever came. They stood there waiting, tense, and sweating, afraid of phantoms.”
At this point, the elder stops telling the story for a dramatic pause. The children around the fireplace curl up and huddle together for comfort. One adult gulps loudly, while others try to hide their fear with laughter. Most are silent. One child, with shaking knees and quivering lips, asks, “what- what happens next?” And the elder smiles at him.
“There is a shriek of pain and suffering coming from a thousand voices that rips through the air and digs into the skull of every one of the miscreants. Then silence follows. The spearman looks up and sees the outline of a woman’s head and hair poke out of one of the huts, and then quickly darts back in after meeting his gaze. He grins wickedly and swiftly follows her. The bowman watches as the spearman heads inside. He hears the spearman scream out in agony, as blood begins to pool right outside the doorway.”
“In the distance, the swordsman can distinguish many dark figures in the mist. He raises his weapon, lets out a battle cry, and charges at them. But where he hoped to cut through bone and flesh, he hit only mist and shadow. The dark figures surround him, grab him at every limb, and begin to pull. The swordsman screams out in pain; there is a loud snapping and ripping sound, and then there is silence once again.”
“The bowman loses his nerve and turns to flee this hellish village. But as he’s retreatingfrom the carnage, he catches a glimpse of the biggest treasure pile he’s ever laid eyes on. Gold, jade, diamonds, and other gems are just there, begging to be taken. He knows it’s a trap, but he can’t help himself, it is his shameful weakness. He reaches out to grab a gemstone — just one, and a little one at that. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? He tries to convince himself.
He reaches for the stone, but another hand grabs his, and when the bowman looks up, he sees the face of another man he had killed and stolen from long ago. He quickly reels back his hand and gets up to run, dropping his bow. He leaves the village and never stops running, even for a night’s rest, until he gets back to his tribe.”
“When he finally reached his tribe, he told them what had happened, and they sent twenty warriors with him back to the village in the mist. But when they reached the clearing it wasn’t there anymore. The village had vanished, leaving no trace of the carnage that occurred. There wasn’t anything, except his bow broken in half, buried shallow in the mud.”
After the elder had finished his story, there was a long silence. It was as if his audience was too stiff to move or even speak. The children especially. Some were even trying to fight back tears. The elder rubbed his shoulder to comfort him and said, “Don’t worry little one, it is only a story, I made it up. None of it really happened.” And gave him a wink. The children then began to laugh, and it spread to the adults. Soon everyone was in a jovial mood again, celebrating as the night went on. Afterward, once everything had died down the villagers began to turn in for the night.
When it was only the elder still sitting around the smoldering fire, a couple of the adult villagers came up to him and asked, “We never heard that story when we were children, elder. When was the last time you told it?” And the elder responded, “The first time I told it. To my old tribesman all those nights ago. When we went out to where that village was, there was nothing there anymore except my broken bow.”
