“ROBEEEEEERRRT!”
I was going to die.
They were going to tear me apart limb from limb. If the villagers who scream at the setting sun wouldn’t eat me, the wild animals out in the forest would.
Bits and pieces of my body would be strewn around the woods. The hands that I used to play guitar would end up inside of some bear’s digestive tract. Sparrows would peck away at my eyes and an entire generation of ants would feast on my voice chords. I would never make music again.
“ROBEEEEEERRRT!”
When the sun first set they moved around the village haphazardly, like a bunch of toddlers playing hide and seek. The red tips of their claws moved through the night without any aim. The monsters that were hunting me were simply walking around screaming my name.
I thought that I could make it until daybreak in my hiding spot. The woodshed was dark enough to hide me until sunrise and if I picked my timing carefully I could dash out into the forest without being seen. But after an hour of unanswered calls the creatures that were hunting me changed their strategy.
The scarlet lights that stemmed from their claws started to organize. In the geometry of those burning fireflies I could see a search party manifest.
They surrounded the village and moved in two waves from the opposing sides of the main road. They were searching every home, every barn, every woodshed. It was just a matter of time before they found me.
I was going to die.
“ROBEEEEEERRRT”
I sat in the musty dark of the woodshed and tried to keep my sobs as quiet as possible. There were splinters all over the place, my knees were killing me and my hangover had fused itself into the panic and reemerged with fresh, painful force.
And I was going to die.
Hopelessness so powerful washed over me that I almost got up and walked out into the street. There wasn’t any point in hiding. The creatures would find me anyway. Aneta Vašková would pouch Gustave and my band would fall apart. The Warriors of Perun, the creative project that drove me for the past two years of my life, would become a footnote on a better musician’s Wikipedia page.
Also, I was going to die anyway. Figured I’d get it over with.
But then, just as I was about to commit suicide by eldritch creature, a brick of a vision hit my head –
Somewhere in a loft in Prague’s Žižkov district, a thick-eyebrowed man sits behind his laptop. He has both just finished his snack of corn-bread hummus and reading whatever is on his screen.
The man licks the tips of his fingers for the last remnant of his vegan treat and then brushes off the crumbs from his keyboard. He clicks on the comment section and methodically types out the words:
“You’re a warrior of Perun. Act like it!”
He hits ENTER and the intertwined web of the Internet whirls into action.
The words hit me like a bolt of divine lightning.
“You’re a warrior of Perun. Act like it!”
Whoever this mysterious man was, he had a point. Hiding in the woodshed, waiting to die was a far cry from what a true follower of Perun would have done in this situation. I had named my band in honor of the pagan God of war and thunder, yet I acted like a coward.
If I was a true warrior of Perun I would run out into the summer night and turn that peaceful village into a roaring battle field. A true warrior wouldn’t hide, he would fight, he would tear those monsters in half and make them dread the day that they tried to drug him.
The last time I had used my fists was in grade school and even then they missed every shot they took. But not all warriors of Perun fight with their fists, what I lacked in strength I made up for in cunning.
I would turn the village into a battlefield, but I wouldn’t be doing the fighting.
The lights that hovered around the village were equally spaced, the monsters had set up a stable perimeter to ensure I couldn’t escape. The biggest groups of the creatures were in the two search parties which moved from either end of the village but there were visible clumps of the scarlet bulbs positioned around something else.
The barns. The villagers were guarding the barns. They knew that’s where my allies were.
Whenever the creatures moved too close towards the walls of those wooden structures the livestock would explode into the same shrill, anxious screams they had let out before. Those animals wanted out. They could aid me in my escape.
If I could distract them for long enough to get to the barn I could drench the village in chaos so potent that no one would notice my escape.
The chickens in the coop outside had calmed down. Aside from the occasional sleepy cluck they had resigned into the night. I tried to remember a prayer to Perun but nothing came to mind. The guy had been out of the mainstream for well over a thousand years, my hope was he was an understanding God.
