Bleakman's Bog Pt. 6

Well, looks like it is Tuesday yet again. I have written a very special installment today. This series will is drawing ever near to the conclusion. I hope you are as excited as I am.

Part 1.
Part 2.
Part 3.
Part 4.
Part 5.
And now part 6.


Bruised and battered Duncan could hardly breath as the mud filled his lungs. Looking up as the blade cut into his throat Dennis was too strong. It was all over. The salvation he so greatly desired would be lost. Salvation would be lost to a bitter pain filled death deep in the bog's bowels. But the blade never cut any deeper. The eyes that were so enraged grew familiar. The knife fell from Dennis' hand into the mud. Dennis stood and walked away. The mists followed him closely and Duncan was alone again. The mists settled as Duncan began to raise himself.


“No! You stupid pathetic worm! Slit his throat and drink his blood!”
The voice echoed around inside his brain. It hurt almost as much as the hunger. As he stumbled through the woods the haze wore off and he felt colder than ever. He took steps and blood began to flow from he throat. He had forgotten. She had cut him open. He had tried to stop her, but he was already dead.
Dennis stopped and stood frozen. He was dead. It was almost too much to fathom. Too much to comprehend. The reality of it wasn't a weight however. It was freeing. He closed his eyes. It was time to sleep. Finally he could sleep.
“I'm not letting you sleep yet! You child, you insignificant blip on the annals of time. No blood golem has ever betrayed me. You will return to me and you will be used like the tool you are. That is your only option!”
He walked towards the hovel of the witch. Sleep would come soon, surely sleep would come soon.


Duncan was trying to stand his ruined leg still refused to work. Bracing with all his strength through the pain of torn muscles he somehow stood. Another chance it was time he ended this. It was time the witch paid for her evils. It was time he released his Anne from the witch's grasp.
His horse was long gone. He hobbled to where ever. Somehow he knew he'd find the hovel. Somehow he knew it would end tonight. Perhaps fate had taken over now. He did not care. He was ready to die. He knew he should have died so long ago.


Sitting in her chair the witch watched as the pieces all came together. The golem was returning and the husband was as well. Soon the new chapter would begin. Her plans were coming out perfectly. In the corner a chain skittered on the floor. Anne looked down on the child, the child she had bore into this world.


Duncan was heavy. It took all of her strength to put him on the horse. The witch screamed in the back of her head. The witch wanted control, Anne would not allow it not now. Duncan's torn leg was still bleeding, but maybe if he made it to town he would live. Maybe if he lived he could come back and save her.

“Save me, my dear. Please, please return. Save me.” Anne fell to her knees as the horse ran away towards town.
The witch stood up using Anne's body.
“Oh, my dear sweet Anne. You will pay for this. He was very important. He was immeasurably important. I'm afraid your sweet daughter will have to pay the price however.”
Going back into the house Hanna lay on the floor dead. The witch used Anne's hands to draw a circle to write the symbols to say the words. Hanna rose from the floor a shade.
“My beautiful golem. Please if you will go fetch me a tasty little morsel much like yourself.”
As the witch spoke the words Hanna's eyes turned black and then the blackness spread across her skin. A shadow she became and going through walls and woods she took the first child from the village. The first child of many.

Sketch of the Week 1

Original Sketch scanned as a black and white image.

Edited Colored Version

Bleakman's Bog Pt. 5

I'm sorry I didn't post last week. It just so happens that Twisted Metal and Valentine's Day fell on Tuesday. So, I was otherwise indisposed.I hope you enjoy this next part I did something exciting at the end, but no peeking, okay?

Part 1.
Part 2.
Part 3.
Part 4.
Part 5 starts now.

Anna's body was on Dennis in seconds wrapping bone like fingers around his throat. However the grip was weak and was not having the intended effect.
“I no more killed Hanna than Duncan did! You ever mention that name again I will eat your tongue!” snarled the hag.
“So, she killed Han... your daughter?” Dennis asked looking the witch in her hollow gray eyes.
“Anne is through talking to you. She has had quite enough freedom for now. But what to do with you? You are inedible and quite the nuisance. I suppose you can serve some use however.” her lips curled into a cracked and cruel smile.
“You won't wi...” a single claw racked across his throat.


