The Red Scowl

By European P. Douglas

The Black Death is approaching... but is there something more fearful outside the walls of the village?

 

Outside an isolated forest community, by the forbidden cursed 'Red Scowl', tracks are discovered that resemble no known animal. Fearful of getting in trouble with the village leader, Mor and Beathan keep this discovery to themselves.

 

Soon, however, Mor grows more alarmed as news of a great pestilence arrives and he wonders if these two things are somehow linked. He wants to speak up --  just as he wanted to speak up when a woman he loved from afar was burned as a witch --- but Mor is a simple man, and the more cunning Beathan keeps him quiet.

 

Storms, murder, a witch hunt, old secrets and something monstrous in the mist follow, before a stranger comes to the village. 

 

Is he is the devil? Does he carry the plague? Is he responsible for all the ills that have befallen them?

 

Most imporant of all -- did he come from within The Red Scowl?

• Language: English
• Publisher: European P. Douglas
• Release date: Dec 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201513924

Book preview

Chapter One

The freezing cold water bubbled between the twigs and branches that had slowed the progress of the river through the village. A robin red breast bobbed on the snowy bank and light grauple fell in round pellets to the ground. There was no other sound in the forest at that moment as Mor and Beathan stood by the river bank looking at the task ahead of them.

This isn’t as bad as Tristan thought, Mor said. The town leader had told them to take all day if they needed to clear whatever was narrowing the river and cutting off the supply to the village. Beathan grunted, but that was to be expected. He was never one for hard work and even finding out their job was less than quarter of what they thought it might be, he still wouldn’t be happy.

The weir of fallen branches had caused a large section of land to become a swamp as the water looked for a place to go. If it was left long enough the river would have a new route or a lake would form there.

So, how do we decide who gets his feet wet? Beathan said, his dark eyes on Mor when he turned to look at him.

What do you mean? Mor asked, he looked to the water as though he might see some answer there.

That’s a job for one man, Beathan said. I see no point in both of us getting our feet wet for it.

But we were both asked to do it, and if we work together, we’ll get it done in no time at all and can get back to the village.

What do you want to get back there for, so they can give you another job to do? Beathan scoffed. Mor had known Beathan all his life, had known of his laziness too, but he’d never heard him speak aloud so disdainfully of the village before.

We have our duty to the village, Mor said reproachfully, glancing around nervously even though he knew there could be no one in earshot.

Duty, pah! Beathan looked away in disgust, peering back out over the water. Mor looked at the side of his face, saw his temper cool and then followed his gaze out to the blockage. It wasn’t going to be pleasant wading out there. The water was not deep, but it would reach up over the thighs and there was no doubting how cold it was.

Why don’t we wager for it? Beathan suggested.

Games of chance are sinful, Mor said, shocked that Beathan would even suggest it.

That’s only for gain, Beathan scoffed. In this case, it’s just an easy way to decide who goes into the water. This didn’t ring true, and Mor looked distrustfully into Beathan’s face. Beathan was his elder by two years, but it had been a long time since either of them could have been called children.

Mor felt Beathan knew more of the world than he did — Beathan had been as far as Drogheda in the past after all — but also felt there was a skein of wickedness over the man. The idea of gambling was bad enough, but Mor’s certainty that even if he were to partake — which he never would — he would be cheated anyway angered him.

I’ll go, you slothful cur, he said hotly as he pushed past Beathan to get to the water’s edge. The strong grip of a hand on his arm stopped him, and Mor turned to see Beathan’s reddened face close to his own.

Suit yourself, little man, he spat, but you don’t ever call me that again! Mor was frightened but did his best not to show it. He tugged his arm free.

Let go of me, he said, hoping it carried the same weight with Beathan the other man’s voice had just carried with him. Beathan wore a thin smile and Mor knew it hadn’t. Why don’t you walk the bank and make sure this is the only blockage, he said weakly and then turned to wade out into the icy water.

