It was a dark, silent and cold night and Ann was walking by herself. At least, she first assumed she was. She had assumed, at first, that one of the most stupid things she could do was walk up an abandoned track, in the biting cold, with a half moon and the stars providing the only light, alone and unprotected. It was a pity she hadn't thought of that when she started the walk.
It was also a pity the only light she'd bought was a lantern that hung from a stick. The candle inside the steel fittings was a sickly one, and the flame guttered frequently. It was a shame that the only thing to keep her warm, or at least arrest the onset of gangrene from the freezing cold was a plum dress, and a threadbare shawl. And lastly, the most biggest misfortune for Ann was that nobody knew where she was. Including herself.
So when she heard footfalls behind her, and she whirred around to discover that she was being followed, she screamed. Understandable. If you were a semi-frozen, tired young lady, you would be frightened out of your wits by the discovery of a dark stranger tagging your moves, on a previously abandoned track.
"Aaaaeeeeek!" Ann caterwauled, almost dropping the lantern. Like the rest of her body, she froze. The stranger stopped as well, and stood meters behind her, waiting patiently.
"Who are you?" Ann snapped, recovering in one quick moment. She held the lantern in front of her, to enlighten the stranger. The lantern rattled as her hands shook.
The flickering yellow light revealed a young man. He too, was holding something. It looked to Ann like a staff, with a bauble in it. She couldn't make out much of his clothes, other then he was wearing a cloak. He had short purple hair and a big grin on his face. And his eyes were closed, so she could only see slits in his face.
"Me?" Asked the man, theatrically pointing to himself with the one hand not holding the staff.
"Who else is there out here?" Ann demanded, and then took a couple of paces backwards.
"Well, there's you for a start. Who are you?" The corners of his mouth widened a little. Ann gripped the stick holding the lantern in both hands. Maybe, if he turned out to be a freak or something, she could brain him with it. Maybe.
"I asked you first." She shivered and squinted at him.
"Oh no. Ladies first." And he did a pantomime bow, dipping towards the ground gracefully.
"I'm not telling you. Listen, buster, I don't want to know who you are. I want you to stop following me." She wielded the stick in what she hoped was a menacing way. He showed no sign of being scared. Rather, his grin shifted itself up a few notches.
"My, my. You are quite paranoid. Do you really think I was following you?" He put his middle finger against his chin and tapped it in a thoughtful manner.
"Yes! Where did you come from, anyway? You just appeared out of nowhere." Was this the beginning of a conversation? With a mysterious stranger, miles away from any village? If it had been a Harlequin novel, it would have had a romantic ring to it, but now, in a turgid and chilling cold night, it held the promise of sinister menace. Ann, however, was not one to loose her cool in a desperate situation. She prided herself on her composure and her immunity to fear. She lifted her chin and glared at him squarely in the eye.
"I was just rambling along this delightful path. It is pretty, isn't it? Though I don't suppose you can see, what with your lantern skating on the brink of death." He was right, of course. Ann jumped once he said this. It was true. The flame was down to a pitiful blue ribbon. He continued.
"Once the flame goes out, then what? You won't be able to see a thing. It's not like the moon is very bright on this chilly night. Look, it's even going behind a cloud." Several. Now where had they come from? It was odd, how they were suddenly there, in the inky black sky. And why was she letting him natter on, without taking up her skirt and running away? Well, her lips were frozen, her teeth were starting to chatter, and he could have probably out run her anyway. So she was trapped, then. She started at the slightly less black shape he filled against the jet of the sky as the lantern fizzled out.
"If I were a young lady like you, faced with a possibly malicious stranger, in the middle of nowhere, I'd be very scared indeed. I must say, you're very brave." Yes, she was. But Ann still frowned defensively at the space where his voice was coming from.
"Well? Are you going to hurt me then?" She was wary, yes, but at the same time a little curious.
"Could be. What do you think my motives are? Here am I, a suspicious man, menacing a poor damsel. I know for a fact that if I were, say, to brutally murder her, even if she took up flight, I would be able to overpower her within minutes, and even if she screamed for help, the closest, and I use that term sparingly, village and help from here is miles away. She is, in effect, a perfect target for whatever insidious schemes I may be plotting. So, when you phrase me the question; will you hurt me? I can say with utter honesty that the answer will be yes." Ann stumbled a few more paces back.
