The Last Word

The Last Word by Ryan 'Hobgoblin' Hufschmid
Ramish had been fishing by the river all afternoon. It had not been a particularly successful day, so when it began to darken he told himself he would hold out for just one more fish. Mama said to be home before sundown. Night was the time when boogiemen and hags crawl out from the jungle. They dance in the moonlight and feast on small children, Mama said. Ramish was too old to believe such stories, but it was not wise to disobey Mama. She hit harder than a boogieman anyway.

The sun sank low in the sky. Violet light poured from behind the Blood Spires, sinister columns of stone jutting from the lush canopy below. Iron-rich ore deposits dribbled down the Spires. This gave the mountains the distinct appearance of bloodstained teeth and inspired their name.

Ramish felt a tug on his line. He pulled back, and a large perch leapt from the water. Violet hues reflected off its scales. As quickly as it had emerged the fish disappeared again with a splash. Running from the water to get some slack, Ramish gave his pole a sharp jerk and the fish jumped again. It was a strong fish, but with a few steps back Ramish dragged it unto the stony shore. Out of the water its fight was reduced to a futile flop. Ramish grabbed the perch’s slick, muscular body and wrenched his carved bone hook free from the creature’s gill. He dropped the fish in his woven basket of water, and began to wrap his line around the wooden pole.

It had grown quite dark, but a silver coin moon was starting to rise. An easterly wind began to blow, and brought with it a thick mist from the cold river. The large stones that made up the riverbank were quickly concealed. Ramish had to feel around to find his hat, which lay less than a meter away. Ramish thought he heard someone approach, but it was just his perch thrashing in the basket. By the time he gathered his belongings and began to make his way back to the village the mist had grown into a dense fog. Ramish could hardly see his feet beneath him.

He didn’t notice the man until he was nearly a few meters away. The boy jumped, spilling water from his basket and dropping his pole. The man shambled near the river, wrapped in a dark robe that was soaked with water. From his hunched posture, and awkward gait he looked to be an old man. He was looking right at Ramish.

“Mm-mistah? Are y-you okay?” stammered the boy.

The old man whispered something, but all that came out was an incomprehensible, burbling hiss. Ramish could not make out the word. The boy stumbled back a few steps as the man limped toward him. Something stank. Like rotting fish, and stagnant river water. Ramish felt nauseated. As the man limped closer, he opened his mouth and hissed again and the stench grew stronger. Ramish could see an ornament dangling from the man’s neck. It was corroded and green, but still obviously resembled a brass beetle. Ramish’s eyes traced upward from the necklace to the old man’s face. A thinning mop of wet, black hair was plastered across his cheek. But there was no more cheek. Much of the flesh had rotted away, and exposed the bone beneath. A bloated tongue protruded from blackened lips. Empty eye sockets seemed to stare into Ramish’s soul. All of the boy’s instincts screamed, “Run!” but he was paralyzed with nausea and fear.

As the abomination staggered closer he let out another burble. Ramish could not help but obey, as the man whispered, “Kneel…” That was the last word young Ramish ever heard.