Mythica

The Clearers

"Ah shit, he's dead." A very muddy, brown combat boot prodded the shoulder of a lifeless corpse on the floor of the wooden cabin. A gentle rain tapped the windows and a light breeze caused the old wood to creak and groan under the weight of it's guests. There was an overwhelming scent of mold and rot in the air, made worse by the damp conditions outside.

Another set of black boots climbed over an overthrown sofa eaten through by some animal and knelt beside the body, turning it over to examine the face. A hollow, grisly look of death stared back. There was a putrid scent rising from the freshly disturbed body, and some of the flesh hung loose from the cheeks and chin.

"They got 'em then. Old Ale never stood a chance." 

"Surprised they came all the way out here for him. He must've died a few months ago at least. Maybe more."

"Well, that just means there'll be more like him around here. Better get to assessing the damage."

Elkie began walking around, kicking away rubble and objects with her feet as she went. There wasn't too much worth salvaging from the rubble; a few photos hung limply from their nails in the wall, displaying happy old memories of Ale and his late wife, Maira. The hall to the bedroom and bathroom was littered with cabinets and shredded up bedding. There was blood on almost everything, showing how the scene escalated from room to room. Walking in the bedroom, Elkie picked up a few pieces of clothing scattered on the floor that belonged to the old man. There wasn't anything of value around anymore, she knew. This was how it always was. A house; it's inhabitants brutally murdered; with everything they owned picked through until there was nothing left behind but memories. Old junk the Faeryn had no use for.

Kian was still in the living room with the body, sorting through some old belongings. There were countless photo albums on the shelves filled with scenic portraits of a jubilant couple and their grandkids. A jewelry box lie open and picked apart, the mirror on the inside shattered. "Jesus...." he mouthed as he moved a photo frame whose picture was indiscernible from blood caked on the glass, obscuring it from view.

"Found something." Elkie's voice rang through the house from the other room. She appeared back through the hallway, holding a black leather journal in her hand. "Seems like he kept a diary behind his dresser they didn't find." 

"Anything good in it?" Kian asked, reaching for it.

"I dunno, I just skimmed it over. Saw some stuff about Maira and his family. Could be something incriminating in there the Faeryns could've used, though. You never can be too careful." She said, handing it over.

"Good thing he kept it in a good spot, then." Kian flipped through it idly. The pages were yellowed with age, but the writing was legible.

"Nothing else from what I can see. We should just clear it and go. Got a lot of work to do," Elkie huffed as she climbed over to the body, lifting it up by it's shoulders. The spot where the body lay untouched for months had darkened and the wood was badly rotted. Kian walked over and helped lift it up by the ankles. They silently carried Ale out in the rain to their truck, where they set him down in the back. Elkie helped Kian wrap him up in a canvas cloth that was numbered 067 with black spray paint. There wasn't time to grieve on the job, but it wasn't often that they knew the person. Old Ale was a farmer who used to come into town to drop off fruit when they were kids. Most of the time, he'd let them get extra for free which they would share during their breaks in school. The days when the threat of death didn't loom over them everyday as it did now, when they didn't have to bury their friends. It all felt so hopeless.

They seemed to both share that same thought now, staring at the mound of cloth that was Old Ale's corpse. "He didn't deserve that." Elkie said quietly. "He was a good man."