CHAPTER 5
I mumble, aware of a few eyes already peering from a few people I recognise.
The brute gatekeeper; always eyeing me even miles before I set foot anywhere near the village grounds. Dark skin masked behind his long unshaven beard cum moustache, he is whom many would fear with death in his stare and his trustee shotgun in his arms constantly. No living could escape his gaze, as sharp as a hawk, even from miles away. But I’ve grown immune to his stares though not his insane diet: cannibalism.
“Howdy doin’ ther’ Hann...” smiles the gatekeeper. “Yer dunwanna go en ther’ now wuddya? I bet it’ll be your worst mistake yer ever make.” He chuckles half to himself.
“I wouldn’t be afraid of you, sir.” I reply coldly.
“Wha-?! It’s not me I’m talking Hann, it’s yer daddykins, hun.”
“My father?”
“Yesss. He’s back. And not in the best of hisss moods...” he turns his head facing the village entrance, a long street bisecting every building owned by the Nikov’s tribe. Not in the least vast nor clean a pathway but accessible nonetheless to almost every premises here. Dusty and unevenly lain is its nature unchanged since the Big War. Further up ahead, on the third right corner from the last, is the High Chief Levokich residence. As wide as the den where I’m living, it was somewhat small compared to that of the other seven tribes of the land but by far the most organised.
A pile of dust flies past, angling slightly near my face. I let out a choke and groan inwardly while covering my face with my rough hands.
The gatekeeper salivates for an instant, his eyes turning into a hunger strike ready to pounce on his prey: me.
I take away my hand slowly as if trying to catch him for being a naughty little boy in his mischief and continue on my walk into the place where I should belong, my home.
I heard a growl of dissatisfaction behind me after a few steps forward. I cannot help but allow myself a rare smile spread proudly on my dry lips. The earlier tears has long since dried due to the dry weather bringing draught this way and my stature/composure to appear fearless, not showing any signs of weakness.
Moving on, there are a few folks sitting under the shades of their homes clearly trying to enjoy the warm sun.
Several men I recognise are the companies of my father and the frequent goers of the bar nearby. Dressed in tattered clothes similar to mine, laziness paints their unwashed faces as they doze under the evening’s sun unknown to their surroundings where rain is just a few hours away, still out in the plains. I only notice this because the bones in my body had accustomed themselves to the primal weather daily.
And I feel rain is closing in on the village.
As I inch deeper into the village, there are a few more eyes set upon me, following my fresh young scent of my warm roasted blood. I let my eyes linger on the source of those pairs of eyes.
Mr Kimmel, the innkeeper is sitting in his usual place throughout the year: behind the counter of Nikov’s Inn Please Stay and, like always, he is counting his money by the penny and ounce. He is probably the kindest cannibal in the tribe I know. He wears a welcoming smile on his face as long as the moon exists topped with a worn brown hat that was a gift from his predecessors, his father and his father before who owned this business. Even his gesture is so friendly you’d want to stay with him for as long as time would allow especially in his iron-pressed green tunic completed with a brown vest matching his hat and long trousers to protect from the cold and the sun’s glaring shine not that he goes out often. But, despite all this display, he is still a cannibal. Often enough times he would lure in his prey with his undivided hospitality and finish it off before you could scream for help. See, his chants leaves his prey paralysed for a moment enough for him to feast upon them before they could make any moves to escape.
His wife, Mrs Kimmel, is no better, or worse you should say. She is the bartender in Kim’s Lounge and Barr and one of the most respected women of the tribe. Best friends with Ilbmu, my mother since infancy, she is one of the best huntress of all cannibals. She hunts human meat with skill and compassion, like my mother. She is one of those rare cannibals who don’t kill her own family for food.
Probably the reason why I’m still alive today.
Serving pints and pints of booze all night and day, she is a hardworking woman which is hard to come by for centuries now. In her stature, she wore a deep sea blue dress laden with a strong perfume that defines her wholly and a lacy apron for a finishing touch with a few matching jewelleries here and there. To top it off, she is the idol and envy of women everywhere imaginable. Noting her not too old age of twenty-two, sometimes she earns extra money by getting laid. Mr Kimmel didn’t mind so long as she is alive for him to get into her pants later, he is practically OK.
I gulp when about five men and two women, the Fearful triad they called themselves, come into view from the corner of my eyes. They look drained like the night of drinking and wasting away before had taken a toll on them. I can feel their eyes following every muscle contraction in my body as I walk past them towards my mother’s house. Tattoos filled almost every part of their body; I’m not sure if they are dirt or smudged ink blotches caused by fights and the aging of their cheap tattoos. Bloodthirsty eyes are dawning on me while each mouth prepare themselves for a treat that wouldn’t last long seeing their hunger for human meat, especially young human like I am which was what happened to my other siblings—
Oh shit! A low thudding sound echoes from the ground audible only to the calm mind is slowly making its way nearer and closer to me.
I break into a run.
Soon the Fearful triad is well on my back. I can hear their panting and their hunger noises they make each time a decent meal arrives. I may have outsmarted them in the last round but having all seven at me at once now is driving me out of my wits! I don’t think I can escape them this time what with ALL of them are after me!
In previous encounters, there’ve only been one or two or five at most that gave chase and I narrowly escaped with my life hanging on a thread no thicker than a seamstress’s thinnest thread. It is almost as if I’m an egg balancing on the horn of a charging bull. Hell, is that even possible?!
Luck has opened its doors once again.
Rounding up a corner, I find an open door stood ajar, creeping with loneliness, and heads straight in without any second thoughts. If the owner’s more hostile than the seven who are after me, then I’ll deal with it.
I bang the door shut and lock it tight. I creep in deeper the dark room with little rays of light seeping in through between the wooden cracks of the hut just in time to hear footsteps outside.
“Hey! Where did she go?” a woman shouts.
“I don’t know,” says a guy with a voice very close to a girl’s. “She just—“
“Hush now.” A deeper voice interrupted the other softer one. “I think...”
“By the mightiest Thor, she’s gone!” continues the guy with a soft feminine voice.
“No...”
Suddenly, the door begins to vibrate on its hinges.
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Han Chronicles
AdventureA prey lays limp in her arms as she gnaws at its tender sometimes tough meat, licking all the little bits that scattered around slurping every drop of blood that leaked out from the corpse. Hunger fast subsiding, this is one small meal that never la...
