The Imp and Other Tales

The Raft Ride Into Hell

Katigorn looked at the Oersin a moment, then turned back around to again scan around for any sign of trouble.

After several minutes he whispered over his shoulder, What is it? he whispered.

We be getting closer m’lad. The amulet has nigh burned the hairs from my chest it’s so hot, Fyr said, a feral look in his eyes as he looked around, ready for anything. As if in answer, the water started to roil, the raft lurching in the water as if they were in white water. As one, the swords of both men cleared their scabbards, the metal gleaming in the noonday sun.

By the seven beards of Shamus’ wife! Katigorn exclaimed, for out of the water black arms came, webbed fingered hands grabbing hold of the sides of the raft. Sun glistened off of shiny, hairless skin. Katigorn looked around his and noticed at least fifteen creatures had grabbed the raft and were pulling themselves out of the water.

Ah, it does a heart good to have a nice little fight once in a while, his grin was savage. The creatures pulled themselves onto the raft, their heads hideous to look upon. They had no noses, their cheekbones were sunken in giving them a skull-like appearance. The bulbous eyes were filmed over by the same black skin that was all over the rest of their bodies. But the most hideous feature of their faces were their mouths. The mouth of each of these creatures was a gaping maw, apparently jawless, rows of tiny razor like teeth curving backwards. They made sucking noises and the mouths would open and expand, the teeth pointing outwards. Thick, viscous saliva streamed out of their mouths and hung in long streamers as they approached the men on either end of the raft. Their bodies were thin and elongated, giving them an emaciated appearance. Muscles appeared to be small and the skin stretched taut over them.

I wouldn’t let those teeth touch you, Fyr! Katigorn warned, There’s no telling what kind of infection you could get from those!

Aye! Maybe even poison. Fyr responded, swinging mightily with his hand-and-a half sword. The blade bit deeply into the thick hide of the creature that had reached for the huge man, but didn’t sever him in two as it would a normal man. The blade stuck in the spine of the creature that was still trying to grab him.

The Imp and Other Tales

by

The Imp and Other Tales

By the Saber

Published by Saber-Books, Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 the Saber

Smashwords Edition, License Notes (Note: if you copy and paste this into your manuscript, be sure to remove the paragraph returns that may appear at the end of each line) This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my beautiful wife, Irina, who introduced me to people that pointed me in the right direction to get my books published.

Table of Contents

That Which Devours – Tales of the Cree Medicine Man, Part 1

Tales of the Cree Medicine Man, Part 2

The Imp

Interplay

The Weird of the Oersin

The Altar

Crass

Paranoid

Other Books From the Author

About the Author

That Which Devours

(Tales of the Cree Medicine Man

Part 1)

Go to the Table of Contents

The wind howled as the door to the cabin swung open, snow blowing in, as if the snow were desperately trying to get into the cabin to get warm. Ben came in followed by another who was bundled up in a thick wolf skin jacket, hood drawn. The door was swiftly shut to keep out the invading cold. Ben walked to the fireplace at the back of the single room cabin, hands thrust toward the fire to restore the flow of blood to his half-frozen fingers. The lively dance of the blazing fire cast its welcome warmth and Ben massaged his hands to help it in its work.

The other men in the cabin looked up at the second man who still stood by the door. Harry Williams was standing in the corner, leaning as if holding up the wall. There were six men at the table, gathered around a map spread on the table like a table cloth, some of the edges hanging off the edges. The man standing in the middle of the group, a husky man in his early forties with unruly brown hair, slightly turned his head to talk to Ben who was now behind him while still keeping his eye on the man by the door.

That him? Scott Hansen asked.

Yeah, that’s him, Ben answered, vigorously rubbing feeling back into his numb fingers. He turned and gestured to the man standing quietly by the door. Scott, I’d like you to meet Tommy Bear Shadow. Tommy, Scott Hansen. Scott walked around the table and extended his hand. The old Indian took his hand in a surprisingly iron vise-like grip and turned his hand palm up, then turning it over one then the other, his eyes examining every contour. When satisfied, he released his iron-like grip. Scott was shocked. He looked at the Indian, whose face was mostly covered in shadow cast from the hood of his wolf hide coat. The firelight would only push the shadows back far enough to reveal a very old, leathery-skinned face, lined from time, the elements, and a hard-won wisdom. The old man’s eyes seemed to peer into Scott’s soul.

