Hastum
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84. Small town
🕑 Added 2025-08-31 18:12:58 +0000 UTCThe next day, most of the effects of learning the spell were gone. I got up in the morning and packed up all my stuff. I packed the potions, some talismans just in case, the salt circle as well as a few other seals, and my usual gear, including higher-density mana stones.
Once everything was checked, I put on regular clothing and got into my car. The drive took me a couple of hours, and after getting some breakfast in a roadside café, I was almost in the town.
“Welcome to Lermon,” read an old wooden sign.
I drove along a forest road. The area before the town appeared to be composed of old farmhouses built on stretches of land between swaths of forest, but the majority of the land was covered with trees.
From time to time, I would pass a side road leading to an old house or other places that hunters probably used.
I did some quick research about the town, but nothing interesting came up. It was a typical mid-sized American town. Many people lived by hunting or farming, with a significant number of younger individuals leaving after completing high school.
Nothing new.
I finally started approaching a more populated area. The place was a mix of older brick houses and newer buildings, but overall, they were well-maintained, both old and new. I finally reached the center of town.
“Biggest pumpkin: registration closes on Friday!” said a large sign over the road.
I initially ignored it, but then noticed something. The town was more than clean and well-maintained. It was decorated. I went over the holidays I was aware of, but nothing came to mind. The closest one would be Halloween, but that was still two and a half months away.
I needed to get myself oriented anyway. So I parked near the city center and got out of my car.
The town was slowly preparing for some sort of celebration. The more I walked around, the more sure I became. Slightly too many American flags, even for a rural town. The windows in the homes were too clean, and the city center had been recently cleaned and renovated to some extent.
I finally got my answer before I needed to ask anyone.
“Get your flags for Founders Day! 50% off,” said a sign on one of the shops.
Founders Day, huh. I wondered if it would get in the way of my work, but for now, I let it sit at the back of my head.
I took some time to get everything I needed. The first thing was a map of the area, as the GPS on my way seemed to be having trouble with a few rural roads, and I didn’t trust electronics, especially with mana having a tendency of fucking with them.
Another task was getting an old newspaper. Thankfully, there wasn’t enough news for a daily paper, so I got last week’s local news easily.
“Ain’t no bigger pumpkin than mine, challenges previous year’s winner Steven McLanky.”
Fascinating.
I looked at the title with raised eyebrows. I would imagine any murder in a place like this should be on the front page. I checked the date. According to the cat, the bodies should have arrived at the morgue around nine days ago. So I imagined the local newspaper would be the one to get the news out. Or were they actually so dedicated to pumpkins that they forgot to write about two dead kids?
I flipped the page.
“The Founders Day celebration: where should you put your flag?” Again nothing. I flipped through the paper but only found more info about local farmer dramas, more about the upcoming celebration, and a worrying amount of pumpkin trivia.
Q’Shar told me not to bother the mortician’s cat, as he was retired and no longer interested in that life, but I was starting to suspect that I might have to bother the old cat after all. Or talk with the local doctor.
“Excuse me?” I asked the newspaper stand owner. “Did anything strange happen recently?”
The man looked at me like I was a moron. Yeah, not the best question, I have to give it to him.
“What ya mean? You some sort of reporter or somethin’?”
“Ye—no. No, I’m not a reporter. I’m actually from a Christian youth center, and I was informed there was a tragedy in town that might require a counselor.” I came up with a lie.
The man’s eyebrows rose up even further. “You a Christian counselor?” he asked, skeptical.
Now it was my turn to give him a look like he was the idiot. “You think modern youths would talk to someone who looks like a priest? They would run and go play some video games.” I cringed on the inside.
Was that believable?
Apparently, complaining about modern youth was effective, as the man nodded slowly.
“Loud music and no respect for elders, I tell ya.”
I think I got it.
“But Father Frank didn’t mention any counselor.”
Fuck’s sake. I had to get the guy to think I was connected to a local priest.
“We are a separate non-profit. We don’t always work with the church. We tried sending emails, but none got through.” I tried, hoping the local priest was also backward.
“Emails?!” The man exclaimed and laughed. “Yer too modern for your own good. No emails here. Not in the house of God. Good old days in there, I tell ya. Like it should’ve been.”
I nodded in agreement. “Phones take the time away from God, I tell all my students. You can’t see the Lord if you stare at a screen.”
That seemed to convince the guy as he smiled. “Well, I’ll tell Frank you came to help.”
‘Please don’t,’ I sighed on the inside.
“And yeah. Some youths could use counseling. If you could knock partying out of their heads, that would be great.”
“I sure as hell will. Or die trying.”
A bit of awkward silence descended.
