Mistic Pets

Welcome to Issue 15
Created by The Mistic Pets Team

The Jinx of Darkwood Hollow
Written By Gemajgall

Several years since the settlement in Darkwood Hollow had been founded, a young apprentice was walking home. The mid-October evening was growing late; a large, orange sun just vanishing over the treetops. The young man continued on with his back to it, his shadow stretching long before him. He pulled his jacket closer to his body, trying to ward off the chill of the autumn air. His chin was buried slightly beneath his collar. His footsteps were brisk along the hard dirt road. He passed the blacksmith's forge, the tanner's shop, and several small wooden cabins quickly, unwilling to linger. Jack-O-Lanterns lined the streets, proudly displayed on wooden pillars, their contorted glowing faces leering at him as he passed.

It had not been a good day for the young man. His countenance was pressed into a firm scowl. He was murmuring his complaints to himself, begrudging everything he saw. His master had not been pleased with his apprentice's work today. So, the man grumbled under his breath about the 'senile old codger' who 'was so blind he wouldn't know good work if an Imp hurled it into his face.' That lead him to glare at the forest beyond the small town, disgruntled by the Imps that dwelt inside and made his personal life miserable. He hated the Jack-O-Lanterns that had to be mounted all over town as their faces seemed to mock his every movement. He griped about the small town and the narrow minded people in it.

And so, as he trudged home, he continued to sulked. He approached the footbridge leading across the stream that ran through the town. It wasn't a particularly large stream, but the banks were steep making the bridge necessary so that the townsfolk could reach the newest buildings on the other side. It was still being developed, and large rocks lined the upper bank. Fuming from his own problems, the young carpenter kicked a large boulder with all his might and then proceeded to dance around as his foot throbbed in pain. Much to his surprise, however, he had used enough force to dislodge the boulder and sent it cascading into the stream below.

A loud howl mixed with a sudden yelp of pain rang in his ears and the man quickly ran to the edge of the bridge and looked down. There, looking up at him with pain-filled, blood red eyes, was a Woodland Jinx. It had visited the stream to drink and now the entire back half of its body was crushed beneath the boulder. Its left shoulder was clearly broken, with a glistening white bone sticking through the flesh. Their eyes locked as the Jinx coughed once, bringing up blood mixed with spittle. It then sagged forward, its horned head hitting the rocky stream bed with a painful thud. It didn't move.

At that moment, the last ray of sunlight vanished entirely. An icy wind swept through the trees, rushing right through his jacket. The marrow of his bones froze and the young man quickly backed up, then hurried across the bridge. He shook his head, trying to fend off the sudden sensation of uneasiness he had but it would not be shaken so easily. He grunted, hiding his fear under anger and looked around for something to blame.

His eyes fell onto the forest. “Stupid trees!” he grumbled. “We ought to just clear out the entire forest—it's nothing but a bane to us!” Under a false sense of bravado, he hurried home.

That evening, he lounged in his favorite rocker in a long, flannel dressing gown. His mood was marginally better as he sipped hot pommekin cider after his dinner. A medium-sized fire was lit in his fireplace, making the small room cheerfully warm as moonlight from the full harvest moon filtered in through his window. It was quiet, but the young man preferred it this way. It meant the neighbors and their children were leaving him in peace.

But on a night like this night, peace was an illusion.

A sudden wind roared through the forest, causing the trees to practically moan as their branches trembled. It rushed down his chimney, grabbing the flames of the fire and causing them to grow wildly and hotly before they fell low, nearly snuffed out. The young man was on his feet in a moment in alarm, the blazes reflected in his widened eyes. He clutched his nightgown close to his chest as the wind tore at his skin, freezing him to the bone, causing him to gasp.

But, just as abruptly as it started, it stopped, leaving the man standing awkwardly in the now dimly lit room. He shook his head and bit his tongue in an attempt to reorient himself.

“What foolishness! There's nothing to be scared of!” he exclaimed to himself. His contentment gone, he sullenly reached for his pommekin cider and tilted the mug to down the contents in one deep gulp.

“What is this?!” the young man cried, throwing the mug across the room where it shattered against the far wall. The pommekin cider shattered as well; it was now a single solid block of ice. Fragments of clay and shards of mulled ice danced across the floor as the man gaped at it.

A howl with a yelp of pain echoed outside, eerily close. The young man froze up entirely, his eyes growing hauntingly wide. The wind whipped aggressively through the trees again, causing dead branches to scratch the shingles of his roof. With a weak effort, the fire puffed once and vanished forever.

“It can't be, it's my imagination,” the man whispered to himself, but reassurance would not come. His throat grew dry as he curled and uncurled his fingers, his eyes darting at the shadows that graced every corner.

However, his legs threatened to give out on him entirely when outside, so close it could have been in his back yard, he heard a dull thunk—as if a head had crashed into stone. The young man could feel sweat slid down the nape of his neck as he forgot to breathe for three eternal seconds. Mustering every last ounce of determination and defensive anger, he finally found the strength to move. He bound forward and threw his back door open with so much force that it slammed into the side of his house.

“Get out of here!” he shouted into the darkness. “Be you man or beast I won't give in to your games!”

The full moon was then consumed by inky black clouds, leaving him in pure darkness. The church bell began to lowly toll midnight. Two glowing red eyes met his across the familiar expanse of his yard as a loud, painful howl echoed across the night. Ice ran in his blood as his heart pounded with all the force of a blacksmith's hammer in his chest.

The young man spun on his heel and slammed the door shut behind him, bracing himself against it as he tightly gripped the handle, trying to keep whatever lurked in the night outside of his house.

“There are no ghosts! There are no ghosts!” he gasped and panted but to no avail, for walls and doors have no power over phantasms.

He could hear the heavy breathing coming from within the room. Two coal red eyes met his as he looked forward, with his back pressed tightly against the door. The church bell tolled for the twelfth time.

The young man's screams could be heard all across the neighborhood, waking up the drowsy residents of Darkwood Hollow. The nearest neighbor knocked on the young carpenter's door but received no answer. However, it wasn't until nearly half an hour later until the constable could come and break down the locked door.

The house was empty. All that they found inside was a set of broad, muddy paw prints and the young man's flannel nightgown which was riddled with long teeth marks and bloody saliva.

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