The Hanged

Three bodies dangled outside the cave entrance–someone had bound their feet with a barbed rope and hung them upside down. Blood had once streamed from the wounds left by the barbs, but those rivers dried up a long time ago. Only husks of leather and bone remained, controlled by the whims of the wind. Porg shuddered every time the bodies collided with another. Cries rattled out from their gaping mouths as if something still lived within. He turned his back to the lost souls and gingerly took a seat next to the remnants of a fire. His ankle was a mess–broken by the things that wait within–which made him about as good as a three-legged mule in a horse race, hence why Porg was outside while the rest of the company went Witch-hunting on All Hallows Eve. 

“You’ll only drag us down, Porg. Witches are a dangerous lot–even more so today, from what I gather. That’s why it’s best you watch our backs.” Krade had said.

“I understand, but it’s just… what if they come for me out here? I don’t even know what they look like,” Porg had said. 

“To be honest, neither do I, Porg,” Krade scratched at his beard, “that’s why we need your keen eyes out here.” Krade had smiled then, trying to make Porg feel a bit less like a useless pile of shit, but Molter didn’t split any hairs.

“Ahhh, that’s a load of shite,” Molter said, through a burp. “You’re a fat little fucker, Porgi, and if that wasn’t enough, you’re foot’s managed to get even fatter. So, just sit your little piggy arse out here, or we’ll have to use you as bait.” That was Molter for you–the prince of pricks.   

Randen, the last member of their party, was not the talkative type. And today had been no different. He followed after Krade and Molter but had looked back to offer Porg a head nod–his version of good luck, and don’t die. He liked Randen, even though Porg had nearly pissed himself when they first met. The one-eared, hammer-wielding giant of a man affected most people who caught a glimpse of him. But after weeks of trekking together through weir-bogs, and having watched Randen rip the head off a wyrm that had been dead set on making Porg it’s dinner, well… they’d become friends of a sort. 

“Yeah, right,” Porg mumbled to himself, “there are no friends out here.” 

The bodies behind him laughed through broken teeth.

“Oh, shut up, you dead fu–”

Porg turned around, but the ropes were empty. They dangled to the ground as if they had always been that way, like vines falling from a tree. Porg’s mouth went dry, and his heart began to race faster, beat-by-beat. 

“Alright, M-m-m-molter,” he stammered. “You pulled one over on old, fat, Porgi.” 

There was no answer. Porg’s pulse quickened. 

“Molter… Kraden, if you’re taking the piss, cut it out.” 

Silence.

Porg reached down towards his blade, unsheathing it with trembling hands. He gripped it tighter and managed to stand despite the agony in his ankle. Porg pointed the tip of his blade out into the foul darkness and shook it back and forth. The brush to his right shuffled, and Porg nearly fell back onto his arse but managed to keep some semblance balance. 

“Whoever the fuck is in there, just know that I’m handy with this blade,” he shouted. “I know I don’t look like it, but I’ve skewered worse than you!” 

Nothing happened. Then Porg felt an itch on his head. Porg didn’t want to look up–he knew that he shouldn’t–yet, his neck began to crane towards the sky. 

Why can’t I stop?

The answers stared down at him with empty eye sockets. Three bodies floated above Porg, their feet towards the sky as if ropes still bound them to the tree. Their skinless mouths opened slowly, and in the shadows of their throats, something stirred. If Porg could control his mouth, he would’ve shrieked something unholy. Called out for Randen, perhaps, but he couldn’t move. They wouldn’t let him. Porg could only watch as hooked hands crawled their way out of their gaping mouths. The first one grabbed Porg by his greasy hair and another by his thick neck. But the worst came last–the final hand forced its way inside Porg’s mouth. He could feel its fingers take hold of his tongue; the taste of their rot flooded his senses. Then, the hands pulled all at once, and Porg flew into the night, dragged by the witches. Up they went until clouds consumed them. 

A moment later, something fell back through the mist. The last embers of Porg’s fire were enough to show the birds what had fallen.

A tongue. 

It twitched as if to scream. 

***

Krade wiped the blood from his blade and let out a sigh. 

“It’s just a bunch of bloody werewolves, Molter,” he yelled across the cavern. “I thought you said your intel was as good as gold.” 

“It is. My source has a few missing fingers if you need some proof,” Molter yelled back as he slashed a particularly big werewolf across the abdomen, spilling its entrails. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I just gutted their Alpha.”  

“Aye, that helps a bit,” Krade grunted, stomping on the head of a wolf crawling towards him, despite having had its legs cracked to bits by Randen. “Any sign of Witches on your end, Randen?”

Randen wasn’t much for talking, but he let out a grunt, which Krade interpreted as “Nope.” Krade looked over at the behemoth of a man who was cracking two werewolf skulls against each other. They smashed to a pulp in his hands, and Randen wiped the gore off on his bare chest as if it was a bit snot. 

“I think Randen just finished off this den of wolves, and still no signs of a witch,” Krade sheathed his blade. “Let’s go check on Porg and make sure a stray didn’t make a meal of him.” 

“If it did, it’d be the best snack that wolf ever had,” Molter snickered. “I’d put a good amount of coin on that.”    

“Oh, shut your trap, Molter. Porg’s a good lad. Try to go easy on him, or I think our friend Randen over here may finally have some words for you, though I doubt you’ll like what you hear.” Krade shot Molter a toothy smile. It even looked like Randen grinned, which would have been a first.  

“You’re too soft on the kid Krade,” Molter replied. “I’m trying to toughen up a bit of that fat.”

“Well, find another way to do it,” Krade spat. “We’re mercs, not bullies.”  

Krade let it end there and lit a torch with a few strikes from his flint. He started for the way back out, and Molter and Randen followed close by, their hands close to their weapons. If a witch wanted to make a move, waiting for their enemy to exhaust themselves on a pack of werewolves would be a good strategy. But as they got closer to the exit, nothing happened. No witches dropped from the shadows—just a silent walk through a dark cave. When they made it to an opening, Krade knew it was the one they had come in through. The four bodies hanging upside down from the tree were a dead giveaway. But something was off–Porg was gone. 

Molter noticed too, but he just laughed.

“And the cowardly cow ran off on us, huh?” He said, a smirk spreading across his poxed face. “I told you he needed some toughening up, Krade, I told you!” 

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” Krade looked around but saw no footprints leading away, no signs of Porg even getting up to take a leak. “What do you think, Randen?” Krade looked over towards the big man, who was currently staring at the four bodies strung up. 

“Randen, did you hear me?” 

“We should go,” Randen’s voice boomed, even though he only whispered. 

“What about Porg?” 

“What about him?” Molter replied. “He ran off, and we best do the same. The giant’s right; there’s nothing here. I guess my intel could use a few fewer fingers.” 

“I… alright, let’s go. Hopefully, we’ll catch up with Porg on the way.” Krade said the words, but he didn’t believe them.  

“Yeah, sure, we will.” Molter rolled his eyes. “Lead the way, Krade.” 

Krade gave Molter a nod and grabbed his pack before heading off. Molter followed suit, but he made sure to turn towards the cave and flip it off as a final goodbye. Randen, on the other hand, stayed still, staring at the hanging bodies. The corpse on the far right, in particular, held his eyes. It was plumper than the rest, almost fat. 

“Randen, hurry your giant ass up already!” Molter called from the woods. 

Randen gave the hanging ones a final look and turned towards his companions. As he walked away, his foot stepped on something that let out a sickening squish. Randen paid it no mind and kept walking.