“Perun help me,” I whispered as I unlatched the doors of the chicken coop.
For a split second the chickens sleepily stared at the outside world through the open doors. They looked unsure, as if the possibility of freedom was something that their avian brains had never even considered. But sure enough, after their beady eyes readjusted to their new reality – They ran.
The chickens dashed through the village, clucking victoriously, as hard as their little lungs would allow them to. This immediately caught the attention of the grouping of lights that hung around one of the barns. The eldritch monsters descended on the chickens like shining vultures.
I crawled over to the unguarded barn.
I had hoped I could just sneak in, free the animals and make my escape under the pandemonium that a barnfull of loose livestock would create but things weren’t that simple. There was a rusty lock covering the gate of the barn.
My mind flooded with more reddit inspiration quotes. All I needed to do was find a solution. Obstacles were a part of the process.
I was getting tired of ‘the process’.
Behind me, the gentle prelude to the chaos started. The clucking of freedom turned into the clucking of fight. The chickens and the villagers had met in battle somewhere among the cottages. A wave of frustrated, pecking-induced, growls rose from the monstrous throats in the darkness but it was soon drowned out by pained screeching of the birds. Even the most persistent of beaks are no match for a razor sharp claw.
I had to get inside of the barn and release the hoofed cavalry. I needed something to break the lock. It was too dark to find any rocks. The vape in my pocket started to feel heavy.
It was our first paid show. I spent the whole bus-ride clutching the money inside of my hoodie. It all seemed unreal. Someone had paid me to do something I would willingly do for free.
I knew exactly what I was going to spend my first dream-paycheck on.
The screen flickered with a bright blue light before it zapped out of existence. The valley echoed with the sounds of slaughter. The chickens were sacrificing so much more than me, but still-
I was going to quit smoking and I was going to quit in style. The pipe I had picked out had both mouth to lung and direct hit capabilities, the potential wattage that I could use was all over the place, I could even play Angry Birds on it if I got bored!
It was the Cadillac of adult pacifiers and it was the first purchase from money that was truly my own.
Three hits is all it took for my high-tech vaporizer to look like something you would find at the salvage yard. Yet the lock still held firm.
The same couldn’t be said for the chickens. The sound of battle was gone now, what little was left of the avian troop was reduced into whimpered clucks of death. The villagers had resumed their rally cry. My name echoed through the forest once more. They were getting closer.
I’d puff on it whenever I was nervous, whenever I needed a second to compose myself, whenever I was bored. That smell of strawberry cheesecake was my blanket of comfort.
“Goodbye old friend,” I whispered as I slammed my vaporizer into the lock. It breathed out one last gust of steam that smelled of burnt cotton and then shattered into a hundred pieces of misshapen electronics. My inanimate friend was gone, but his sacrifice was not in vain – next to the bits of plastic that I had gripped for years was a broken lock.
“ROBEEEEEERRRT”
The night started to brighten in the red hue of the setting sun. There was no point hiding in the darkness anymore, the creatures knew where I was. I turned on the flashlight of my phone and ran into the barn.
Much like the chickens, the pigs and cows of the barn took a while to understand what was going on, but as I ran past them with my flashlight, unlatching their pens, they rustled themselves awake. Revolution was burning in the air.
I turned off my flashlight and hid inside an empty pen at the edge of the barn. The animals were becoming restless. The barn was starting to fill with the bloody glow of the villager’s claws. Soon the chaos would begin.
“ROBEEEEEERRRT”
The pen around me slowly materialized under the crimson light. There was a photo tacked onto the scuffed wood. A photo of someone that I recognized.
It was the strange pale girl I had met the day before. She still had that queer expression behind her eyes and was wearing clothes that seemed a century old but she seemed happy.
Her arms were wrapped around a mammoth of a brown cow. It was a strange combination; the gentle hands of the frail human wrapped around the bulging muscles of the powerful animal. The girl’s face shone with the joy of friendship. The cow on the photograph clearly meant a lot to her.
