Father and Son

This is not a tale of epic battles, strong monsters slain or damsels rescued. This is not a tale to be told lightly, and even as I tell it, I do not promise you a happy ending. Listen, if you must, or leave, before it falls upon your ears and you will never forget.

Edgeville, as we know, is right beside the Wilderness. The town stretches to the gap, the breach, where no inhuman monster can pass. The people of Edgeville are wary of the demons on the other side, who tempt children and gaud strong men to cross. But demons seldom stray to the edge, and so the town lived in relative normality, with little contact from across the trench.

And so, our story truly begins with two brothers, playing with their father's stolen boomerang. The elder tossed it, and it flew over the wilderness trench, flying on for twenty meters, before arcing back to meet his skilled hand.

"Bet you can't beat that!" he cried to his brother.

"Course I can!" replied the younger sibling, and he took the boomerang and threw with all his might. And the thing flew, slicing through the air at great speed. The boomerang flew far further then the older brother had tossed it.

"Well done!" said the elder.

But the boomerang did not arc back to them. It fell, a good fifty meters into the Wilderness. Silence hung in the air.

"Dad'll kill us!" the younger brother squeaked.

"I'm going to have to get it" the elder said. And with that, he ran home, fetched a ladder, and laid it cross the gap. He walked along the rungs, carefully, balancing slowly, until his foot reached the other side. And then he was across, where few people dare tread. The wilderness.

He ran. There were no demons in sight, no giant rats, no ancient ghosts. Just flat, level ground, and his boomerang. But still, he knew what tales were told, and what all the adults said. Fear was heavy in his heart, even as he neared his father's stolen boomerang. He bent to pick it up.

A hand shot from the ground and snatched his wrist.

He screamed, trying to wrench away, but the arm held him fast, dragging him down beneath the loose soil, beneath the earth. To his death. The boy screamed, louder and louder, and terror gripped his brother's heart: the younger sibling ran to tell his father.

Even as his hand was being dragged beneath the earth, he snatched the boomerang with his free limb, and with it's sharp edge, stabbed the hand. It writhed, and released him, sinking back beneath the soil. For a moment, fear paralyised him. Then, it fed his legs, and he shot off.

Right into the arms of a waiting skeleton.

The father ran, sprinting from his forge to the trench. He ignored the ladder, and traversed the gap in a single leap. He ran faster that day then ever before, because he would save his son, he would, he would. He had to. His boy was screaming, held in the arms of an undead monster.

The creature would pay.

The father collided with the creature, taking it from his son to the ground. He punched the skull of the skeleton and cried out with the pain as his knuckles broke. The thing wrapped it's bony fingers round the father's neck,