“How do you know?” Someone asked from the crowd. “How do you know any of this? You’re not from here. How do you know anything?”
“It’s a demon from Uberlin!” Someone Hadrian did not recognize shouted.
“You can’t stop it!” A woman on the right yelled. “Grouping together could just make killing us that much easier.”
“It doesn’t want to kill you all at once and it isn’t a demon,” Hadrian assured the villagers.
“How do you know?”
“It kills only one or two, why? If it can tear apart Theron Wood’s house, or rip the roof off Mae Drundel’s home in seconds, it could easily destroy this whole village in one night, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t because it isn’t trying to kill you all. It’s killing for food. The beast isn’t a demon; it’s a predator.” The villagers considered this and while they paused, Hadrian continued, “What I have heard about this creature is that no one has ever seen it and no victim has survived. Well, that doesn’t surprise me at all. How do you expect to survive when you sit alone in the dark just waiting to be eaten? No one has ever seen it because it doesn’t want to be seen. Like any predator, it conceals itself until it springs and like a predator, it hunts the weakest prey; it looks for the stray, the young, the old, or the sick. All of you have been dividing yourselves up into tidy little meals. You’ve made yourselves too convenient to resist. If we group together it might prefer to hunt a deer or a wolf that night instead of us.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if no one has seen it because it is a demon and can’t be seen? It could be an invisible spirit that feeds on terror. Isn’t that right, deacon?”
“Ah—well—” the deacon began.
“It could be, but it isn’t,” Hadrian assured them.
“How do you know?”
“Because my partner saw it last night.”
This caught the group by surprise and several conversations broke out at once. Hadrian spotted Pearl sitting on the grass staring at him. Several asked questions at once and Hadrian waved at them to quiet down.
“What did it look like?” a woman with a sunburned face and a white kerchief over her head asked.
“Since I didn’t see it, I would prefer Royce tell you himself. He’ll be back before dark.”
“How could he have seen anything in the dark?” one of the older farmers asked skeptically. “I looked outside when I heard the scream and it was as black as the bottom of that well ’yer standing on. There’s no way he could have seen anything.”
“He saw the pig!” Tad Bothwick shouted.
“What’s that, boy?” Dillon McDern asked.
“The pig, in our house last night,” Tad said excitedly. “It was all dark and the pig ran, but he saw it and caught him.”
“That’s right,” Russell Bothwick recalled. “We had just put the fire out and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but this fellow caught a running pig. Maybe he did see something.”
“The point is,” Hadrian went on, “we’ll all stand a better chance of survival if we stick together. Now the deacon has graciously invited all of us to join him behind the protection of walls and a solid roof. I think we should listen to his wisdom and start making plans to resettle and gather wood before the evening arrives. We still have plenty of time to build up strong bonfires.”
They were looking at Hadrian now and nodding. There were still those that looked unconvinced, but even the skeptics appeared hopeful. Small groups were forming, talking, planning.
Hadrian sat back down and ate. He was not a fan of blood pudding and stayed with the smoked fish, which was wonderful.
“I’ll bring the oxen over,” he heard McDern say. “Brent, you go bring ’yer wagon and fetch ’yer axe too.”
“We’ll need shovels and Went’s saw,” Vince Griffin said. “He always kept it sharp.”
“I’ll send Tad to fetch it,” Russell announced.
“Is it true?” Hadrian looked up from his plate to see Pearl standing before him. Her face was just as dirty as the day before. “Did ’yer friend—did he really catch a pig in the dark?”
“If you don’t believe me, you can ask him tonight.”
Looking over the little girl’s head, he spotted Thrace. She was sitting alone on the ground down the trail past the Caswell’s graves. He noticed her hands wiping her cheeks. He set his empty plate on the table, smiled at Pearl and walked over. Thrace did not look up so he crouched down beside her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she shook her head, hiding her face with her hair.
Hadrian glanced around the trail and then back up at the villagers. The women were putting away the uneaten food as the men gathered tools, all of them chattering quickly.
“Where’s your father. I saw him earlier.”
“He went back home,” she said sniffling.
“What did he say to you?”
“I told you it’s alright.” She stood up, brushed off her dress, and wiped her eyes. “I should help with the cleaning, excuse me.”
———
Hadrian entered the clearing and once more faced the remains of the Wood’s farmhouse. The roofing poles listed to one side, framing splintered, thatch scattered—this is what shattered dreams look like. The farm felt cursed, haunted by ghosts, only one of the ghosts was not at home. There was no sign of the old farmer and the scythe rested, abandoned, up against the ruined wall. Hadrian took the opportunity to peer inside at the shattered furniture, broken cupboards, torn clothes, and blood stains. A single chair stood in the center of the debris beside a wooden cradle.
Theron Wood came up from the river a few moments later carrying a shoulder yoke with two buckets full of water hanging from the ends. He did not hesitate when he spotted Hadrian standing before the ruins of his house. He walked right by. He set the buckets down and began pouring them into three large jugs.