You’ve never shed man’s blood, but your future isn’t going to be your past. But you will do so without blame. Your soul, though not pure, is full of a hunger for rightness. You will need that for what you will face, White Man, if you wish to survive.

Scott blinked at the Indian and just looked blankly at him as he paused. Ben turned from the fire and looked at Scott.

He’s like that. He came out of the woods to meet me and said I was to bring him to you, before I ever said a word to him. He said he’d been waiting for me for four winters, and that my youth was my saving grace.

Everybody turned to look at the old man. Scott regained his composure and walked closer to the Indian.

Care for a seat? he asked, pulling an old wooden chair from the table. The Indian looked at him and smiled amused. He sat in the chair proffered him.

You’re the medicine man we were told about in town? The Cree? The old man pulled out a long-stem pipe from the inside of his coat. He then produced a pouch of tobacco from the same source and started packing his pipe as if he hadn’t heard Scott’s question. His gnarled fingers deftly packed the bowl with the brown, shredded leaves, each movement slow, precise. Bob Staley, nicknamed Smiley, was an impatient man.

Hey, old man! Did you hear Scott? Smiley asked harshly. Scott put a restraining hand on Smiley’s arm. The old man never even looked up from his task. Scott looked at Smiley, then the others there.

My grand dad was like this, he explained. He always had to finish what he was doing before he would acknowledge your presence… He said it built character for younger people to wait a minute or two. The Indian still moved methodically while the others waited. Smiley and Daryl Shandly were antsy and nervously shifting their weight from one foot to the other, restless. The old man neither sped up his pace nor slowed it down, but continued until he had finished. Then, satisfied, he lit the pipe with a stick he lit from the fireplace, puffing until the thick, rich aroma filled the room. He sat back down, and looked up at Scott.

Your grandfather was a very wise man, White Man. Very wise. And you have learned from that wisdom. He smiled a partly toothless smile, then drew deeply on his pipe, the rich aroma wafting around the room, seeming to emanate from the old man himself. The cabin was soon filled with the scent of his pipe, the aroma seeming to calm everybody there, soothing them. Including Smiley.

To answer your question, yes. I am the Cree medicine man Tommy Bear Shadow. I heard of you seeking me, so I came to meet you here. I knew some years ago you would be here. The winds tell many things, if you know how to listen to them. I heard you were finally coming, so I came out here to meet you. What is it you need from an old man like me? he asked, though his face appeared as if he already knew the answer.

We’re looking for a mad animal. A bear murdered my father, and even though the game wardens are looking for it, I want to catch the bastard myself! Scott replied, his words full of venom and bile, as if he would vomit them out.

He was murdered? I thought you said a bear killed him. Bears do not understand the concept of murder, replied the Indian, puffing on his pipe. Scott looked down, shook his head, not able to speak. He was trembling.

Man, like he was ripped to shreds! exclaimed Billy Raymond, Scott’s cousin and best friend. It even ate part of him. But it ran off when Uncle Lou fired at it. We heard the shot and came running. Uncle Lou was ghost white, and he was sitting on the ground next to Scott’s pa’s body. He had a wild look in his eyes when we got there. Said some sorta bear just killed his brother. We looked for the body of the bear, but couldn’t see anything, just the bare-footed footprints of a large man in the snow and some blood speckled here and there. Uncle Lou said he knew he’d shot it at least three, maybe four times, but it didn’t even slow the damn thing down. It took off into the woods with one of Uncle Jack’s legs. Found it later, most if it eaten. We followed the trail into the woods, but lost it at night, after it started to snow again. Billy’s eyes shown with a feral, hate-filled fire. He was like my own pa! he exclaimed.

Tommy Bear Shadow’s face seemed to close in on itself as he sat quietly, furiously puffing on his pipe. The game wardens are looking for it, too, you said? he asked after several minutes. They are not looking. I know this. That which killed your kinsman is something that the wardens in these parts won’t follow. It’s more than they know what to deal with.

What?! asked Scott. More than the wardens can deal with? What are you talking about?

Have you seen any sign of them since you left your home? Tommy asked. You don’t think they can track well enough?

All stood silently, waiting for the aged man to continue. What you seek is not a bear. It’s not a man either… or it isn’t anymore. What you seek shall soon seek you. And if you aren’t prepared, you will soon be the prey, not the hunter. He again puffed on his pipe, gazing at the roaring fire in the hearth. The flames danced in their fashion, sparks suddenly rising and disappearing into the chimney as the oak crackled.

