The mist still clings to my robe, as we exit the Wilds woodland. We spent an awful night in the gloomy Yellow Spook Tavern & Inn, a blackened stone cottage with pointy roof and aged timber woodwork on a secondary route next to the woodland’s verge. Through the old black door, resembling a burned memory, a bleak sepulchre shaft led us inside the tavern’s only chamber - a roughly 20 by 13 feet space, crammed with a few massive, rough-hewn tables and matching chairs. There we were greeted by a floating odor of rough leaf tobacco and molded wood, faintly hissing from a small hearth that seemed to do little to dispel the chill. Some wayfarers caught us in their grins for a long moment, after which they continued with their vigil. Somebody had unfortunately ‘kicked the bucket’ as we say in Ashville. The corpse, a tall, gaunt man with a face frozen in a grimace, was draped in a threadbare shroud, his hands crossed over his chest as if in mockery of peace, resting on two side-by-side tables. I saw no candles and nobody grieving. Strange affair, indeed. It seemed that the tavern turned itself into a funeral parlor, suiting the community's needs, as we later found out from the inn’s keeper, a filthy man called Vir. A feral creature he was, with a face looking as though it had been carved from a weathered stone, his eyes sunken, his teeth yellowed, and his voice carrying a rasp that made every word sound like a lament. He explained, in an amused tone, that the dead man had been a traveler who had succumbed to some unknown ailment. With no family or friends to claim him, the tavern had become his final resting place — ’…at least until his soul could be properly dispatched’ he added with a strange grimace. An odd assortment of characters, each one more unsettling than the last, was the corpse’s final cortege. In the corner sat three hags, all dressed in black and wrinkled, merely observing their presence as impartial as the stones in a graveyard. They whispered to one another in a low, unmistakably mocking tone. Some other wayfarers and peasants loomed around the dark chamber. Simple folk dressed in gray rugs, watching us with a pronounced curiosity, as if we were the first people they had seen in a long time. Something about their demeanor told me they didn't look kindly upon strangers, being the kind of forest peasants who would rather talk to logs than to a human soul.

Master Ulvius stood quietly among this unworthy congregation, seeming to be far away in his thoughts. Then he asked the innkeeper to attend to our only horse for the night. The keeper lumped across the room, as if he wanted to see from himself that there was a real horse outside. There was. Seeing no other choice than to serve he threw us a final glance muttering something related to the cost. Master Ulvius placed two iron grindals in the man's hand, which he clenched as if they were made of gold, disappearing behind the heavy mahogany door. We took two chairs drawing close to the small hearth where the almost extinct fire was throwing some last ember glances on our faces.

What now, Warden? I’ve asked the man who has been like my father for the last 7 wheels[1].

Now we wait, Edmond, he replied with simplicity, rubbing his hands over the embers.

Wait for what Warden?

For the night to pass Edmond, and to go on our way.

Warden Ulvius was a magician of the few words and in all the wheels I stood beside him I was always in awe to see how he wrapped complicated questions in almost monosyllabic answers, giving the exact solution to the problem, and it took the rest of my life to figure out how he could do it.

I took refuge in my own silence, trying to shake off the mortuary impression that hung over the entire room. I felt those gazes piercing my spine like thorns from a wild bush, trying to focus on the upcoming cycle[2] when we would finally reach Amarin, where my new life as an apprentice in the Artisans' Guild awaited me. Warden Ulvius was friends with Guildmaster Galen, to whom he had previously sent a letter of recommendation for me, announcing our arrival in the first new moon of the Vagpands Oct[3], or at least that's what he had written. The journey had drawn us back a few cycles from the initial plan, but I hoped that once the rain ended, we could advance more easily on the forest paths, now drowned in cold, black puddles that made our horse's progress difficult. More than once, we were forced to camp under the open sky overnight, with only a single tent canvas hung above our heads and a blanket around our shoulders, without a fire and with little dried cheese and bread instead of dinner. Yet, in all these instances, I admired the demeanor of Warden Ulvius, my mentor and guardian, whose disciplined and humble attitude made me view the realities of the pilgrimage not with fear but as natural aspects of an extensive initiatory journey we had embarked upon. A long night loomed at the wake of an anonymous dead person, in a spooky inn next to a wild forest. I would have preferred to spend another night under the open sky, listening to my warden's advice, than in this rotten place smelling of mold, malice, and death.