‘Me and Olga’ was scratched out above the picture in uneven handwriting. The cow’s eyes stared back at me like two giant lava-lamps, radiating unceasing tranquility.
But the barn was far from tranquil. The animals had fully woken up from their gentle slumber and were now screeching on the top of their lungs. The wooden gate creaked. The villagers were inside of the barn.
The hollow thumps of hooves on flesh, the manic battle cries of cornered pigs, the dark screams of the monsters that hunted me – the barn had descended into utter chaos. Shadows painted by the bright red glare of the creature’s claws danced on the wooden walls of the barn. The villagers were putting up a fight, but the animalistic force of the livestock was undeniable.
Crawling towards me, through the dry straw that covered the ground, was a viscous stream of blood. Bits of dark flesh floated on it like newspaper boats. It was time for my escape.
I got up from my hiding spot, ready to run for my life, but my feet refused to budge.
An animal was in my way.
The pig’s maw was so close to me that I could feel its last, hot breath leaving its body. The sleek black claws made quick work of its pink flesh. Its corpse slid off the ghastly claws as if it was covered in bacon grease.
“ROBEEEEEERRRT!”
The monster that had slaughtered the pig towered over me. Seeing that scaly black skin, those massive milky eyeballs, the horrible pin-like teeth, it all chilled me to my core. Even in my worst, sweat-drenched nightmares I couldn’t imagine a being so abhorrent.
The tips of the creature’s claws were searing hot and inches away, but I couldn’t move. Those horrible lights were reaching for my face, buzzing with an incomprehensible energy, but I was paralyzed.
“You’re a warrior of Perun. Act like it!”
“ROBEEEEEE-“
My fist flew through the air. For a split second I felt the tender, wet surface of the white eyeballs wrap itself around my knuckles.
Pop!
The monster clutched at its leaking eye-socket and screamed the same pained scream that its cohorts were letting loose during their struggle with the animals. Through the melee of the barn I could see a direct path towards freedom.
Punching demons in the eye, that’s what I do,
Fighting against evil tonight, with my barnyard crew,
I ran through the stifling, blood-filled air of the battle into the cool summer night.
The world outside was consumed in an all-encompassing darkness; any hint of a perimeter guarding the village was gone. Wisps of blinding light seeped out of the rickety barn. All of the monsters that were hunting me were inside, preoccupied with a different breed of enemy.
It was three thirty in the morning and I had just finished going through the usual sing-alongs that people indulge in during jam sessions. Might have sung Radiohead’s Creep more than once.
It was just a couple of hours before The Warriors of Perun would have their first paid gig. I needed to rest.
“Got some nice pipes on ya,” she said after I got off stage.
“Oh, thank you,” I replied.
“No, really, that was really good. It’s like Plant and Sinatra had a baby and that baby was you.” I had received compliments on my music before, but never a double-compliment. She wasn’t just being nice. She actually enjoyed my singing.
“Thank you!” I said, hoping that the bar was dim enough to hide my blushing, “Means a lot! I’m actually in a band called the Warriors of Perun, tomorrow we’re having our first proper gig at-“
“Hey, I can barely hear you. Wanna go grab a smoke outside?”
“Oh, I don’t smoke anymore. Thinking of buying a vape.”
“Ah, come on. Smoking’s good for your bones,” she shot me a wide smile, “If anyone tells you different, they’re a communist.”
I’ve noticed her grooving out in the back of the bar before, but it wasn’t until she wiggled her pack of Luckies at me that I realized how beautiful she was. A bit of tar in my lungs seemed like a reasonable sacrifice to be around those lively green eyes for a bit longer.
I accepted her cigarette and followed her outside.
“Robert, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you Robert. I’m Aneta, Aneta Vašková.”
“I thought we were friends, ROBERT!”