My grandfather was cousin to Jack Fiddler, a warrior who knew full well the thing which you hunt. Jack died having killed fourteen of these murderous beasts. My father was a young brave back then, and I came into this life only one winter after his last killing. I grew up knowing the tales and great deeds of my kinsman. He had killed the last of their kind, and this region was at peace for many years. Then about three years ago, one of your airplanes went down in the middle of a strong snow storm. Only one survived. It’s that one which you now seek. He puffed on his pipe as if there was nothing more to be said. Smiley was antsy again. The Indian smiled to himself and puffed a few more times.

The survivor, he began again, was trapped in the machine. Everyone around him had died in the crash. The snows were relentless for three weeks. He had no food, only water from the snow he melted. He became hungry, and the melted snow didn’t help him kill that pain. The snow had buried him, making rescue difficult. He broke windows out of the plane, but had been buried under so much snow he wasn’t able to dig his way out. Plus the windows were too small. He was there for probably two weeks before he did that which in these parts draws a curse upon you. He started to eat the remains of his dead companions. Eating to survive. Eating to live. That was when he was no longer a man.

Yeah, he was a dad-gone ghoul! barked Sonny Litman, the oldest in the group, next to the Indian. The Indian looked at Sonny for a moment.

Of sorts, only more damned, Tommy said. He became a Wendigo.

A WHAT?! Smiley barked. You gotta be kiddin’ me, man! We’re here on serious business and here you go regaling us with stories of childhood bogeymen!

A wendy what? Scott asked.

Wendigo, Scott, Smiley snapped. It’s like the Canadian Bogeyman, or something. It likes to eat people, and attacks like some sort of starvin’ animal.

It’s that and much more, Fiery White Man, Tommy said. And it’s no bedtime story. It’s real, and it’s out there now. Its appetite is ever more insatiable. With each killing, it needs to eat more, and more….

It’s a buncha crap, is what it is, Injun! Smiley spat. It’s just some psycho out there, and WE’RE gonna nail him!

Tommy puffed on his pipe, looking into the crackling embers. Scott looked at Smiley, then at the old man. It was obvious to Scott that the old man believed in what he was saying, but it was equally obvious that Smiley didn’t. Scott had to side with Smiley. Monsters eating people did seem like a bedtime story to scare children.

It’s OK if you don’t believe, for that has no bearing, Tommy said while looking into the fire, but whether you believe or not doesn’t make a thing real or unreal. What is, IS. Your belief doesn’t change that. But unbelief always pays a higher price on the path to belief than if you simply yield to it from the beginning. But so how it is with men! Boys learn these lessons early for they believe much more easily. However, you are not boys. You have gained some wisdom from life, but hear this --- don’t believe, but carry yourselves with the caution of men that do. This will help you survive. And if the Wendigo does not exist, what harm could come from a being a little more aware of the world around you? The men looked at each other , some rolling their eyes in disbelief, while others nodded the heads at the old man’s wisdom.

Scott was thoughtful. Smiley walked in front of him, a little arrogance in his stride. He looked at Scott, bending until he could peer up into Scott’s face. Smiley looked Scott dead in the eye, then stood up and back.

Your buyin’ this load of crap, ain’t ya? a sneer spread across his rough features. There were times when Smiley could be an ass, and this was definitely one of them. Smiley would soon start in on the old Indian, and Scott didn’t want that. After all, he had asked for the old man’s help and so Tommy was his guest. He decided to stop the problem before it began.

Smiley, Scott said softly, I think that we need to be cautious. I personally find the Wendigo bit hard to swallow, but we ARE dealing with something that’s extremely dangerous. So I feel a good, well thought out strategy would be a good idea, that’s all. Mr. Bear Shadow brought up a good point about being cautious, and I think we should plan our methods a little better than if we were hunting squirrels. Don’t you?

Smiley glared at him a long moment, his squinty blue eyes rife with anger. The large wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek danced as he chewed furiously on it. He stood up and zipped his jacket.

I’m going out for some air. You can make your plans without me. He headed for the door. You busy-asses can fill me in on the details later. With that, he left and slammed the door behind him.

A moment of silence, then Scott turned to look at the others there. Shall we figure out what we are going to do? he asked. Daryl was still looking at the door.

You think it’s OK if Smiley’s out there alone? I mean what if that thing finds him?

