Below is the start to my story that was first intended to be written in Polish at least 5 years ago, but since then I found it easier to write in English. It makes it troubling for people around me to read as only a few actually made the effort to dig through it, but I still consider it a job well done. More coming on a hopefully regular basis.
It was hard to tell
through the rainy clouds, but the sun had finished its slow walk over the sky
and began hiding behind the horizon. The forest grew darker, birds and day
animals gave way to night predators. The road, hardly more than a clear trail
of packed dirt through the woods, turned into a sea of mud and great puddles of
rainwater, steadily growing as the intense downpour continued into the night.
A lone rider came
thundering through the path. The horse's hooves splashed mud and water as it
rode onward. The man was soaked to the bone and exhausted after a long day of
travelling through the wilderness. Every now and then, he swore bitterly under
his breath.
After one sharp turn,
his mount neighed loudly and stood on its back legs, frightened. The rider was
caught unawares and too tired to react in time. He fell off into a huge pool of
mud and watched as the horse ran away in the direction he was headed.
He got up and
attempted to shake the mud off without much success, grunted, and continued on
foot. As if in mercy, the rain had almost ceased to fall, reducing to a small
drizzle. Keeping in mind that horses don't run off at complete random, he
advanced cautiously, scanning the road, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Just a few steps
later, the sound of rustling leaves came to his ears of the sound of the few
remaining raindrops. He turned in the direction of the noise, tightening his
grip on the sword-hilt. He couldn't see anything through the still dense autumn
foliage. Instead, he made a few steps away from the sounds.
Whatever it was, it
was coming closer. Weariness gave way to fear. He knew he couldn't outrun
anything after the travel. He cringed his teeth. The beast was almost in his
sight. The last of the branches were shoved out of the way....
The small spring of
fear turned into a flood of terror.
It wasn't a beast.
It was a skeleton.
Two skeletons. Three.
Walking dead. There
was no clothes or skin or even meat on them, just bones. Each held an old,
rusty axe. Their faces were expressionless save for the endless grin of death.
They turned their eyeless heads towards the man, beginning a slow but steady
approach.
