Written by Rory Murphy
Content warning: Violence, death, partial nudity, implied sex, people being eaten
Bradley sat in his cell and stared through the bars at the solemn sky. The room was circular, the white brick of the walls stretching several metres above his head before coming to a point. He had been imprisoned at the top of the bastion, in the loneliest cell atop the tallest spire far away from the rest of the prisoners.
A madman, the guards had called him as they dragged him up flight upon flight of stairs. A madman, a sadist, and a traitor to the Crown. They forced extra shackles upon him, with four entire guards accompanying him on the climb. He had taken prisoners to their cells before; he knew what extra guards meant. But he didn’t see the need. As Bradley was dragged through the grounds, he caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle: unfocused eyes, greying unkempt beard, slouched shoulders. What a man to be afraid of.
It had been so long since he had seen home. The war had taken a great deal from everyone, but missing the chance to watch his own flesh and blood grow up had hurt him the most. It had been years since Bradley had sat down with or spent time with his own child. He cast his mind back to that final day.
***
Bradley was sitting by the fireplace when George ran up behind him and tried to scare him. Unfortunately for the boy, Bradley had heard the bedroom door creak open a minute earlier, and he was prepared. The boy laughed and laughed as Bradley suddenly swooped George up in his arms, lifting the child into the air. As he carried George back to his bedroom, Bradley spoke.
‘What are you doing awake at this hour, young man?’
‘I can’t sleep,’ George said between giggles. ‘Can you tell me a story?’
‘Well now, I don’t know.’ Bradley placed the boy back into bed and began tucking him in. ‘What story would you like me to tell?’
George thought for a moment, then said, ‘The fairy one! The fairy one!’
‘Are you sure? You have heard it before you know.”
“Please tell it me, please!” pleaded the boy.
‘Alright,’ said Bradley, smiling at his son. He took a seat on the bed and began the tale.
‘Once upon a time, in a land far from here, there was a hidden village home to magical beings called fairies. They were curious creatures, only as tall as you are now, and they had wings growing from their backs that let them fly. They also lived entirely secluded from the rest of the world.
‘One day, a man stumbled into the village. He had been attacked by a wolf, and was very hurt. The fairies, being the kind creatures they were, rushed to his aid. They tended to his wounds, and gave him food and water, nurturing him back to health until he had completely recovered.
‘Once the man was able to leave the village, he thanked the fairies for their kindness and promised to return one day to repay them. But when the man returned, he brought with him an army and captured the fairies. For you see, the magic used by the fairies to heal the man’s wounds was a power he now craved for himself. So he captured the fairies and caged them, destroying their village just to show them that he was powerful.
‘And, when the last fairy home was burned, and the last creature was caged, the man’s pain began to return. Soon, so too did his wounds. He stumbled, begging the fairies to be healed again. But they did not respond. Finally, the man collapsed in the middle of the destroyed village, bleeding from old wounds and in excruciating pain, and died. The fairies had won, and they lived happily after that. The end.’
George had long since fallen asleep, but Bradley always felt it wrong to leave a story unfinished.
He got up off the bed, walked out of the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
The wooden struts and white daub walls of Bradley’s home dissolved around him, melting back into the stone brick and dirty mortar of the prison cell. He was still there. He wondered how he would tell his son what had happened.
***
The war had been brutal. Bradley’s division had been ambushed by the enemy, leaving many dead and even more injured. They had been on the move for days, stumbling through unmapped territory of dense forests and thick woods, unable to stop for fear of being found and cut down. It was only after three days that the division found the village.
It was bizarre, stumbling into a children’s story. There were two dozen houses carved into enormous trees, with coloured windows and painted doors. As the men wandered into the centre, those doors opened.
Out came the fairies.
They were different from the stories. For one thing, they were the size of a regular person; for another, they were beautiful. Each and every one was feminine in appearance, and stunningly so. Bradley eyed their rosy cheeks, fair skin, flowing hair, hourglass figures. They were scantily clad, protecting their modesty with leaves or grass, covering only the most important areas. It was hard for the tired and wounded men to not stare as the creatures flew over and began to help them. That, or the men were simply too shocked by the enormous wings protruding from their backs to say anything.
There were maybe thirty fairies in total, enough for one to attend to each man. Soon enough, the injured were treated with healing magics, and hungry were fed. Fairies began sorting through their supplies and erecting tents for the tired to sleep in—if there wasn’t room within the fairies’ own homes of course. By nightfall, the entire division was far better off than they had been for weeks, and the fear of being hunted down by the enemy had long since fled.