After a while, our unenthusiastic innkeeper returned, telling us that he had sheltered the horse in the barn, groomed it, and given it as much hay as it could desire. Warden Ulvius thanked him without further comment, and the night deepened around the corpse.

Having nothing else to do, I approached the two joined tables, now serving as a makeshift bier, to take a closer look at the dead man—a decision that nearly turned my stomach. The grimace on his unshaven face was that of a man who had died witnessing something horrific. His half-open mouth remained twisted in agony, and his broad forehead still bore the beads of sweat from the terror he had endured in his final moments.

Where did you find him? I asked in a trembling voice.

The innkeeper hurried to exhale in my face, his breath thick with the stench of lard and onions.

Eh... I wasn’t the one who found him. I would not have bothered with him... A traveler came across him further down the path, fallen into a ravine. It took two horses and three men to drag him out of that pit... If only he had been worth the effort. We didn’t find a single grindal on him — cursed be his soul!

What do you think got him killed? I asked curiously.

The man looked at me for a long moment, without answering, and I saw in his gaze a voice questioning whether I was from this realm, given the dangers that travelers faced in these dark corners of the Wilds. Then he growled something unintelligible, swallowing his saliva with a rasp.

I swallowed mine, retreating back to the small hearth that barely lit the room, now drowned in darkness.

It’s time for us to retire, said Warden Ulvius curtly, rising to his feet.

Are you leaving, my lordships? Vir said sweetly, rubbing his filthy hands.

We depart at first light, answered the Warden in his characteristic manner, placing a hand on my shoulder. I’m going to rest, and I recommend you do the same. Tomorrow is a long cycle. It’s not guaranteed that we will make it if the rain continues.

I decided to go upstairs to the room. The thought of delaying even a single moment surrounded by those creatures of depravity and dread sent a chill down my spine. Without letting our gazes slip, the innkeeper handed Warden Ulvius a lit candle, suggesting we climb some wooden stairs we hadn't noticed in the dark.

The Warden led the way, illuminating the row of old steps that creaked and groaned terribly as we climbed. In the light of the candle, we took a few steps down a stone hallway, with doors to the right and left. The Warden inserted a heavy key into a lock, and a door creaked open.

The room, or rather the cell, had nothing but two straw beds covered with miserable blankets, and a small table under a tiny window through which a pale moonlight timidly filtered in. The window was protected by a cross of metal bars and I wondered if the bars were to protect us from going out—an impossible thing due to the small size of the niche—or, for ‘something’ to come in…

Rest, said Warden Ulvius, removing his sword harness and placing it on his chest as he lay on the bed.

I took his advice as I sat down on the other bed, my mind being  filled with thoughts, trying to imagine those terrible last moments of the poor merchant who had met his end down the ravine. What creatures had attacked him? His corpse showed no signs of animal attack. But that grimace of terror haunted me, and I couldn't sleep. After a short while, I heard the heavy breathing of Warden Ulvius, who had begun to snore.

A feeling of unease kept me awake, at one point sensing that I was being watched by ‘something’ outside the window. It started to rain. I could hear the small drops bumping on the tiled roof. A slow, moisturizing spring season rain, still holding the chill of the winter in it. A noise soon followed, an intermittent rattling, as if something was crawling on a wooden surface, clacking at regular intervals.