As ghoulish as the creature in front of me was, as terrifying as its shining claws were, as bright as that milky stare shined – I could still recognize the steamboat suspenders. Samko’s claws clinked as he walked towards me.
“I thought we could feed the chickens together, ROBERT!”
His voice vibrated with a dark power, but he was alone. His bright-tipped weapons were sharp, but he was alone. He was a monstrous being that meant me harm, but he was alone.
“I thought you would stay, ROBERT!”
My hand was still wet with the silky innards of an inhuman eyeball. The villager I had punched out was twice Samko’s size. I was a warrior of Perun, and he was alone.
“ROBEEEEEE-“
I kicked the child as hard as I could, planting my foot dead in the center of his steamboat suspenders.
He fell to the ground.
But my balance was a far cry from a ‘this-is-Sparta’ moment.
I fell down on top of the inhuman youth.
He was down. I had to act quick. My mind searched through every bit of advice that the odd self-defense YouTube video had stashed away in my subconscious. I pinned down Samko’s arms with my knee and raised my first.
“Dude. Let me go. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to go home.”
His white eyes blinked. My threat of a fist seemed to have surprised him, but soon enough his pin-needle mouth formed into a smile.
“This is your home now, ROBERT.”
A searing pain shot from my shin through to the rest of my being. The world lit up in a dizzying wave of bright, hot light. For a split second I could see Samko’s stinging claw scrape against my flesh but even that disappeared beneath the wave of blinding brilliance.
The sun.
It is the one and only true bringer of life in this world. Its rays illuminate our path so that we do not stumble through the cursed darkness. Its light gives our crops the strength to grow and feed our families. Its motions dictate the fabric of time itself.
Every time the sun sets it is a tragedy that demands to be mourned.
Everything in our universe revolves around the sun. That roaring ball of fire spits out strings of flame that could incinerate us all within milliseconds. We are only here because the sun wills it so. Because it hasn’t grown tired of us yet.
It is our one true master, our one true God. To serve any other power is the definition of blasphemy itself. Without the sun we are nothing. If the sun ever grows displeased with us we will be charred, dead ash.
Every time the sun sets it is a tragedy that deserves to be mourned, and my screams will join the wailing procession.
I will submit myself to the blinding light of my true master. I will feed and clean and tend to the animals so that the people of the village may have meat. I will do my part to keep the village alive. I will take part in the worship. I will scream at the setting sun.
And music? What does the sun know of music? Notes and melodies are nothing but a modulated annoyance to the all-shining, all-burning God. The sun does not want symphonies and poetry. It wants chaos. It wants us to hold a mirror to the roaring gases which consume themselves in the deafening inferno that dwells at the suns core.
It wants screams.
It wants me to stay in the village and… give up… on… The Warriors… of-
“You’re a warrior of Perun. Act like it!”
For a split second the feverish visions of the brightest star faded away. A split second is all it took. I slammed my fist into Samko’s eye.
“ROBEEEERT! NO! WE WERE MEANT TO BE FRIENDS!”
His claw tore out of my leg and reached for his face, but I didn’t give him a chance for respite. I kept on punching. I knew that if I gave him even the slightest opportunity to pull me back into that trance I would never emerge again.
Whatever madness rested in those shining appendages was beyond my comprehension.
“Roooooobeeeeerrrttt!” Samko blindly groaned beneath the flurry of my blows. His voice had lost its demonic edge, he now sounded like the small child he pretended to be when we first met.
But he wasn’t going to trick me.
I knew I wasn’t beating a child. I was beating a slick-skinned creature of the forest that wanted to brainwash me into joining the cult of their perverted sun god.
“We were meant to be friends,” he whispered before he let out a strained, terminal wheeze.
I got up, leaving the limp creature in the muddy grass. Behind me, the barn still rumbled with the sounds of battle. In front of me, the dark road towards freedom beckoned.
The bartender was right.
Some questions were not meant to be asked.
Some places were not meant to be found.