“So… what happened?” I asked slowly.
“Oh, Father Frank can tell ya. But some youths overdosed at a party in the old slaughterhouse. Should’ve closed that place long ago.” The man spat at the mention of the slaughterhouse.
“Oh, but the newspaper didn’t say anything,” I said, faking surprise.
“Young people bein’ dumb and doin’ drugs ain’t newsworthy. Not before a good celebration. Would bring down the mood, I tell ya.”
Yeah, can’t risk the pumpkin contest.
I thanked the man, reassuring him I would give the youth a good talking-to about how drugs bring you further from the Lord, and went on my way. After a bit of Googling for “Lermon slaughterhouse” and checking the maps, I found the only old slaughterhouse in the area.
Examining GPS photos, it appeared to be a sizable industrial facility, now likely abandoned in the midst of the forest. I assumed there should be some path to it, but none could be seen on the maps. There was an old road that once led to the facility, but was it even still usable?
So I decided on a different idea. I found the local bookstore and actually managed to find a book about the town’s history.
I got it and decided to simply go through the forest. Judging by what I saw on my way here, going through it should be relatively easy. Having the ability to sense the surroundings made walking and reading possible. So I decided on a pleasant, relaxing stroll paired with some research.
I retrieved the old book and drove to a parking area near the forest, where I packed the most essential things into a hiking backpack, checked the direction with a compass, and was on my way.
While walking, I was half reading and half skimming through the book, but not much interesting could be found. I kind of expected to see some influence of the Butcher in the founding story. Perhaps the founder claimed to have heard a voice, or maybe he was led by an ancient prophecy or a local legend with a grain of truth, one that I alone could see. But there was nothing.
All I gathered was that the founder was a relatively wealthy man who purchased much of the land and sold it to others, and the town slowly developed naturally.
Initially, they lived by livestock, hunting, and some farming. There should be more to it, as the place was too big for just a farmer’s town. There was a high school, and the county coroner’s office was also located here.
I sighed at the wasted time. Where was the influence of one powerful soul mage? Where was the magic? All I saw was a sleepy rural town.
The cats didn’t have much info either. All I got from them was that there were strange deaths, looking like they were caused by soul injury. But nothing more. There was never anything interesting about the place, so there were no agents in the vicinity and no scouting.
I finally put down the book when it started describing the beauty of fields and forests. The day was lovely, with warm weather and only enough wind to freshen you up. I continued my trek.
I should be getting closer and closer to the place.
I think I was about 15 minutes from the slaughterhouse when I realized there was something on my trail.
I stood and furrowed my eyebrows.
I was sure I heard something. With my dexterity, my senses had also sharpened to match.
It sounded slightly like a squeal of a wild boar, but deformed and deeper. I started walking, this time not in the direction of the facility but to the side, taking a sharp turn to see if it would follow.
And it did. The footsteps sounded like those of an animal, but the breath was strange.
I took a few more turns.
Now I was sure it was right behind me. I tried sensing any aura, but got nothing.
Was it some territorial boar or an assassin?
One way to find out.
I walked toward the denser part of the forest. I crossed thicker shrubs with slight effort and continued on. After half a minute, when I was sure that whatever was following me would also have the bushes behind it, I turned around and sprinted in the direction of the sound.
‘It would be funny if it were just a boar,’ I thought to myself.
Once close enough, I colored my aura with my bloodlust as much as I could. Any wild animal should be automatically scared off by it.
I arrived close to the sound and looked around the bushes, trying to see or sense the owner of the footsteps.
And then it showed itself. First, I saw a boar’s head and relaxed slightly, but then the rest of it came out of the undergrowth, and I froze.
It looked as if parts of a person were grafted onto the body of the boar.
The head was that of a wild pig, with small eyes and large tusks. But around the back of the neck, the body split. The boar continued to the rear, while half a human torso grew upward.
It looked as if a person was split in half through the middle of the ribs and then sewn onto the animal. The bodies transformed into one another smoothly, with no seam or obvious break. The skin of the human body was the same blackish brown as that of the animal.
The torso’s one hand was grown into the pig’s neck and continued toward the animal’s face under the skin. The other, right hand was smaller, deformed, but still functional, ending with what looked like a large hoof where the palm should be, with fingers growing from the hoof.
The mouth and eyes were completely empty and wide open, with moss growing out of them and spilling like a small green waterfall frozen in time. The face was contorted into an expression of pain and hatred, etched into the strange flesh.
The animal roared.
I now realized the strange sound was a mix of a boar’s squeal and a human scream.
It had no magical signature, I realized.
Before I could figure anything more out, the powerful muscles flexed and the creature jumped for my throat.