The mists were bearing him along like a calm river. Dennis had never known them to ask thus. It was as if they pulled him towards someone or something. He couldn't resist. He didn't want to.
As the mists bore him along he began to make out a shape. The shape soon become and man riding a horse. When he saw the man's one crippled leg he thought he knew him.
“Dennis, Dennis is that you?”
His hands curled around a knife. He had to kill this man. He couldn't resist. He didn't want to. He just wanted to rest.
With a strength he did not know he had he jumped and knocked the man from his horse. However the man blocked the knife that was aimed for his heart. Rolling in the mud and filth of the bog they startled the horse into flight.
Dennis was so tired. His hands still held the knife and the man was bleeding on him.


Duncan was surprised to see Dennis walking towards him. But something was wrong Dennis was covered in blood. It seemed to come from his throat, but the mists were moving so rapidly it was hard to make out details.
“Dennis, Dennis is that you?”
Duncan was surprised to see the knife and Dennis spring forward as if in flight. It was all Duncan could do to knock the blade aside. Soon they were on the ground. A jumbled mess writhing in the mud and filth. The blade however hadn't completely missed its mark. Duncan felt the hot blood dripping from his side and he felt wetness in his breath.
He wasn't going to die. Not here, not when he was finally going to set things right.



Dennis felt the warmth of the man's blood on him. It felt amazing. Perhaps he wasn't so tired after all. He felt invigorated. He wanted to kill this man. He couldn't stop.
Dennis' new strength was turning the brawl in his favor. Soon the man was on his back as Dennis sat atop him.
“Dennis not like this. Dennis you are stronger than her.” the man pleaded as Dennis pressed the knife closer and closer to the man's throat. “It's me Duncan.. umph... Don't you remember me somewhere in there?”
For a second Dennis knew the man. It was Duncan. He had so much he needed to tell Duncan. But the blood was so warm. It smelled like life itself. A bit had even made it into his mouth. It was delicious.


The witch sat with a full stomach watching her boys roll in the mud. It was such a delight to see. She still felt the child squirming inside. It was always best when they still moved. Though the child would be dead shortly. Suffocation felt so satisfying. And when a plan goes according to plan that is also so Satisfying. The witch felt like she could dance. Such joy she hadn't felt since the night she took her current body.
“Duncan is coming. He'll forgive me.” Anne whispered in a brief moment of sanity.
“He can't forgive someone who devoured his daughter so readily.” this was a game the witch also liked to play. Tonight has been a good night.

Bleakman's Bog Pt. 4

Writing this story seems to get easier every week. I hope it becomes more enjoyable to read every week. I apologize that I do not edit these stories before I post them. It is mostly due to lack of preparation. But I think that it will add an extra layer of interest. I hope you enjoy part 4.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4 is here!

It was difficult to keep pace. The creature kept disappearing and reappearing. A child's whales could be heard through the fog. Sometimes they seemed to come from all around. Duncan continued he would not let the horse slow. He wouldn't fail, not again.


Using Duncan's legs it made him walk, he couldn't stop. He walked passed his horse. The steps were thick and forced. His mind resisted, but it was too powerful. The entity had full control although it seemed like it was only just remembering how to move. He couldn't get the image of the corpse or the feel of its lips against his.
He walked and walked. A distance that had taken hours on horseback was taking longer than he could imagine. He felt the pain in his muscles and feet, but the force pushed him ever onward. The greatest part of his dread came from the fact he could tell, it was taking him home.
It was walking him on a game trail in Fourcoin Forest when he saw the trap. It was a snare. Made of wire and attached to a tree on the side of the trail. He tried to warn the wraith, but it did not heed him. Soon his foot was ensnared. The wraith did not slow. It did not try to remove the noose. It simply walked. The wire cut deeply into his calf. Soon it was grinding bone. The wire snapped before it broke through his tibia and fibula. The wire however snap with anger and lashed around his leg. It tore into muscle with the momentum. The wraith did bother to remove it. The pain was too much everything went dark.
He awoke to death. His daughter's eyes stared at him, they were gray and dead. A little pool of blood surrounded the side of her face. His whole body throbbed with pain, but nothing was more searing than her eyes. Duncan heard Anne humming in the back. He felt a warm blaze and smelled fresh meat on the fire. It was all he could do to roll away from his daughter. Looking at the fireplace he saw Anne working over the spit marinating. Anne turned around.
“My, my this skin is quite beautiful. Thank you for your assistance Duncan. I am quite hungry in these new bones. Would you like a taste?”
“Why?” his mind was knives and fire nothing made sense, “Why'd you kill her?” words hurt. Being alive hurt. His blood was everywhere or was it his. Could someone bleed so much?
“I already told you I was hungry, Duncan.” her voice was cold.
He tried to stand. He was going to kill her. Strangle the monster, but the darkness came instead.