I rose in panic, hoping my Warden had heard it as well, but I saw him still snoring undisturbed. So, trembling with anxiety I approached the small barred window, afraid to look but unable to resist the temptation. As I look back on this memory with regret for what I was about to see, the wheels of my life could not ease that terror that overtook my entire being, turning me to a stone slab. I could no longer move or scream for help and couldn’t tell if it was real or if it was dreaming, with only  the cold breeze on my cheek to assure me I wasn’t. I wished I could shake myself out of this state and call out to the Warden. But I was completely paralyzed and immediately realized that I was experiencing something ‘abhorrent[4]’ and that this was the effect of some maleficia or perhaps, even the manifestation of an Wick-o'-the-Willows[5]. I heard of such diabolical creatures that feed on the souls of those who fall into their traps, appearing mainly in swamps or forests, first in the form of halos, then taking on various horrific shapes. It is said that these primeval spirits consume their victims slowly, preferring to act like a spider that draws closer and closer to its prey, which struggles helplessly in its web. That feeling of being nothing more than a fly in a deadly spider’s trap swept through me, seeing how my darkest nightmares came to life, for the halo I had mentioned materialized at the edge of the lifeless forest, swiftly crossing the distance between it and the inn, coming to snatch me and drag me into the abyss of the forest!

From that moment on, I could neither think nor do anything, waiting in madness for the claws of the creature that would take my life, just as it had taken the merchant’s life in the tavern below, whose soul, like mine, would remain forever swallowed by the belly of the demonic apparition. I felt completely lost. Warden Ulvius could not save me this time, and my entire world was about to be drowned in silence and death...

The glowing creature approached the inn, causing Sepraim, our trusted horse, to neigh loudly, now pounding the stable door with his hooves. Ignoring the horse’s whinny, the creature, now taking the form of a tall, gaunt figure, paused in the middle of the yard as if listening to something. Suddenly, through the curtain of thick rain it looked up grinning sardonically and raised its long arm to signal that it had seen me. Then, it began to crawl again toward the inn, and though I could no longer see it through the tiny window, the sounds that followed in the tavern assured me that the apparition was real and that it had entered the room where the dead man lay. I prayed with all my heart to the Sun God for it to be satisfied with him alone and would not think to come up to our room, but after a few thuds and scraping noises, I heard with horror the prolonged creak of the wooden stairs, which seemed barely able to withstand the weight of the creature.

With my last strength, I tried to scream, to wake the Warden, but my throat remained stuck like a dry water flask, my fists clenched in pain, and my soul shattered with terror. I had become a mask of fear, every pore of my being screaming that I shouldn’t have gone to the window, shouldn’t have followed Warden Ulvius in this perilous journey, shouldn’t have left our little Ashville, shouldn’t have said goodbye to my dear parents buried in the village’s cemetery. My entire life unfolded before my eyes with the speed at which one can say ‘fish’. Nothing had prepared me for this encounter, and I never believed they were anything more than myths and stories to scare little children to bed. But here I was... under the hypnotic power of a Wick-o’-the-Willows, and I was about to be its meal…

Hearing its footsteps creaking along the hallway, then stopping at the door, were the heaviest moments of my life, and nothing that happened in my future life could surpass the terror of those few moments. After attempting to push the door, realizing it was locked, the creature knocked three times in irritation. Three knocks that echoed through the bleak house, creating a deep, unworldly, wooden sound. Three knocks that fell into my soul like three stones into a bottomless well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see how the doorframe lit up, and the door itself rattled and cracked on its hinges, as if it were about to be pulled apart by an uncontrollable force. Then, silence. I closed my eyes, tears flowing silently. Ready to accept my grim fate I began to count sheep to distract myself. After reaching 10 sheeps and hearing nothing, I continued counting 20... 30... 40… sheeps,  but still nothing. Finally, I cracked an eye looking through the small window, but all I saw was the dry forest, its clawed branches reaching out to grasp the purplish moon, emerging from behind a thread of clouds. A few more knocks echoed in my eardrums, but they came from below, and the entire inn shook to its foundations, causing a few tiles to fall and shatter on the cold ground.

