Weirdbook Annual: Zombies!

THE MEDDLER, by Matthew John-1

THE MEDDLER,

by Matthew JohnThree knocks at the door broke the night’s long silence.

“Don’t open it!” Shel’s brother whispered, his eyes wide. Shel had seen fear in him before but never like this. She felt it too, but kept it buried, averting her eyes for fear of returning that haunted gaze.

“Listen, Cam.” Three more thumps at the door. “It’s not one of them! Maybe it’s Redgar.” She faked a smile to hide the lie.

“He’s dead. You saw!”

Shel couldn’t be certain what they’d seen the previous night, but it had looked like Redgar. She peeked through a gap in the shutters. Across the field, at Redgar’s house, all was black. As she pressed her face against the wood, trying to see who or what was at her door, a muffled voice came from the other side, “Open the door, children. I’ve come to help.” It was a man’s voice—old, deep, unfamiliar.

“I’m opening it, Cam. Hold the axe in case—”

Shel’s whispered words broke off as she gripped the iron handle. She took a deep breath and tried to imagine what her mother and father would have done. Father probably would have just smiled and invited the guest to dinner. Old fool. Gods, how she missed him, how she wished they were here.

She tried to open the door slowly, but the howling wind pressed hard against the old wood, almost knocking her back. A man clothed in black barged in and pushed the door closed.

“As I said, I’ve come to help, but we must douse these lights. Quickly!” The man was tall and slender like a blade. His white beard was stained yellow from pipe smoke, his hooded robe tattered and filthy. He didn’t have the look of a friendly stranger, but when Shel considered all that had transpired, she knew they needed all the help they could get. Cam backed away, stunned, the woodcutter’s axe gripped in his shaking fist.

“Put that down, boy,” the stranger commanded, “and blow out the candles! It’s a marvel they haven’t been drawn to the light. What do you think brought me here?” Cam’s bottom lip quivered and his eyes glistened. For months, he had been constantly on the verge of tears—ever since their parents had left that night. Shel’s heart ached for him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, kiss him on the top of his head the way her mother used to, but instead she picked up a lantern and blew out the flame.

“Who are you? How did you make it here?” she asked, still not meeting the stranger’s eyes.

“I have ways…but if we want to escape this valley, we must work in concert.”

Once all the lights had been snuffed, the old man hobbled about the room, opening cupboards, peering into the small rooms. One of his legs must have been injured or lame, for his gait was uneven and slow. In the dim moonlight, Shel watched him pause at the cold hearth and again at her parents’ bed in the alcove behind the kitchen. Then he pulled a chair from the table, sat down and retrieved a long black pipe from his sleeve. He pressed the pipe to his lips and snapped the fingers of his opposite hand. Miraculously the pipe began to glow and a thin wisp of smoke snaked up to the rafters. Shel had seen magic tricks at the solstice fair, but never without pageantry. This man was a meddler! She’d thought them myths—naught but phantoms from children’s stories. If the tales were true, this man was dangerous. Never trust a meddler, they said. Fear gnawed at her. She wanted to grab her brother and run. But, meddler or no, this man was surely no worse than the horrors they’d glimpsed from their window.

Surely…

“Come. Do not fear me. I’ve come to help you, but I’ll admit this old wretch needs your help, too. Shall we help each other, then?” The stranger flashed a thin smile and waved them over with the smoking pipe, beckoning them to sit. Cam stood like a statue, axe now sagging in his arms. Shel strode over to her brother, placed a gentle hand in his and urged him forward. The two sat before the stranger as he sent puffs of fragrant smoke dancing about their moonlit home.

“You saw the fire in the sky, I trust?”

Shel nodded. Cam remained silent.

“And surely you’ve seen shooting stars before?”

Of course she had. She and her father used to watch for them on summer nights out on Braga’s Point, overlooking the lake. At the sight of one, her father would always tell her to make a wish. Once she had, he’d ask what it had been. And always he would smile and tell her it wouldn’t come true since she gave it voice. Every summer the joke was the same; so was the smile.

“What you saw in the sky was not unlike a shooting star, only it landed here, in these lands. Normally, these stars are benign. Dead. Useless.” He paused and took a long draw from the pipe. Then as smoke escaped through his rotten teeth, he went on. “But this one brought passengers.”

Passengers? What could survive an impact that had shaken the very bones of their house?

“I’m sure you have seen nests? And I’m sure you have seen what happens when you disturb one. Now, imagine the star is like a shell—like a… like a walnut!” The stranger snapped his fingers when he found the right comparison and smiled again. The crooked grin dispelled some of the stranger’s mystique, and Shel relaxed her guard. This man wasn’t a meddler. Not like those from the tales, anyway.

“When the star lands, the shell is shattered, but the nut—the nest, in this case—remains. But now…” the man’s tone darkened suddenly. “Now that they’re here, they cannot stay in their nest. Our world is not like theirs, so they must find a new home. And these wasps prefer to make their homes… inside us.”

Shel waited for the man’s lips to split into another smile, for the laughter to come. But the stranger remained solemn. Cam gasped and the man puffed more of the strange smelling smoke and seemed lost in thought.

Inside us? Shel’s stomach heaved.