I’ll do whatever I want, came grumbling from behind him. Mor didn’t look back and though he wanted to act like the water was fine, he couldn’t help but yelp and shiver head to toe at the shock of the cold on his inner thighs. A smug laugh rose from the bank and still Mor didn’t turn. He trudged on to the middle of the river where the mass of debris was. It was very hard at that moment not to think ill of Beathan, but Mor did his best. No good would come of it. Chancing a glance to the bank, he saw Beathan was wandering along disinterestedly to check for other dams.

Mor’s hands were red and frozen by the time he freed enough of the branches to let the water flow freely again. The current was much stronger now, increasing with each large branch he tugged free, and he worried about getting swept off his feet and getting into difficulty. He hadn’t thought this far into the job when he walked into the river alone. He should have perhaps tied himself off to one of the sturdier trees. It was too late for that now. Beathan would have a great laugh to see him wade out, tie himself to a tree and then have to wade back in for the last couple of branches. He could probably leave the rest now as the water was flowing well again, but he didn’t like to leave the job only mostly done. Besides, it would likely be him who had to come back and fix it again if he didn’t clear it completely now.

Mor planted his feet in the sludgy bed of the river and leaned forward into the current. With a great heave, he pushed at a large branch until it moved a little and then he dropped his shoulder into the water and heaved it up. It fell loose from its perch and suddenly the flow of water over Mor was almost enough for him to lose his balance. He stood up straight, bouncing from one foot to the other as he tried to regain the bank. For a very scary moment, it seemed as though he was stuck in place, jumping forwards but landing in the same spot in the river, but then he felt the level of water around him dip and he was soon stepping out into the worn trail on the bank.

Just as he cleared the water, Mor slipped on the muddy ground and thudded into the earth. At the same moment, a terrible booming growl shook his heart. He scrambled away from the sound and turned to look back across the river where he felt it had come from. His hot breath rose before his eyes, but nothing was moving on the far side. The tree line was sparse. Whatever it had been was big, he’d never heard anything like it before in his life.

Mor jumped to his feet quickly, thinking the worst for Beathan, but the man was approaching casually from upstream.

Did you hear that? Mor called to him, still scanning the trees.

What are blathering on about? Beathan said coming up to him.

Something growled behind me, sounded big. Beathan looked to where Mor gazed and then shook his head.

I think you’ve gone a little mad from being dunked in that cold water, he said.

No, I’m sure I heard it. It scared me. Beathan shook his head in a way Mor took as dismissive. There was no talking to this fella. Did you see any more blockages? he asked, half hoping there was so that he could have the pleasure of making Beathan go in the river this time.

No, looks like you’ve cleared it.  Just then, another log lifted and keeled with a loud moan from where Mor had cleared. They both looked to it and Beathan laughed. There’s your wild growl now!

Mor didn’t say anything, but he couldn't help but nod in agreement. He felt very foolish now being scared of wood shifting in the water.

We better be getting back to the village, he said. The cold was getting inside him now, and he could feel the bad aches that would come of it in the morning. All he wanted was dry clothes and to stand by a fire for a while. He couldn’t feel his fingers and pain from the cold stung his inner thighs.

You’ve been given a well-earned opportunity for some rest, and you want to go running back to be told you didn’t do a good enough job? Beathan jeered.

That’s not how it is, Mor said, but in his heart, he knew it was. Tristan, the village leader wasn’t one for lavishing praise. Any job he didn’t carry out himself could only be underdone, or at best adequate. Beathan didn’t say anything, he just looked at him with raised eyebrows.

I need to get out of these clothes, Mor said.

Another few minutes won’t do you any harm. We can go look beyond to the Red Scowl now that we’re so close, Beathan said, nodding towards the trees.

Are you mad! Mor exclaimed. No one had gone beyond the Red Scowl since the witch had put a curse on it when she was captured and burned in the village.

I’m not, but I don’t believe in curses, and you shouldn't either.

Whether you believe or not, it is forbidden to go there.

Why? Beathan challenged him. "Do you think that witch