The trail went cold. The mists ceased to swirl. The girl's cries were gone. He was alone. His sweat and the horse's ran as one dripping into the gray. He couldn't turn back. He didn't even think he could. It was death or redemption, perhaps both.

Bleakman's Bog Pt. 3

Alright I hope you are ready here comes the most exciting installment yet. I had a good time writing it, but I will be honest there has been little to no editing. As a note Dennis is now referring to ghost voice as the hag. I changed this after going into some editing. Sorry for any confusion.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 starts now...

In an instant it was light again. Had he been out for days or hours, Dennis did not know. Such thoughts were meaningless, he was still trapped, just looking at the witch in her rocking chair. She looked weaker somehow. Yet still she chatted with herself in those two strange voices.
“I want to eat his eyes!” the shrill hag voice whined.
“I know, I know but he is not yet ready. We must make both the body and the soul ready or else he will not nourish us.” explained the foreign voice. Who seemed to be the leader.
The more Dennis heard them talk the more he was convinced that the hag was more an insane person than anything else.
“Duncan is coming home soon?” asked the hag.
He wondered who she was.
“Duncan will never return he hates and despises you for what you did.” answered the foreign voice.
Could she be Anne, Duncan's dead wife. Duncan had always said she fell into the bog.
“Anne, is that you?” Dennis hardly believed it was her, but still he asked.
“That name, I remember it. My Duncan called me that in my life. But Anne I am no longer.” the hag replied her withered finger going to the silver pendent that hung from her neck.
“Did Duncan give you that pendent? What is it of?” Dennis was hoping to petition the woman he once knew.
“SHE WILL NOT CHOOSE YOU!” the foreign voice shrieked.
The witch jumped to her feet. Her nails grew longer and claw like. Her body started to jerk and shift. Muscles tightened and grew. Then she was on him. Grown to nearly twice her normal size. Her eyes were glowing with a red light. Her hands clenched around his neck talon like nails biting into his neck.
“Perhaps we will have a bite to eat.” the foreign voice growled.
Her mouth opened and the metal shards shone in the fire light. She pit down and ripped. He felt the wetness of his blood flow down his neck as she tore his ear off. It began to ring almost instantly.
“Like I thought your strength is still too strong. This will be a poor meal.” the foreign voice shrilly mumbled almost to herself.
Chewing she slurped up the remaining with her tongue. And then her size shrank again and she looked even weaker.
“Anne I see that your daughter, Hanna, is still close to your heart. Did you kill her? Is that why Duncan cannot forgive you?” He spit the words out with disgust.


Duncan was riding out of town. No one tried to stop him. They saw the direction he was riding. Many must assume he was simply ready to die. But he knew his goal. He only hoped that the spirit of the Bleakman's Bog would allow him passage. His horse shied as the mists enveloped them. It had grown now most of the town was taken. Perhaps he was already too late. He heard screams behind him. The mists started to shift violently. It was then that he saw the standing shadow. The one that had crippled him. It was carrying something. It was fast. He kicked his spurs deep into his horse's thighs and rode after it. He would not let it get away.

Bleakman's Bog Pt. 2

Read Part 1
Part 2 begins here...

