Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection by J. Thorn

laughed and shook his head, wondering if the Barren would provide a
safe haven or simply be the final destination to succumb to the end of this
place.
    Samuel put the
summit behind him. He crept down the mountainside, switching back and forth on
the path in a constant descent. He lost sight of the horizon and the
perspective of direction, and hoped to remain focused on reaching the Barren,
and Major, and whatever stood beyond that. By the time Samuel reached the
valley floor, his muscles ached. He felt the sweat clinging to his clothes and
robbing his body of heat as the exertion slowed him down. He tipped his
forehead underneath his left arm and sniffed. His nose could not detect the
faintest scent.
    Samuel had
walked a few hundred yards on the path stretching into the valley floor when
the landscape began to change. As he came down the mountain, the trees
reappeared in greater number and proximity. The trail narrowed until it was
barely wide enough for him to pass. The massive, deciduous trees gave way to
low-hanging weeping willows and their long trails of thin leaves. He identified
Spanish moss on the trunks of several, which confirmed that he had in fact
reached the marsh that Major had mentioned. Samuel drew a deep breath and
caught the slightest hint of brackish water and rotting vegetation. He drew
another to confirm it was real.
    The Reversion
must unwind from one direction of the locality to the other, he thought.
    With the hope
that he was outpacing the ominous cloud approaching the summit, Samuel decided
to rest. He could no longer regulate day and night, as the light source in this
world had burnt out like an old incandescent bulb in a lonely room, spilling
the last feeble rays into eternal darkness. He laid the rucksack at his feet
and looked over a shoulder at a pile of loose branches near a rock. He gathered
them up and ran a hand over the surface, detecting a hint of moisture, but not
enough to keep it from burning. He was not sure if he was going to need the
light or the heat, but creating a fire for his camp felt like the right thing
to do. Samuel arranged the twigs in an A-frame design and removed the lighter
from his pocket. He had bent down low and rocked his thumb back on the flint
when a voice broke the heavy silence.
    “I wouldn’t do
that if I were you.”
    ***
    Samuel spun
around, expecting to see Major. He saw nothing but the faint outline of the
willows standing guard over the marsh. He shook his head and pulled his thumb
back again, this time sure he could ignore the phantom voice in his head.
    “Don’t do that.”
    Samuel turned
his head toward the voice. He watched as the outline of a human appeared to
rise from the marsh. Water dripped from the ends of patchy strings of hair as
the form walked toward Samuel. Strips of clothing that had once covered a body
with style dangled from pointed elbows and knees. It was not until the person
stood before Samuel that he was able to gaze upon the face.
    The man stood
with the dying light reflecting off of his exposed bone. Clumps of white
covered his face where skin had once stretched over his skull. He had two black
holes for eyes, and his mouth was parted in a demonic grin.
    “It speeds up
the Reversion. I don’t know why, but it does,” said the man standing before
Samuel.
    “Okay,” replied
Samuel.
    “I’m dead,”
said the man.
    Samuel shifted
his legs and stood to face the man. He detected a whiff of decay, which disappeared
quickly. The flotsam from the marsh clung to the dead man’s frame like a cape
hung from bony shoulders.
    “The dead don’t
speak. Or walk.”
    “They do here.”
    The dead man
moved toward the stack of twigs. He sat on the ground with a wet plop. His
hand, stripped of skin, motioned for Samuel to do the same.
    “Let’s talk,”
he said.
    Samuel nodded
and sat on the other side of the woodpile, never taking his eyes off the dead
man. “What should I call you?” he asked.
    “I cannot reveal
my name yet,”