The stranger continued, “I’m sure you’ve seen them out there, wandering the dark. I’m amazed to have found you two alive. For most, it is already too late.

As you can see,” the man tugged his robe up to his knee, revealing one leg that resembled a withered branch, thin and grotesque, “I am in no condition to go back out there. My wards and mixtures allowed me to make it here, to you, and I hope my efforts have not been in vain.”

The stranger leaned forward, and Shel met his gaze for the first time. What she saw left her both horrified and amazed. The whites of his eyes were nearly eclipsed by his pupils. From these black pools, tiny specks of light shone like stars, producing their own radiance. Her mind and body froze like her blood.

“Do not be afraid. I realize it may seem strange, but know these eyes have beheld the wonders beyond and that I am the only one who can face the horrors that have come.” Mercifully, he broke his stare. But next he seemed to appraise her body, as if she was a prized horse. “You look strong, girl. Capable. You’ve worked these fields and brought in the harvests. Can you be strong now for your baby brother? Will you do as I ask?”

The outer dark was a monster in her mind—a looming, overwhelming shadow. Next, the stranger would insist she venture out into the blackness, for what could be done from here? How could she help her brother by staying? How could she do as her mother had asked? Hoping to seize what little of her courage remained, she snuck a look at Cam. He sat cross-legged beside her, his face in his hands, silvery tears falling from his fingers. He still hoped Mother and Father would return, but Shel knew better. She was all he had left.

“What would you have me do?” She whispered.

He leaned back in the chair and smiled. His strange eyes made it difficult for her to tell if the grin was of mirth or malice, but in this moment, as the dark waited for her—seemed to call her by name—all was mired in dread.

“You must cross the field and take the northern trail to my home. You’ve been there before. Don’t think I’ve never spied you and your brother throwing stones outside my grounds, trying to knock the noses from those old statues.”

The smile on his face now seemed genuine. Cam peeked out from the cover of his hands and Shel flashed him a knowing grin. They’d always wondered who lived in the tower. And they always suspected a meddler.

“Inside, you will find a talisman. It looks like a simple necklace, but it’s much more. With it, I can send these poor souls back to rest and contain the infestation. I know you’ve been told that we meddlers, as most like to call us, are wizards or sorcerers, and though magic may be the right word for the unexplained, we most often deal in science.” The stranger paused and picked at the wooden armrest of the chair. “Now, I’m afraid you won’t like what comes next. You can plainly see that my body is failing. I haven’t the speed nor the fortitude to do what must be done. But you, girl—you have youth, and youth is power. I was unable to return to my home, for the wretches had already entered my grounds. They could smell me coming. You see, I have the reek of magic on me. And the wasps are more attracted to my scent than to others. So it must be you. But this...” he paused, reached into his robe, pulled out a black pouch, and tossed it to her. “This will protect you. You must apply this substance around any areas of your body the wasps might enter—nose, eyes, mouth, ears… you can imagine the rest. This will help mask your scent as well as form an unseen barrier. It is not a perfect shield, but if you’re fast and careful, you should be able to avoid them.”

Shel tried to force the images from her mind, but the horrors flashed in vivid detail. She tried thinking of Cam—of what Mother and Father asked her to do. But her mind’s eye remained fixed on the shambling figures she’d glimpsed in the fields surrounding her home. Even from a distance their aspect had been revolting.

“You must not dally, girl. If we wait much longer, I will not be able to contain them.”

“No, Shella! Don’t go! Don’t go out there!” Cam shrieked. He crawled over to her and placed his head in her lap. Shel stroked his golden hair in silence and, looking at the stranger, nodded in affirmation.

“I won’t be long, Cam. Remember how quickly we’d make it to that old tower? There and back before Father knew we’d abandoned our chores. Remember?”

“It’s dark, Shella. You won’t find the way. You won’t—”

“Shush, baby brother. I’ll be fine.” Shel leaned into his ear and whispered, “I’ll steal you a meddler’s trinket while I’m there.”

Her brother flashed a thin smile and relaxed his grip, allowing her to rise.

“I shall protect him, fear not,” said the stranger, refilling his pipe. “Your sister will be back within the hour, boy. Come, let me tell you about a meddler’s work. Do you know of the fairies that inhabit the Lonewood?

How the man knew of Cam’s obsession with imaginary fairies was beyond Shel’s knowing, but she was glad of his intuition. Cam remained sitting on the floor, but his head perked up as the old man broached the topic.

“Girl…” the stranger paused and smiled. “Shella,” he corrected and nodded. “You will also need this. He bit down on the pipe, securing it between his teeth and fetched something else from his robe. As Shel rose and approached, she saw a large silver key poking out from his gnarled hand. As she reached for it, he held it tight and fixed her again with his strange eyes. Up close she saw the deep lines of age, mottled skin, and his long and hairy nose. A hideous man. But she was convinced of his benevolence, nonetheless.

Still holding the key firmly, he used his other hand to retrieve the pipe from his lips and continued. “This key will open the door to my study at the top of the stairs. What we need lies on a pedestal. Before you touch it, you must feel underneath for a switch. Press it, or…” His faced pinched into a baleful mask as he released his grip on the key, letting her take it. “Be quick and cautious, and you will succeed. And do not—absolutely do not—take the door to the lower levels. It is not safe there.”