"Here I'm going to indulge in a little psychology. You are now frightened of me. With good reason, even though you've never met me before tonight. Now, what, you think, are your choices? A) Stay here, rooted to the spot, trembling, B) Run, which of course will be futile, seeing as it's too far to run, you're cold, you're legs won't work, and they probably seized up with fear anyway. Well? It's your decision."
Ann heard him take a couple of firm footsteps forward. She ran. He was right, of course. She took off, dropping the lantern, arms akimbo, legs shaking. She ran for a good five minutes until stumbling to a halt. She couldn't hear anything except her own ragged gasps.
"You display an interesting running style. Quite similar to a puppet jerked spasmostically by strings. I must say, you covered more ground then I thought you would." He was standing right beside her. He whispered these last words into her ear. She screamed again, and fell over.
"Well, that's option B) out of the way. What will you do - " before he finished, Ann had leapt up and kicked in his general direction, hoping to get him off balance. It didn't work. He caught her by the foot, so she hopped awkwardly on one leg. She flailed her arms, hoping to punch or at least slap him. She spat, and when her right hand met something hard, and he caught her left one, she began to scream profanities.
" - now? Well, I was also looking forward to seeing some of this. Should I let you go so you can try again?' He didn't bother to hear her answer, and dropped her so she lay in a heap at his feet. Then she was blinded. It was the light that seemed to come from the bauble in his staff. I was glowing red. Ann stared up at the omnipresent smile, and at the gloved hand he was offering her, and gave up. Ann sighed and accepted his outstretched hand, pulling herself up.
"What do you want?" By the waxy light, she could see he was still smiling, and his eyes were still closed. How did he navigate, then?
"Why don't we walk together for a bit?" He offered her his arm.
"Before you kill me?" Well, she wasn't some trembling waif. Let him go on his little ego trip if he wanted. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing some pathetic puddle of terror. She squared her jaw and clenched her fists.
"Very likely. Are you going to run off again? Or fighting? Or screaming?" Ann took his arm.
"No." Her shoulders registered defeat.
"So you're going to walk arm in arm with a man who possibly would kill you? Is that wise?"
"No. But what else can I do? Say, what is that red bubble in your staff, anyway?" She nodded towards it as they started to slowly walk off.
"It's not a bubble."
"What is it?"
"It's a secret."
Ann sighed.
"What are you getting out of this? Cheap thrills at seeing your prey squirm?"
"Thrills? Cheap? Me, a priest?" He straightened up and tutted. Funny, was his hair purple before? It must be the light. Wait a minute -
"You're a priest? Why aren't you preaching, or something, rather then preying on defenseless little girls?" Damn, his hair was purple. Shiny too. It reached down to his shoulders. It didn't do that before, did it?
"I'm a traveling priest. I'm Fred, the mysterious priest."
"Good for you." Purple hair. Weird.
"You don't believe me? I'm hurt. What possible reason would there be for me to lie to you?"
"Whose priest are you, then?"
"Freda's. I'm also her general as well. Isn't that nice?" He put his arm around her shoulders. She squirmed.
"Fine, fine." She sighed.
"Who are you, my dear?" His smile was so big it looked as though the top of his head might come off.
"You don't know? Why does it matter to you?"
"I like to be on a first name basis with people."
"I'm not telling you."
"Then I'll give you a name. Hmm...something beginning with an...A. Yes. How about Ann?" She was sure behind the lids of his eyes he was laughing.
"Stuff you." She pushed his arm off her and strode ahead of him. He easily caught up. "Listen, buddy, seeing as you've already been stalking me, just stop pretending you don't know who I am."
"But that name was the first one that came to me!" He affected an air of innocence.
"How long is this going to go on? What are you going to do with me?"
"But we were getting along so fine! If you want to end your last moments in a huff, it's your choice."
"So you're going to kill me, you...freak." She glared at him. Why didn't he open his eyes?
"Yes. Yes I am. How does that make you feel?"
"Oh, I feel ecstatic." Her original fear had metamorphosed into an irritable, teetering on the edge of terror, sarcasm. "Why the hell do you care? Okay, if you know so much about me, then you tell me."
"You're very, very scared." Of course, he was right.
"Brilliant, Holmes." She spat this last bit out.
"I'm going to kill Ann. Last name unknown. When her body is discovered, do you think anyone will care? Who was she really, what was she doing out alone along a track. If they asked a certain Vardoger from a village miles back, it would transpire that she had stormed out of the hut they shared, vowing revenge, and walking where the fancy took her. But they're not going to ask, are they? Ann, poor thing, will be buried in a simple grave, with no marker."
"And who did this dreadful deed? Huh?"
