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Tale of the Hell Hounds
Night has fallen. Shadows creep into every home, every barnyard. A family sits by a fire, warming their hands and feet after a lonely day’s work in the fields. The two girls play with their rag dolls, and the baby boy sleeps in the cradle, his mother knitting a new pair of socks, her rocking chair creaking slowly back and forth, back and forth. The father busies himself with a mug of ale and the taxes. In the distance, wolves howl, a mournful call rising, wavering above the hills to end in a clear, sad note. All is quiet, with only the steady creaking of the chair and the merry cackling of the fire breaking the serene silence. Minutes pass on the great grandfather clock sitting in the corner. A clear knock comes from the door, and the father stands up to get it while his family watches, puzzled by this late night visitor. He opens the door to reveal a hunchbacked old man in a ragged brown cloak. The visitor smiles to the father and inquires in a husky voice, “Kind sir, would you be so kind as to allow an old traveler like meself to stay the night? I won’t be any trouble, I assure you.”
The father, being as kind as he is, nods silently and lets him past, waiting for the old man to find a seat in the spare armchair before reseating himself by the fire. The traveler sighs, easing himself into the chair.
“Ahhh, these old bones ain’t what they used to be.” Grinning a toothy grin, he continues, “Kind sir and maid, as repayment to your good deed, may I tell you a legend, the Tale of the Hell Hounds?”
The mother and father exchange a glance, and the woman nods and replies softly, “Of course, we’d love to hear your story; it would be an honor.” She smiles slightly, expectant.
The old man’s grin spreads. “Well now, first I must know your family’s names. It’s a tradition of mine to star my tales with the hosts’ names.”
The woman nods again. “Ah, yes, of course. Well, I’m Meredith, and my husband is Connor. The girls are Cathy ad Ann while the baby is Joseph. We are the Addison family.”
The old man nods again. “Now, before I begin, I must warn you that this story is extremely vivid – so vivid in fact that many claim to actually see what’s going on,” he says in that husky voice of his. “Any questions before I begin; I can’t have any interruptions.”
Connor looks up. “Yes, I do, in fact. I’ve never heard of these ‘Hell Hounds,’ is this legend very recent?”
“No, it is as ancient as the Earth itself, but no one cares to listen. However, this particular tale is very unique; you’ll never hear another one quite like it. Now to begin…
“Once, in a house much like this one, with a family much like this one, and on a night much like this one, a winter night still as stone, the wolves were howling quite unnaturally. You see, the wolves were afraid, afraid of what lurked in the dark pine forest. All at once, the forest noises ceased, and an eerie quiet befell the farm.” The traveler’s eyes glitter as he continues with his story. “Every now and again a twig would snap, and one could notice shadows prowling. Wafting above the hills came a screech unlike any bird’s, best described as a child’s as he was being tortured beyond imagining, a bloodcurdling scream of the Devil, of the Hell Hounds.” The Addison family glances out the window, sure that they could hear the very cry that the old man spoke of. He continues on, “The Hounds were hungry as they haven’t fed on human flesh for quite some time. The scent of it nearby was too enticing to resist. The Hell Hounds, strange as it seems, have no eyes, no noses, and no ears. But they sense Life. Life is their food and sight. The more they feed the stronger they become. They tracked the Life to a farm, and scented along the perimeter, snuffling, growling, scratching.” The father, sure he was hearing something of the sort, trembles slightly, while the traveler still continues his tale. “One Hound found an opening, a slightly ajar door, and screamed to alert its fellows.” The Addisons, sure that something terrible is outside, stare at the old man as Connor says, “Stop this, old man. We’ve had enough of your tricks, trying to scare us like this!”
The old man just laughs, replying, “Ahh, but I can’t stop now, sir, it’s already begun. As I was saying, the Hell Hounds congregated at this door, the door to the kitchen I believe, and shouldered it open, stepping lightly onto the tiled floor, their nails tapping lightly in sharp clicks.” The Addisons know now what is happening. The children’s faces turn white, and the mother stands up, backing away from the advancing pawsteps on her kitchen floor. The father, however, glares at the old man, his hands clenching into fists. Even so, the story continues…
“One Hound after another slipped silently into the Addison’s family room where they were listening to a story much like this one, and the Hounds screamed again, this time in triumph.” Cathy and Ann both weep, sobbing on the floor, too petrified to do anything. “The stench of the Hounds, the stench of burned flesh, stifled the room.” Meredith faints. On the threshold of the Addison home stands three wolf-sized Hounds, not that one would call them that. They stand on thin legs ending in three long, thin, and frighteningly sharp claws. Their backs arch upward, with black-green spiked armor protruding from their heads and necks, ending in sharp plates at the shoulders. Their skin is a pinkish red, and their tail stubs hang uselessly. Their teeth and claws are bloodstained, showing their blood-filled history. The Old Man, once again, continues his story, as the story itself unfolds right in the Addison’s living room.
“The Hounds took Meredith first, an easy meal, shredding her body apart to take every last drop of Life Force available. The husband, Connor, was trapped in one corner by a snarling Hound, and he got to watch as they gruesomely took the Lives of his two beloved daughters, tearing them limb from limb. At long, agonizingly last, the Hounds turned their attention on Connor, blood dripping from their jaws. They lunged, latching onto his arms, and tore them right off, blood splattering everywhere. Connor fell forward, face white with pain. They ripped at him, but still he held on to his last strand of Life. At the point where he could hold on no longer, he uttered a phrase that would be in the minds of every victim there is to come – ‘Oh Lord have mercy, the Hell Hounds are upon us!’”
At that, the Old Man laughs, him and his Hounds blowing away like a wisp of wind, never to be found, as if nothing had ever happened. The Addisons were still dead though, all except for one, little Joseph, doomed to an orphanage for the rest of his childhood. No one ever knew what happened to the Addison family; their death was always shrouded in mystery. Yet sometimes, during the still winter nights which plagued the Addisons, one might still hear the Hell Hounds scream as they prowl the wood, searching, searching, ever searching, for their next victims.
 (the approxamite appearance of a Hell Hound)
 Aribis · Tue Apr 15, 2008 @ 02:08am · 0 Comments |
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