Then that’s what he gets for being such an asshole, Mark Dunford said. Mark was a young man in his late twenties. He was normally quiet, calm, and seldom ever spoke out. Tommy chuckled while still looking into the flames dancing in the hearth. Scott even found himself smiling. He’d been friends with Smiley for better than ten years and he knew how difficult Smiley could be at times. But a more loyal friend you could never ask for. When all else failed, Smiley was always there.

OK, now let’s figure out just what we’re going to do and how, Scott said. Harry, how many bear traps do you bring?

I’ve only got seven, but I got another dozen smaller-jawed traps for wolves, the short, balding man replied.

Excellent! We’ll track this guy down, but we’ll set traps around our campsite at night. I’ve got some trip-flares also, so sneaking into our camp at night will be extremely difficult. Now we…

Two gunshots followed by a scream outside the cabin interrupted the meeting. Another blood-curdling scream. Everyone in the cabin froze for just a moment. Then chairs hit the floor, jackets were thrown on, and weapons grabbed in quick order as each man hurriedly ran out of the cabin into the frigid Canadian winter air. The cabin was in a small clearing and the area surrounding it had a few trees here and there.

Soon, though, the area was heavily wooded. The group started following the only fresh set of tracks that led into the woods for about thirty yards. Crimson splotches in the snow were all over the tracks, which led behind a particularly large oak. The party advanced cautiously, every sense heightened, hearts hammering like tribal drums in the breasts of the men. Slowly they advanced, and when they were a scant fifteen feet away, something flew from behind the tree. Ben Johnson and Harry Williams fired simultaneously, blowing the body of the rabbit to pieces, the scarlet spray as the body was ripped apart painting the snow on the trees and ground.

Laughter could be heard from behind the tree. Scott flipped the safety of his shotgun to on and lowered the barrel. Everyone else kept on the ready.

You know, Smiley, sometimes you can be such a pain in my hind end! Scott spoke loudly. Smiley laughed even harder. Scott turned in irritation and stormed back to the cabin. The rest looked as Smiley came from behind the tree, still laughing heartily.

Harry and Daryl started laughing, also, as they turned and headed back to the cabin. The rest muttered very unflattering comments.

Tommy was still seated by the fire, his eyes never leaving the flames and their dance as the men came back into the cabin. Scott looked at the back of the old man’s still-hooded head.

Strange humor your friend has, he said, never turning his gaze from the fire.

Yeah, but he’s a good man to have around where there’s trouble, Scott replied, even though he can be a royal pain in the fanny.

I wish he’d grow up at least a little, Billy commented.

Anyway, guys, Scott said, let’s get back to the business of killin’ us a bear. No offense Mr. Bear Shadow, but I find it easier to believe.

I understand, Tommy replied.

But I know you’ve seen these kinds of killings before, and probably know something in the way of how to hunt this beast.

There’s no need to hunt it. The Indian sat impassively after saying this, just puffing on his pipe.

WHAT? Scott asked in surprise, a touch of anger in his exclamation.

You don’t need to hunt it. It will come hunting for you, White Man. You and all of your friends, then for me. So you don’t need to hunt it, for you are not the hunter, but the prey.

Another shotgun blast, another scream. All froze, not sure if it were real or another joke. As if in answer to their thoughts, a large thump was heard against the outside of the cabin, close to the sole window in the place. All eyes looked at the wall, then the window. Smiley seemed to just appear in the window, his face twisted in agony. Blood started oozing from the corner of his mouth. Then his eyes opened wide, bugged out even, and he let out a sound that was more the cry of a damned soul than something from a human’s living throat. He was sliding up the window a little and then Smiley’s chest and the window it pressed on exploded into the room.

Two sets of giant claws stuck out from the middle of Smiley’s chest and pulled outward, brutally ripping his body into pieces. A huge misshapen head was seen behind the torn body of their friend. Matted fur, huge serrated teeth - fangs actually, large wild, hungry eyes that gleamed with an intelligence far above most animals. Its mouth opened and it bit Smiley’s head cleanly from his shoulders. It let out a horrifying roar, then swiftly turned and ran, just as shotgun blasts blew the rest of the window out. The screams and angry shouts from the men could barely be heard over the thunder of the shotguns.

Quickly running out the door, Scott and his friends were fumbling in their pockets for more rounds and loading their guns on the run. Smiley’s body was gone, but the crimson-stained snow