by Rick Mc Quiston

Ian stumbled over the handcart, which had been discarded in the middle of the road. Who could have been so thoughtless as to leave it about? All in the village knew he was blind; he had been born that way. The Town Elders claimed he was fortunate, that he wouldn’t have to view the sins of Satan. His soul would remain pure with no sight to corrupt him.

But he felt differently.

Yes, he admitted it. Ian Mulkett, son of John Mulkett, respected blacksmith, admitted that he did not believe the Town Elders. God had saw fit to deny him sight and for this he often regretted life itself.

Although he had learned to adapt to the ever present void of darkness he still occasionally fell victim to life’s changes. Changes in the weather, changes in people, and changes in equipment location such as a cart left in the middle of the road.

“Come young Mulkett, come.” It was Sebastion Cook, the adolescent son of Magistrate Cook.

“You must come with us,” he said. “Dead eyes or not, you must come.”

Dead eyes. That was the nickname attached to him by his fellow villagers.

Torn between his newly acquired bruise and his curiosity about the numerous voices he heard running past him Ian took a deep, unsteady breath.

“What is happening?” he asked.

“Franz Barth has returned from the hills,” Sebastian said in an excited tone. “Did he not venture forth with several others?”

“He did, but he alone returned.” Sebastian was hurrying him along, guiding
him quickly down the road as he carried on. “He is already alarming many with his tales as to the whereabouts of his companions. Tales of a monster in the valley down in the caverns. Come now, quickly, we must go.”

Ian became worried. He himself had been by the caverns not twenty days
earlier with his friend Johann and his father. They had experienced nothing out of the ordinary. Ian’s father had originally forbade him from going, resorting to safety’s logic to calm his son’s curiosity but Ian would not be denied. His handicap would not deter him, of this he vowed.

But soon disillusionment set in for the trip preyed upon his affliction with little mercy. Numerous cuts and scratches coupled with insect bites and a knot placed squarely on his forehead dragged his enthusiasm down greatly.

“What type of monster?” Ian queried not wanting to really know.

“Something of horrible sight,” Sebastian replied. “There will be little doubt as to when we encounter it.”

Sebastian always did have a fire deep within him to explore and discover life’s unknown mysteries regardless of the dangers and for that Ian envied him greatly.

“Franz has said few words to enlighten us but those words have carried much weight.”