Amid the nighttime activities, Bradley finally noticed her. She looked near-identical to his wife. Same long black hair, same brown eyes, same smile. At once Bradley’s heart lurched. The war had raged so long, and he had been away from home for so many years. The fairy noticed him staring, and flew right up to him. And the closer she came, the more Bradley saw his wife in her. She smiled at him, and asked if he needed anything. Perhaps he needed to rest for a while? The fairy escorted Bradley to her home, and soon he found himself in bed with her. The night went on, and in all that time Bradley spent with the fairy, making desperate, passionate love to her as recompense for his long years of absence.
He awoke to a scream. And sounds of crackling and breaking. Burning. The fairy beside him was awake too, staring out the window at the village. Bradley rose from the bed and stared for only a moment, then rushed to the front door.
The men… His fellow soldiers, his comrades… his friends… They were torching homes, grabbing fairies, hogtying them. Others were throwing ropes around the fairies trying to fly away, pulling them back down to earth. Some men had grabbed fairies for themselves and were publicly defiling them.
Bradley grabbed his sword and his pistol and stepped out into the village.
Gristle exploded from a soldier’s head as Bradley fired upon him. Others turned towards him with shocked faces. Bradley buried his blade deep in the flesh of two more before they broke out of their stupor. They screamed at him to stop, that they were his comrades, his friends, that they were not the enemy. It did not matter. Bradley slashed their throats and stomachs open, letting their hollow words spill onto the ground alongside their wretched guts. Some tried to run. Some even made it to the treeline. But none escaped. In mere moments, Bradley crossed the village square and cut them down, slicing through their heels and tendons so that they could not walk. Then he brought down his sword and severed their neck.
Bradley did not stop until every single man in the division was executed. When he was done the village was silent—save for the sounds of burning wood. His uniform was so sodden with blood that one could barely tell that it’d once been blue. Bradley wandered the village. His blade dripped gore. His pistol was smoking. There was no-one left.
He had killed them all, leaving their bodies for the grass.
The fairies slowly reappeared. They untied one another from the ropes, passing wraps and leaves as they recovered the bodies. Some were grateful, thanking Bradley for saving them from becoming slaves. Others came up to hug him to show their appreciation. But others kept their distance, whispering to one another and regarding him with wary eyes. When he tried to approach them, those fairies darted away.
The poor creatures began to move the soldiers’ bodies. However, as Bradley watched them, he saw them change. Their fair skin became whiter, their faces more gaunt and pale. Their wings took on a darker hue. Their eyes became black and cold. And their teeth grew sharp and jagged.
Crouched over the fallen soldiers, the fairies began to growl and moan. Bradley saw their heads dipping up and down in rapid pace, matched by rising squelching. When he ventured closer to the fairy who he had spent the night with, his whole body convulsed.
She was eating a soldier.
Bile welled up in Bradley’s mouth and he vomited. A minute passed before he could look up again; by then, all the fairies had chosen their meal. Their groans of gluttonous ecstasy were only matched in volume by the ripping and tearing of muscle and bone. Bradley looked back to his fairy, who was gazing up at him with a twisted grin. Her teeth were stained deep red, and she held aloft a severed arm, offering it to her savior. Bradley stumbled away, falling to his knees by a tree—away from the bloodshed. He looked at the gore-stained blade and discharged pistol in his hands. Then, he wept.
The image would not leave him: his wife devouring the flesh of a man. Her offering replayed again and again until Bradley vomited once more. This time he emptied everything from his stomach until he was dry-retching. When Bradley regained composure, he looked at the sword and gun in his hands. Something had to be done.
Bradley rose from where he had knelt, clutching both weapons tighter than ever. He took first laboured step, and then his next towards the fairies.
***
The next morning, the rest of the army found the village. They saw Bradley amidst the viscera of fairy and man alike, kneeling atop a mound of bodies. The blade in his hand was dull. They took him into custody, dragging him from the front lines back to the capital to face punishment. All the while, rumours spread of the ‘Madman Soldier’ who cut down his entire division in a single night. Nothing was ever said of the fairies. But even as Bradley was hauled up the stairs and flung into his cell, he took some comfort in the fact that the demonic creatures had been destroyed. They would not prey on any man ever again.
Bradley sat in his cell and stared through the bars at the solemn sky. What would his son think of that story?
Author Bio:
Hi,
I’m Rory, a third-year Creative Writing student here at QUT, and part of ScratchThat’s Editorial Board this semester. I mostly write horror, focusing on the gothic and the cosmic, but I’ve recently become interested in the uncanniness of urban horror. My goal when I write is to get under your skin, make you squirm, and leave you questioning what the hell it was you just read. In a good way, of course.
I also work at the Queensland Writers Centre, where I beta-read and facilitate workshops.