"Past tense. Nasty habit to get into. It'll be one of the great unsolved mysterious of the area. People will wonder for years."
"You'll get caught." Ann sneered. "They'll find you and lynch you." The raspberry glow of his blood red bauble, encased in his staff, gave Ann's face the appearance of blatant over consumption. It gave his, the mysterious Fred, the appearance of a red painted smiling porcelain doll.
"My, my. You're so very spiteful. I suppose that is understandable, given the circumstances. Well, I prefer your other demeanor. So I'll change the circumstances, and maybe you'll be that sweet girl again." He fingered the bauble intently. "What do you think?" He sounded genuinely interested. Maybe it was a bona fide question. Maybe.
"You were following me. You'll get caught and strung up like salami. People will cut bits off your body when they've finished as keepsakes of the insidious creep." Said Ann with a certain relish.
"Goodness. As fascinating as my eminent death is, why don't we negotiate these circumstances?" The smile has a smidgen of snake in it by now.
"What? What circumstances?" Ann snapped. Her heart skipped. "Will you let me go?" She tried not to sound too pleading, but it came out deferently. This seemed to please him even more.
"Well, let's make a game of it. Your freedom, if you can, say, put forward to me three things which I cannot argue with. That the moon is bright, or so on."
Three things? Ann gave him a few furtive glances, and thought.
"Did I mention there was a time limit?" He enquired politely.
"Right now, it's night time."
"Aha, but not in Sailoon. There, it would be early morning. I'm prepared to let you have that one as a prerequisite starter. Try again." He sounded encouraging.
"Ahhh...My name is Ann."
"True. Ann Jessie Mildew, to be exact." Ann tried to hit him, but when she did, his grin only became more feral, so she thought again.
"Tick tick tick." He piped sweetly.
"Your name is Fred."
"One of my names. I have many. Two down, one to go!" He looked on the verge of cheering her on.
"Um...I'm a girl."
Fred looked very happy, almost beside himself with glee when she said that. He even giggled, and rocked back and forth.
"Three in a row! You may go!" Ann didn't wait for more conformation, and ran. She didn't look back. She fled, stumbled, helter skelter, off the track, on it, through brambles, trees, grass. She had no idea how long it was before she fell into wet grass, gasping and wheezing.
"You know, a treadmill would be of tremendous benefit." He was standing in front of her, grin, purple hair, staff and all. She leapt up and glared at him.
"You! You said you'd let me go! That I'd got my freedom!"
"I didn't say how much freedom. You just had three minutes worth, for three questions. I'm afraid you misunderstood me." The tone was sorrowful, but the grin was quirked in some sort of a private joke.
"You fuc - " then she screamed on impulse as he sprang forwards and grabbed her waist. His eternal smile only increased with every profanity she spat, every slap, every punch and every kick. Then the light in his bauble went out, with an air of finality to it.
"It won't do you any good." He admonished her. He was right, of course.
So it was a rabbit trapper who was the first human to lay eyes on the mortal remains of Ann Jessie Mildew. The animals strangely enough, hadn't even nibbled at them. The trapper, who went by the name of Galleytrot, was a man of strong wills and stomach, and looked at the sad debris with not horror, but a wistful curiosity.
At first he didn't know what he was looking at. He had never had much imagination. But then, if he cocked his head to the left, and squinted, he could make out some of the smaller details; gristle, bones, hair. Then it all snapped into focus. He jumped back.
"Oh my." He murmured. He was not a man for overstatement. He poked at a femur with the toe of his shoe, and looked at the dramatically re-arranged girl, then reflexibly over his shoulder. Of course, there was no one there. No one that he could see, anyway.
Being a hermit, of simple conscience, and not fond of people trapaising on what he considered his turf, he buried haphazardly the clumps of stained hair, the flayed skin, the broken nails, and the rest of it. He laid a small pile of stones on the lone grave. A small pile, so a passer by would not remark on any new landmark.
He stood for a bit, hat in hands, at the grave, really a hole, a very small hole, for a bit while the birds sang. Galleytrot considered the random cruelty of life, the way it dealt black hands to people. To a certain person at his feet. From what was left of them, he had no idea if they were male or female.
But then it got chilly, and although he was a man of clear thought and logic, he shivered, and then hastened home, a stout stick in his right hand. He neednt have worried. The man who called himself Fred watched him from a branch of a tree, tapping the bauble in his staff on the bark, like a toy hammer.
"Going to be a beautiful day." He remarked to the bauble. It didn't reply. But Fred was right, of course.