Duncan had been a woodsman at the time. His family lived deep inside the Fourcoin Forest. That was before the bog had eaten the forest, back when times were prosperous. He was hunting a stag that day. It was wounded; the blood was a rich red and foamy. He knew he must have hit a lung. Yet the trail kept going. He was just reaching the bog, which was quite small at this time. However it still had the thick mists and wise men knew to stay away. He thought of leaving, but Duncan knew he couldn't return home empty handed. He dismounted and left his horse at the edge of the bog. As he went ahead on foot, the blood trail grew thicker. He knew it wasn't far now. He reached a stone wall. Going through a partially hanging gate, he saw the deer collapsed in the door of a small, barely standing hut. His every instinct was to flee. Still yet, he approached. Drawing near the house, he was overwhelmed by the stench of decay. The deer dead on the ground at his feet was already greatly decomposed. Maggots and flies were all over. The flesh was crawling and collapsing as he watched it. It was at this time he heard the voice.
“Come in, come in. I have been so want for company.” come an other sounding voice.
“I'm sorry. I must be going.” his voice was tight, every muscle was constricted ready to flee.
“You will sit with me.”
Every fiber of his being tried to resist, yet he could not. Walking over the now bleached bones of the deer he entered the hut. Two chairs faced each other in one sat the withered dried form that had once been woman.
“Tell me of your wife huntsman. Is she beautiful?”
His voice came against his will, “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” His eyes were his own, but nothing else. All they could do was watch as the skin, dry as leather, began to curl its gnarled fingers, drawing his body forward.
His lips touched hers. It was against his will. He screamed and smashed the creature before him, yet his body did not allow it. Against every ounce of will he had, he kissed the dry, dusty lips and felt something come into him.



The villagers now huddled together in the common room of the towns only tavern. It had been closed for years, but it was filled once more. Duncan saw the fear in everyone's eyes. He dare not speak what he knew. What he had done. He watched children cry for food and mothers with dead eyes. No one could do anything. It was his task. He had started this. He must return to the dilapidated hut, or else live in fear of what was once his Anne the rest of his wretched life.

Bleakmans Bog Pt. 1

News

Okay so tomorrow is the Blackout... And by blackout I mean many internet types are stopping their services tomorrow in protest of PIPA. One of those being wikipedia so that link will not work tomorrow. I am in agreement with these protests which is the main reason I wrote this news portion of the blog. I will also be participating in my own little way. I will not use the internet tomorrow. I encourage anyone else who is offended by our government being bought and used for personal gain by the rich and influential should do the same. Our freedom of speech is not something to be played with. I doubt my absence from the internet will be of any note to anyone, but I thought I should do something.

Lastly Bleakmans Bog will be updated every Tuesday until it is completed. I will try and also write at least one other post every week. The other posts may be news or free writes. And once Bleakmans Bog has reached a conclusion I am thinking about going back and doing MP3 files of me reading my stories. Anyone interested in an audiobookesque format please tell me on Facebook or here. I know sometimes it is easier to find time to listen than to read. Each story will be posted as a separate file. Thanks for reading please continue onto Bleakmans Bog.

Story

Bleakmans Bog

by

Matthew Jones

Dennis Ironarm wondered through the mists of Bleakmans Bog. It had been days since last he saw another living soul. Bleakmans Bog was no place for the living, but he had a responsibility to his people. There was no turning back. Especially since he was uncertain if that was even possible at this point.

It was a black night when the scream broke into his sleep. The scream of a child. It was the same as the four the town had heard before. They were ahorse in minutes and the hounds were following a trail into the bog. However the scent was gone as soon as they entered as if by magic. Many turned back at this point. They feared wondering around the bog in the night. Dennis and seven others continued. They made camp after a few hours of wondering. In the morning they were three. No one knew what had happened to the other four. All their possessions were gone. So, it was assumed they had returned to town. They split up in order to search more area. They had agreed to meet back at the town's edge in seven days.

