Harvester of Sorrow
Michael sat down on the grass and cried. He couldn’t run any longer. Not from his mistakes. Not from his regrets. And not from what chased him.
But what chased him? It was silly. Absurd, even. The forest was playing tricks on him. Along with his mind: tired and dehydrated from walking. More evidence of his foolishness. How silly of him to think he could hike for 100 miles with little preparation. He didn’t even have a tent. No, he paid a courier service to take that and his rucksack from campsite to campsite. Not that he would camp out here, not now. Not after what he saw.
He had been walking for miles without a drink. He was thirsty, the stream looked clean. He admired his reflection when it altered before his eyes. Staring back at him was his brother Neil. The reason he was hiking in the first place. For Neil. For his memory. Sponsor me per mile I make it, all proceeds to charity. For Neil. The outdoorsman.
Neil had completed the West Highland Way many times. Arguably Scotland’s most popular long-distance walking route, it took you from Milngavie to Fort William. Do it for Neil. Pah. Michael did it for the plaudits. Michael loved his brother but he despised what Neil had achieved in life while he remained the loser. The younger brother. The failure.
He knew the reflection wasn’t real. It couldn’t be, it was preposterous. Still, there it was. He dipped his canteen in Neil’s face and watched as the ripples tore it apart. He took a large gulp of water and looked back down at the stream. Neil’s face was gone but neither was Michael’s reflection staring at him. The stream had turned red, so red that Michael could not see the bottom. He spat the water out and retched as crimson globules tainted the greenery. He dropped his canteen and fell back from the stream. A small whirlpool began to form as the red manifested itself into a figure. What rose from the water was a mockery of a man. The dripping liquid that poured from its form betrayed its true nature.
Thick redness began to blacken as a face mutated before him. Michael urged his legs to run but they had abandoned him. He was hallucinating. That was all. Maybe something was in the water. Yes, that was it. Magic mushrooms had poisoned the stream and turned him loopy.
He almost smiled until he recognised the face. It was Neil. At least it looked like Neil. But it couldn’t be. Neil was dead. The thing that looked like Neil frowned. Its eyes widened to reveal nothing behind them but a tar-like substance. It oozed from the emptiness of the sockets and claimed dominance over the red. Michael tried to scream and instead found himself coughing in violent fear.
The face now had lips. Ghastly oily lips with a dark sheen. It was trying to communicate. It wanted Michael to know something.
Despite his best efforts to block out the words that formed in his head, Michael knew what it was trying to say.
It should have been you.
It took a step towards Michael, dripping black bile that polluted the stream. As adrenaline rushed through Michael’s veins, his legs woke up and he ran. Branches cut at his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. It should’ve been you. Neil wouldn’t say that. Neil loved Michael and Michael loved Neil. It was because of Neil that he was where he was, his brother would know that he was there out of love. Or would his brother see through the façade and know that Michael only ever did things for Michael.
Unable to run any longer he sat on the grass to catch his breath. He knew he couldn’t wait long. Whatever that thing was, it would find him. But where could he go? He was lost and had no shelter. He had nothing. Nothing but his own guilt. It should’ve been you. It wasn’t Michael’s fault. It should’ve been you. He would trade places with his brother if he could. It should’ve been you. He said he would when speaking at the funeral. Examining the prospect in light of what he saw, he wasn’t so sure. To trade places with his brother and become that thing… No. It wasn’t fair. He gave up on much in his life but he wasn’t going to give up on himself, not now.
Grey clouds blotted out the sun and the air chilled. A gust of wind blew across the trees and startled some birds. They flew off into the sky, leaving Michael alone with his shame.
The forest whispered a name. The name was Michael. He turned to see a shapeless shadow unfurl from the trees. It coagulated in front of him, a ghastly mass of sin.
He was done running. He stared back at the thing pretending to be his brother. He stared back at the thing that was once his brother. He looked into the eyes of Neil.
Bitterness dripped from the eyes. It should’ve been you.
“What do you want?” Michael pleaded. “It wasn’t my fault.”
The shape remained in place. Saturating the greenery with its dark malignance. The forest quickly blackened with the viscous substance as Michael found himself surrounded. Even if he wanted to run, he couldn’t. Not without running into the wicked entity that imprisoned him.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he sobbed. “No one forced you to get in the car.” He fell to his knees as all hope left him. Shame consumed Michael as he could no longer block out the truth. He could no longer suppress the blame.
Neil extended a putrid hand. It caressed Michael’s cheek and wiped away his tears. A dense shadow clasped itself around Michael. Despite how scared he was, the absolution was comforting. He took a deep breath as the viscous darkness permeated his flesh. It was the last breath he ever took.