Then, the courtyard lit up again with the same eerie, cadaverous glow, and I saw the creature carrying something large and heavy on its back, limping through the dark puddles of mud. It was the merchant’s corpse! Holy Apocratus[6], it had taken him, humping toward the forest!

As I watched the scene with awe and horror, I began to feel my toes and then… my arms. The creature’s influence was slowly departing me, and I sighed in relief, whispering tearful prayers to all the gods and saints I knew. Crawling, the creature left a glowing trail like the snails leave behind, shimmering in the pale moonlight, which sparked on the treetops and the sleeping courtyard. I waited for my legs to unfreeze so I could wake Warden and tell him everything. Would he have thought me mad to share such a thing that had happened right next to him, or would he have considered me just a teenager having a nightmare? In any case, it had been real! The demon existed, and it fed on the dead! Was that why it hadn’t entered our chamber? Because we were alive? Or what other unknown and dark reason could it have had for not breaking the door and swallowing us alive? These questions spun in my mind until I felt dizzy and suddenly, released from the hypnosis’ grasp, my legs gave way and my body felt like a log chopped by an axe.

I don’t remember anything from that moment until dawn when I was woken by Warden Ulvius, who urged me to hurry. The rain had stopped, and he was confident we could reach Amarin by dusk. As soon as I regained my senses, I realized I was struck on the head and had dry blood on my hair. Warden asked me what had happened and if I had wandered through the inn during the night, but when I began to tell him what had occurred, he stopped me, putting his finger to his lips. I didn’t understand why he did this, but I had learned that the Warden was always right when he suggested something, so I had no choice but to wait and find out what he meant. After we prepared, he took out the heavy key and unlocked the door, glancing down the hallway before stepping out. Then, he signaled me to follow him in silence.

On the threshold, I saw a trail of coarse white dust, but I couldn’t explain what it was until we reached the stable, where, saddling the horse, the Warden told me what had happened, but that I had always been safe. The Wick-o'-the-Willows was actually a violent spook of a former wayfarer who had lost his life in a robbery by criminals at this very inn many hundreds of wheels ago. Since then, he would occasionally come back to seek revenge, hunting the criminals. To protect themselves, travelers who came to this inn had to make sure to sprinkle a trail of coarse salt in front of the doors, a line the spook could not cross. The Warden had sprinkled the salt as soon as we entered the room, but I hadn’t seen it in the night. I couldn’t believe it! We had always been safe, but I was left to experience the terror and be paralyzed in order to get used to the dangers of the road, as my guardian would later tell me.

Still trembling with shock and a headache, I took the horse’s halter and crossed the empty courtyard, half-submerged in the morning mist. The silicate trail of the spook could still be seen, crossing the courtyard from the inn’s threshold ‘till the sparse, desolate forest margin. We never saw Vir or any other person around the inn, as if they never even existed... Amarin, at last, here we come! Now I had a good story to tell my grandchildren!

[1] Years in Infra Terra time.

[2] Day.

[3] The Wheel of the Seasons in Infra Terra, called The Octochrom, is divided into eight periods called Octs,  each one with its specific name and meaning. The Vagpands Oct corresponds roughly with the spring equinox period, having it as its middle period day. The Vagpands are the gypsies of Infra Terra, so the Oct represents their traveling caravans and living in nature, specific for the spring season. Its the time for traveling, pilgrimages and starting anew with different projects, as a celebration of life and nature. 

[4] Something that is utterly repugnant, detestable, or offensive.

[5]  A spirit from Taranic folklore that causes nightmares and sleep paralysis, often taking the form of a demonic creature.

[6] Saint of the travelers, pilgrims and wayfarers said to aid them when they are lost and afraid. He comes in the form of a beggar or old man and gives good indications.