It had to have been nearly seven days now, but Dennis was not turning back. Not until he had something to report. Other than the absence of anything. Perhaps seven was his lucky number. He hoped that the others did not fear for him too much.
As he continued his horse dropped from exhaustion. He had not brought enough oats or grass for the trip. And the water was like poison even to the horse. Dennis felt compelled though. He could not stop. He had to continue. The horse whinnied in pain as it pawed at the ground attempting to rise again. Eventually there was no sound again. Dennis was alone.
As he walked he felt the mud and muck suck at his boots. Each step was heavy and hard. Exhaustion was making his limbs heavy. He barely was conscious enough to realize the ground had turned into a bright green grass. A grass that almost glowed even in the mists. The mud was like a black taint upon the grass as it was trekked behind him. Then the light was blinding. He fell to his knees. The mist was gone. Except it wasn't. Just behind him it still hung thick as mud. The green grass was now accompanied by wildflowers of every color and a single house. It was then that Dennis recognized the place. It was his home back before Bleakmans Bog had swallowed it. He couldn't believe it. Especially when he smelled his mother's Sweetcakes cooking. The house was just as he remembered. Whitewashed walls that were made of wood and sod. A rood made from baked clay. It was red, but had moss growing on it. It was then that he realized all the trees were gone. But it didn't matter he started walking towards his home. The door was swung open to allow the summer breeze to swing through. His mother's humming floated out to him like a dream.

A dream! Suddenly his mind cleared. He was in a cell. Tethered by these hissing vines that constricted him cutting his wrists and ankles. The witch sat in a chair smiling a sick more hideous expression he could not imagine. He single brown/green tooth sticking out with the other non-tooth things that inhabited her mouth. Lips that were cracked and scabbed from gnawing on bones. Her skin was sickly gray like she was dead. And he nose was nothing more than flesh and bone leaving holes instead of nostrils. A single ear that hung like a dogs. Her head was bald except for the wisps of hair and feather she had sown into it. But the most horrifying part was the shoes in the corner. He recognized each and every pair. They had each belonged to someone he had known. She started sucking marrow from a bone and stood on crooked legs. She leaned on a piece of wood nearly as gnarled as herself.
"So, the knight awakes! Is he ready to die yet?" she said to no one in a ghostly voice.
"I would say not yet. The fire can't you see it. Someone with so much fire in their eyes makes a poor meal." she replied in a different yet equally foreign voice.
"We must wait anyway the child still turns within my stomach. A meal so sweet cannot be followed so soon." said the ghost voice.
"You are correct my dear. No brave knight shall I eat your eyes to release some of that fire?" asked the foreign voice.
"Mmm, yes the eyes! The eyes! A better soup cannot be made than one made from eyes." the ghostly voice shrieked excitedly.
"If you eat my eyes I will simply kill you blind. I fear that it will only result in more pain though. Since without my sight I cannot guarantee I will kill you swiftly." Dennis spit in retaliation, however some of the edge was lost to his weakness.
"He would kill us! Kill us! It mustn't happen, sister! It mustn't!" screamed the ghostly voice from the Witch's mouth.
"Don't worry sister. He has no power here. Not with our spells. That have been bolstered from our resent meals." Even as the foreign voice spoke she also chewed and sucked at the marrow of a bone. "Now sleep my humble knight. Dream of home or some such thing."
Her hand raised and his eyes felt weak. The pox ridden fingers writhed like snakes as sleep fell over him.

As the 14th day dawned since the expedition the few towns people that remained began to pack their things. None of the seven had returned. One of their horses had made it back, but that was all. Crippled Duncan Stone watched over the preparations. He was torn. It pained him that he had not been among the seven who went into Bleakmans Bog, but life was something he did not lightly forfeit. The last wagon was loaded when they started to go. As the wheels started to roll a wave passed over the villagers. Duncan shivered and felt a pull from the bog. At the same moment all the wagon wheels began to sink into the earth. Along with all the horses and the people who were on foot. The sinking stopped as it reached a two hands deep. But it made movement impossible. The horses slipped and fell whenever they were whipped into movement. Duncan had feared the bog might not let them leave. The women who still had their babes held them tight to their breasts and wept. Those who had already lost all to the bog stared with dead eyes. Duncan's withered legs grew sore with memory. It had been years since the wraith had touched him. Since he had lost his Anne.

Continued in Bleakmans Bog part 2...